to find vast open spaces, and Wyoming, the least populated state in

Welcome to
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Au t hor C r a ig Joh n s on r e v e a l s w h at m a de h i m fa ll
i n l ov e w i t h h i s a d op t e d hom e s tat e — a n d w h y h e
s e t h i s Wa lt L ongm i r e s e r i e s t h e r e , e v e n t hough
t h e big hor n s h e e p ou t n u m be r t h e c r i m i n a l s .
By Craig Johnson
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here is a longing within the human spirit
to find vast open spaces, and Wyoming, the least
populated state in America, is a spectacular place
to go to find them and to get away from everything — with
the possible exception of oneself.
I found myself in my tiny part of Wyoming when I was
in my 20s delivering horses for a rancher out of Montana. A
guy from Oklahoma City was supposed to meet me in Ucross
(population 25) to pick up the stock, but when I arrived he
hadn’t, so I went over to the only payphone in town, which
was hanging on the wall outside the only bar, and called the
rancher I was working for to explain; he said that the fella
would be there any time now — that he hadn’t left yet.
“From Oklahoma City?”
“Well, just unload the horses into the public corral, go get
some idiot bales (70 pounders), and bucket water from Clear
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Creek to fill up that bathtub they use as a horse trough.”
Covering my face with my hand, I leaned against the wall.
“That’s all fine and well for the horses, but what about me?”
“You’ll find something to do till he gets there — it’s baling
season and I’m sure the local ranchers can use some help.”
There was a pause. “And, Craig, they’ve got a bar.”
So, for a couple of days, under the clear skies and brilliant
Wyoming sun, I bucked bales for those ranchers and sweated
bullets for their cowboys; in turn, they spotted me dinners
and more Rainier Beer than I could drink at the U-Turn Inn,
a converted Texaco service station that was owned by a crotchety old big-game hunter by the name of Buck Bader.
Nights on the top of the horse trailer with a saddle for a
pillow and an old wool blanket for cover, I listened to the high
plains wind scouring the blue sage and cottonwood trees, and
slept under what the Northern Cheyenne call the Hanging
Road, the thick belt of the Milky Way that stretches like a hammock of stars from horizon to horizon. I didn’t know it at the
time, but the ever-present Wyoming wind was also scouring me,
hollowing a place where I could live for the rest of my life.
The Oklahoman showed up on Day 3, whereupon I loaded
the horses for him and he departed to points south. It took
me 15 years to get back to Wyoming, but when I did, I bought
some land and started pouring concrete and stacking logs in
an attempt to make that place my own; instead, I think, this
tiny part of the Western world made me me.
I fell in love with the sublime beauty of the high plains and
the secluded majesty of the forgotten Bighorn Mountains;
forgotten because most of the world is in such a hurry to get
from the Black Hills over to Yellowstone that they don’t make
time to explore our magnificent part of the country.
They do remember driving through, though. I get cards,
letters, and e-mails from people who read the books and
watch Longmire, the television show that is based on my novels,
people who tell me about a trip they made in the back of
their parents’ ’63 Plymouth station wagon; they only passed
through once, but they never forgot us — or this place.
A lot of the time, I get asked why it is I didn’t set the Walt
Longmire book series and consequently the A&E television
show in an actual Wyoming county rather than in the fictitious Absaroka (mispronounced ab-sa-RO-ka) — after all, I
just have to look out any window to see the sheriff ’s world.
I thought, however, that if I pulled a Faulkner and made up
my own kind of Yoknapatawpha County, I could make this
place emblematic of the rural West and maybe of rural areas
all over the world.
With Wyoming having one of the lowest crime rates in
the country, though, I was stretching it by setting a murder
Cowb oys & I ndians

The Longmire Loop
C r a ig Joh n s on ta k e s us on a t ou r of t h e t ow n s a n d W yom i ng
w i lde r n e s s t h at i n s pi r e d h i s f ic t ion a l A b sa rok a C ou n t y.
