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WINDY WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON JAUNT THROUGH THE HILLS
By Steve Moreland, January 17, 2019
It was mild for that time of year but a very windy day back on Wednesday, February 18th, 1986. Carol and I, and our three-year-old son, Will, were ranching about twenty miles south of Merriman. We lived on what was known as the old Lester Leach place, which my dad had purchased from the Leach family back in 1967. The buildings were more than a mile west of the Nebraska ETV tower, which stands sentinel on a hilltop eighteen miles south of Merriman.
Calving time was looming in the very near future. We had about 350 cows to feed and care for, and thought having a hired hand for the next couple months would be a good deal. Cary Nelson had been a longtime friend, and he was in the market for a ranch job. We had invited him to come for dinner, so he could look the situation over and see if he was interested.
Cary had grown up as a ranch kid and cowboy, so I asked him if he'd be interested in a somewhat glamorous project for the afternoon. I had a team of Percheron horses borrowed from my father-in-law, Royal McGaughey. With calving coming on and an impending move to a new ranch 30 miles away with all our cattle and machinery to occur by May 1st, not to mention Carol expecting a new baby in early June, I thought my days of having time to play with these horses might be coming to an end. Royal McGaughey's ranch was 15 miles to the northeast, through the Sandhills, and that is where these horses needed to be delivered.
My thought was that the perfect way to "deliver" these horses would be to drive them, and if Cary would ride along, it would be great to have someone to open gates and help if there was any problems with this "green-broke" team of young horses. Cary was more than willing to participate, so it didn't take long to put the harness on Max and Skitter and get them hooked to a cart. This cart was brand new, and was something I'd found advertised in the DRAFT HORSE JOURNAL. It was solidly made of pipe, and had a school bus seat capable of holding two people sitting side by side. It was equipped with a brake, and had both a pipe tongue for two horses, or shafts if you only wanted to drive one horse. The cart was painted red, and the seat was green. The two young grey Percheron geldings looked pretty sharp hitched to this rig.
The wind was howling from the southwest, but at least the temperature was above 50 degrees as we pulled away from the ranch. As long as the wind stayed out of that direction, it would be mostly at our backs. Cary was a few years younger than me. He and I were both wearing heavy winter jackets and vests, and both of us were wearing leather chaps, hats, gloves, and boots topped with overshoes. We felt confident the trip shouldn't take too terribly long, and would be a good way to spend a warm windy afternoon. We pulled through a couple gates, and then hit our two-track trail road at a snappy trot.
Max and Skitter and Cary and I hadn't traveled for much more than a mile before the wind switched. It veered more from the northwest, and the temperature dropped several degrees. God blessed me with a fine wife, and pretty soon Carol and our little boy, Will, caught up to us in the pickup with all the warm clothes she could find. Cary and I both traded hats for caps, and gloves for mittens. Carol had found some sweaters and sweat shirts that we could use to add more layers. This extra clothing was very welcome as the temperature continued to drop. We made pretty good time as the horses trotted along. In a few miles we came to the old "Noble place," owned by the Shadbolt Cattle Company. Cameron and Mary Beth Daly lived at this place. They worked for Shadbolts, and Cameron's dad, Dick Daly, was manager of the ranch. Cary and I pulled up, and I had Cary hold the horses while I knocked on the door. When Mary Beth came to the door, I told her that if anyone ever asked, she could tell them we had made it this far. Now we only had about ten more miles to go to find our way through the hills to Royal's place. She said that we might run onto Cameron, as he was feeding cattle somewhere to the north.
We drove the team another mile, and sure enough, we ran onto Cameron. There was still some fairly deep snow in various places, and his pickup was stuck in a drift. I asked if he had a chain. He did, and I maneuvered the team and cart around into position. We used the chain to hook the cart to his pickup, and Max and Skitter made easy work of pulling out the stuck truck. Cameron was grateful to us, and I was grateful to him as he described where the gates were to the northeast.
Snow was coming down pretty good by this time. I'd only been through that country once before, and that was several years earlier trailing 50 yearling heifers and three bulls to our ranch from Royal's place, where they had spent the summer. That time it was a sunny day, and we had the ETV tower to guide us in the right direction. This time we were going the opposite direction, it was snowing quite hard, and I wasn't real sure from which direction the wind was blowing. Darkness was approaching rather rapidly, and visibility was not over half a mile at the most. Cary and I both tried to remain confident, as we kept the wind on our left shoulders. We hoped we were still traveling on a northeasterly course, but were starting to wonder if we might be spending the night lost out in these unfamiliar hills. Just as it was about to become completely dark, I spotted a windmill and back-rubber that I recognized as being in Jack Cobb's pasture. I had helped round up this pasture during brandings in years past. With this known landmark as a guide, it didn't take long to trot on into the ranch where Royal and Jean McGaughey lived. Jean is my wife Carol's mother, and Royal is Carol's stepdad. Carol and Will had already arrived to pick up Cary and me.
Royal, Cary, and I took care of Max and Skitter. We loaded the cart onto the back of the pickup, and then enjoyed a nice supper which Jean had prepared. There was still snow and fog in the air, but with the headlights of the pickup, and traveling a known road, we had no trouble getting home. Cary must not have been too disgusted with me for almost getting us lost, as he ended up taking the job. The whole adventure was another case of "All is well that ends well." It did.
