The first thing that hit me was the static heat. All of a sudden I was constantly fanning myself and looking around for a place to sit down as soon as I’d stood up. Through my ever-present squint I could see that Montana was a world that seemed to glow a bright, dusty beige. It was vast, with a lot of space between buildings and mountains around the edges. The accusation that Americans drive everywhere seemed more unreasonable, as it seemed that here, in Bozeman, Montana, it was a necessity. In England, everything is hugged together in quaint, eclectic villages. Here, the world rolled out in front of you like an unravelling carpet. The sky was consistently blue and the highways seemed to go on and on with unknown destinations.
We found our black Range Rover rental car that to any English person’s dismay was an automatic. Fortunately, my Mother was already used to driving an automatic from our trip a couple of years before to California, but the driving on the right side of the road always took a couple of hours to sink into. We had one night in a hotel before we would make the drive further into the mountains to Rocking Z Ranch.
On arrival at the hotel, we were a little jet-lagged and hungry. We mooched up to the check-in desk, the receptionist perkily asked us what bought us to Montana. “We’re going to live on a ranch.” “Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed in her American twang, “Good luck! starting a ranch is a tricky business.” “Oh! No” we said, embarrassed, “Not starting a ranch, just staying on one for a week.” I think she was being very polite – assuming that two British women were going to venture out into the mountains of Montana and start their own working ranch.
In the morning we loaded our unfamiliar car and set off on our journey down the highway. I could feel my stomach twisting with nervous excitement, completely unsure what to expect from the ranch we were headed to. Fortunately, the awe inspiring views on either side of us bought me back into the moment, and I realised that nothing could disappoint me here. Mum managed to take out a couple of traffic cones that were set up along the middle of the road for roadworks, but we didn’t stop. It is honestly like being in a movie, driving down the open highway, radio blaring, space that keeps going in all directions and the faint ridges of mountains deep in the distance. Groups of bikers, bearded and leather-clad with their misses’ arms wrapped around their necks passed us, giving thumbs up as they overtook, lingering ahead of us for a while then being swallowed up by the foggy distance ahead. We passed a billboard with a painted Jesus; arms outstretched in heavenly compassion – Jesus Loves You written reassuringly above his haloed head.
It took us a few hours to arrive – at least an hour’s drive off the main highway and into the mountains that we could previously only squint at. We were travelling by satnav, and it did surprisingly well, leading us right up to the wooden gate that welcomed us to ‘Rocking Z Ranch’. We drove down the track, and I didn’t take my eyes off of the little collection of buildings which grew bigger and bigger and we got closer.
We parked the car outside a lofty red barn, where a couple of horses were tied up outside - a grey and a leggy appaloosa. I climbed out eagerly, shocked by the difference between air conditioning and static mountain heat. I walked over to the grey horse nonchalantly nuzzling a bale of hay, nibbling the corners as if it wasn’t really that tasty and he was full anyway. “Hey guys, are you both here to stay?” A cowboy was approaching us, and when I say cowboy I’m not joking. The sun had been kind to him and he had a deep, enviable tan. He was wearing blue jeans, boots, and of course, a cowboy hat. “That’s right,” Mum said, smiling at this slice of what every British person would expect when staying on a ranch. It turned out that the rest of our group had gone out on a ride that morning and would be back some time that afternoon. Ben, the name of our cowboy host, said that Anna would be over soon to give us our horses for the week and do some ‘Parelli’ with them. We later learned that Parelli is a type of horsemanship that emphasises being at one with your horse, rather than using force. The grey next to me blew a long draught of air between his lips and adjusted his hooves.
Soon we met Anna, a beautiful girl with a waterfall of brown hair. She was the daughter of Patty and Zack, husband and wife and owners of the ranch. She had slightly less of a cowgirl feel than Ben, and we discovered that she had been to university in England. She took us to the pen where their herd is kept. About fifty or so horses stood around in cliques, gossiping, laughing at the silly rider they had last week and bathing in the ever-present sun. Anna introduced us to our horses. I was paired with Joker, a stubborn bay who I was warned became very frustrated if he wasn’t the leader of the ride. Mum was on Abbey, a velvet black mare who seemed much more docile than fiery Joker. We tied head collars onto Joker and Abbey, then led them out of the pen, past the barn and into an outside school set on lush the grass. Anna went through some basic Parelli with us. We had to move away from our horses and face them, about a metres distance between us. Then we had to encourage them to walk towards us without pulling on the head collar rope at all, using only our body language as a magnet for our horses to be attracted to. Anna demonstrated with her own horse, a beautiful black mustang. She bent her knees softly and leaned forward, holding the end of the rope to her navel. “Come on,” she said in a gentle, honeyed voice, “Come here.” And sure enough her horse moved slowly towards her, calm, picking his way through the grass.
