Rocky Ford – During the ranch rodeo at the Arkansas Valley Fair last week, the “Rhinestone Cowboys” had no trouble culling No. 77 out of the dozen calves milling about at one end of the arena.
But getting their assigned critter “branded” was another matter.
The roper and his two flankers chased the yearling the entire length of the arena before they managed to lasso its heels and head, and bring it down.
Then, to brand it (with chalk taken from a bucket kept in front of the chutes), the fourth member of the team had to sprint 25 yards to the calf and back – through loose dirt in cowboy boots.
“You’d think there’s beer in that bucket, as fast as he’s running,” said a chuckling Mark Grasmick, the announcer, as the cowboy returned the cold iron to the bucket and stopped the clock at 1 minute, 35 seconds – about in the middle of the pack.
At a ranch rodeo, the times are just as crucial and the jokes just as corny as at a regular rodeo. But cowboys (and sometimes cowgirls) are the only performers. There are no clowns, no trained dogs, dancing ponies or trick riders. This is “real-life cowboy stuff,” as Grasmick put it.
The events – sorting, penning, branding, doctoring and loading, plus wild-cow milking and bronc riding at some venues – are designed to simulate the actual tasks carried out on a ranch, with an emphasis on teamwork and horse sense rather than muscle and guts.
Typically, the action isn’t as fast-paced or flamboyant as in rough-stock events at a conventional rodeo. But like the weathered jeans and plain white shirts the contestants favor, it’s more authentically Western.
“I’ve never been on a ranch where anybody rode a bull,” says Michael Kemp, director of the annual Douglas-Elbert County ranch rodeo, which takes place in Kiowa on Sept. 11 (for tickets, call 303-621-2186).
“You do ride bucking horses,” he adds, “but that’s usually not something you want to do, especially when you’re 15 miles from the ranch house and nobody knows where you are.”
In cattle country, speed contests have been around since the first time a cowhand hollered, “Hey, ain’t you done yet?” and a second one countered, “Think you can do it any faster?”
Ranch rodeos with formalized rules have sprung up more recently, and the sport’s sanctioning body – the Working Ranch Cowboys Association (wrca.org), based in Amarillo, Texas – will stage its 10th-annual world championship in November.
About 15-20 ranch rodeos take place in Colorado every year, mostly in small towns such as Penrose, La Veta and Yuma, with qualifiers for the national finals in Hugo and Colorado Springs in early summer. In addition, the Colorado Cattlemen’s Association sponsors one at the state fair in Pueblo (this year’s was last night).
“They give all of us average guys a chance to have fun,” says David Mendenhall, a Rocky Ford rancher. “There is the same real cowboy action as in a typical rodeo. The difference is, this is the whole picture, not just one piece. Spectators get the opportunity to witness some of the hard work that goes into getting beef on our tables.”
How hard is it? Pretty dang hard, if the various “no time” disqualifications at the recent performance in Rocky Ford were any indication. And it’s hardly a sport for softies.
“When you’re dealing with something bigger than you, the opportunity for injury always arises,” says Kenny Rogers, a Yuma rancher who has entered ranch rodeos for several years.
“I’ve been stepped on, got rope burns, and with wild-cow milking, I always figure I’m in for a black eye. With an 800-to-900-pound cow, it’s not bad, but with a big, old cow that weighs 1,400 to 1,500 pounds, that gets a little rough.”
Mendenhall concurs. At a ranch rodeo in Cheyenne Wells, he says, he fell while trying to help subdue an 1,100-pounder, and it “walked all up and down me.”
No special gear is used, and the livestock are brought in from the range, as opposed to being bred for the sport.
Most of the competitors are stockmen, sale-barn managers or hired hands in their 30s, 40s and 50s. They typically pay entry fees of $200 per four-man team, meaning that after expenses, the winners may take home a few hundred bucks apiece.
That’s hardly enough to buy the fuel it takes to haul their mounts to the county fairgrounds where the competitions usually take place. But in a ranch rodeo, the payoff involves friendships as much as finances.
“It’s a camaraderie you wouldn’t believe,” says Mike Dutton, director of the Rocky Ford event, who focuses mostly on safety.
“We can’t have what happened in a ranch rodeo in Pueblo six or seven years ago, when they had some big cows in the milking event and it put one cowboy in the hospital for six months. We all had to go down and help his wife run the ranch.”
Despite the risks and challenges, few of the competitors except the ropers practice much.
“I just kind of show up and hope my everyday experience will take care of it,” says Rogers, who raises Angus bulls and runs cattle on his Wagon Wheel Ranch.
“It’s hard to get together, we’re all so spread out,” says Bonnie Yarbrough of Howard, head of an all-female team with members from La Junta, Brush and elsewhere. “Everybody rides, and they all do their own thing.”
The audiences are probably more appreciative than the crowds at regular rodeos. That may be because folks in ranch country know how difficult it is to saddle up a horse that has never been ridden, load a balky animal into a trailer or get milk from a cow whose nursing calf must be separated from it for more than a few hours.
Still, the turnouts for such events tend to be smaller than for the demolition derbies and tractor pulls that often get top billing at rural fairs.
“They’re starting to become more popular, but they will never replace regular rodeos,” says Rogers.
Staff writer Jack Cox can be reached at 303-820-1785 or jcox@denverpost.com.