By Steve Moreland, January 17, 2019
It was mild for that time of year but a very windy day back on Wednesday, February 18th, 1986. Carol and I, and our three-year-old son, Will, were ranching about twenty miles south of Merriman. We lived on what was known as the old Lester Leach place, which my dad had purchased from the Leach family back in 1967. The buildings were more than a mile west of the Nebraska ETV tower, which stands sentinel on a hilltop eighteen miles south of Merriman.
Calving time was looming in the very near future. We had about 350 cows to feed and care for, and thought having a hired hand for the next couple months would be a good deal. Cary Nelson had been a longtime friend, and he was in the market for a ranch job. We had invited him to come for dinner, so he could look the situation over and see if he was interested.
Cary had grown up as a ranch kid and cowboy, so I asked him if he'd be interested in a somewhat glamorous project for the afternoon. I had a team of Percheron horses borrowed from my father-in-law, Royal McGaughey. With calving coming on and an impending move to a new ranch 30 miles away with all our cattle and machinery to occur by May 1st, not to mention Carol expecting a new baby in early June, I thought my days of having time to play with these horses might be coming to an end. Royal McGaughey's ranch was 15 miles to the northeast, through the Sandhills, and that is where these horses needed to be delivered.
My thought was that the perfect way to "deliver" these horses would be to drive them, and if Cary would ride along, it would be great to have someone to open gates and help if there was any problems with this "green-broke" team of young horses. Cary was more than willing to participate, so it didn't take long to put the harness on Max and Skitter and get them hooked to a cart. This cart was brand new, and was something I'd found advertised in the DRAFT HORSE JOURNAL. It was solidly made of pipe, and had a school bus seat capable of holding two people sitting side by side. It was equipped with a brake, and had both a pipe tongue for two horses, or shafts if you only wanted to drive one horse. The cart was painted red, and the seat was green. The two young grey Percheron geldings looked pretty sharp hitched to this rig.
The wind was howling from the southwest, but at least the temperature was above 50 degrees as we pulled away from the ranch. As long as the wind stayed out of that direction, it would be mostly at our backs. Cary was a few years younger than me. He and I were both wearing heavy winter jackets and vests, and both of us were wearing leather chaps, hats, gloves, and boots topped with overshoes. We felt confident the trip shouldn't take too terribly long, and would be a good way to spend a warm windy afternoon. We pulled through a couple gates, and then hit our two-track trail road at a snappy trot.
Max and Skitter and Cary and I hadn't traveled for much more than a mile before the wind switched. It veered more from the northwest, and the temperature dropped several degrees. God blessed me with a fine wife, and pretty soon Carol and our little boy, Will, caught up to us in the pickup with all the warm clothes she could find. Cary and I both traded hats for caps, and gloves for mittens. Carol had found some sweaters and sweat shirts that we could use to add more layers. This extra clothing was very welcome as the temperature continued to drop. We made pretty good time as the horses trotted along. In a few miles we came to the old "Noble place," owned by the Shadbolt Cattle Company. Cameron and Mary Beth Daly lived at this place. They worked for Shadbolts, and Cameron's dad, Dick Daly, was manager of the ranch. Cary and I pulled up, and I had Cary hold the horses while I knocked on the door. When Mary Beth came to the door, I told her that if anyone ever asked, she could tell them we had made it this far. Now we only had about ten more miles to go to find our way through the hills to Royal's place. She said that we might run onto Cameron, as he was feeding cattle somewhere to the north.
We drove the team another mile, and sure enough, we ran onto Cameron. There was still some fairly deep snow in various places, and his pickup was stuck in a drift. I asked if he had a chain. He did, and I maneuvered the team and cart around into position. We used the chain to hook the cart to his pickup, and Max and Skitter made easy work of pulling out the stuck truck. Cameron was grateful to us, and I was grateful to him as he described where the gates were to the northeast.
Snow was coming down pretty good by this time. I'd only been through that country once before, and that was several years earlier trailing 50 yearling heifers and three bulls to our ranch from Royal's place, where they had spent the summer. That time it was a sunny day, and we had the ETV tower to guide us in the right direction. This time we were going the opposite direction, it was snowing quite hard, and I wasn't real sure from which direction the wind was blowing. Darkness was approaching rather rapidly, and visibility was not over half a mile at the most. Cary and I both tried to remain confident, as we kept the wind on our left shoulders. We hoped we were still traveling on a northeasterly course, but were starting to wonder if we might be spending the night lost out in these unfamiliar hills. Just as it was about to become completely dark, I spotted a windmill and back-rubber that I recognized as being in Jack Cobb's pasture. I had helped round up this pasture during brandings in years past. With this known landmark as a guide, it didn't take long to trot on into the ranch where Royal and Jean McGaughey lived. Jean is my wife Carol's mother, and Royal is Carol's stepdad. Carol and Will had already arrived to pick up Cary and me.
Royal, Cary, and I took care of Max and Skitter. We loaded the cart onto the back of the pickup, and then enjoyed a nice supper which Jean had prepared. There was still snow and fog in the air, but with the headlights of the pickup, and traveling a known road, we had no trouble getting home. Cary must not have been too disgusted with me for almost getting us lost, as he ended up taking the job. The whole adventure was another case of "All is well that ends well." It did.