Sunburned, Dust-Choked, and Sweet

Story and Photos by Amanda Oblander

The calf, roped by its hind legs, bawls and kicks, tugging against the line. Two wrestlers step in fast and, with a practiced move, they flip the calf onto its side. One lays a firm but careful knee across its neck while the other grips the hind legs tight.

Other ranch hands run in to give vaccinations—a shot under the hide and another sprayed up both nostrils. When the brand is pressed on the ribs along the calf’s side, it hisses against the hide. A puff of smoke rises and in a few moments the calf is released and trots back to its mother.

Branding season in Idaho is a way of life. Mornings start crisp and chilly, carrying the smell of hay and woodsmoke from the fire that heats up the irons. Horses shift under well-worn saddles, ropes pop through the dust, and the air fills with the sounds of shouts, laughter, and the steady bellowing of cattle.

Herding cattle near Challis.

A cowboy.

A roper.

Roping calves.

Branding.

A cowgirl with her horse.

Feeding the stock.

I didn’t grow up in Idaho and I definitely wasn’t raised on a ranch. I come from the cities and suburbs of Arizona. But I’ve always been drawn to this way of life, and now my husband and I have made our home in Challis, surrounded by ranch country. We’ve become friends with the Wilson family, who own Sawtooth Beef and have been ranching here since the 1880s.

Last spring they invited us to their branding. It wasn’t my first time to be part of a branding, either as a helper or as a photographer, but each one feels different. Every time, I walk away with more respect for the people who live it every day.

Branding isn’t about rushing. It’s about doing it right—the way it’s always been done. Every calloused hand, every tired smile says the same thing: this is where we belong. Out at the Wilsons’ ranch, the land stretches wide. Its green pastures give way to sagebrush hills and sharp, rugged mountains beyond.

On branding day, the dust hangs in the air like haze as sunrise breaks slowly over the hills and streaks of gold slip through the gaps in the eastern peaks. The only sounds are of the cattle, horses’ hoofbeats, and the crew calling out to one another across the pens. It’s a piece of Idaho that still feels wild and true.

The work runs from morning until late afternoon. Early in the morning, the herd is gathered and pushed in from the pastures into pens. Sorting of the calves happens fast: a good horse cuts through the calves to separate them out, while hands on the ground make sure none slip through to wherever they aren’t supposed to be.

Calves bunch and break, but the ranchers move together in a rhythm that speaks of years of experience. It’s a practiced dance between rider, horse, hands, and cattle—quick, careful, and calm—setting the pace for the day’s work ahead.

In all the structured chaos of the day, there’s no shortage of jokes and teasing. Ropers miss a few times and get some good-natured grief for it. At one point, a roper even decides to catch one of the ranchers around the legs, which sends everyone into laughter as he crashes onto the ground. When a bigger calf takes a little longer to wrestle down, someone shouts out with a grin, “My iron’s getting cold!” He then goes over to lend a helping hand.

Everyone pitches in, including family and friends. There’s no calf table (a chute that restrains the calf), just good horses, fine roping, and strong hands on the ground. Two border collies, Cody and Gibs, hang around the pens, keeping an eye on everything, happy to be part of the action. Between sets, folks grab pancakes, bacon, and homemade breakfast pastries. Coolers of water, electrolyte drinks, and beer keep everyone going under the high sun.

Later that evening, once everyone has time to rest and clean up, the day ends the best way it could: with country dancing and barbecue inside an old barn that’s been standing on the Wilson place for decades. String lights that crisscross the rafters cast a soft glow over cowboy boots, worn hats, and faces happy with accomplishment.

A speaker plays country music while pulled pork, pasta salad, coleslaw, and rich chocolate brownies fill everyone’s plates. Ranch dogs dart through the pastures and creek outside, and laughter spills into the cool night air.

Now that the last calf has been turned loose to its mama and the fire has burned down to glowing coals, tiredness settles over the crew like a blanket—but so does pride. Branding days are hard-earned, sunburned, dust-choked, and sweet in a way that stays with you long after the smoke has cleared.

It’s the kind of feeling you can’t buy, and you can’t fake.