A
bsaroka County may not exist, but
if you take what I like to refer to
as the Longmire Loop, you will get a real
sense of Walt Longmire’s world.
Start your tour in Buffalo, the model
I used for Absaroka County’s fictitious
seat, and spend the night at the lovingly
restored Occidental Hotel (www.occidentalwyoming.com). Have the usual at
the Busy Bee Cafe on Main Street, and
then mosey up the steps past the courthouse to the old Carnegie Library, the
model for Sheriff Walt Longmire’s office that now houses the Jim Gatchell
Memorial Museum (www.jimgatchell.
com). From Buffalo you can thread
your way out to the Ucross Foundation (www.ucrossfoundation.org) and
take in the gallery at the Big Red Barn
or catch a trail ride at The Ranch at
Ucross (www.blairhotels.com).
Traveling northwest to Sheridan County, lunch at the Big Horn Smokehouse &
Saloon (www.bighornsmokehouse.com)
and then visit the The Brinton Museum
(www.bbmandm.org), home of a grand
collection of Western art both classic and
modern. Hit Sheridan proper 15 miles
farther north and stop at the Kendrick
Mansion (www.trailend.org), built by the
orphaned cowboy who became a U.S.
senator and Wyoming governor. Then
make your way to King’s Saddlery (www.
kingssaddlery.com), where you’ll be enthralled by the family’s Don King Museum
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of cowboy memorabilia and can try your
hand at roping a few plastic dogies.
Across the street, wet your whistle
at The Mint Bar (www.themintbarinsheridan.com), and then meander down
Main Street taking in the shops, including the Bucking Buffalo Supply Company (owned by my wife) where you
can pick up a signed copy of one of the
Walt Longmire novels along with cowboy
and Indian art, crafts, and clothes.
Follow Route 14A west to Eatons’
Ranch (www.eatonsranch.com) or the
Bear Lodge Resort (www.bearlodgeresort.com) for a stay in the Bighorn
Mountains. Continue on to the Medicine Wheel National Historic Landmark (www.wyomingtourism.org), an intricate prehistoric circle of stones that is
sacred to the surrounding tribes. Retrace
your path back to the fork of Route 14
and then down the chute south into Shell
Canyon and then west into the town of
Greybull, where you might even see Wilford Brimley shopping for a new hat at
Probst Cowboy Clothier (www.probstwesternstore.com).
Continuing south through Basin, take
a right on Route 31 at Manderson to
cool your feet in the Bighorn River, and
then continue east to the Medicine Lodge
State Archeological Site with its petroglyphs and pictographs on the cliff walls.
Head south on the Hyattville Road
to the town of Ten Sleep, named for the
10 sleeps it took the Indians to get to
each of the main winter camps from the
Platte River near Casper in the south to
Bridger, Montana, in the north. Grab
a cup of coffee at the 2nd Street Bakery and then look for my buddy Jalan
Crossland, the finest mandolin player
in Wyoming and arguably the world, or
any of the other musical luminaries that
perform at the Ten Sleep Saloon.
Continue back up the mountain on
Route 16 through the switchbacks of red
rock in Ten Sleep Canyon, past Meadowlark Lake, and maybe make the hike up
to High Park Lookout. From there, it’s
over Powder River Pass and back down to
South Fork Mountain Lodge in Buffalo
(www.southfork-lodge.com) for rest and
relaxation next to the fireplace in one of
their creek-side log cabins and the finest
dinner up the mountain, as the locals say.
One of my favorite spots is the nearby Cloud Peak Wilderness, with nearly
12,000-foot snow-capped peaks and
189,000 acres of protected lands. Drop
a line in the icy waters of Crazy Woman
Creek and tempt the trout (be sure to acquire a Wyoming fishing license). They’re
wily, those trout, so don’t feel bad if
you strike out. You can always finish the
Longmire Loop at the Winchester Steak
House in Buffalo (www.thewinchestersteakhouse.com), order up the trout if it’s
on special, and pretend that it’s the one
that got away.
