September 1, 2014 –
It was clear that rain was coming. I had been watching the showers move over the Black Hills fifteen miles to the west and Bear Butte was fading out of sight. My endeavor to plant a little wheat with the prospect of fall moisture was coming to an end. The forecast coming over the weather radio in John Deere 7720 sounded somewhat daunting and yet held promise as fall moisture is nearly always welcome. As the raindrops started to hit the windshield, I knew it was time to move on to the next project. After all it was getting late in the season to plant wheat, my cowboy mentality kept thinking that it was not to late as I had seen the lights of the tractors that belonged to the big farmer over the breaks just the night before.
I called over to the house and asked my wife Robin to send over one of the kids to help me unhitch the drill. I also asked how things were going there at home. She said that the kids had followed through on my request to bring the cows and calves down below the Big Dam. And she mentioned how much fun they all had in accomplishing the yearly ritual of “picking the garden” one last time preceding the threat of a killing frost. Oh, how we had been enjoying the extraordinary warm weather that allowed us to enjoy tomatoes and cucumbers late into the season. The watermelon and muskmelon had done extremely well as the season proved long enough for most to ripen on the vine.
As I stepped off the tractor, I nearly stepped on a rattlesnake that was coiled tightly in the stubble. It did not move, and I could not hear the rattle even though I had shut down the engine to enjoy the quiet of my surroundings. I left the snake alone and began pulling hydraulic hoses and as our oldest daughter, Rachel pulled up in the red pickup, I called to her and asked her to bring a stick or something to “reach out and touch” this rattler that was still camped in the now damp soil. She brought me a pitchfork and I proceeded to pick up the snake. Rachel and I were impressed at how well this reptile was camouflaged into its surroundings. I used the pitchfork and raised it up about three feet off the ground. To our surprise, its tail was moving extremely fast and the rattle was intact and yet still no sound.
We shared comments about the encroaching weather. I commented on the snow fall amount that i had heard in Wyoming and we again discussed the possibilities of an October snowstorm. We finished up and arrived home in time to see Robin and the younger kids still participating in the garden harvest and then setting it up for the traditional autumn photo shoot that ranks right up their with birthday and Christmas photo essays recording the growth of our children. It certainly was beautiful.
With just a couple of hours of daylight left, we finished up chores. We fed the livestock around the barn an extra amount realizing that it could be a major change by the next morning. We felt good about our preparations
The following morning at dawn we were pleased to read 1.5” of rain in the gauge. Robin keeps close track as she reports for the National Weather Service. Our Station is Hereford 12SW and she has been doing it for nearly 20 years. But it wasn’t long before the rain changed to snow and snow it did. The ground was white in no time and it snowed an inch an hour at the onslaught. We were able to check on horses and cattle that was close to the barn, but it was difficult to get around due to muddy conditions. We felt that it was important to get my Dad, Tige Reinhold down to the home place. Dad is 84 years old and lives in his home about a quarter of a mile up the road overlooking a small lake on the place. He cherishes the fact that he is still able to live on the ranch on which he and his late wife Vicky poured so much of themselves into.
When the electricity went out and our phone service failed, we realized that conditions were becoming more than serious and certainly the storm was taking a direction that was more than most could imagine. Our journey to Dad’s house nearly proved more than we could handle. It was impossible to see the road and the wind was driving the heavy wet snow viciously across the plains to the point that one could not see any landmarks. It was a struggle getting Dad out of his house. Dad relies on a walker to steady himself. We just sat him down on it and carried him through the drifts in front of his house. We set out for home just to the east and found ourselves totally disoriented to the direction we were driving. We finally caught sight of a bale stack and realized we were off course by a couple of hundred yards and heading toward a draw that was full of snow. When we got to the main hall of Rainbow Bible Ranch, I told Robin how glad I was that we still had daylight to allow us to get Dad gathered with the rest of the family. We gathered in the dining room at Rainbow. Two employees were with the family as well. Derek and Levi Anderson of Belle Fourche offered to stick it out with us in case we needed help. At dusk as I looked out, I was impressed with the snowdrifts that were forming. I couldn’t help but think of our 80 plus degree days just a couple of days before and now we looked to be into a major storm.
All evening we listened to the wind become stronger as the night wore on. But we still felt pretty good. We had plenty of heat from our propane fueled fireplace in the dining room and the main hall stayed warm from the big fireplace up front. We had water as it was fed from a 5000-gallon reservoir. Our kitchen was well stocked, and we were very able to eat well. We cooked elk steaks for supper. Just the day before our good friend Kent Johnson brought a very nice hunk of a bull elk that he had just taken in Colorado. The evening was quite enjoyable as we did what we have always done during blizzards. We played games well into the night by candlelight. The novelty and enjoyment of being together made up for what had become a prison of sorts.
