Hendersonville gal meets a real live East Texas cowboy

It’s 7 a.m. on an overcast morning on the 1,800-acre Texas Ranch Life in the tiny town of Chappell Hill, Texas (pop. 300). But instead of sipping a first cup of coffee, I’m standing 20 feet from a wooden frame to learn the ancient art of tomahawk throwing. The idea is to toss the weapon in a straight line and sink the blade into at least one of three large, heavy stumps suspended from ropes.

I’m here by invitation, along with a group of other writers, so we can experience first-hand life on a working ranch. It’s a long way from my quiet Hendersonville home, and my first time on a Texas dude ranch.

My instructor is Robert Vaughn — professional horse trainer, rodeo rider and authentic, working cowboy whose mother is a full-blooded Cherokee.

At 6-feet, 2-inches he is the proverbial tall, dark and handsome dude who sits straight in the saddle with a pensive gaze toward the horizon. Young female guests often compete for his attention, but he tends to let that roll off his back.

Co-workers and employers say he seldom has much to say. But during my visit I found him personable, funny, open and very smart. I later learn he’s been a fur trapper, a professional skunk hunter and a man who flat out refuses to join the 21st century.

But this morning he is showing me how a proper tomahawk throw is done. He has already pitched a set, striking his target five out of six times.

“Place your hand about an inch from the bottom of the handle with a firm grip, like you are holding a hammer,” he says. “Now step off with your left foot while you raise the handle and throw hard in a straight line. Keep your wrist straight so the handle doesn’t spin. It should only rotate twice before it sticks.”

It is easier said than done. It takes precision, patience and lots of practice.

Vaughn, 26, is one of five full-time employees on the family-owned ranch. Besides tomahawk throws and open range horseback riding, the ranch offers fishing, barn dances, skeet shooting, cowboy camp experience, roping, bird, game and “varmint” hunting, plus a host of other family-friendly Texas-style activities. Corporate events, group outings and weddings are held here.

It’s time to mount and ride a horse, another first for me. These are quarter horses, built for power rather than long distance speed.

I learn that a simple “kiss” sound with a firm (but not too firm) kick will get him moving, and that a “whoa” followed by a pull on the reins, repeated, will make him come to a stop. Turning is a little trickier, as most people tend to lean in one direction or the other instead of using the reins to “steer” the horse right or left.

I have had enough sense to wear jeans but my snowy-white sneakers are all wrong. I should have worn boots. My ankles take a pounding from the metal stirrup clips.

“That’s OK,” says Vaughn. He’s quickly becoming my go-to cowboy buddy. “We’ve had people ride in mini-skirts and high heels, and a group of girls ride in spandex and sports bras. All I could say to that was, ‘You’re gonna get awful sore in the saddle.’”

We set off across fields of clover shadowed by overhanging pecan trees and tall grasses that tempt the horses to slow down and grab a bite. I’m on Rangler, the oldest horse in the group, and he has a tendency to amble along like the grandpa that he is, about 70 in human years.

We pass an open pasture of Longhorn steer with their calves. They ignore us and we ignore them. But it’s thrilling to watch them up close and share the space they inhabit. I’m beginning to get a sense of why ranch life is so appealing. The horizon stretches ahead, the sky a wide expanse as a cool breeze keeps the daytime heat at bay.

Vaughn, who is hanging back to ensure I don’t spook Rangler or worse, tumble off, reaches up to pull pecans from an overhanging tree, snaps a pod and hands me a nut. “Freshest pecan you’ll ever taste,” he says. Before long, he has me relaxing into the ride and enjoying the panoramic view from the saddle.

He tells me he was born in a tiny town called Idabel, Oklahoma, near the Texas border, the oldest of three children. His father owned “a very small ranch” and helped other ranchers when they needed a hand rounding up cattle or breaking a wild buck. Both parents, he says, are hard-working people who instilled in him good values, a strong work ethic and eventually, a lasting love of horses.

“My parents told me the day I was born, the first thing they did was place me on a saddle to take a picture. But the funny thing is, as I got older, I was kinda scared of horses. Of course, I got over it.”

In high school, he was the only kid in class to ride a horse to school. Well trained by Vaughn, it would stand in one spot in the morning and still be in the same position that afternoon.

What Vaughn does at Texas Ranch Life is train horses and serve as a foreman and all-around ranch hand, starting work as early as 5 a.m., often ending at dusk. It’s a long, hard day that can take a physical toll even on a young man. But he loves the life, save one exception. It’s hard to take a break from the ranch for a decent night of fun since he lives onsite.

We return to ranch headquarters, a rustic building with a “casual elegant” décor compliments of owner John Elick and his wife of more than 35 years, Taunia. The couple has three grown daughters, all of whom grew up working on the ranch. They run a tight ship with only five full-time employees and need every worker on the clock, including holidays.