— C.J.
mystery series here, but the beauty of
the landscape and the friendliness and
diversity of the people were ultimately
more important than probability. I mean,
where else can you have world-class
PRCA rodeos, museums, a Basque festival that includes The Running of the
Sheep and, within shouting distance just
a little north, the Little Bighorn and the
powwows of the Crow and Cheyenne
reservations. Besides, I wasn’t writing a
documentary.
My ranch is near Ucross, just around
the bend from the spot where I had enjoyed the view from the top of the horse
trailer, at the point where Clear and Piney
Creeks co-join in their trek from the Bighorn Mountains to the Powder River in
the middle of the territory that, in 1939,
could have become the separate state of
Absaroka (pronounced ab-SOR-ka), the
Crow word for children of the long-beaked bird.
Sheridan street-commissioner A.R.
Swickard proclaimed himself the governor
of the breakaway state that would encompass not only northern Wyoming from
the eastern border to Yellowstone, but the
Black Hills portion of South Dakota and
the Crow and Cheyenne reservations in
Montana. Tired of tax dollars being distributed in the southern part of the state
along Union Pacific lines and unhappy
with the federal government’s ownership
of 47 percent of the land, Swickard and
the other rebels of the secessionist movement pressed license plates and even went
so far as to crown a Miss Absaroka.
Swept away by the groundswell of
World War II, the Absaroka movement
fell along the wayside, but the allure of
escape still permeates the region today.
Which may be why I base my novels in
the fictitious county of Absaroka rather
than a real county in northern Wyoming;
I’m trying to keep a little secret. After
all — all I have to do is feel that everpresent Wyoming wind and look out at
the landscape that remade me to see Walt
Longmire’s world.
Season 3 of Longmire will premiere on A&E
at the end of May.
THE LATEST BOOK
W
hen Absaroka County Sheriff Walt Longmire is called
in to investigate the suicide of a fellow officer, he discovers an underlying
mystery involving a series of disappearing women. Thankfully, if you’re
a member of the Longmire TV posse,
you won’t have to worry about picking
up the threads from Craig Johnson’s
other novels to follow the story in Any
Other Name (Viking, 2014)
Henry Standing Bear, Deputy
“Vic” Moretti, and crew are along for
the ride to keep Walt out of trouble
(as if that’s even possible) while he
waits — spoiler alert — for the birth
of his first grandchild. The tense pacing and high-stakes action don’t disappoint in this perfect summer read.
— Steven Phelps
D
THIRD ANNUAL
LONGMIRE DAYS
uring the weekend of July
18 – 20, the stars of A&E’s
Longmire will be back in Buffalo, Wyoming, to turn the town into the fictional burg of Durant in honor of
the popular TV show. Craig Johnson is heavily involved in the event:
He says there’ll be a street dance,
trail rides, a softball game, a golf
tournament, skeet shooting, a motorcycle poker run, and a Northern
Cheyenne powwow. Get travel info
and find schedule updates closer to
the event at www.buffalowyo.com.
Cowb oys & I ndians
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wyoming Luxury
A Weekend at Brush Creek
A b ou t iqu e r a nc h i n Sa r at o ga , W yom i ng, pac k s fo od
a n d ple n t y of f u n i n t o gu e s t s ’ da i ly i t i n e r a r i e s .
By Hunter Hauk
a
bout four-and-a-half hours south of
Craig Johnson’s Bighorn Mountain stomping
grounds (and about four hours north of Denver)
is yet another Wyoming wilderness: Medicine Bow National
Forest. Named in recognition of the healing powers of ceremonial Native American bows, which were crafted from regional mountain mahogany, the forest contains portions of
numerous mountain ranges, 10 designated Wilderness areas,
and two ski areas (Steamboat Springs and Snowy Range),
and stretches from just south of Interstate 80 to the Colorado state line in southeastern Wyoming.
