Sometimes You Just Nail It

"It's heavy!" I said.

"I'll bet it smells bad," she said with a slight crinkled nose.

"Not, really. It must weigh at  least ten pounds," I said, raising my arms and adjusting the slouch hat on my head.

"It probably didn't feel that heavy to the buffalo though," a slight grin spread across her face. "After all, when the buffalo had that coat, he was bigger and had four legs."

"Sometimes it's irritating when you're right!" I said.

We were at the famous Holzwarth Historic District of the Rocky Mountains National Park, Colorado.  This part of the 265,761 acre park has the restored Holzwarth Dude Ranch, which was built in 1917. There are guest cabins and other out buildings filled with artifacts of that era. I was trying to get the "feeling" of the mountain men who roamed this area in the mid 1800's. I had donned the buffalo hide coat and put a broad brimmed felt hat on to get the "feeling".  I could imagine drudging through snow all bundled up and breathing the thin mountain air. Later, while visiting a friend, I was able to fire a  replica Sharpe's buffalo gun of the type carried by these mountain men and buffalo hunters. The gun weighed almost ten pounds. They were strong independent people who blazed trails through the Rocky Mountains. They built their houses from whatever material was available, some of wood, some of stone, and some of dirt. The dirt houses were those of sod.  We saw the curious plow used to cut the sod strips from the earth, which would be cut into blocks to form the walls of a sod house.  There was a sod house there with grass growing on some of the walls. There were other curious primitive tools and machinery around.  Claudette was interested in the washing machine but had no desire to replace her modern one, although the old one was more energy efficient.

As we wandered around the old dude ranch, a small wooden cow caught my interest. Actually, it was about the size of a calf. "Hey, look at this!" I said to Claudette.

"What?"

"It's a wooden steer," I answered.

"So?"

I walked over to the wooden steer and took the coiled rope from around his horns. "I'll tell you

what I'm gonna do," I exclaimed, "I'm gonna show you how to lasso that steer!"

"Yeah, right!" she says with that "here we go again" tone in her voice.

"Did I ever tell about the time when I was about ten and I lassoed this little bull when I was a boy on the farm?"

"I've got a feeling I'm going to hear it now," she said in resignation. (She is not always thrilled with my stories.)

"We had just gotten this young Black Angus bull.  I guess he weighed 'bout eight hundred pounds, and I was gonna lasso him.  I'd seen Gene and Roy lasso many a steer, and I knew I could do it too.  I made me a lasso from a plow line  and tossed it around that bull's neck as he came around the barn. He started to run, and I held on. We made about three laps around that barn with that bull pulling me behind. I was holding on to that rope with both white-knuckled hands as he dragged me along.  I hit every cow pattie in the lot before I finally realized that I could turn loose.  And I did.  I was not injured, but Mama made me strip down to my underwear before I could enter the house for supper. My sister thought it was funny."

"Okay, go for it.  But we don't have all day!" my dear travel companion said.

"Piece a cake," I said.

Of course I had no idea I could lasso the wooden steer.  It would be a feat similar to parting the waters, but I picked up the rope and made a loop of about five feet across. As I swung the loop overhead in the thin mountain air a smile spread across my face. I took careful aim at my wooden adversary and released. The loop floated through the conifer scented air before gently settling around the horns of the steer with a soft "whack".  I felt like taking a bow. I had nailed it!

"I want to see that again!" she exclaimed.

"Not a chance!" said I.

We continued our drive in the Rocky Mountains National Park.  We took the Trail Ridge Road through the park.  It's forty-eight miles of the lush and rugged terrain of the Rockies. Along the road were small diameter poles of about ten feet in height, placed at intervals, with marks on them. We decided the these would mark the roadway in heavy snow conditions.  Waterfalls tumbled from the mists of the high mountains down through the meadows in their passage to the salt waters of our coasts.  This is where the elk roam.  The bighorn sheep are elusive, but we saw one of the magnificent creatures. As we reached the higher altitudes there were no trees. Eleven miles of US 34 are above the tree line.  When we stopped at an overlook we noted the very thin air, cool and sweet. The altimeter in the car read in excess of twelve thousand feet.  After all, we were on the highest continuously paved highway in North America. We saw no motor homes or travel trailers at this altitude.  We descended to where we saw a marker indicating the  Continental Divide at Milner Pass. From here the mountain snowmelt either goes into the Gulf of Mexico or the Pacific Ocean. We were now down to 10,120 feet.  This beautiful drive is open from Memorial Day to Columbus Day. It was a photo op.

The Rocky Mountain National Park exhibits all the splendor of the Rocky Mountains and is a testament to the great untamed outdoors.

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