We were riding on about 1800 steers and 300 cow/calf pairs on a summer range that was split into four pastures, running for miles east and west but not very wide. The cows were in the furthest east one and the steers in the others. Dividing every one of those pastures was the most treacherous creek I’ve ever encountered. I’d grown up on the gumbo and had experience with boggy, dangerous creeks, but I had never one as wicked as that one. The banks were steep and the channel deep, so access to a crossing was already nearly impossible, then the channel itself would bog a snipe so it was truly dangerous to cross. I had crippled a good horse in a boggy crossing and didn’t want to repeat that, so I was extra cautious. As bad as the creek was, it didn’t keep the big steers from going back and forth, though how they managed it remains a mystery. I rode it for a while checking for bogs when it started drying up mid-summer. The water dried up, I should say, the gumbo did not, and it was awful as there were alkali seeps in the channel. Incredibly, there was never a steer stuck in the bog. There was about eight miles of this creek on the property, so no matter which pasture they were in, they were always in a pasture with that creek. It sure wasn’t very handy to have to ride back to the highway bridge to cross it to ride on the cattle on the other side, so we searched for a crossable place, as the highway was toward the east end of the ground. My experience with bad crossings made me the one chosen to look for a crossing. I was done riding through the steers on the south side of the first pasture west of the highway and needed to ride on the ones on the other side of the creek. I’d studied that creek closely for weeks and thought I’d found a spot that was worth looking at closer. I was riding my big Lily mare, who though she was still pretty green, was a five-year-old that summer. She was a fairly careful horse where crossings were concerned but tended to want to jump any water that was in the channel, which can cause a wreck in boggy conditions. I’d studied this spot for a while, considering the approach and what the ground looked like in the bottom. The bank was kind of stair stepped down in three long steps, then if one turned a bit at the bottom, there was a steep but accessible exit out of it. The ground on the flattest spot by the actual channel was growing a nice stand of western wheat grass, which is generally a good sign of solid sod beneath. This spot was about the size of a dining room table. I knew Lily would let me point her where I wanted her to go, it was just that jump that might cause a problem. So, wanting to give her every advantage, I learned down and pulled my snaffle reins out of the martingale that was on a yoke and out of the way. My cinch wasn’t tight, so I felt we were ready. She hopped down to the first stair step, paused, studied the next narrow spot, eased down onto it, then one more slow descent to that nice grassy spot by the channel. I was feeling pretty good as her feet stopped on that sod patch, but that feeling went away immediately as she started to sink. Suddenly, she was in up to the center ring on her chest and stifles, with my feet on the ground. She froze, thankfully, and I stepped off, hoping I wouldn’t sink too. Grabbing the other bridle rein, I scrambled up the bank and gave her room and time to ponder. I remember her letting one long roller out of her nose but otherwise didn’t seem very worried. I got as far out of the way as the reins would allow to the left of her and up on the next step up, then spoke to her. With a little smooch and a slight pull of the reins, I asked her to try to move. To get out she would have to lift her front end up out of the mud and turn to the left some to gain solid ground, which was another level up. It didn’t seem very promising. Taking a deep breath, Lily gathered herself and lunged up and around, grabbing the solid bank above her with her front feet, then a second lunge had her up on that step with me scrambling on up the bank above her as she climbed out. The power it took to get herself up and out was incredible, as it wasn’t just deep but boggy. Her hind feet popped from the gumbo as they came out, like corks out of bottles. On top of the bank, both of us sure took some deep breaths. She was smeared with that gumbo paste clear to her belly and chest. I felt bad for having asked her to cross, but it had sure seemed like the best possibility. Unworried, she touched me with her nose and licked her lips, ready to go on with our day. I restrung my reins through the martingale rings, stepped on and we proceeded on to the one good crossing on that creek: the highway bridge. It wouldn’t bog you down but getting across it without being hit by a vehicle could be a challenge. I never crossed that miserable creek all summer except on the bridge. By late summer, the rocks piled in the channel under the bridge finally became crossable, though still ugly, so gathering the steers to trail to the corrals on the south side of that creek and the highway to ship was easier. Fortunately, other than the mud pulling the hair on her legs and being hard to scrub off that night, Lily was no worse for wear for the bogging down she’d experienced. She was hard and fit as a horse could be, so that probably contributed to her not injuring a muscle or joint. The sheer power that mare demonstrated still amazes me to this day. Even now, every time I cross that creek as I’m driving down the highway, it sends a shiver up my spine and after over 30 years, I’m still reminded of how bad it is.
Jan was raised on a ranch in far western South Dakota. She grew up horseback working all descriptions of cattle, plus sheep and horses. After leaving home she pursued a post-graduate study of cowboying and dayworking in Nebraska, New Mexico, Montana, Wyoming and South Dakota....