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On the northwestern edge of the forest sits The Lodge &
Spa at Brush Creek Ranch, an all-inclusive boutique resort in
Saratoga, Wyoming. Adventurers have a healthy slate of options: Daily activities range from time-tested pursuits (fishing, riding, hiking, shooting) to more modern fun (paintball,
mountain biking, scenic Ranger vehicle tours). And then
there’s the food — a mix of elegant buffets, locally sourced
chef ’s plates, and good, old-fashioned cookouts.
I’d imagine every guest leaves Brush Creek holding on to a
unique set of memories. Thanks to a well-tended travel journal, here are a few of mine from a recent weekend adventure.
Friday, 2 p.m. After hitting the road in
Denver a couple of hours ago, we pass
the rodeo-centric town of Laramie just
as we begin to make our way through
mountainous terrain. Seemingly on cue,
a local radio station does its daily broadcast of the National Anthem (to honor
those who’ve served). Hearing that anthem while looking out at this scenery
highlights the majesty of it all.
Patty talks about what she calls minimiracles that take place here every day. I’ve
experienced one. On yesterday’s hike with
a couple of college-age ranch hands, we arrived in the ranch’s artists’ residence area
and came upon an old-fashioned schoolhouse to find one of the visiting musicians
composing a tune on the piano. He played
for us as we looked around. I felt like I was
in a church on the prairie in the 1800s.
Friday, 4:30 p.m. I check in at the front office and am already in love with the view
from the main compound — a line of
peaks in the distance and groups of horses grazing and running free on the grass
below. I’m greeted by one of the fluffy,
laid-back ranch dogs just before I set my
things down in my cabin. There’s not
much time to take in the rustic décor and
extra-large, quilt-covered bed. I’m due for
a sign-up session down at the activities
center, where one of many ranch staff
members will help me put together my
two-day slate. Boots on; let’s go.
Saturday 3:30 p.m. I join an archery group
for the afternoon activity, but after a
brief hatchet- and tomahawk-throwing
jaunt, we start making our way across a
shallow river in two sets of Rangers. Ours
leads the way; resident archery expert Clint
(whose accent revealed his North Carolina
roots) drives us through it fine. The group
behind us isn’t so lucky. When we double
back to discover them stuck in the middle
of the river, Clint takes matters into his
own hands. He manages to get their Ranger back to shore with a little pushing and
some rock-moving. It is an unexpected adventure that, truth be told, I enjoy as much
or more than shooting arrows.
After everyone is out of the water, I
have a little time to walk over to the onsite horse training arena. The staff members there are busy getting a couple of
horses prepped for a carriage ride in that
night’s wedding at the ranch, but they are
nice enough to show me around. I even
meet some mini-horses, kept company by
a couple of calves. The black-and-white
calf, Oreo, keeps trying to eat my jeans.
Friday, 6 p.m. After an introductory hike, I
head to the camp dinner by the creek. It’s
a lively affair — cowboy band, big community tables, buffet-style servings of grilled
salmon, prime rib, and chicken, with foil
packets of cheesy home fries, salad, and
roasted corn on the cob. I have the beef
with added juice and creamy horseradish sauce. Delicious. With a full belly and
tired feet, I hit the hay.
Saturday, 10:45 a.m. My morning hike is
challenging, but the scenery is the reward,
as is the conversation with my guide,
Patty, who leads these expeditions when
she’s not teaching yoga or doing the occasional massage appointment at the spa.
She takes me up hills, through sections
of forest, and down rock-studded trails.
Among the many things we chat about
are the bison on the ranch. They’re kept
in a gated pasture and are nearly impossible to wrangle when they manage to escape the fences. They seem to be a big
source of excitement for the folks who
take the Ranger vehicle tours.
