RITTER MOUNTIAN

I was sixteen, living in Leona Valley California, it was the early 1960’s and I had been working my first real job on weekends for a local rancher named Ralph Ritter. He had hired me to do a little of everything, fix barb wire fence, plow fields, dig ditches pound in metal post and trap Mexican cattle in pens that he grazed on grass and chaparral on Ritter mountain. Ralph was in his mid 40’s, a Korean-war vet, strong of medium build, with a perpetual grin that left you wondering what he was thinking. He seemed to love his freedom and life as a rancher even with its long days and physically demanding work. Before going to work for him, when I was about 13, I watched him and two of his cowhands shoot and kill with a rifle, then butcher six steers so fast that the sections of beef still moved as thy lay on the back of his pickup after being tossed there by his blood covered workers. It left me with a youthful impression that these were tough men not to be messed with. One Saturday after working for Ralph for several months, he informed me that we were going to drive up on the mountain and water those Mexican cattle. He would drive an ancient tanker truck and I was to follow him in his big 1964, 4x4, Dodge, power wagon. Up the mountain we started, it was going to take at least 45 minutes to reach the cattle because of the narrowness of the road and the elevation of the mountain. The dirt road was full of ruts and washouts, and as we slowly crawled up the road the tanker, in front of me, dripped and splashed its contents. After about 35 minutes this teenager had been lulled into a state of youthful inattentiveness. The right front wheel of the power wagon dropped into a big rut that I had not noticed. I was driving with only one hand on the wheel. The bump yanked the wheel out of my hand, the truck shot to the right and came to rest over the embankment I looked up to see the tanker truck with it’s splashing load of water slowly disappear around a bend. Looking out the right window I could see only sky, It was hundreds of feet of drop-off too the bottom of the mountain, nearly straight down! Slowly I opened the door and eased myself out of the truck not taking the time to kill the engine. I stood in the middle of the dirt road staring in shock at the white power wagon with it’s frame resting on a soft dirt edge, leaning downhill with both right wheels in thin air. Nearly twenty minutes went by until I heard and than saw that tanker truck with water still dripping and splashing, come backing around that bend. I felt small and in trouble, going over the cliff may have been easier than facing Ralph! He stopped the water truck about twenty feet from where I was standing; a chill went up my spine as I heard him set the brake. Ralph exited the tanker truck, shaking his head the grin was still on his face. I thought that he was walking towards me, my brain raced to come up with something to say. Walking right by me without saying a word, he went directly to the power wagon that was still running, hesitated for a moment, then slowly reached into the cab of the power wagon and disengaged the power wench. As if this was something that he did every day he moved to the front of the power wagon and pulled out about twenty-five feet of cable. Dragging it by the hook at its end he went to the tanker truck and proceeded to wrap the cable around the bumper and frame of the old relic. Ralph returned to the power wagon, reached back into the cab engaged the power wench and stood back. The wench began to do its work. I stood there in aw as the power wagon slid over the side of the drop-off and for a moment hung in air, than slowly, very slowly, was pulled back on the road by that powerful wench. When the truck was back on all for wheels Ralph jumped into the cab disengaged the wench and set the brake. He then reversed the process and rewound the cable. He turned to me, with that same grin still in place, with very little emotion, said. “We need to get those cattle watered, try and be a little more careful”. He turned, walked back to that ancient anchor, got in it, and drove back around the bend, leaving me standing next to his Dodge power wagon. I learned a lot about life that day, but most of all I learned that Ralph Ritter was a very special bigger than life man. Thank you Ralph!