I must say that we were growing more and more concerned for the well being of livestock and the unexpected outcome as the tempest roared through the darkness of the night.
As the hint of a new day brought a tinge of light into our makeshift camp, nothing could be seen as all the windows were plastered with ice and snow. The patterns upon the windows were a kaleidoscope of white and gray. I went to the breezeway and pushed open the door on the covered patio and was shocked by what I couldn’t see. The snow drifts were huge. The wind was still raging, and snow was falling steadily. Drifts that were three feet deep were now nine feet deep. Curiosity and concern pushed us out into the unknown. Rachel, Molly, Danny, Caleb joined me as we set out for the barn. Molly started up one of the big drifts and let the youthfulness in her bring her down on her back in the deep snow. I took off on a path that was only knee deep. It was amazing the water that was packed in and below the snow. It took on more of a bluish hue rather than white.
We walked the length of the arena and came around the shop and got our first clue that things were not quite right. There I met one of the herd bulls hunched up with snow and icicles covering his Hereford hide. He should have been about a mile and half northwest of where he was standing. And where were the other bulls that were with him. The tractor that I parked 36 hours before looked like a giant snow sculpture with very little hint of green anywhere. And then we caught a sight of about 20 geldings that had huddled up in the corner of the stackyard another fifty yards further. We could see several down lying on their side and as we drew closer, it was obvious that some dead or dying. The ones standing were shivering and showed the trauma of what had been a horrid storm beyond comprehension. With soberness and unbelief, we pressed on with all of our might. Molly went to check on our personal saddle horses, the boys went to check on their milk cow, Rachel started to trek down below the windbreak on the east side of the barnyard and I went to fire up the tractor.
I could not believe what I had seen. I had prepared my mind that we would lose some young calves but not full-grown livestock. The tractor started easy enough, but pushing the snow proved to be a daunting task. I was able to get a bale of hay located and then set it aside as I continued to clear a path to the mares and colts down below the barn. I noticed the carcass of dead yearling steer caught up in the fence. He had been with the bulls over north. I wondered where that bunch of yearlings had ended up and I hoped that their demise was not as his.
I got close to the windbreak lot and Rachel came and opened the gate for when I could plow through. She proceeded around the windbreak as I continued to push snow. She appeared shortly and with hand motions told me that she had found six more dead horses. I was stunned, but before I could get through the gate, she had appeared again from taking a count of the loss. The final time that she motioned me...I read thirty-six dead horses. I drove around the windbreak and the sight was sickening. Not only in the mud, but amid eight-foot snow drifts, lying single and some piled atop of one another... the carnage was more than could be described. Rachel and I drove out of the lot after spreading a bale for the survivors. We found Molly working on getting a young gelding out that was half buried, but still alive. With frantic waving and hollering we were able to get him turned out to where we able to pull him out with the tractor. We skidded him across the snow to the barn and through the open door we worked as a group and tipped him in. Molly and boys began rubbing him down. Molly gave the encouraging report that our family saddle horses seemed safe in the old calving shed. They were worn but alive.
We then turned our efforts to getting below the Big Dam to check on the cows and calves. We prepared our mind for loss but as tough as everything looked, it appeared that the cows and calves pretty much stayed in shelter. We found a couple of dead calves and we weren’t sure if everything was there that was supposed to be. But we were pleasantly surprised after the first wave of loss.
Derek and Levi Anderson have been good workers and this storm was their first blizzard where they had to look at death. I remember looking at a dead horse with them and observing the lifeless eye. I have seen death many times and that glazed over eye does not get easier to handle. The Anderson Brothers learned the best thing to say in these situations is often nothing... but rather let their hearts pour out in silent assistance. We are blessed to have young men of this caliber working with us.
We continued our efforts in looking for the livestock that was over at the Henricks place. We had some yearling steers along our herd bulls and a group of young studs and geldings. We found some steers in the alfalfa field across the way. I drove the tractor slowly as some of the kids jumped in the scoop on the loader as we tried to get closer to the stranded cattle. They jumped out with shovels and ropes as I pushed a path as close as I could. A couple were dead, a couple were dying and some were still up for saving.
I watched on one occasion, where I could not get close with the tractor. The kids dug out a steer and then all six of them grabbed the end of the rope and drug the steer across the snow to higher ground. That calf lay there for nearly a half a day and then he finally got up and survived. I was proud of my crew.
Then it came time to saddle up and head west and see what we could find. My endeavor to clear the driveway ended up with me getting stuck. Yes, you can get stuck with this 4wd tractors and often in more inaccessible places. Rachel and Molly rode their good saddle horses toward our mailbox on the main road. It is about a mile and three quarters from the house. There they found a number of black cows that belonged to a neighbor. Some were alive and way too many were dead. They were impossible to get to and it was not possible to get an accurate count as just legs and heads and sometimes just ears were protruding from the snowbanks.
