Herd’m up Head’m out……..or let’s stomp the ole white girl

Hard to believe it’s been a full week since I had my big adventure driving a herd of wild bulls and steers up the trail to the rodeo. The trip to the Dadanawa Ranch 60 miles south from Lethem where I’m staying at the moment, was rather uneventful. 2 ½ hour drive via rough road in a 4x4 which was powered I’m sure by the fumes of the rum that was consumed along the way.

The ranch is the largest working cattle ranch in the country, 1,700 sq. Miles (yes sq. Miles)

The ranch lays at the base of the Kanaku mountains and was for me at least like stepping back into history 100years. All the old out buildings as well as some of the newer ones are adobe brick, Bunk house, kitchens, saddle shop, tannery, and meat house. The current guest house use to be one of the old bunk houses. Jaguar, Ocelot, deer, and a sundry of other wild animal hides adorn the walls along with Amerindian crafts. Main compound grounds are alive with pigs, ducks, geese, guinea fowl, sheep, and of course the Amerindian children. I spent the first day just wondering around being amazed at the operation which is totally self sufficient. Not only do they butcher their own cattle, sheep, pigs and wild game and dry the meat, but also tan all the hides and use the tanned leather for everything from saddle and tack to lassos. I was somewhat shocked to see so many Jaguar and cougar hides tanned and hanging either on walls or over different benches. But was soon told that each one of these cats had been destroyed because they had killed several head of live stock. Seems the southern Rupununi has a very large population of these big cats.

The Rupununi River runs just below the main compound and affords great fishing as well as transportation during the rainy season. This also allows Duane, the manager to offer different river trips both fishing and sight seeing along the river.

The best of all was the vaqueros, these are all Amerindian fellows. Unlike their north American counterparts who are tall, lanky, and speak with a slow western drawl. These guys are short, tough, quiet spoken and speak both Machusi Indian as well as a rather strange sounding English. I have to admit they were a little stand-offish at first, wondering what the hell this crazy white woman was doing standing around watching while they roped and threw calves to the ground and branded ones who had been missed at the last round-up. What may have won them over somewhat was when I watched the full process of roping and subduing a 800lb steer which was killed, skinned, dressed, and quartered with out turning green, but ask if there would be steak for dinner.

This maneuver seemed to win over one old fellow who is the oldest vaquero on the ranch. He does a lot of the leather work, making leggings and whips as well as lariats. He was quick to offer to make a pair of leggings and a whip which I would later use on the trail drive. Even offered to make me a pair of spurs if I would ride barefooted like the rest of the guys.

The morning before the drive was to begin I was put to the ultimate test by the foreman of the vaqueros. They bring up what I am told is one of the tamer horses on the ranch, all saddled up and ready to go. The only problem being that my big feet would not fit into the stirrups ( they later found a set that I was able to get my feet into) and I really didn’t think I was ready to ride barefoot as the vaqueros do. So I quickly adjusted telling them I would mount and ride with out stirrups. (hope to hell I don’t fall off) This earned a few more points. We ride up to the corral herd out the bulls and steers fresh off the open range and drive them to the river for a drink of water. Of course you turn loose 20 head of cattle that have been use to running free and the first thing they do is take off in 20 directions, with a bunch of barefoot wild Indians whooping and hollering hot on their tails, and 1 crazy white woman trying to hold her cow pony down, remain out of the way and stay upright in the saddle. After they were finally rounded up again and watered it was back to the corral, and a brisk trot back to the ranch compound. That evening I was told that I had passed the test and would be allowed to ride with the herd back to lethem, a trip which would take 2 days and entail camping out under the stars one night as well as eating vaquero trail food. ALL RIGHT!!!!!!

Trail food is almost like what the old west cowboys had, Jerky. But with a twist. The dried salted beef is pounded into almost a power or at least manageable strings, this is then mixed with farine (ground parched cassava) This is eaten by the hand full and washed down with water, where the farine promptly swells in the stomach and gives one a feeling of a full meal. I have to tell you I have developed quiet a taste for “passoka” it is very filling and you can survive on nothing but that if need be as long as you drink water.

Day 1 Wednesday Herd’m up Head’m out

Up early in the morning for an 8am departure. First stop is by the store to get your grub bag filled with “Passoka” this is a bag about 10” wide and 30” long with a slit in the middle. The Passoka is divided into each end of the sack which is then tied behind the saddle with your hammock. I was to learn that if your going to be out for a long time you may want to have small bag of coffee, Tasso(dried salt beef) and cassava bread in your grub bag also. Your drinking cup is tied to your belt, along with your machete, and a bone awl to mend your tack, saddle or lariats. I settled for just my coffee cup and leatherman on my belt.

Once again you turn loose 20 head of wild stock, 8 head of horses followed by 10 whooping whip cracking vaqueros all heading in a dozen different directions, and this organized kayos is soon out on the open savannahs. I was seeing a childhood dream to ride with a real cattle herd come true. To their credit the vaqueros were very concerned that I was not getting tired, hungry, thirsty, or sore. We stopped mid-day at one of the out stations and the lady there boiled some of the fresh meat that had been dried from the day before, had I not know this I would have sworn it was an old saddle. Another stop mid afternoon to rest the horses and the herd, provided me with an opportunity to stretch my legs and find that a handy tree.

Night camp would be at yet another out station. Here hammocks were hung, horses bathed, brushed, and hobbled, before any eating or bathing of the people. Evening meal was yet again more roasted tasso, farine and a cup of tea. I don’t mind telling you when I climbed into my Hennessey I did not move until morning.

