Behind the Chutes

By Greg McCaffrey

Being raised in a small town high in the Sierra's of Northern California, Greg was raised working on many local ranches as soon as he could saddle his own horse. While in high school, he joined the High School Rodeo Association, and by the time he graduated, he was driving semitrucks, hauling rodeo stock to different events both locally and nationally. These are stories of the younger years in the life of a cowboy, rodeo rider, and truck driver and the unknown stories of how someone becomes what they are, from a kid owning his first horse, working on a ranch, riding in rodeos, learning to drive trucks with his father and uncle, driving semitrucks, hauling bucking horses and bulls to and from an event, what it takes to put on an event, and the unknown events that really happen behind the chutes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9798886541939

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Behind the Chutes

Greg McCaffrey

Copyright © 2022 Greg McCaffrey

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2022

ISBN 979-8-88654-188-5 (pbk)

ISBN 979-8-88654-205-9 (hc)

ISBN 979-8-88654-193-9 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Introduction

Girl Scouts

Coppee

Broken Bones and More

Creek Crossing

The First True Test

Hauling Hay

Cow-Jacked

Indian Rodeo

Monotony

Gored

Charro Festival

Streakers

Grass Valley

Finals Rodeos

The Ride-Along

Air Problems

Golden Goose

Load Shift

Cat Nap

Asphalt in Taylorsville

Punkin'

Kit Kat Krap

Baxter Barstool

About the Author

To my little sister, Margie,

Your ride-alongs were always memorable. You have always been there for me on the road of life. Smooth roads and sunny days or potholes, detours, and thunderstorms, I could always count on you.

Love always,

Your big brother

Thanks to my pre-editors:

JoDee (McCaffrey) Dutton

Renee Carini

Margie (McCaffrey) Forster

Greg's other works:

On the Go

On the Go, Tales From a Trauma Flight Nurse

Special thanks to, Bailey Holloway @emeraldhoneyco.com for the cover and author photos.

Introduction

Alot of people have been to rodeos. They go for many reasons: to see what cowboys really do, to be entertained, to root for a friend, or for the same reason, many go to car races, hoping for that moment of tragedy.

What most people really don't understand is what is a cowboy and where do they come from. Or what does it really take to put on a show like a rodeo.

I grew up in a very small town high in the Sierra's of Northern California, worked on ranches from the time I could ride a horse, participated in high school rodeos, and then after high school, drove trucks hauling cattle and rodeo stock to rodeos and helped in the production of these wild events.

I'm sure people who come to watch a rodeo have no idea that the difficulty of just getting the stock to the event can be a rodeo in itself.

Come join me in some of the very entertaining stories of a young cowboy turned truck driver and learn what really happens behind the chutes.

Girl Scouts

Ibelieve to tell my story about rodeos and the early years of truck driving, I need to start out talking about my childhood and how I was raised.

It seems that we never got bored when we were kids. You were up and out the door at daybreak, got your chores done, and if you didn't have to work that day, there was no trouble finding things to do. Sometimes, maybe things you shouldn't, but what the heck, those made the best stories.

A couple buddies of mine had convinced me to go with them for a ride up around Randolph. Randolph was a mountain to the south of Sierraville and was a frequent place to go as a kid. There were endless things to do there—riding, hanging out, fishing, hunting, hiking, and swimming—you name it, all of those things that young kids of our era liked to do.

There was one complication with a ride around Randolph, that was, the Girl Scout camp. On the backside of the mountain, there was a Girl Scout camp that different camps of girls from different cities would come and spend a week or two there. They would rotate out, and another group from another city would rotate in. This went on all summer. We usually avoided the camp as we knew it was off limits, but that didn't stop us from being in the area. I mean, that is where the best fishing was!

We had spent most of the day on the backside of Randolph in one of the big meadows fishing, swimming, and having a fun time. Off in the distance, toward the camp, you could occasionally hear some noise from the campers and girls screaming like girls do. I know this was probably a great experience for most of these girls as many of them were from the suburbs of Sacramento or the Bay Area. Most had never seen a forest, gone on nature hikes, or just gotten dirty, and I'm sure none of them had ever met young mountain boys, not yet.

