Sheep ranchers pitch in

HANSEN, Idaho – The sky had just begun to lighten over Deadline Ridge, but the herders already had their charges on the move.

Wisps of breath in the cold air were lost in the clouds of dust as men and sheep began to circle on the mountaintop like partners in an age-old dance.

The corral gate was open but the sheep, long-accustomed to open range, were wary. So the men nudged and feinted, waiting for the first sheep to enter the corral and draw the others in to start the final step of the ranchers’ tradition: shipping their lambs for sale.

John Noh’s family has for five generations used the same Sawtooth National Forest land in the South Hills to graze their sheep. Some of the ancient gray wood of the corral, used year after year, is as old as the rancher’s permit.

The Nohs had already shipped some lambs raised in an area near Monument Peak the week prior. Now, on the morning of Aug. 30, they were across the valley bringing another band of sheep in from Bear Hollow. Friends – many sheep ranchers themselves – showed up the night before to share food and gossip, and help load the lambs in the morning.

Rancher Ray Hoem used to be a wildlife biologist for the U.S. Bureau of Land Management, but grew up around sheep in Montana. As he walked in the predawn darkness, easing the sheep along, he admitted to giving names to all 150 of his sheep.

“I think sheep ranchers tend to be compassionate people,” Hoem said. “You have to spend more time with sheep, since you can’t just leave them unsupervised like cattle.”

Starting in April, the band’s 1,000 ewes were released onto public land so their lambs could grow and fatten in the high meadows. Noh employs three shepherds from South America who watched the sheep throughout summer with the help of two Great Pyrenees sheepdogs.

Now, Chilean Lorenzo Saldivia whacked his cane against the corral rails to keep the sheep moving through chutes leading into the first of two semi-trucks, one driven by sheep rancher Mike Secrest.

The Idaho sheep community is fairly small and getting smaller. Two or three ranchers recently found themselves in tough straits when a Long Butte fire burned their winter grazing areas. Idaho has no commercial processing plants and Noh worries that the industry may lose more packers. So, ranchers have assumed many roles to help each other out.

Noh’s father, Laird, manned the swing gate that allowed him to direct the lambs toward the truck and the ewes back to the corral. The sheep moved quickly until the sun appeared, when some started to balk.

“When the sun comes up, there’s more shadows,” Laird Noh said quietly as a lamb tried to back into his gate. “And some are just a little more fearful than others.”

Even with the shadows, both trucks were loaded by 9 a.m. and headed to Hansen where they’d be weighed. They had been weighed empty the night before and the weight difference would determine John Noh’s payment.

Stan Boyd, Idaho Wool Growers Association executive director, showed up to help before he headed down the road to work at other sheep camps for the next three days. Boyd keeps up with the market working for the Rocky Mountain Sheep Marketing Association, so he helped the Nohs negotiate the price they’d get for their lambs.

The lambs were headed for Pine Bluff, Wyo. They are called feeder lambs because they must go to a feeder to gain more weight before slaughter. But not all the lambs made it onto the trucks.

Producers like Noh have to be able to fill a truck or their payment is docked. The remaining lambs wouldn’t fill a truck so the Nohs will take them back home to wait. Once Boyd finds others with enough lambs to fill a truck together, the shipping will be done for another year.

Despite the worries, at least one sign of ranching’s future was seen that morning. As John’s wife, Julie, cleaned up the camp area, she watched her 8-year-old son Andrew play with the dogs.

“He’s the sixth generation,” Julie said. “We try to keep doing this so we can pass it on to him, if he wants it.”