Saturday, 7 p.m. At tonight’s sit-down dinner on a large dining patio with mountain
views, I meet some guys who are here
solely for the fly-fishing. At the other end
of the table are two mother-daughter duos
on a sabbatical from the stresses of their
everyday lives. Somewhere else on the
property the wedding guests are gathered.
Looking around, I see no clenched faces;
no one is in a hurry (that they don’t want
to be in, at least). Places like this provide a
much needed respite and natural food for
the soul, I suppose. I’ll be sad to pack up
and head home in the morning.
Cowb oys & I ndians
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wyoming Adventure
postcards from yellowstone
A n i m a l s d o bat t le , ge y s e r s t h r i ll , a n d t h e t ow n of C ody c om e s
a li v e on a n e pic t r i p t h rough nort h w e s t W yom i ng.
By Bradford Pearson
l
arry spotted it first, and jerked the
wheel to the side of the road.
We were crossing a broad, glacier-carved riverbed when he saw the moose. Lanky but strong, it stood
on the side of the small river, its
legs hidden by tall grass.
“Woo boy this is exciting,”
our guide said. “You don’t see
too many moose in the park.”
Within a minute we noticed its calf, not more than a
few days old, standing in the
grass. Beagle-size with T-ballbat legs, it wobbled next to
its mother, unsteady in its new world. As the mother
nudged the calf toward the water, the grass behind
them began to sway. The dark and light sides of the
blades alternated, and a form came into focus.
“Is that ... ,” Larry asked.
“A bear,” I responded.
The bear lunged, and the moose leapt in front,
lowering its head. The confused calf looked on, unaware of the Yellowstone
food chain. Back and forth
they went, one trying to outmaneuver the other. Eventually, the bear gave up.
Exhausted and hungry, the
bear grouched away, beginning its slow half-mile slink
back to the woods. It was nature at its most raw, and it was
dire and it was necessary and it was beautiful.
The cow watched until the bear entered the line
of trees, then nudged the calf back toward the river.
Swimming lessons were delayed, not cancelled.
y
ellowstone National Park is, really, about
2,346 national parks rolled into one. There’s the
mountains one, the geysers one, the limestone cliffs
one, the “Am I actually in the Serengeti?” one, and, of course,
the 2,341 (approximately) other ones. To attempt to see them
all, in one week, is a foolish venture. So
that, of course, is what I tried to do.
Before even entering the park, it’s clear
that the experience will be one of divergences and dichotomies. On the plane
ride into Cody, Wyoming, one side of the
flight is treated to craggy, jutting peaks,
capped with powder. The other side sees
amorphous blobs of flat plains, with occasional zig-zags of melting snow.
The first creature I meet once inside
Yellowstone is a bison. Shaggy and still
shedding its winter coat, it’s larger than
the Kia Rio pulled alongside the road.
Its broad shoulders would barely fit
through most sets of French doors, and
it is the most American thing I have ever
seen. Pushed to extinction, the bison
fought and clawed its way back, nearly
to the point of ubiquity. Everywhere in
Yellowstone, fields fill with hundreds of
them; they’re the Starbucks of northwest
Wyoming. It’s a shame, actually, how
jaded one can get in less than a week.
“Oh, there’s another bison,” I’d say dismissively, looking past them for the next
best thing. There were bears to look for!
And moose! And maybe even a lynx!
A quick rundown of most every animal I saw in Yellowstone: bison, moose,
yellow-bellied marmot, mountain goat,
elk, mule deer, grizzly bear, black bear,
ground squirrels, pronghorn antelope. I
watched a grizzly bear eat the carcass of
a bison, then chase off a black bear that
tried to horn in on the snack. I prayed for
a Grizzly vs. Black fight; it didn’t materialize, but I think I have a decent spec script
now for a SciFi made-for-TV movie.
r
oughly 50 percent of
all the geysers in the world
are found in Yellowstone, and the geothermal activity that produces them crops up intensely across the park. The
ground lurches and bellows, pocking the sky with an intense
smell of sulfur. In some spots acres of mud fizz, and in others
turquoise and pink ponds, the depths never explored because
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the water is literally boiling. And yes, in other places it means water
shooting 200 feet into the sky, as Austrians and Floridians snap
photos with their iPhones and upload them to Facebook.
