 |
|||
 |
|||
|
|||
Activities:
|
Zorro, an RTR Legend… It was our second summer in operation, although the ranch was established in the 1920’s. We were offering our weekly overnight and this particular week in June, seven guests and a wrangler rode up to the backcountry. One of the guests was riding a relatively new horse, a splendid roan with a Z brand on his hip which led unanimously to the name Zorro. The next morning, seven guests returned with six horses and a rather shamefaced wrangler. Sometime in the night, Zorro had obviously spooked and pulled out the metal stake to which his long picket line had been tied. Having this stake clattering along behind him, in effect chasing him, had sent poor Zorro off in a blind rush through the trees and into the heart of the backcountry. The wrangler didn’t discover his absence until morning and after a futile search he and the guests returned to the ranch. That night after guest rides, we all went up to the backcountry and searched for Zorro, but other than the clear drag marks we weren’t able to find him. All that summer we would search when we could, in the evenings, on Sundays, on subsequent overnight trips. Once in awhile we’d hear a neigh, or think we had, or one of the horses we were riding would prick his ears and gaze off, but still no Zorro. In the fall, the cowboys moving the cattle down for the winter spotted him but he evaded any attempts to herd him down and vanished into the aspens and pines. Still later, hunters saw him and tried to capture him, but Zorro had gone wild and wasn’t looking back. We all figured that he would make his way down to one of the ranches in the foothills and find friends there—horses are very herd bound and need the company of other horses. But although we put the word out, we never heard anything. It was a cold hard winter but that next summer of 1995, on our very first overnight, we met a very thin and bedraggled Zorro grazing in a meadow. He waited until we were quite close before disappearing over a ridge—he even ran like an elk at this point. All that summer we looked for him when we were up in the backcountry, but other than a fleeting glimpse here or there, we didn’t find him. He became legendary. The Forest Service was riled as we weren’t permitted to loose-graze horses up there, but neither they nor we could do much about it. We did let it be known that anyone who could catch him could have him, but no one could even find him, let alone catch him. So Zorro remained. Fall blew in and the cowboys and hunters came once again, but Zorro refused to return to civilization. That winter was mild but we still thought of him up there, shaggy and lonely without even the elk to keep him company. In the late Spring of 1996 we got a call from folks about fifteen miles up the road who had seen a big roan horse grazing by the fast flowing Conejos River. We figured it had to be him, come down for water that had become scarce in the high country, so we prepared ourselves for the ride of our lives. Three of us gathered our best rope horses, our ropes and all the gear we could think of. This was it--this was our chance and come what may we were going to get him. After two years it was time to bring him home no matter what we had to ride through. Thus determined we set off one afternoon. It was indeed Zorro, fat and sleek and grazing peacefully by the river. He had conveniently chosen to be quite near some old corrals used to bring the summer cattle in and out; and from a cautious distance we made plans to get him to these--with about ten backup and just-in-case plans besides. Well, the whole thing took about ten minutes. No crazy riding
through rough country, no spectacular roping in the wide open, no
magnificent capture under impossible circumstances. Instead, Zorro
calmly trotted along behind Marc towards the corrals while the two
of us, David and myself, lurked in various strategic places to dissuade
him from making a break. He never even thought about it; merely entered
the corrals and waited for us. He was very snorty and nervous but
he let me catch him, and later that night, back at the ranch, I saddled
and rode him. I’ve ridden him exclusively for nearly ten years now, often in the backcountry. When I take the overnight, I picket him to a stout pine tree but he never even tightens the rope. On our morning and afternoon riding breaks, he grazes quietly nearby, reins dragging gently in the grass. But once in awhile, he just stands, still as stone and gazes into the backcountry distance.
Activities
| Children & Teen | Lodging
| History | Outings
| News |
September | Guest
Reviews |