That night we had dinner with the rest of the family. Zack, Anna’s father, was a proud, welcoming man with a huge grey beard and leather cowboy hat that I don’t think I saw him take off for the entire trip. He was in the process of building a hot tub outside the rooms where the guests stay. Patty was a lovely, talkative lady who looked like an older version of Anna. She had a wealth of knowledge about ranch life and horses that she didn’t hold back in sharing. We also met Maria, Zack and Patty’s other daughter and Ben’s wife. Maria was the bubbliest and most energetic of the family - she had an ever-present white-toothed grin and a mischievous laugh. Most of the guests were British and completely in awe of this Western movie we’d just walked through the TV screen into. The food was an incredibly hearty chilli con carne, so filling that I couldn’t even touch desert, but I imagined that I would be able to after a long day riding. After dinner we all went to bed. The rest of our group were tired from the day’s ride. A stray cat and her kittens had taken up residence by a tree just outside our room, but she was too nervy to let us near.
The next morning, I woke at 7am. It is fair to say that jet lag made this considerably harder. I showered first, knowing that as soon as I stepped out into the heat any washing away of sweat would have been pointless. To my delight, the morning had bought a coolness to the air, so my sweat was reserved for later in the day. The ranch chef Casey had pulled out all the stops for breakfast - pancakes with bacon and syrup or bananas and Nutella, granola and yoghurt, cereal, or a full ‘American’. Our table was nicknamed ‘the quiet table’ by Maria. I think that we came across as quiet because whenever Maria came over, her hair in two brunette plaits, a big grin and leather chaps up to her knees, we were all so in awe of her that all we wanted to do was watch her.
That morning we began a whole day’s ride. I needed a lot of help tacking up. I wasn’t used to a Western saddle, which is bulkier than an English. Luckily, there were a few ‘interns’ that worked on the ranch and were always around to step in when the guests made stupid mistakes, like putting on the saddle backwards. Ahem. I clambered onto Joker’s back using a stool and she groaned. I hoped we would make friends by the end of the day, she hadn’t seemed too impressed by my attempt at Parelli with her, refusing point black to walk towards me with affection the way Anna’s horse had done to Anna. We walked out into the space outside the barn, in front of the ‘Saloon’. Peter, the husband an older English couple staying on the ranch was waiting outside the barn on his big, muscular chestnut Sunny. He was having difficulty with Sunny, who had too much energy to stand around waiting for anyone.
Once everyone was ready, we set off. The horses started to slot into their comfortable positions. Joker, unsociable and impatient, was not happy about being third from the front, attempting to nip the rear of the horse ahead of us. Lucy, an intern from Germany, kept pace with me on her pretty Palomino. “Joker is so grumpy,” she laughed. “I know, I feel like she just wants to get this ride over with.” Soon we were on a stretch of land. A cool breeze breathed over the pale grass and we moved onto the world’s open palm. Joker had started to relax, as had the rest of the horses, and we spread out across the space. “Everyone okay for a canter?” Maria yelled from the front of the herd. “Yes!” Everyone called eagerly in union. We took off across the land. In this moment I loved Joker’s eagerness to get ahead - her canter was smooth and quick and we dodged ahead of everyone else, leading the pack with Maria. I could hear only the wind shooting past my ears and see Joker’s dark mane sweeping back in the flurry of air. Joker began to pant heavily, as she got more tired the pants turned into coughs. Maria raised her hand in the air and we all knew to slow down. Joker’s gallop fell back into slower gaits and she regained her breath, happy to hold back for a few moments as the heat hit us again. David and Sunny powered ahead, unable to slow down as quickly as the rest of us, another mile bubbling inside Sunny. The rest of the day was spent exploring the trails surrounding the Rocking Z Ranch. Exhausted, we stopped at the peak of a cliff that overlooked the foothills. Montana seemed to spread out beneath us, a patchwork quilt of green and beige. It was the most magnificent view I had ever eaten a sandwich to, probably always will be. When we arrive back at the ranch, we were all exhausted. A storm swept quickly over the foothills and darkened the ranch and atmosphere. We untacked the horses and released them in the pen. Patty and Anna opened the gate at the back of the pen and let the horses out into the open. Frisky from the charged atmosphere before a storm, they all took off together across the wide field, cantering further away towards a thick cloud holding lighting strikes.