Old Faithful is impressive, but to focus on one small aspect of the
geothermal laser-light show that is Yellowstone is to miss the point
altogether. Millions of years of tectonic
shifts have conspired to create a pocket on
Earth that is unlike anything else on the
planet, and you’re allowed to walk around
and see it all, provided you can afford the
paltry $25-per-vehicle entry fee.
I spent much of my time in Yellowstone wondering what it was like to
be the first European American there,
to step out of the forest and see water shoot 20 stories into the sky. That
man, John Colter, described it as fire and
brimstone, to which I would add another
word: magic. The park rangers and tour
guides explained the science, but all I
could think about was that underneath
us all was a super-volcano that could
end life on Earth if it decided to. That
it chose not to, that it instead chose to
awe fanny-packed tourists and inspire
thousands of fifth-graders science fair
projects? Magic.
t
he rooms are not airconditioned at the Lake Yellowstone Hotel, which isn’t
a problem. Guests are invited to throw
up the sashes of nearly 125-year-old
windows, and let the lake cool them.
I opened my windows, cracked a
beer, and put my boots up on the sill.
The water glides up about 50 feet from
the hotel, and as the sun began to set the
light reflected off the nearby Absaroka
Mountains, still piled with snow. The
lake had only thawed three weeks before,
and it was cool and crisp and clear.
Later in the evening, I walked along
the shore. Eventually the moon rose,
and I wandered out into the darkness,
wolves be damned. The lake had glassed
over, and the stars hung bright and low,
fuller than I’d ever seen. I slowly made my way back to the hotel,
turned out the lights, and looked at the sky one more time.
A few miles away, Old Faithful was preparing for its ascent, a
moose was giving birth, and a grizzly bear was looking for a
meal. But in that moment, all I could think of were those stars.
Cowb oys & I ndians
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CODY, WYOMING
W i lli a m F. “ Bu f fa l o Bi ll” C ody fou n de d t h i s
e p on y mous t ow n w i t h t h e e x pr e s s pu r p o s e of
s e rv i ng Y e ll ow s t on e v i s i t or s . H e r e ’ s w h at t h e
t ow n of f e r s t h e m t h e s e day s .
Art & Culture
Two of the best museums in the United States are located in and around
Cody: the Buffalo Bill Center of the
West (centerofthewest.org) and the
Heart Mountain Interpretative Center (www.heartmountain.org). At the
former, spend hours drifting between
exhibits on ecology, Native Americans,
and the art of the American West (not
to mention a collection of nearly 5,000
American-made firearms). At the latter, be stunned and saddened that the
American government once interned
thousands of its own Japanese-Ameri
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can citizens at the base of a mountain
in Wyoming during World War II. The
center was developed by former internees and their children; you will likely
cry, like I did.
Music & Rodeo
Before my trip, I wouldn’t have expressed
much interest in attending what was
billed as a “cowboy music revue.” This
wasn’t country music, our Cody host explained, but cowboy music. Failing to see
the difference, I skeptically headed into
Dan Miller’s Cowboy Music Revue
(www.cowboymusicrevue.com). But ...
it was just delightful. These are proud
Wyomians, showing guests what’s
great about their state. I left smiling,
and surprised.
During the summer, head to the Cody
Nite Rodeo (www.codynightrodeo.com)
on the outskirts of town. It runs every
night in June, July, and August, and will
make you want to get an American flag
tattooed across your heart.
Food & Lodging
At one point during my five-day trip,
I ate buffalo for four straight meals.
