Bio: Wrangler, 1983. Descriptor: A young cowboy from Mississippi who wanted to ride bulls needed income, so he worked at White Grass for Curley, the Head Wrangle.
William’s Story: The next best thing to Heaven, or a Mississippi boy goes west. The ending of summer 1982 was a hard time for me. I want to talk about it’s beginning first. I had come to Jackson Hole to ride broncs that summer. Wanting to find a job to offset my rodeo income or the income out go, I ended up at White Grass. I had asked one of the Jackson gunfighters where I might find a job. Promptly he told me about White Grass. “Look” he said, “it’s a rowdy bunch up there. Most cowboys don’t want to work up there. Bosses are hell, living conditions poor, all a bunch of drunks. Most other ranches have all their hands by now and if you want to work for peanuts try White Grass. I did and enjoyed the best summer of my now 53 year old life. I guess coming from a true cowboy family, nothing seemed bad about the place. I grew up with my dad drinking beer and now I had Curley drinking Matingly More. All else was just like at home, except the freezing temps in June and fencing. Curley had been shy about hiring me. Said, “You can’t work here and Rodeo. You will end up getting hurt just when I need you.” After begging and pleading my case, Rick spoke up and reminded Curley that the Ranch needed couple more wranglers. “Ok”, giving in, “your hired, lets have a drink” said Curley. My kind of boss from the get go. My first assignment was fixing fence. I was ok with that, I had fixed my share of fence, and thought I knew all the tricks. How mistaken I was. I was a flat lander where fences are straight mile long runs with 5 strands of wire and a creosote post every 10 feet. Never occurred to me that the only place around White Grass that one could find a straight mile was to look directly straight up over your head. Anyway, I inquired as to where the work truck was and where were the fencing supplies. Howls of laughter was my response. Come to find out that my truck was a choice of either of 2 jackasses, Nip or Tuck. That day I met Nip, and it was mine and his last fencing exploration. You will not believe the exploring I did. I Iooked for the fence stretcher that fell out of the panniers when he shied from the chizzler. I explored the brush for the fencing pliers that fell out when Nip jumped in the brush pile to get away from the branch that had hold of his tail. I chased the roll of wire down the side of the Tetons that fell out when Nip slipped in some shale on a switchback in the trail. I explored for Nip his self after “Cowboy”, my horse promptly un-assed me from the saddle when that dang moose appeared out of nowhere. All of this was within the first 2 hours, and we had not even gotten to where I was supposed to start repairing the fence. I had better mention that I was supposed to be repairing the fence of the pasture behind Mr. Frank’s house. I never addressed Frank as Mr. Frank but once, yet that’s another story though. Hey it a southern thing. Anyway, I finally found where the fence was down, and down, and down. A strand of wire here a strand there. Fence nailed, no rephrase that, a jumbled mess as I had ever seen. It was no fence. It was wire stretched from a deadfall to a tree. A branch nailed to a tree on one end and sandwiched between 2 boulders. With a wire dallied around a chizzled out section of the boulder leading farther up the Tetons. {A chizzler is a small rodent that burrows in the ground, chizzled here was a groove around a point of the boulder. I have to believe that it would have taken someone a couple of hours to get this groove to hold the wire. In the mountains time and patience are irrelevant.} I had been directed by Curley to fence out, not in. Which led to more laughter. In Mississippi we fence our animals in. We don’t have to fence the elk and moose and bear out. Have you ever tried to fence out an elk or moose or bear with barbed wire? I should have been the “laugher” not the “laughee” on this one. Hell, I’m a greenhorn from Mississippi, what do I know. On this day of fencing I probably fixed, mended, repaired, propped up nailed limbs to trees, dallied to rocks pulled wire from boulders to buried deadmen, to a pocket knife that I drove in a rock crevice just something to hold the wire. I figured I was going back the next day I will reclaim my knife then. Never did go back. Yet, the next day brought another story though. What ever made me think I could even find that section of mayhem was beyond me. But I found something else that day, no not Nip, I found ruggedness, strength, nature in it’s wildness, a world that few are ever allowed to witness. The smell of the Douglass fir, the vista view from my location, allowing me to see Dead Indian Mountain, the Snake River below, I found my straight line of site of 10s of miles with no fences to fence me in. I had found my summer home. A cowboy’s dream job. I was set. Now that I have found this web site I have an audience for a summers worth of memories to share. Will Lloyd.