Latino Cowboys in Idaho | Outside Online

You Are Here:

Home >> El Último Vaquero Habla Español (The Last Cowboy Speaks Spanish)

Today's Question
How do you make primitive snowshoes? answer

What should you do if you get lost driving in a snow storm? answer

Today's Question
What is the greenest ski and snowboard on the market? answer

Can I really damage a coral reef with sunscreen while snorkeling? answer

What kind of dog will make me look manlier? answer
Is there a sport that safely combines my twin passions for guns and kayaks? answer
How come most of the world's cultures enjoy eating goat, but Americans don't? answer

Online Favorites

Special Issues

Photo Galleries

Outside Magazine, August 2004

Page:

El Último Vaquero Habla Español (The Last Cowboy Speaks Spanish)

By Nick Reding


	GAUCHO: CHILEAN RENE ALBERTO VERA REYES IN IDAHO (Joshua Paul)

RENÉ'S YEARS AS GAUCHO—the general name given to cattlemen and sheepherders from Patagonia and beyond, the living embodiment of one of the last great horse cultures on earth—had at least prepared him for the spartan existence he would lead in the mountains. The same can't be said of Nicanor Flores, the man with whom René would share a camp for the next eight months.

Nicanor had arrived on the Faulkner ranch in December 1998 and gone straight to California with the ewes. He was 27, a city-born Peruvian descended from the country's native population of Quechua Indians. Nicanor didn't care about being a cowboy; he only wanted to make enough money to turn around what had been, by any stretch, a difficult life. As a child, he had lost his father and been given to his grandparents to raise. He'd seen them die of cancer; been illegally conscripted into the Peruvian army at age 16, serving two years in the Amazon; wandered around jungle towns living on whatever he could kill with a slingshot; met a woman and had a child; and worked as a ditchdigger and plumber in the Peruvian city of Huancayo. None of this prepared him for the difficulty of trying to get a job in the U.S.

Having first secured a recommendation from his girlfriend's father—a man who'd worked five contracts with Western Range—Nicanor made the six-hour bus trip from Huancayo to Lima to register with the company's Peruvian office, where he was told there were no openings; he'd have to call back later. He had no phone, so for the next month and a half, back in Huancayo, he sneaked into his boss's office at the plumbing shop to call Lima whenever he could. And for a month and a half, the Western Range secretary said she hadn't heard anything. Then one day in December she announced, "The plane leaves in 48 hours." He would fly out of Lima—bound for Gooding, Idaho.

Preparing for a three-year trip in one day is not easy, though Nicanor put the best possible spin on it, which was that it didn't allow for sad goodbyes or being frightened by the long list of things—a country, a job, and a language among them—that he knew absolutely nothing about.

After three days of traveling, he reached Twin Falls. It was dark, and freezing cold. Nicanor had understood that he'd be working in a desert, so he hadn't packed winter clothes. He had never seen snow in his life. For that matter, he had never even sat on a horse.

Page:

•	Subscribe to Outside and get a FREE Gift!

•	Give the gift of Outside Magazine!

•	Subscribe to Outside Online's free weekly e-mail newsletter featuring gear reviews, fitness advice, galleries, podcasts, and more.