Backcountry Ranch Lessons

By Levi Armichardy

I wake to the abrasive bray of the donkey in the corral outside my open window. All the windows in this small bunkhouse are open, to let in the cool air of the night. Like clockwork, I’m awake each day at 6:15 am, give or take ten minutes.

If it’s not the donkey that wakes me, it’s the chickens, or the cows, or the wild birds. There’s no need for an alarm clock. My dog, seeing I’m awake, lifts her head and thumps her tail on the floor.

I dress and open the door, where the two ranch dogs, owned by the caretaker, lie on the steps. I’m not sure if they’ve been there all night or if they just know my schedule. I walk to the house, fix a simple breakfast of eggs, toast, and a banana, and take it out to the covered front porch to eat and watch the sunrise.

Three chairs, as weathered as the house, sit on the porch, in front of a row of shelves that hold a variety of shoes (rubber boots, hiking boots, running shoes), tools (gloves, wrenches, nails), animal parts (bighorn sheep skulls, turkey feathers, antlers), and other miscellaneous stuff. A big chest freezer sits in the corner. Overhead, spiderweb-covered fishing poles lie across the rafters. This house is old; the land was homesteaded in the late 1800s.

The current house is not the original homestead, but close. Its age shows in the weathered boards, flaky red paint, and battered tin roof that creaks in the wind. The porch faces roughly northeast, down the canyon, so the summer sun hits it (and me) full-on when it crests the ridge.

I’m at the South Fork (or Hettinger) Ranch, a backcountry horse ranch on the South Fork of the Salmon River. For me, it’s always simply been “the ranch.” My history here began with my grandparents, who were hired on as caretakers in 1989.