Herd Mentality

Herd Mentality

The wind. My god, the wind. In all my life I've never felt gales such as these. It was bad when Tata and I drove the stock back from Eight Mile, but no, nothing like this.

The wind drifted snow into grotesque forms along the river. Some would break off the shore into icebergs, then spin in the shallow eddys before being caught and swallowed by the deep. I lost a finger and two toes that day. My horse never was the same. I can feel the vacant gap in my boot and glove now as I stand with 65 others in a metal box rising skyward into the maelstrom.

No one's talking. The tram operator calmly presses a few lighted buttons on the control panel. We pass by Tower 2, barely visible through frosted panes. Someone has drawn a heart and a knife on the window with their warm finger. The tram sways back and forth like a pendulum on the tower's uphill side.

Why those heifers wandered to the dale was something we talked about for a long time. We weren't accustomed to that much snow in October. We weren't ready. They seemed to know that and went out on their own. Got away from us. There was no carry to our voices in the blinding snow. The wind drowned out even the Santa Fe line until we were almost on the tracks, at the fence. The engine's horn sent the horses jumping and the cows crying. We could hear them, but where were they?

Lost in the fog. Tower 3 is lost in the fog, and as if by memory, the tram operator eases the car just as the cable ticks over the wheels. Slowly, slowly. It's quiet. Then the freight train pierces the side of the tram with a sideways thud. We brace ourselves. The wind whines like a jet engine. The operator opens his side window and looks out, getting a frosty kiss from the sky, a hundred feet above the ground.

I spied the brown stain of half-frozen dung in the snow and trotted forward. Must be close. Then four body imprints. The holes were quickly filling. I whistled to Tata and he raced over, saying he found seven. Four are frozen solid, one while standing. If we don't get these horses out of here soon, he said, we'll...

The smallest toes on my left foot feel numb. I remember that they're no longer there. Phantom feeling. The wind meter on the operator's control panel flashes 67, then 21, then 41. We lost nine animals that day, plus a water storage tank that was blown off its footing and down a cliff, its contents freezing in place like lava dropped into the sea.

We're getting close now as we crest the tall face of Tensleep. The operator inches the car toward the deck and begins his announcement. "Well you all can guess what's going on out—" and we're rocketed by a blast that if not for the tight quarters would send us all to one end of the car, pressed like sausages in plastic wrap. A passenger leans into me and my ski tips clank against his silver helmet. "Let's be safe out there. Last ride. Anyone who wants to go back down with me can stay on."

The tram reaches the outdoor station and through the window I see a piece of black nylon ribbing attached to a sign whipping uncontrollably, then it shears off and flies into the void. No one speaks. No one moves. The wind meter jumps to 77 as the operator shields his face and creaks open the doors and I swear that in the dark gray distance I see a stiff bovine standing on the frozen hoar, completely still, head up, and searching for home.

bumpity.

ten......

How were you riding the JH Tram in Oct?

I love having the power to break from the herd. At my little ski area there are two lift lines. One is empty and all others wait in the other. Go figure as I ski right up to the lift. I watch the gaypers watch me barging without question.

That you, Schmear? I read that on the site and it definitely stuck out for me. Beautiful stuff.

SaAaH (and felt like I've been there),
d.

I see the bit about the guy going berserk in the tram with a Captive Bolt Gun never made the final edit. Sweet stuff.