We had pretty much finished fishing and messing around for the day and decided to head back to town. Now the decision was, to go back the long way, which was the way we came or take the shortcut. The problem was, the short cut was through part of the Girl Scout camp.

We finally decided that we would take the shortcut, and if we kept close to the mountain, we may not be seen by anyone. We had done this before and maybe only once been yelled at by a camp counselor, maybe more than once, not sure.

We started around the mountain and surprisingly, made it through the camp without anyone seeing us. As a matter of fact, we didn't see anyone there either. We then thought that maybe this was a day when they were switching out campers, and in fact, no one was there. We continued along until we came out on the narrow dirt road that would take us the remaining few miles around the backside of the mountain and down to town. As we walked along on our horses, talking about things that boys talk about, we came around a corner and were suddenly face-to-face with the entire camp of Girl Scouts and their counselors. They had been out on a wilderness horseback ride. There must have been close to forty girls sitting on horses in two rows taking up the entire road. There were two adult people in the front on horseback and two adults at the end on horseback.

We froze in our tracks now wondering what to do. If we turn around, we have to go back through the camp, and if we continue on, we were going to get our asses chewed by the camp directors. Suddenly, one of my buddies yelled, Yeah-haw! and without any further word or discussion, the three of us put the spurs to our horses.

Our horses worked on ranches during the week, and there was nothing like a full-blooded quarter horse to go from a standstill to a full run in one stride. In a split second, we were at a dead run when the three of us started through the two rows of dude horses. I could only describe it as being second to Moses parting the sea. I could feel some of the legs of the scouts brush against my legs as I ran through the group, and as the three of us came out at the back of the dude string, I took a look over my shoulder. I felt like I was a Pony Express rider at a full run trying to outrun the Indians that were hot on our heels. But in reality, when I looked back, all I could see was a couple dozen horses bucking, kicking, and Girl Scouts and parts of Girl Scout clothing, shoes, and hats, flying through the air.

We continued our run until we were back in town and decided to split up and each head to our own homes and try to play it low for the rest of the day. It was another fifteen minutes before I rode up to the house. I was a little bit surprised to see a sheriff's car in the driveway but not too surprised as the deputies often stopped to see Dad as he was a county supervisor, and they often would stop to talk to him about county business.

As I was unsaddling and brushing down my horse, Dad and the deputy slowly walked up. Still not thinking too much about it, I kept brushing and checking hooves when Dad asked, You have a good ride?

Hmm, okay, something is up, I thought, he never asks if I have had a good ride. Yes, I did.

Then he asked, Where did you go?

Shit! I knew he knows something now, we have never had this conversation. I decided that what I do next may keep me from getting grounded or out of jail. I decided to say nothing. I stood up and stared at the two of them, and it only took a moment for the deputy to speak up. You been up at the Girl Scout camp? he asked.

Double shit!! I knew I couldn't lie, but I didn't know if this was just an inquiry or if they knew about the great Indian escape. Maybe, I no sooner got that word out and instantly knew it sounded like a confession. I immediately followed it with, Why do you ask? The deputy smiled and then told me that they had a report of some boys raising hell up at the camp on horseback, and some of the Girl Scouts got bucked off of their horses. About this time, I gave the deputy a very questioning look as if to say, Really? and before I could say anything, he put his hand up on the rump of my horse and said, And one of them was riding a paint.

Triple shit!!! Looking at my horse, I knew, and everyone knew I had the only paint horse in the entire county. I decided to just stand there and act like a stupid kid and let them have at me. Dad really didn't say much, only shook his head, and I believe he was trying not to laugh. The deputy kept going on about trespassing laws and how lucky no one was hurt.

This seemed to go on for an hour. When finished, the deputy, still leaning on my paint horse, asked, So what do you think?

I thought for a moment and then spit out the only thing that came to mind, I think, I should sell this paint horse and get a bay. That was all it took for Dad to lose it. He chuckled, and the deputy shook his head. And the two of them walked off toward the sheriff's car, talked a minute or two, then he got in and drove away.

Honesty, we did learn a valuable lesson from this experience. Number one, don't do anything stupid when you are the only one who owns a paint horse. Number two, if you're forced to run your paint horse through a group of city girls playing cowgirl and know you may get into trouble, start yelling, A bear is after us, run! Number three, maybe take the long way home next time. It may keep you out of trouble.

