To mark her 60th birthday year, Christine Colbert traded boutique life in pretty Prestbury for Wyoming’s mountains, a saddle and an authentic cattle drive
‘I blame City Slickers,’ Christine Colbert says, as she explains why she left the gentle green meadows of Cheshire for the prairies, mountains and forests of Wyoming to spend days on horseback rounding up cattle.
‘This adventure has been in my head for decades.
I watched the Billy Crystal film in 1991. For the past 35 years I’ve said: “I’d love to do something like that. I’d love to be a cowgirl for a week.”’
It was a milestone birthday that prompted Christine, who owns Prestbury pre-loved designer fashion boutique Dress Cheshire, to fulfil her cattle-mustering fantasy.
‘I was born in 1966, the Year of the Fire Horse, and realised I needed to start ticking things off my bucket list,’ she says. ‘After a challenging couple of years, I decided
I wanted to do something special every month to mark my 60th birthday. Some things were small, some bigger, such as visiting the Maldives. And the ultimate challenge was to do something I’d always dreamed about but never thought I could – become a cowgirl. I started searching online and discovered the Double Rafter Cattle Drive in Wyoming.
‘I was determined not to do the “dude ranch” thing, where you sleep each night in five-star luxury – I wanted to experience the real thing.
‘Double Rafter is a family-owned ranch in Wyoming with a working beef herd.’
This isn’t a tourist attraction. It’s a genuine cattle operation, and the guest experience is incorporated into the annual cattle movement programme. The herd is moved across different mountain pastures throughout the summer, both to access fresh grazing and to help manage the land.
‘You don’t get special treatment. You’re there to help and the day doesn’t end until the job is done,’ Christine says.
Having booked her dream holiday, Christine packed her boots and set off to the American mid-west. We asked her to keep a diary and share her experiences.
Day 1
Operation cowgirl hat
Temperature: 38°C | Hats purchased: 2 | Cattle moved: 0
Today began with a pilgrimage I’d been planning for months: King’s Saddlery, in Sheridan, Wyoming. Its museum is packed with extraordinary saddles and Western memorabilia and I was in heaven. Naturally I bought a T-shirt, baseball cap, gloves and, crucially, a gel seat saver. I may have been pursuing authenticity, but I’m not daft.
The one thing they didn’t have was a cowboy hat in my size, sending me instead to High Mountain Mercantile for the full treatment. Sizing, shaping, making it wholly my own. I bought two, a practical palm-leaf hat for riding and a beautiful beaver-felt hat for... well, looking fabulous.
Day 2
The big day
Awake since: 3am | Excitement level: Stratospheric
Alice Kerns, who along with her husband, Dana, owns and runs The Double Rafter, collected me in a truck, picking up the other guests along the way. Ranching runs in Alice’s blood right back to the days of the Wild West when, she later tells me, her grandfather lost $60k in a game of poker to none other than Buffalo Bill.
We began with a two-hour horsemanship clinic and were assigned our horses, which is when I met Dandy, a chestnut quarter horse gelding. Calm, sensible, beautiful. I liked him immediately.
I’d expected within half an hour we’d be galloping heroically across the prairie surrounded by cattle, but no, there wasn’t a cow in sight. Our first job was to reach camp.
‘How long?’ I asked innocently. ‘Thirty minutes,’ I was assured by Taylor Kerns, Dana’s son, who was leading the week’s trek.
I would soon discover ‘30 minutes’ is cowboy terminology for absolutely any period between half an hour and any point in the foreseeable future. Seven hours later, we were still riding. On some days we’d only get off our horses for about 20 minutes.
We ate in the saddle, drank in the saddle and spent virtually every waking hour riding.
We trekked through aspen groves, enormous valleys and rocky mountain trails in temperatures approaching 40°C. Then came Rocky Bottom Canyon. We dismounted; I looked down. Good grief. This wasn’t a path. It was a vertical collection of boulders masquerading as one. Dandy, however, calmly studied the rocks and placed one hoof after another with extraordinary precision.
I followed alongside, glad of his temperament and skill. I was falling in love.
Seven hours after setting off, we finally saw camp. I have stayed in some beautiful hotels in my life; I have never been happier to see a row of canvas tipis.
Then I investigated the bathroom facilities: a long-drop toilet inside a tipi. The system was simple. If somebody’s cowboy hat was lying outside, the toilet was occupied. There are moments in life when dignity simply has to leave the building. Or tipi.
Tomorrow, apparently, we were going to find some cows.
Day 3
Where are all the cows?
