We were back in the same arena where I'd first seen the Stampeders at their practice. But this time it was a different set-up. This was the world of the ropers.
We walked past the calves in their stall, waiting for their turn to run. They were wearing these...things...on their heads. My husband said they were some sort of an ear/horn protector. But I thought they looked funny. I didn't mean to mock the calves, but I couldn't help but laugh at those get ups. Oh well, their ears and horns looked healthy.
"Are these male or female calves? Do the girls have horns?" I asked, honestly not knowing.
"Every girl I know has horns," he replied with a devilish grin. He got a smack on the arm for that one.
The metal bleachers were pulled out, dust and dirt caked onto them. This isn't a spectator sport for people afraid to get a little dirty...it's for real men and women, here. I'd like to think I'm on my way to becoming just that real. I didn't dust it off; I sat. And I'm not sorry.
I had my husband with me this time; my knowledgeable personal commentator. He understands all the cowboy stuff; an invaluable asset of western trivia right under my own roof. He started to instruct me almost as soon as we sat down.
"....have to rope the head first, so he can control the calf and 'aim' it...once he swings it around, the other guy can rope the back hoof."
In team roping, the 'header' is the guy that ropes the head. (That seems obvious enough, but I didn't know it so I thought I'd share). This is also the 'lead horse', or the guy that goes out first. A lot of the horses that do this are pretty high-strung, which is how they'd want them.
"They probably took some of these out of Les Bois", Husband commented, referring to the racing park in Boise.
The 'heeler' is the guy that ropes the back legs, or the heels. This explains why I've heard terms such as 'Champion Header' or 'Champion Heeler'. Now I knew what they were, finally.
They had a laser line to start the timing, just like at the barrel race. When the calf runs out, they're being timed.
Right away I realized that the words a team of ropers least want to hear are the words spoken by the announcer, "No time." Translation: that means they blew it.
The lariats, Husband explained to me are what you'd call 'hard twist'. He said they were about as hard as a cable, and that they need to be that way for accuracy and guiding.
"It's like the difference between a noodle and a football," he said, "You can throw a noodle but it won't do anything."
The ropers wore a thin, tight-looking glove on their roping hand for protection. I imagined that rope could give a rider some mean burns.
We heard the announcer say that there would be a dress code the next day. I'd had one of the cowgirls tell me about this, that the Stampede was very picky about dress code. Button up shirts, hats or no hats at all, etc. If they didn't dress that way when they were told to, they didn't ride.
Sometimes when a team was running out beginning their roping, we'd hear an ugly buzzer go off. Even if a person didn't know exactly what that meant, you could tell from the sound it wasn't good. What it meant, Husband said, was that they 'broke out'; the 'header' broke the barrier before the calf hit a certain spot. The penalty for this was that they got time added on to their final time score. We heard the announcer say, "Five seconds for the barrier."
Bummer.
I also learned that if you were going to rope them, sooner was much better than later. It's no good to chase them halfway across the arena and waste time. Even if they heard that blasted buzzer, the teams kept going in an effort to salvage the run.
Husband pointed out that the 'header' has to move forward, while the 'heeler's' horse has to back up, in order to do what he called 'stretch' out the calf, proof that he is roped. Only when they're 'stretched' do they stop the clock. It looks like this: one front hoof it out front, and one back hoof is out behind them, as if they are laying down.
The 'heeler' has to be ready to throw at any second, not knowing exactly when the 'header' will rope the head. So a lot of times the 'heeler' will leave the gates already swinging his lariat, anticipating that critical moment. Some left the gates swinging, and others didn't swing until the very moment they needed to. It was probably just a personal preference. I also noticed that each roper had a fairly different sized loop, probably also just a preference.
Suddenly an unexpected performance. A rebel calf got loose and ran across the arena, unaccompanied by ropers. Oops.
I looked over at the rest of the calves. They looked a lot alike, they even appeared to be all exactly the same size. I guessed that there must be some specification that calls for them to all be around the same weight.
Over by the gates, there were two 'junior ropers', sitting on the fence, swinging their smaller lariats. I wondered if their dads or big brothers were competing.