There were buffalo burgers, buffalo
bratwursts, buffalo hashes, and buffalo
jerkies, usually served within earshot
of a stuffed buffalo head. At Wyoming’s Rib & Chop House (www.ribandchophouse.com), I tried the buffalo rib-eye, medium rare. You, too,
will enjoy this unique cut, and wonder
why you can’t just leave all your clothes
in Wyoming and load your suitcase full
of steak. (The restaurant also sells a
locally sourced yak burger, in case you
want to have something strange to brag
to your friends about.)
Here’s what you should drink at any
given watering hole: Wyoming Whiskey bourbon (www.wyomingwhiskey.
com). In a glass, with a few cubes of
ice. That’s it. (And also a lot of water;
it helps the body adapt to the elevation. But then you should get back to
the bourbon.)
The Ivy Inn (www.bestwesternwyoming.com) is the newest hotel in Cody,
a Best Western Premier location near
the Buffalo Bill Center of the West.
The rooms are spacious and tasteful,
with all the amenities of a more urban
hotel. But, honestly, you should make
your way out to the newly renovated
Lake Yellowstone Hotel (open May
16 – October 5, www.yellowstonenationalparklodges.com) in the national
park itself, and spend a quiet evening
just looking up into the star-filled sky.
—B.P.
Cowb oys & I ndians
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wyoming Tradition
lights of cheyenne
T h e W e s t i s s t i ll w i ld i n W yom i ng ’ s ca pi ta l c i t y.
By Ramona Flume
Aside from July’s influx of rough and tumble rodeo contestants (an annual tradition since 1897), Cheyenne has attracted
steel-willed trailblazers for generations — people who yearn for
wide-open spaces and the freedom that comes with living amid
a rugged American frontier. Today, the city boasts a vibrant appeal that pays homage to the hallmarks of its Wild West past,
from up-and-coming craft breweries housed within century-old
saloons to boutique hotels once frequented by the country’s
wealthiest cattle barons. Here’s a guide to what to see and do in
the Magic City of the Plains.
Roam the Range
Wyoming is one of the few “open range” states left in the
union, and follows an Old West decree that states any rancher or
landowner bothered by a neighbor’s wandering cattle or horses
must build his own fence to resolve the issue. Here, the freedom
to roam reigns supreme.
Want to experience that freedom for yourself ? A variety of
state parks and national forests are located a short drive from
downtown. Half an hour west is the Vedauwoo Recreation
Area (pronounced vee-da-voo, it’s part of the Medicine BowRouett National Forest), where you can hike, mountain bike,
rock climb, fish, and go horseback riding. Or head to a local
dude ranch, like the Bit-O-Wyo Ranch (www.bitowyoranch.
com), which offers guided trail rides throughout hundreds of
acres of undulating hills and valleys without a fence in sight.
“t
hat boy is tougher than John
Wayne’s boots!” the rodeo announcer
exclaims as cheers erupt throughout the
15,000-seat stadium. I am one of thousands of spectators
at the opening day of Cheyenne’s Frontier Days — known as
“The Daddy of ’em All,” it’s the largest outdoor rodeo in the
world — and the announcer is on a roll.
“Ooowee, that’s no Bufford, folks! He’s pulled himself a real
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arm jerker!” It’s midway through the steer wrestling competition,
and, one by one, the contestants are launching themselves from
their racing horses and onto the backs of careening steers in the
hopes of wrestling them to the ground. The announcer’s oratory élan rises to match the excitement in the grandstands, as he
rattles off spirited play-by-plays in a colorful cowboy shorthand
I can only halfway comprehend. There is no doubt: The West is
alive and wild here in the capital of Wyoming.
Discover Downtown
Cheyenne was once the world’s wealthiest city per capita in the
1880s, with cattle barons re-headquartering their operations because of the region’s lush, abundant grass. The newly extended
railroad provided an injection of fine goods and culture, from
art and architecture to opera houses, into Wyoming’s wide open.