Coppee

Not too long after the Girl Scout incident, I was going to spend another summer working at the Turner Ranch in Sattley. This was about four miles from our house in Sierraville, and I could ride my horse out to the ranch either Sunday night or early Monday morning, then just stay there for the week, and ride home Friday or Saturday. I had only been there a week or so, and trying to work cows on my paint horse, Stormy, just wasn't working too well. She was a Standardbred, and they were good for riding and going fast, like if you want to race through a group of mounted Girl Scouts, but not worth beans working cows. Standardbred horses are built for running and jumping, not the intense work of working cows in and around corrals.

At the ranch, I had noticed a horse in the field that never seem to get used, a very muscular horse with a very unusual color. When the sun hit him, his normal bay color shined with a brilliant copper color.

One day, while trying to work cows and calves in the corral on Stormy, the calves kept getting away from me as she just couldn't turn fast enough, and it was obvious that she just wasn't into working cows. The boss kept yelling at me for letting the calves get by, and it made the day very long as it seemed that we had to repeat the work several times. That evening, when I was putting away the horses, I could see the copper-colored horse grazing in the field and finally asked the boss about him.

He lifted his head and told me he was a good horse, no one was riding him as everyone already had their own horse or their favorite, and he was just here as a backup. He then told me, You should try him out.

I thought for a minute and decided, Yeah, I should. When I turned the horses out, I hung all the halters on the fence and walked out to the copper horse. As I neared, he raised his head, and I held out my hand as if I had a treat for him. He slowly put his nose into my hand, and I worked my hand up under his chin, scratching in places that I knew horses liked to be scratched. I then slowly walked around him, brushing him with my hand, checking him out—leg by leg, back, and belly—and worked my way back around to the other side of his neck. I finished by scratching him between his ears and mumbled, How about a little work tomorrow, you and me, what do you say? He looked up at me, and I wasn't sure if he was saying, Yeah, why not, or You think you can handle me?

The next morning, I was out to catch the horses just prior to daybreak. I was excited to try out the copper horse. I caught him along with all the other horses that we would use for the day. I took them back to the tack shed and started brushing and putting saddles on. When I held the bit out for the copper horse, he put his head down and took the bit like a good boy. I had not even sat on him yet, but I was already impressed.

I knew he hadn't been ridden in a while and wanted to do some work with him in the corrals before we headed out into the fields to bring in cattle for the day's work. As soon as I put my foot in the stirrup and swung up on his back, I could see he was looking back at me. I put a little squeeze on him with my legs, and he started moving out. I walked him in some circles in the corral and kicked him up to a trot, after a few laps I decided this was it. I knew most horses, when you brake into a lope, they will either go or decide this is the best time to unload you. With a little squeeze of my legs and a smooch from my lips, he instantly broke into a slow gallop. After about two laps, I suddenly felt him tense up a little and felt he may try something. Instantly, I quickly turned him into a tight circle. I knew from experience that if you distract a horse and start giving them a lot of commands, they will forget about what they were about to do, which was to dump you.

That being said, I wasn't use to or ready for how quick he turned. I made a quick grab for the saddle horn and somehow stayed on board. I then decided that maybe I should see just what was under me. I started doing some figure eights and with each turn, made them tighter and tighter. It was impressive how fast he would respond and how quick he could turn. I was now making circles with him in a space no bigger than the size of my small bedroom and doing this at a lope. I then straightened him out and ran him down the fence line and sitting back in my seat, let out a Whoa and pulled back on the rains. He set up in one stride and sucked his back legs under himself and came to a sliding stop.

As I sat there, giving him a pat on the neck, I heard a noise from behind me. While I was working the copper horse, the rest of the cowboys and cowgirls came out and had been watching me and now were applauding. I slowly walked the horse over to them, and when I stopped in front of the boss, I told him, I want this horse! He chuckled and started walking away, as he did, I followed, I'm serious, what would you want for him? I could see he was thinking as he was climbing onto his own horse and when he mounted, rode up next to me. Knowing I didn't have a penny to my name, he stopped, looked at me, and finally said, "You can