Dinner is served country-style — platters of sausage links and huge slabs of ribs slathered in BBQ sauce, mesquite chicken, cabbage and potatoes from the garden, baked squash, corn casserole, butter coconut and fruit pies, all made from scratch.

It’s a Green Ranch, meaning they grow organic gardens, manage watering through conserved rain water and as much natural irrigation as possible. They have been honored by the U.S. Secretary of the Interior for their efforts to preserve wildlife and habitat creation.

Sleeping quarters for my group is the Confederate House, built in the 1850s, the oldest of eight historic homes on the property that were relocated to the ranch, renovated for modern use, but with certain details left intact. Daylight peeks through a crack in the original front door; thin walls and plank floors creak and moan with each step. A wooden fence surrounds the house to keep roaming bison at bay, which would otherwise wander into the yard.

We arise next morning to a gorgeous orange sunrise, so a photographer and I walk to a nearby pond where we are told bison like to gather, hoping for some pictures of these 2,500-pound, unpredictable beasts that can gallop up to 35 mph.

“What do we do if a bison doesn’t want its picture taken?” I ask.

“Run,” the photographer responds. We leave without spotting a bison anywhere, which is just as well.

It’s time for a sit-down interview with Vaughn, who knows the fear a wild beast can produce. A professional rodeo rider on and off through the season, he has suffered broken ribs, a broken wrist, multiple bruises and an eye injury that nearly cost him his vision. An ornery bull penned him down and proceeded to stomp his face — the longest minute of his life, he says. He also says when you rodeo, it’s not a matter of if you’ll get hurt, but when and how bad.

Yet it’s the ranch job he has chosen that has my attention. He’s been here coming up on two years. I want to know what keeps a competent, insightful young man in a way of life that is so quickly dying in America. (U.S. employment data on “cowboys” is hard to come by since their jobs are now separated into various, obscure categories. As of 2003, there were fewer than 9,500 working cowboys nationwide, with an average annual salary of slightly under $20,000).

Why is his heart in the saddle instead of out in the modern world where most 20-somethings reside? He hates the rush and bustle of big cities and “tin can” claustrophobic cars on the freeway, doesn’t own a computer and has a smart phone but barely knows how to use it.

His favorite movie is the 2003 Western remake of “Monte Walsh,” about the lives and losses of two cowboys, and he says he has seen it a gazillion times. It speaks to him and for him, a fitting tribute to everything he wants to say about cowboys, past and present.

“Watched it last night and again this morning,” he remarks. “I guess you can take away my hat, my boots and never put me on a horse again, but I’ll still be a cowboy.”

He certainly has the persona down pat. He’s had good jobs and lost them due to his temper, gotten into fights and argues that old values are gone and people lack respect for each other. He learned most of what he knows about horses from an older rancher with whom he didn’t get along.

“But he was an amazing horseman and I owe him a lot. He could take a horse that had never been touched and in no time, have its full attention. It’s called ‘natural horsemanship’ and involves techniques I use today.

“Like people,” he continues, “every horse has its own personality. Some are leaders, other followers, some are fat and lazy, some curious, some smarter than others. Some are like ‘bad’ kids who take out the garbage but give you the finger on their way. And like people, you can’t change them. But you can give them respect and they will respond.”

Back at the tomahawk target range, I give the toss one last try. It surprises me to learn that tomahawks were used by both whites and Native Americans and carried by Revolutionary War soldiers, and they are still issued as part of modern day military gear. I step forward and raise the deadly weapon, flinging it hard and straight at the wooden stump. But it’s the handle that hits, not the blade.

“How’d I do?” I ask Vaughn. “Would I make a decent warrior?”

“No, you’re not much count,” he admits. “You’d be sent back to the camp to either skin a buffalo hide or handle the cooking.” I ponder his statement and tell him he hasn’t tasted my cooking. It could wipe out an enemy in one sitting.

“Then you’d be of some use after all,” he says, grinning.

Weeks later, back home in Hendersonville, I learn that Vaughn has left the Texas Ranch Life to return to Oklahoma to be near his parents.

Ranch owner Taunia Elick is now down by one employee. “Cowboys,” she says. “They don’t stay anywhere very long.”

IF YOU GO

•Texas Ranch Life is 7.5 miles off Hwy 290 at 10848 Cactus Lane in Chappell Hill, Texas, about an hour northwest of Houston. For details visit the website at www.TexasRanchLife.com.

•In and around Chappell Hill there’s much to do, including a visit to historical sites, museums, gardens and wineries. For details on the Brenham/Washington County area, visit http://www.visitbrenhamtexas.com or call toll free 1-888-BRENHAM.