Today the city, while thriving, is a humble echo of that grand
past, but the downtown Rainsford District still showcases
Cheyenne’s most impressive historic structures, like The Plains
Hotel (www.theplainshotel.com), where cowboys in the early
1900s would check in after a long night at the saloon, bringing
their horses with them into their rooms to deter any late-night
thieves. Nowadays horses aren’t allowed inside Cheyenne’s oldest hotel, but extensive renovations have preserved the original
beauty of the 103-year-old establishment, from the marble
stairwells to the authentic Molesworth furniture.
Daily summer Trolley Tours (www.cheyennetrolley.com)
transport visitors around the town’s other various landmarks, letting riders get off at scheduled points from the Capitol building
to Holiday Park. Be sure to hop off and explore Cheyenne’s historic retailers, like The Wrangler, which boasts the best cowboy
hats, boots and pearl snaps in the state, and Cowgirls of the West
Museum & Emporium (www.cowgirlsofthewestmuseum.com),
whose equine-inspired regalia and vintage Wild West memorabilia can be used to accessorize any Western wardrobe.
Cowb oys & I ndians
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Maximize the Main Event
The world’s largest outdoor rodeo is Cheyenne Frontier Days’
main attraction, but there’s much more to this historic celebration of Wild West culture (www.cfdrodeo.com). Here are some
of the best ways to experience the 10-day event, July 18 – 27:
On July 18 at 7:45 a.m., Frontier Days kicks off with a historic, 4-mile cattle drive of 550 head of Corriente steers, from their
pasture north of town to the chutes of Frontier Park stadium.
Take a free “Behind the Chutes” tour (Old West Museum,
4610 N. Carey Ave.) to get up close and personal with the rodeo’s 4,500 animals “backstage” in the arena’s holding pens.
Don’t miss the downtown Grand Parades and free Pancake
Breakfasts (which fed more than 30,000 people last year) held
on alternate mornings of the celebration. Or attend a Cowboy
Church Service, presented by the Fellowship of Christian Cowboys, daily at 9 a.m. in the B Stand bleachers.
Explore Frontier Park’s various attractions, including a Native American Village showcasing the crafts and culture of the
Shoshone and Northern Arapaho tribes, a midway carnival,
square dancing halls, saloons, and Old Frontier Town, where
visitors can browse period Western wares and handcrafted turquoise and leather goods.
After the day’s official events, stick around for high-energy
nighttime entertainment, from wild horse races and championship bull riding to sold-out musical performances from headliners like Brad Paisley and Jason Aldean.
Head to Gunslinger Square (W. 15th and Pioneer Avenue)
every day at high noon to catch Wild West reenactments presented by the Cheyenne Gunslingers.
Enjoy a Bite and a Brew
There’s no shortage of red meat in Cheyenne, from rib-eyes to
Rocky Mountain oysters, but the Morris House Bistro (www.
morrishousebistro.com) provides an exceptional change of pace
with mouthwatering Low-Country cuisine. Other eclectic options
include Suite 1901, a chic Art Deco martini and tapas bar, or The
Bunkhouse, a classic cowboy dive with hitching posts for horses.
The local craft brewery scene, however, might be the city’s
most popular after-hours option. Sample a flight of seasonal
brews at Freedom’s Edge Brewing Co. (www.freedomsedgebrewing.com), which recently moved from its former home in
an old Victorian to a warehouse around the corner, where the
beer is brewed on-site. Or head to the historic Cheyenne Union
Pacific Depot, where Shadows Pub & Grill (www.shadowspubandgrill.com) now occupies the East wing. In 1940, Ernest
Hemingway — yet another intrepid American and Western aficionado drawn to Wyoming’s Great Plains — celebrated here in
what used to be the depot’s dining room after marrying the courageous war reporter Martha Gellhorn in downtown Cheyenne.
A reporter called the marriage “a pairing of flint and steel,”
which seems apropos, considering the same could be said of
the majority of Cheyenne’s fiery residents and visiting admirers.
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Cowb oys & I ndians
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