The tunes of Brooks and Dunn and other 'true' country musicians were playing. Some of those songs I hadn't heard in twenty years. It took me back in my mind, and sort of relaxed me. I appreciated that.
At one point it was time to 'water and grade' the dirt, in preparation for Round Two. Good. This gave me a chance to people watch. I saw that there were Wranglers on young and old men, and the scuffed-up boots I was told about. (A cowperson said once that if my boots looked too new, I'd get mocked). The women seemed to just wear whatever. A lot of the older women were in polyester pants and orthotic shoes, in it for the comfort. Hey, it was a hot day and those bleachers were hard; I didn't blame them.
Just ahead of us a few bleachers down sat a man with a cowboy hat and a t-shirt. The back of the shirt declared that it was 'Cowboy Brand'. It had a picture of a horse and rider, both drinking from the same clear stream. The caption? Psalms 23:2....'He leadeth me by still waters.' Loved it.
I also enjoyed the ads attached to the metal gates. "Weaver Leather: Ride the Brand", "WRANGLER", "D and B Supply: Western Home and Family Store" and "CACTUS ropes". Real cowboy stuff. Cool.
A cowgirl walked right by about twenty-five calves in their holding pen, in order to get to her horse that was waiting patiently on the other side. She didn't seem to be worried about her toes, which would've been my first concern, she just shooed them away. I realized that I was thinking from my angle, not hers. While I had on some flip-flops, she had on some good-quality and no doubt, scuffed, boots. If she got her toes stepped on, it might be slightly uncomfortable, but not the end of the world.
It was now Round Two. There were a lot of horsemen out in the arena running their horses, warming up both their animals and their arms.
I continued to learn.
If the calf is too close to the 'heeler' and his horse, the calf either has to move, or the 'heeler' has to back up to get room enough to throw the rope out and rope it.
I noticed a cowboy reaching into the calf's holding shoot a bit to get them somewhat riled up enough to run; it being no good if the gate opens and they just mosey on out of there, fat and happy. To do this, he often messed with the calf's tail, twirling it around. Most calves aren't used to being messed with like that, and it made them want to avoid the disturbance, which made them go running out of the gate. This was, I realized, similar to giving a puppy or a kitten a play toy and having them get feisty about it, in an effort to help them recreate and get their energy out in a controlled manner. It was effective.
The announcer was talking faster and faster, announcing names and their order of competing at record speed.
"She's pushing them through," my husband commented. I'll bet she was; she said they'd had fifty-eight teams out of one-hundred-and-thirty-three returning from the First Round. They needed to move right along, some of these people didn't want to be there till midnight. The first team would barely be finished before the next team was called. We had a schedule to keep.
One bit of added excitement; a calf got kind of testy and decided to attack one of the roper's horses. He almost got the better of him for a minute there, too. Reminded me of some small dogs I know that don't understand that it's better to pick on other animals their own size, or not at all. They underestimate their power.
Over and over again I heard those dreaded words, "No time." A ride wasted.
It occurred to me that a lot of these riders and the announcers probably knew each other pretty well. Even with my limited western experience, I was running into the same people over and over again, at various places. I'm not complaining, mind you, they are great folks. I just imagined that to say the words, "No time" with as little emotion as can be mustered might have been difficult. I'm sure that the announcer didn't feel neutral about it; these were most likely some of her friends or even family. That would be hard for a person to have to do.
As as sign of the times, it was interesting to note that one of the cowboys helping to twirl the tails of the calves at the gate was on his cell phone off and on a lot. Another roper was actually smoking a cigar as he competed. I thought I was seeing things, but I was not. He had a big old stogy stuck between his lips. He was also wearing a cell phone on his belt, as were a lot of the riders. Modern technology has caught up with the West, and it probably has been that way for quite a while.
I liked watching the roping. It got my heart rate up.
I would definitely go again.
It was getting late, and we needed to get home in order to sleep and prepare for the next busy day. As we were walking out, I once more heard the familiar echo of the words:
"No time...."
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