Day 2 Thursday Can’t keep a tough ole broad down

4am the guys gather the horses and get ready for the day. Of course there was much discussion as to my state of well being after having spent the day in the saddle and sun. After assuring them I was quiet capable of saddling and mounting my horse and that I felt like a million dollars, we had a quick cup of coffee with a hand full of Passoka and off we go. This morning I am given a horse with a little more get-up and go “Rasta Man” (name I found rather appropriate since good old Peter had made so many bad jokes about me finding a Rasta in Georgetown.)

Cows were quiet a bit calmer the 2^nd day So the foreman “Ozzie” ask if I would like to ride over with him to a village where he had relatives and see some of the country, we would rejoin the herd via a short cut???

Since I had proven I could stay right side up at a gentle trot, then it was time to gallop over the savannah, which I might add I did very well and gained even more praise. But now the real fun starts. We ride into a cousins place where we are first given “fraofa” this is yet another use for the farine. Farine is placed into a bowl water and sugar added and you drink the water and eat the softened farine with a spoon or your fingers. Very refreshing and good for you. The next course was the “Parakari” this is the beer the Amerindians make with grated cassava. It looks like dirty dish water, but has the kick of a mule. Both Ozzie and I were given a large bowl of this fire water, I took a couple of sips and politely informed them that I was riding. Of course Ozzie not wanting to be rude to our host drank both his and mine plus a couple of more bowls for good measure. We made 2 more stops at different villages where once again he had to be polite for both himself and me. Needless to say by the time we started back to the trail to rejoin the herd good ole Ozzie was a little unsteady in the saddle. He had to make one more stop to have a drink with a fellow on a bicycle and that may have been the drink that was his undoing. I, in the mean time rode on up the road slowly thinking any minute he would catch up. Several miles later when he did catch up, all the being polite had caught up with him, he was gagging, spitting and looking rather green around the ears. Not wanting to embarrass my host I told him he was probably trying to come down with the flu and to just take his time, and I would slowly ride on. 3 hours later at a fast trot I caught up with the main herd and only 4 of the original 10 vaqueros, I assumed the rest were scouting for water holes for the cattle, which turned out to be not entirely wrong. Waterholes being the key word. They were just getting ready to head out again after a 2 hour rest. I told them I had left poor old Ozzie back the road a ways, he seemed to be a little ill, Flu maybe. The four remaining fellows just laughed and talked about what the real problem probably was, this all in their native language. The plan was to arrive in Lethem Rodeo grounds around 6 pm. It was now 3pm. All is going well, I have proven my self fit to ride. No saddle sores, no sore legs, able to eat Passoka, drink fraofa and Parakari. Life is good.

5:15pm. 45min. from the end of the ride. The guys rope a young steer about 300lb. Promptly throw him to the ground and all are posing for a picture. Now after seeing how wild and crazy these cattle are even the young ones I should have know better than ride up close to snap that picture, or at least after taking the picture to get “Rasta Man” out of the way of what was going to happen next. Instead here I set calmly putting my camera back into its case, and watch them take the rope off the hind legs and all Hell breaks loose.

One very pissed off steer jumps to his feet with only one rope still holding him around the horns. These cow ponies do not continue to keep pressure on the rope unless there is a rider still in the saddle, so he has plenty of slack in the rope to come at my horse at a full charge and proceed to butt him in the flank throwing me off balance. The second butt totally unseats me and I find my self on the ground at the horses feet and now the steer is after me. I take the first head butt in the throat and collar bone area, second try connects with my upper left arm which is now over the area of the first attack. At this same time the guys are yelling and yanking at the steer, trying to drag me out of the way of not only the horses hoofs but the steer. When the dust settles, I try to inform them I am ok, No Blood, No Broken Bones, but I find that I seem to be missing a voice box. Well after much to do about how they are going to send one of the fellows into lethem to get help and a car, I tell them to just help me into an upright position and I WILL ride the rest of the way, “I started out on a horse and I damn well aim to finish that way”. (More Points Gained) Found out later that the steer was headed to a near by village to be butchered. Needless to say I put in my order for the biggest steak they could cut off that critter.

By the time we arrived at the Rodeo grounds with one less steer in the herd now only 3 vaqueros and one rather tired and bruised white woman. I still had another hour to ride to the Pixie and Jeff’s ranch, but there were some friends there at the grounds, who after finding out about my ordeal drove me home. Took shower, ½ cold beer, 2 advil and went to bed.

The next morning, only sore spots are above the waist. Throat feels like the whole herd trampled over me and the bruises, Looked as though I was on the losing end of a prize fight.

Voice is almost nil. By Evening the entire of the Rupununi had heard about the incident. Duane and Sandy had received a radio message from their vaquero the previous evening that I had had my head, neck, back, stomped, so of course when they arrived in Lethem they were fully expecting to see me in a full body cast. After assuring them that I was alive and well I was then told the rest of the story. A day after the herd arrived in Lethem, Duane on his way up to Lethem picked up one of his stray vaqueros in the middle of the road minus his horse dead drunk. The rest had slowly trickled in over the course of the day(fri) in various stages of trying to get over the waterholes they had been checking out. Ozzie was to arrive the morning of the rodeo which was Saturday. This water hole checking had also been relayed to them before they left the ranch, so Duane was not too happy with the vaqueros and his foreman. To the Vaqueros delight I insisted on riding one last time with the herd when they were driven from the ranch here (Manari) back into the Rodeo grounds on Rodeo day Saturday. The shirt I was wearing on the ride has been retired with full honors, the horn tear in the front, trail dust, sweat stains, bits of Passoka, a map on the back of the trail with all the vaqueros names.

I am left with a few bruises, still a little hoarse, and the memories of a life time dream come true.

I guess the really funny thing about the whole ordeal with the steer was that while I was being mauled, all I could think is “ Oh God, I’m going to die with out a fly rod in my hand”

Shefishs Easter 2002