Hours ridden: 9 | Cows patiently waiting: 0
We headed into the mountains in search of cattle. Before this trip, I’d imagined the cows would be waiting conveniently in a field to be moved. The cows had not received the memo. They were scattered across thousands of acres of mountain. We rode for more than two hours before finding any.
Suddenly, this wasn’t a riding holiday. We were working. Up hills, through timber, around cattle, gathering strays and pushing them towards the main herd.
By now I had acquired a nickname: Miss Perfect, inspired, I believe, by my French manicure, fabulous hat and earlier declaration that my perfect derriere was not designed to sit on a log after a full day in the saddle.
Day 4
The long drop incident
Time: 6am | Dignity: Officially departed
I woke at 4am; the stars were spectacular. Then I realised everyone else was packing. Panic.
I needed to get my bags, put on my boots, apply anti-chafing cream and get to breakfast.
I also desperately needed the loo. I made a strategic decision to hold it. Bad decision.
By the time I ran towards the toilet tipi, my bladder had other ideas. I caught my foot on the zip and fell headfirst across the long-drop toilet. There are sights that cannot be unseen.
I shall leave it there.
Minutes later I appeared at breakfast waving frantically at my new friends, Jade and Tahlia, and bellowing: ‘HAND SANITISER...’ They were practically helpless with laughter. So much for Miss Perfect.
Thankfully, the day itself was glorious; Dandy and I really began working together. We walked, posted (rising trot), loped (cantered) and crossed terrain I’d never have believed I could ride.
That evening we reached our next camp and there, standing like two gleaming monuments to civilisation... PORTALOOS.
I nearly wept.
Day 5
Miss Perfect becomes a wrangler
Tipi status: Leaking | Weather: Biblical | Outfit: Fabulous
Wyoming rainfall doesn’t take any prisoners – when it rains, it’s big. Out came the full-length cowboy slicker. Out came the leather chinks (short, fringed leather leg coverings worn by cowboys). There were cheers and high-fives. Miss Perfect had gone full cowgirl. The funny thing was by now I’d realised none of this clothing was fancy dress. My five-inch cowboy hat wasn’t simply for looking fabulous anymore – it was stopping my head being walloped by trees. The chinks protected my legs from branches and scrub. The slicker covered me, the saddle and my bags. My Ariat boots coped with mud and water. My neckerchief protected me from sun and cold. Fashion, it turned out, had finally met practicality.
We rode for 10 hours that day pushing cattle. I had learned the appropriate cowboy calls: ‘HIP HIP’ and occasionally ‘MOVE YOUR ASS, BIG MOMMA.’ And soon lost any embarrassment in bellowing them out.
Somewhere in Wyoming, the woman who spends her working life in a pretty Cheshire village surrounded by designer handbags had disappeared.
Day 6
Screamer Hill
Rain: Relentless | Mud: Everywhere | Fear level: Significant
The rain continued and the mountain trails became rivers of mud. At one steep section, we had to dismount and let the horses negotiate the bank without us. This sounded sensible until Dandy started sliding downhill while I was still trying to hold onto him to secure his reins. There was a brief moment when I wondered which of us was actually in control. Answer: neither. Dandy disappeared down first, remarkably elegantly. I followed considerably less so, sliding through the mud behind him. By the time I reached the bottom, my boots had completely vanished beneath several inches of Wyoming mud.
Then came Screamer Hill. I assumed this was a charming local name. It wasn’t. For around 40 minutes we descended behind hundreds of cattle. It was terrifying. I understood the name.
That evening, around the campfire, one of the wranglers played guitar and fiddle. I was wet, filthy, exhausted and extraordinarily happy.
Day 7
‘Just a few strays’
Expected riding time: 2 hours Actual riding time: 7 hours
Cattle found: 200+ | Catastrophic error: Seat saver left at camp
Our final morning and we had two choices: a gentle trail ride around camp or a fast ride with Taylor to find the remaining strays. Obviously,
I chose the strays. I was a cowgirl now.
‘It’ll only be a couple of hours,’ I thought.
Seven hours later, having rounded up more than 200 cattle, I reflected upon this decision.
We were also running late. Very late. The solution? Lope back to camp for nearly an hour. My bladder finally surrendered. There was absolutely nothing I could do, so I laughed.
Miss Perfect was long gone. In her place was a dusty, bruised, slightly incontinent woman galloping across Wyoming having the time of her life. And I wouldn’t have swapped places with anyone.
Some journeys change the places you’ve been. Others change you. This one had done both.
Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. Because turning 60 has taught me something rather wonderful. There comes a point when you have to stop saying:
‘I’d love to do that one day.’ You buy the boots, you get on the horse and you go..
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