{"id":19230,"date":"2023-01-25T00:37:39","date_gmt":"2023-01-25T00:37:39","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/?p=19230"},"modified":"2023-01-24T20:39:08","modified_gmt":"2023-01-24T20:39:08","slug":"one-tough-cowboy","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/2023\/01\/25\/one-tough-cowboy\/","title":{"rendered":"ONE TOUGH COWBOY"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Bryce Angell – The outdoors has always been a large part of my life. My father was an outfitter and guide for 35 years and I was there to shoe and care for the horses and help him do the cooking. We took many great trips into the Yellowstone area. Even now that I\u2019m older, we still ride into the Tetons, Yellowstone and surrounding areas. My poems are mostly of personal experience. I am now retired and enjoying life to the fullest. I plan to do more riding and writing.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Fred and my father were best friends since childhood. They nicknamed each other Fred and Jack, after two local conservative brothers.<\/span><\/p>\n

My father\u2019s friend Fred was an avid horseman and I believe the toughest cowboy I ever met. He was also very competent in working with pack horses or mules.<\/span><\/p>\n

Fred worked for my father every summer and fall and was by far a top hand even though he walked with a gimp from an injury he received on a naval ship, 25 years earlier.<\/span><\/p>\n

The season was late fall and they were finishing up on a contract with the Forest Service. Fred was leading a string of four pack horses. He was riding a mare who was known to be, let\u2019s just say, a little on the rank side. All the hands called the mare \u201cPeterson,\u201d and then would chuckle a little. I never learned the connection but could only assume she was named after someone with a nasty disposition.<\/span><\/p>\n

Fred was about 45 minutes away from camp when Mother Nature called. He climbed down and was about to take care of business when Peterson decided to kick in his direction. Fred couldn\u2019t get out of the way. He said he felt his femur snap.<\/span><\/p>\n

It was getting close to dark and the temperature was already below freezing. Fred realized the seriousness of his situation and immediately tied a tree limb to his leg for a splint. He contemplated building a fire and staying put, but wasn\u2019t sure if he would be able to crawl around to collect firewood.<\/span><\/p>\n

Fred said he hopped on his good leg over to Peterson, grabbed the saddle horn with his left hand and the back of the saddle with his right and pulled himself up on the saddle. (Try doing that next time you climb on your horse. It takes incredible upper-body strength.) Fred said he almost passed out from pain when he swung his leg over the saddle.<\/span><\/p>\n

He grabbed the pack horse\u2019s lead rope and headed for camp. By now it was darker than the inside of a cat. So Fred gave Peterson her head, knowing she would take them back to camp.<\/span><\/p>\n

Fred said it seemed like hours, but it was only a few minutes when Jack, holding a flashlight, came riding up on Shortcut, a bay he\u2019d ridden for years. Fred knew if anyone came to find him it would be Jack. Jack fired three emergency shots in the air with his .308 rifle. Other workers came running with lanterns and flashlights to help Fred get back to camp. A makeshift ambulance in the backseat of a car provided a bumpy ride to the hospital.\u00a0 <\/span>No Life Flight.<\/span><\/p>\n

All of this in a cowboy\u2019s day. He didn\u2019t ride off into the sunset, which is so romantically portrayed on television.<\/span><\/p>\n

Fred once again healed over and was back in the saddle, leading a pack string the next year. He wasn\u2019t riding Peterson, as she wasn\u2019t available to ride anymore, but was doing a great job of gluing papers together.<\/span><\/p>\n

Fred passed away years ago. The world lost a true cowboy. In the end, did he get to ride off into the sunset? I just want to say, if he did, he darned well earned it.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Fred and my father were best friends since childhood. They nicknamed each other Fred and Jack, after two local conservative brothers. My father\u2019s friend Fred was an avid horseman and I believe the toughest cowboy I ever met. He was also very competent in working with pack horses or mules. Fred worked for my father […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"tdm_status":"","tdm_grid_status":"","_pvb_checkbox_block_on_post":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[160,2],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-19230","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-cowboy-poetry","7":"category-commentary"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19230","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=19230"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19230\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":19232,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19230\/revisions\/19232"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=19230"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=19230"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=19230"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}