Wild cows and wild cowboys of long ago

DeReese Nielson was the first real cowboy I ever spent significant time with, and from him, I learned many life lessons.
He was a cowboy’s cowboy, having learned the profession from one of the best, his dad, Ed. I’m sure his education started about ten minutes after he learned to walk, maybe sooner.
The Nielsons grazed cattle on Cedar Mesa, south of the Bears Ears; having picked up the grazing rights on ground the early Texas cow outfits had worn out through overstocking.
At about the same time, those early owners realized that the rocky canyons and thick trees on the mesa tops were more than their flatlander cowboys wanted.
They packed up and fled back to the Lone Star State about the turn of the last century, not many years after they arrived.
When the Texans rode out of town, they left us something to remember them by--several hundred ornery cattle with long horns and skinny bodies.
Those Texas Longhorns had grown to love the San Juan country more than their owners.
Some horns seemed to weigh as much as the animal to which they were attached. They weren’t much to look at.
After seeing some, a visitor asked my great-grandfather, John E. Adams Sr., what kind of bulls he used. Smiling, he responded, “Those are just little mavericks that run wild. They don’t have no fathers.”
The feral beasts became the bane of every serious cattleman left as they ate the feed and drank the water meant for their own herds. Ridding the range of the wild bunch became a top priority.
Once local cowboys caught on to the challenge, catching wild cows evolved into the #1 sport in San Juan County. If local cowboys weren’t chasing wild cows through the thick cedars, they were talking about it.
The trees on Cedar Mesa are thick and gnarly with low-hanging branches that challenged a horseman’s skill to navigate through at the speed required. To be successful, both rider and his mount needed nerve, stamina, and skill, plus thick callouses on the man’s ass.
Whenever they encountered a bunch of mavericks, every man in the group shook a loop into his rope, put the spurs to his pony, and joined the chase.
No words needed to be said, the gates opened, and if you weren’t quick, in a matter of seconds, all you could see was dust. The horses became just as addicted to the sport as the cowboys they carried and didn’t need much urging.
On the day DeReese described, he was ten years old and found himself alone. In seconds, the only remnants of his older friends were settling dust and the tracks of the horses they rode.
A cowboy crossed the finish line of a wild cow chase only after he tethered the animal to one of the 100-plus-year-old trees they had been running through with his rope.
After a night in such a position, a beast generally acquiesced and could be led to town. Wild cow chases could be over in minutes but usually lasted until after dark.
Being lost in a million-acre pasture covered in thick trees terrifies a young boy.
Having covered hundreds of miles with his father, DeReese knew the basics of following cow and horse tracks but lacked the years and speed to catch the older men.
He did his best, but it was well after dark when father and son reunited after hours of searching for each other. Both were terrified – DeReese at the prospect of having to lay out alone all night and his father Ed at knowing he had put his young son in the situation that made it necessary.
From the day we are born, we collect experiences that mold us into the adults we become.
Although unpleasant in the moment, those times give birth to stories passed down from generation to generation and plant in us the common sense that serves us well our entire lives.