We rolled out of our sleeping bags, then scratched and stretched our legs. The cook was flipping hot cakes, frying hash browns, steak and eggs.

Old Jed was giving me the eye. I tossed two forks of hay. A belly full was needed. He’d be packing me all day.

Our camp was at the San Raphael, in Utah’s arid land. The river flowed a trickle but was mostly rock and sand.

We shoveled down our breakfast, saddled up and hit the trail. We’d been warned about a little wind. Not one of us turned tail.

We rode down through the riverbed. A great start for our ride. The canyon walls were steep, prob’ly three hundred feet each side.

I’d never seen such beauty, all the rocks of deepest red. The thought of God’s creation just kept running through my head.

But my humble thought soon faded by a gale force so extreme. A howling coming up the canyon like a banshee scream!

I cinched my hat then tied my neck bandana ‘cross my face. I wondered ‘bout the campsite. Would the tents all be in place?

We rode atop the bluff to see our camp come into view. Not a single tent was standing. That old wind had blown plumb through.

The horses set their fastest pace until we reached our site. We found tents from hell to breakfast. We were headed into night.

So, we cleaned the trailers out and swept the horse turds off the floors. Laid sleeping bags from end to end, then promptly closed the doors.

One trailer stocked the kitchen. Now we had a place to eat. The stoves and chairs were placed so every cowboy had a seat.

The cowboys sat close to the stoves and weathered out the storm. The tarps and tents were blown away but dang sure we’d be warm.

Now if you’re wondering who’s in charge, part of your daily thoughts. No need to even give a guess, Mother Nature calls the shots.

Bryce Angell has lived around horses all his entire life and is a registered nurse in Idaho Falls.