In the 1950’s and 60’s when dairy farming was a major enterprise in the
Matanuska Valley it became necessary to find a way to cheaply feed
non-producing cattle during the summer. A plan was formed to use a box
canyon in the Talkeetna mountains at the headwaters of the Little
Susitna River. An old abandoned mining road followed the canyon floor
terminating at a steep rock cliff that formed the upper end of the box
canyon. The Little Susitna river flowed along the entrance forming an
effective fourth side to the natural corral. A bridge was built across
the river and a gate went across the bridge.
The advantage of the Susitna Range was that there was plenty of lush
grass. The elevation, cool air, and light breezes meant there were no
mosquitoes, a valuable consideration in Alaska. The cost was $1.00 per
head along with proper veterinary inspection and shots.
A few days before taking the cattle to the range was branding time.
Usually Harold Dinkel, an old former Nebraska cowboy and neighbor, came
over to help. The livestock were wrestled to the ground and their feet
tied together so they couldn’t resist. A red hot branding iron was taken
out of the fire and applied to the right hip. The smell of burning hair
and flesh wafted across the area followed by loud bellowing. After the
animal was branded it was untied and released. It staggered over to the
other side of the corral and just stood there. Dad was a small farmer
and so usually never had more than three or four head of cattle to
brand. Dad’s brand was Circle L. Simply the letter L with a circle
around it. Properly registered it was the oldest brand in the state of
Alaska at one time. Later ear tags and tattoos were used making branding
obsolete.
After Dad passed away the Circle L brand was inadvertently allowed to
expire. I renewed it in our son's name in 2001 and gave him the old
branding iron.
Early in the morning we rose and prepared to truck
the cattle to the range. We had early breakfast and packed a lunch. The
old Studebaker had the oil and antifreeze checked and was topped off
with gasoline. Dad backed the truck up to a dirt mound or other high
spot. The cattle were driven to the loading area and lead onto the back
of the truck. If they were not trained to lead it could be a problem to
get them loaded. If pushing, pulling and gentle persuasion failed a rope
hitched to the tractor usually did the trick.
With the cattle loaded we drove off, headed for the Susitna Range, about
twenty miles away, with the cattle stumbling and swaying in the back of
the truck. Fishhook Road was a dusty, narrow and winding. It became
particularly narrow as it followed the Little Susitna river to the
canyon. Often there were several trucks together headed north loaded
with cattle. As we passed homestead houses the trees became more scarce.
After Pinnacle Rock, a popular land mark next to the river, the forest
transitioned from trees to brush. Dad had to shift to a lower gear as we
slowly gained elevation. Finally we arrived at the turn off that led
from Fishhook Road to the cattle range. It was a one lane rutted trail
that wound for a couple of miles to the unloading point. The truck
slowly made its way through the thick alders and across the bridge. Although a loading chute had been built to make unloading easier some of
the farmer homesteaders just used a convenient hillside. After
unloading it was time to do a little socializing. The farmers stood
around in circles and talked. Lunches and snacks were unpacked. The
cattle stood around for a time and then slowly started eating their way
up the trail that lead to the upper part of the box canyon. The farmers
finished lunch and drove home to attend to their summer work and await
round up in the fall.
The short Alaska summer passed quickly and it was time to round up the
cattle. Dad drove the old Studebaker truck back to the Susitna range
along the same route taken in the spring. At the Little Susitna Lodge we
again turned off the main road onto the old abandoned mining road and
slowly wound our way to the loading area. It wasn’t cool and sunny like
in the spring, but rather, damp and cold.
The farmers organized themselves to drive the cattle down to the loading
area. They went in groups to the far end of the canyon. Some of them
climbed higher up the sides of the mountain and they all proceeded to
drive the cattle down to the road that followed the canyon floor. It
only took a couple of hours.
Many of the cattle seemed to recognize their masters. They came running
to their owners bellowing and shaking their heads in excitement to renew
acquaintances and perhaps to beg for a ride home. Their appearance had
changed. They were bigger and fatter from feeding all summer in the
abundant grass and their hair had grown long and shaggy from the cool
weather. They were not disturbed by clouds of mosquitoes found at lower
elevations.
At the bottom of the canyon and next to the river was the corral and
loading chute. The cattle were sorted and loaded onto the trucks. Brands
were difficult to see because of the shaggy hair that had grown over
the scars.
The ground was wet from melted snow and soon turned into a muddy mess
from spinning truck tires. The air was cold and crisp. This could be a
good time as well. Someone had usually built a good fire from old dry
alder. The wood burned down to make a nice bed of hot coals. Slow
moving smoke soon permeated everything. It didn’t matter. Warmth feels
especially good in the wet, bitter cold.
Often there was a goodly supply of hot dogs. The farmers roasted them
and enjoyed hot mugs of coffee and hot chocolate from the big pails set
in the coals. Farmer talk followed. Prices and politics were discussed.
The usual complaints about the government were bandied about. Everyone
finally satisfied their grievances. Warmed bodies climbed into the old
battered trucks and drove off to prepare for the long Alaska winter that
would soon follow.
Many years after this time, the circle L brand was used once again to decorate shirts for a family reunion.
As a side note, our dairy farm was well known for the sign in front of the farm. Mom got the idea from listening to a politician who announced that 'everything was utter confusion down in Juneau'. A local friend painted the sign for us, changing utter to udder.
