Bryce Angell is a cowboy poet. Angell was raised on a farm/ranch in the St. Anthony, Idaho area with approximately 75 head of horses. Horses remain an important part of Angell’s life.
Angell shares his poetry with Cache Valley Daily every Friday.
The ringer on my telephone went off at 4 am. I crawled out of my sleeping bag
and joined the other men.
I shoveled down one hotcake and two slightly burned fried eggs. While the
younger riders gobbled down enough to fill both legs.
The anxious cowboys saddled up and looked around for me. They threw the
saddle on my horse and cinched it to the tee.
Before we set the seat, one humble cowboy offered prayer. He asked for safety
for us all from the One who lives up there.
We hit the trail at six o’clock, just light enough for some. One cowboy said,
“We’re crazy ‘cuz the rain is sure to come.”
We rode for miles near river’s edge. The trail was mostly flat. But then the trail
turned steeper than the, “Crown of Jasper’s hat.”
The horses climbed at increments, then rested for a while. We’d climbed a
thousand feet on a narrow goat trail’s final mile.
We took a lunch break, up on top, and gave the horses rest. Then contemplated
getting down, which trail would be the best.
A storm was moving in. It looked like rain and hail to boot. So, we chose a trail
that looked like it would be our safest route.
I swear it took us hours to get off the mountainside. One horse and rider took a
roll. Both lost a chunk of hide.
The trail was steep and dusty, yet the horses saved the day. And the rainstorm
didn’t pour just settled dust along the way.
We finally reached the bottom, then the rain began to pour. Each cowboy
donned his slicker that he’d worn from storms before.
Ya gotta stop and wonder ‘bout the cowboy’s humble prayer. Was someone
watching over us? I’d say that’s more than fair.