Dudes: A Western Welcome

There are so many fun stories to tell about growing up as a ranch kid that was in and around the dude business -- I thought I'd do a series of posts about just that. Today’s post starts at the beginning of the dude experience and that’s on Welcoming Day at the Strang Ranch. Each post in this series will be titled “Dudes” followed by the story at hand.

Ranch Hand Ed Coryell working horseback, circa 1968

PREAMBLE ……….

My parents, like my Dad’s parents ran a summer dude business to supplement their ranching income until the early 1970s when we moved to Meeker. Every summer forty-some teenagers between the ages of 14 and 18 came west, usually from urban settings, to work on the ranch. Oftentimes dudes were second generation offenders just following the tradition of their parent’s summer at my grandparents ranch many years prior.

The concept was to teach the value of hard work and give them some western life experience. They did plenty of manual ranch labor which included bucking hay, building fence, irrigating, but the dudes also learned to ride, competed in the local rodeo, went on pack trips and made lifelong friendships. etc. Often “dudes” returned subsequent summers as staffers because they loved life on the ranch.

The organizational chart went something like this. First tier were dudes, then staffers who lived-with and helped manage the dudes, and then ranch crew led by my Dad which steered the daily ranch work. Top tier was the kitchen and cook staff led by my mom which was also the mail, laundry, counseling and general kitchen table for the ranch. Her crew included a couple local teens that helped her feed 60 people 3 times a day in an old ranch house that we converted to a dining hall and kitchen. Lodging for the dudes was rustic with no plumbing, and dudes all walked to a central bathhouse. There was a boys bunk house east of the dining hall, and two old shepherds cabins in the meadows to the west for the girls.

***A little side note is my mom came west at age 17 as a dude on my grandparents ranch and fell in love with a 27 year old cowboy named Bart, so now hopefully you see why the dude business is interwoven in the fabric of our family history and lore.

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As the father of four girls my dad would like you to believe he had an aversion to drama because he had enough unfolding under his own roof every day. However, every summer he scripted arrival day for the dudes like a director for an off Broadway production, AND he got such a chuckle out of the whole episode it was worth the price of admission. Truth be told he had some help from my mom in this endeavor, but he seemed to be the driver in the production.

Preparations for the dudes had been underway for weeks at the ranch. Cabins, the bunkhouse, the dining hall and bathhouse were opened up and cleaned, the pantry stocked, flights and travel accommodations checked and double checked (for 40 teens), and Greyhound bus was reserved. Staffers and kitchen help were on site and rosters of “who’s who?” had been reviewed and Plan A was in place. AND…. my dad had done his part to coordinate his portion of the western welcome with the Greyhound driver. We were ready and they’d be here soon.

Traveling to the ranch was a long day as the dudes all flew to Denver — most of them from the east coast and then boarded a Greyhound bus. This was the beginning of a journey these teens would take with 40 others that they would spend the next 8 weeks working and living with at the ranch. The bus climbed the mountains and headed west over the Continental Divide, then along the Colorado River by way of Interstate 70 for 4 hours. At Basalt, the bus turned off Highway 82 and turned up West Sopris Creek onto a narrow dirt road and started its final ascent to the ranch -- sitting at the base of Mt. Sopris. The kids were sure to be excited, tired and hungry upon arrival.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch and under the direction of my dad, ranch hands Russ Paxton and Ed Coryell started preparations. They strapped on spurs, clipped their chaps, buckled their holsters, tied bandanas over their noses, and pulled their cowboy hats down so all you could see were the whites of their eyes. Ed and Russ looked like they'd stepped out of a chapter of the Lone Ranger. They flipped gunny-sacks over their shoulders, mounted their saddled horses and took off at a dead run down the creek trail in a cloud of dust.

The bus slowed as it approached the first cattle guard, just as Russ and Ed emerged out of the creek bottom on horseback and out onto the road in front of the bus.

“Well what do we have here?” The bus driver played along, and brought the bus to a complete stop. Dust trailing the bus caught up to and swirled around the scene — adding to the Wild West ambience of the moment.

Ed and Russ dismounted and approached, looking particularly edgy and dangerous, and the bus driver hurriedly opened the door, giving them both a wink as they ascended the stairs into the bus. With gunnysacks extended Ed and Russ started down the aisle. Spurs clinking the cowboy thieves made their demands. They smelled of horse sweat, dust and trouble and this could have been a chapter out of a Wild West novel.

“Hand it over…. your wallet, purse, cash…..anything of value.”

Shell-shocked the city slicker dudes obediently dropped everything of value into the sacks, and watched in horror as Russ and Ed turned and walked out of the bus, got on their horses and galloped away. I'm willing to bet the remaining few miles of the trip were a pretty quiet ride. What were these poor kids to think? This were pre-cell phone days and they couldn’t call for help. They were marooned in the middle of nowhere and had just been robbed. Now what?

When the bus eventually pulled into the ranch headquarters the shell-shocked teens were greeted with, among others, the smiling faces of the unmasked thieves who had robbed them a few miles earlier. Ed and Russ held open sacks as the kids claimed their valuables. Mom checked the dudes in, assigned staffers and handed out bunking assignments for the summer. And that is how each summer started on the Strang Ranch up West Sopris Creek, with drama and laughter.

“Welcome to the ranch,” my dad would say as he tried to contain his laughter, “It’s going to be a great summer.”