The sign read, ‘Exit 17, Rattlesnake Pass, 1 Mile -- No Services’. Who could resist that?
I could either take Exit 17 and check out Rattlesnake Pass, or pass on it and just write this story as if I had taken Exit 17. Kind of like, ‘let’s not and say we did’. I had a mile to make up my mind.
Hmmm ...I did both.
I was traveling north on I-84 just south of Snowville, Utah heading up to Boise, Idaho for their Fair & Rodeo there. I was driving my F-150 pulling my horse trailer with my good ole buddy, companion and best friend, Barron, in the back. A 12-year old Appaloosa gelding, the love of my life. So to speak. I’m a saddle bronc rider on the mend and had qualified to ride at the Boise rodeo, in the money. Seems like I’ve broken every bone in my body over the 30 years I’ve been doing this. Nothing serious, yet, just a lot of downtime and riding hurt. The downtime hurts more. Cowboyin’ in between, working as foreman and general cowhand all over the west. Utah and Idaho mostly, some in Nevada.
I guess I’m what you’d call a ‘cowboy’. I’ve got the bruises and scars, and the belt buckles, to prove it. But most of all it’s what and who I am at the core of me. True to my nature. Honestly, I‘d be happy riding the range on a good horse, away from people and cities, nightly news and politics, and the Donald Trumps of the world, for the rest of my life. That‘s how it is with me. A loner. A ‘Cowboy’. No family to speak of. A ‘solitary man’ with little to lose, little to fear.
One thing scares me though ...rattlesnakes. Yeah. I’ve been bit several times and at no time was I ever not scared. Scared nearly to death a time or two because I was in places where there were ‘No Services‘ ...but I somehow always managed to pull through. So, why did I pull off here at Rattlesnake Pass? You tell me. I must have a death wish ...or somethin’.
I had a week before the rodeo. So, I figured ...why not? Let’s see what’s out there. To the west it looked like one horizon after another. Basin and range territory. Intriguing, mystical ...romantic. Must be the poet in me ...or the jackass.
I puled off at Exit 17, Rattlesnake Pass, took the frontage road a few miles and pulled over. I was somewhere in northern Utah, southern Idaho ...there was so much of nothin‘ out there to the west I just had to go off in that direction. See what was over the next hill. It looked prehistoric. Where the Flintstones lived. ‘Bedrock‘ out there somewhere. Wilma!!! ...
I saddled up Barron and off we went.
Barron and I ambled along at an easy pace, just heading west going nowhere in particular. It was about 9:00 o'clock in the morning, the sun was rising in the east illuminating the western valley and hills, the weather was morning cool but getting August hot rapidly. I was wondering why they they called it Rattlesnake Pass. But I knew. There were rattlers here. Probably not here, here ...but over there by the pass.
I started thinking of a John Wayne movie I saw. He was explaining to a young cowboy about how to differentiate between a deadly rattler and a harmless gopher snake. He was making an analogy about how to tell a Comanche warrior Indian from a regular Indian. Wayne pointed out that the brown coloring with the black lining was the same on a gopher snake as on a rattler, the rattling noise being an unmistakeable indicator of danger. But the gopher snake had no rattle. It’s tail vibrates and makes the image of a real rattlesnake but the noise is actually coming from the gopher snake’s mouth. The rattle sound is convincing, although harmless. Wayne told the young cowboy, “Don’t be fooled, when you see your first real rattler, you’ll know it. Just like when you see your first Comanche ...you’ll know it.”
Lost in this rattlesnake daydream, Barron suddenly reared up and I lost my grip and went hard to the ground. Sure enough, it was a rattler. Yeah, a real rattler, not a gopher snake. Son a of a bitch bit me on the ankle. Damn! Rattlesnake Pass. Okay, that really is why they call it that.
Barron took off to the west. I was on my back in the dust between the sagebrush with the rattler’s head in both my hands. He was huge. I managed to smash him up on a rock, but the poison from his bite was working it’s way into my bloodstream.
I remembered a buddy of mine tying a freshly killed chicken to my leg the last time I was snake bit. It seemed to work okay until we got to the hospital, I don’t know why, he said he saw it on a ‘Gunsmoke‘ episode. But there was no buddy here, not even Barron, and no hospital in sight. I was blacking out. It was real hot. My mouth was dry. I was dying. I knew it.
My thoughts were of my mom and dad, my sisters ...my cowboying, saving and delivering calfs in summer and dead of winter, rodeoing ...my life ...my sorrows, my regrets ...my legacy. As I lay there in the dust with the smell of sagebrush all around me, I thought ...how wonderful and fitting that I’d go this way ..on Rattlesnake Pass. It made a weird kind of sense and I accepted it.
As darkness replaced the bright morning sunlight in my eyes, all I could think about and hear in my mind was that famous cowboy song sung by Johnny Cash, my all-time cowboy favorite ...‘Ghost Riders in the Sky’ ...this was me, here and now. I was the cowboy in that song. This was real ...I was dying ...https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UeZeadbq_Vo
Odd coincidence ...I was at that concert in Austin, Texas in 1982. Awww, Johnny ...you the man. How we loved ya.
When I woke up in the hospital the next morning, I didn’t know where I was or how I got there. Pocatello. I had a fever, my ankle was swollen. Someone said I’d be okay. Saved again ...I don’t know why and don’t know by who.
Turned out it was Barron. He went back to the frontage road where I left my truck. There were some campers there and he lead them to me. Good ole boy, Barron. Thank you, buddy.
A few days later I headed on up to boise, took first place in saddle bronc, with a 94 beating out that Wright kid by ten points. Made my day ...financially, made my year.
And that’s the story of Rattlesnake Pass. It happened just that way ...
John Kushma is a communication consultant and lives in Logan, Utah
https://www.linkedin.com/in/john-george-kushma-379a5762
http://newsbout.com/a/John+Kushma
