Cowed

Cowed

Bridges can sometimes betray us. Just when we think all is safe and it’s time to cross, you end up stuck and walking down a canyon in the dark. And getting scared out of your wits.

I live in a strange place which is a citadel of civilization, yet an hour east or south, and you are in the middle of the old west, complete with dirt trails, cow fences and bridges made of pine poles and long planks. When I used to cut trees in the mountains for fence poles and posts, my dad arranged for me to cut a stand of trees up a long canyon, and then up a long dirt road.

I love using a chainsaw, cutting and trimming trees, and the smell of fresh cut wood, especially pine. I would cut 30 or 40 trees, load them on the truck and call it a day’s work. It was good for me, and I really enjoyed it. In case I got stuck, Dad had told me to just walk down the dirt road and wait on the main road, and he would come pick me up if I didn’t show up at night.

Luckily, I only had to walk out once, but once was enough. I got stuck another time in this same canyon, but a sheepherder saved me. But that’s another story. I would drive an hour on the main road. Then the dirt road was another 45 minutes, going about 20 or 30 miles an hour. So it was probably 5 or 10 miles from the main road to the wooden bridge I needed to cross to get to the trees I was supposed to cut.

At the small bridge, again made of some pine poles and a couple of long pieces of 2 by 6 or 2 by 8 planks. It wasn’t an engineering marvel, but it got you from one side to the other. Sometimes it was a little wet if the water was high, but I had crossed it so many times I didn’t even worry about it anymore.

The back end of the truck slid off to one side, while the front wheels were still on the improvised bridge. I was stumped. I tried to pry the back wheels back up onto the bridge, but it was no use. The work I did that day was to unsuccessfully get the back of the truck back onto the bridge. So as the sun began to set, I decided it might be time to start walking down the dirt road to wait for Dad.

It was incredibly dark, and there was no moon. If you have never been miles and miles away from the city to see the incredible stars, you really need to do it someday. It is an amazing sight, and there seems to be ten times as many stars as you have ever seen.

The dirt road was just a little lighter than the sagebrush next to it. I couldn’t even see if there were rocks or ruts to avoid, so I stumbled a few times. I must have been making quite a racket. Remember, I have already told you there were cow fences, and what that means is every so often there would be a gate to close, or there would be a cow grating. These are metal bridges cows don’t cross, so they stay where they are supposed to.

This also drew other animals to the mountains, including bears, wolves, and coyotes. As I turned a corner and stumbled a bit, something off the side of the road jumped up and crashed through the sagebrush. For all I knew it was crashing toward me, so I ran as fast as I could down a dirt road in the pitch black. After a few moments, I realized nothing was chasing me, and as I slowed up to listen, I could hear the calf I had surprised on the road still running the other way.

Needless to say, I had plenty of energy left to make it to the bottom of the canyon. I sat for a while, and then my Dad pulled up in his truck. I don’t think I told him about how his son had been terrified of a cow in the middle of a dark canyon. We went up the next day and pulled my truck off the bridge. Then I drove across it and went to work while Dad went back to the farm.

What’s the moral to the story? If there is one, I guess it would be not to trust every bridge you see. Maybe the moral is to be careful even when you have crossed the same bridge many times before. Maybe the real moral is not to be afraid of that cow in the dark.

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