The West Still Wild

The West has been a driving force in American history since the first settlements heard of the wide open spaces. Although promising, it was a place of solitude, reserved only for the soul requiring the absence of humanity. The hardships required to endure were deep and heart felt, but not shown through emotion, but through appearance. The hardened expression on the face of the cowboy is not because of his status as such, but because he has been forced to deal inwardly with all the emotions brought upon him. The hardened exterior providing the defense against emotions intruding or escaping. With such an absence of feeling, one must ask themself "Why come to a place of such desolation?"

To answer this question, one has to have seen what they have seen, or felt what they felt. It's not actually the land that is the west, but the mind of the individual who has experienced the west. Such pure desolation plants a seed of thought that continues to grow uninhibited. It excites romantic feelings that can only be felt through isolation and pain. The hardshell of the cowboy may not, in fact, be to protect against the negativity of feminine emotions, but to hold dear to what emotions he has left. The ones that have seen the land, the creatures, and the absensce of humanity.

This last Saturday, I didn't exactly feel the hardships of the cowboy or the gaucho (aside from a sore backside), but I did get to go on an experience known solely to a herdsman, which is as close to the idea of the West as I will ever get. Our goal was to drive a group of horses to the otherside of the valley on horseback. The herdsman consisted of three people, Luigi, Cristian, and myself. Luigi and Cristian are definitely descendants if not themselves gauchos, along with me the Gringo. Right from the get go, we were moving. The herd we were driving had taken off at a gallop and we were in charge of directing their movements. But they knew where they were going. They must have done this hundreds of times. All we had to do was follow the hoove prints. They did get a little off track from time to time, but with a quick readjustment, we set them back on track.




The trip was five hours out and five hours back. Plenty of time to practice my horsemanship. Along the way, there was a definite feeling of solitude, but not loneliness. It really gave a man room to breath and think clear of distractions.




After dropping off the herd of horses, we went on to our final destination; an abandoned puesto back in the crevaces of what is known as Guanaco Valley. There, we made camp in an old shed and ate lunch. We had cordero asado al palo which is sheep grilled over an open flame. To eat the meat, we had to cut it off with huge knives that had sword like qualities. The blade slide through the meat like butter. We sprinkled it with salt and it tasted delicious, the fat crunching like bacon in our mouths. Next to the puesto, a bird known as the Bandurria had made a nest. Cristian had never seen the eggs before, so I took it as my pleasure to take a picture of them.












After lunch, we headed back to where we had dropped off the horses earlier. There, we administered medicines, and exchanged our horses for fresh ones. We also picked up a horse in the process of being broken in for riding. Luigi explained the process of breaking in a horse to me, "First you have to catch them, then you touch them all over so they´re not afraid of you, then you begin to ride them, and after six months, the gringos can ride them." I thought that kind of funny, seeing how I was no longer a gringo, but a gringo gaucho.




My new horse was fresh and ready to run. I decided to take her out for a gallop and boy did she go. The other guys whistled at me to make sure I was ok, but I just pulled back on the reigns, turned around and waved. Along the way, I happened to be watching the ground, and stumbled upon some puma tracks. They were the most defined prints I had seen to date.





By the time we had returned, I knew my body was in for some pain the next couple of days, but it was totally worth it. I had experienced the life of the gaucho, and it was good. To top it off, I learned a lot of things. For example, after a long ride by horseback, I learned the origin of the word "hardass."