Running Wild: The Life of Dayton O. Hyde (2013) - full transcript

A documentary that chronicles a cowboy's triumph in his quest to protect wild horses and the American West.

We used to ride
70, 80 miles a day,

and I think I'm a cowboy first,

a conservationist second,

and then a writer third.

Nothing better in the world
than the feel of a good horse,

and a good saddle.

As a child,
I wanted to be a cowboy,

I wanted to ride
tough horses.

My dream was to get good enough
that I could go to a rodeo

and come out of the shoots
on Five Minutes Till Midnight,

or some of those legendary
old outlaws.



I never have turned
down an adventure,

and there are a lot of
stories in my life yet untold.

The worse thing anybody
ever called was

an environmentalist.

I never look back when I
have an idea in my head,

I go ahead and do it.

Hanging the circumstances.

I've always felt that
man didn't have dominion

over wildlife, as
some religions claim.

I think man rather
has a responsibility

to take care of all their
other fellow travelers

on this earth.

1988, I went down to Northern
Nevada to buy some cattle,

to stock my ranch in Oregon,



when I passed a government
wild horse holding facility,

in Lovelock.

The corrals were packed
with unhappy Mustangs,

standing in boredom, gaunt
ribs, heads hanging

in sleepy stupor, lips
drooping, eyes half closed

against swarms of flies.

They were just miserable.

I was angry that
they'd come to that.

I'd been going up with
wild horses, and owed them

for a lot of joy in my life,
and I just had the feeling

that I was the guy who had
to do something about it.

So I phoned my kids and told
them to take over the ranch,

I was going to go and find
a place that I could set up

as a wild horse sanctuary.

People thought I was crazy

to do that when I was 62.

It's hard to believe
that he had the energy

to do that at that age,

but Dayton's a man that
has to have a quest.

Once he got these
horses as a quest,

why, it's taken over
everything else in his life.

He's done so much
just to get them here.

He fought the government,
he fought the neighbors,

he's fought everybody.

Now we're here
just southwest, I guess,

of Hot Springs, South
Dakota, the southern edge

of the Black Hills.

What do you envision for
this particular site?

The potential for this
land in the Black Hills here

is just tremendous.

Our idea is to put
together some big

fenced ranges for them
where those horses

can then be controlled.

But can live
a great lifestyle.

In 1971, congress had passed
a wild horse and burro

protection act, so I had to
get congressional approval

to do a sanctuary.

How long have you
been working on this?

It's taken me a
year and a half,

and I think I probably
spent four months of that

in Washington, D.C.

Talks to every congressman and
senator I could buttonhole.

How often do you have
someone come to you,

that looks like he just
climbed off a horse?

That says, "I've got a
solution to a problem

"that you've had in
Nevada for ten years."

Horse lovers
see them as national treasures,

to be protected at
any and all costs.

Many ranchers, however,
see them as dangerous

competition for their
cattle, and would like to see

far fewer of them.

There are about 37,000 free
wild horses in the American

West, more than half of them,

right here in Nevada.

But the Federal Government
says that is simply too many.

A wild horse
is an animal which doesn't

have any predators, so
you do get a situation

where their breeding
excessively,

and exceeding
their range.

They increase at the
rate of about 15% a year,

the problem
is too many horses.

These horses had to be
run in out of vast areas,

and most wild horses are
captured by a helicopter

and men on horseback.

So even 40 years down the pike,

wild horses still go crazy
when they see a helicopter.

It's cruel to take a
horse off it's home,

and put it in a
corral someplace.

And it is a great problem
for the government,

so what I was trying
to do is come up

with an easy solution.

Everything we tried,

prior to the man
walking into my office,

didn't work, didn't
even work a little bit.

With Dayton Hyde, we
at least have hope.

I just was stubborn.

People were telling me
it couldn't be done,

and that's the wrong
thing to say to a cowboy.

I stuck to it,
and when I came here,

I spent the first summer
building eight miles

of new fence up over the rocks.

Didn't want them getting
away, out into the neighbor's

fields, and these wild horses
had no sense of barbed wire.

So we had to build a training
field, we had ribbons tied up,

and we kept them in there
for three weeks to teach them

what barbed wire was.

Since then, we've done
an awful lot of fencing,

probably 15 more
miles of good fence.

And all these years,
we've never had problems.

Today, we've got
about 500 wild horses,

and 12,000 acres or so.

I'm probably more
concerned with animals,

and birds and nature than I
am with the human species.

The horses are my friends,
so I have lots of company

here in the Black Hills.

I'm just another
happy horse, I guess.

I was born up
in Marquette, Michigan,

1925, long time ago.

When I come here, of course,

there are the ghosts
of my family.

My dad came down with
multiple sclerosis in 1929,

the year of the Depression,

lost his job, he
was in his 30's,

and he walked with
a cane for awhile,

and then he got
progressively worse.

We had a ramp built
so he could roll

down the ramp, onto the
dock, and he'd sit there

and watch the sun
come up over the lake.

But occasionally he would
get going too fast down

the hill, and go right
off the end of the dock,

and we had a pole with a
hook on it, and we would

fish his wheelchair
up out of the depths,

and he'd be ready to go again.

I think he worried that I
enjoyed being alone too much.

I hadn't seen another
kid my age all summer,

and there were a bunch
of high school boys

standing on the corner,
talking about transmissions,

and brake drums,
and things like that

that I didn't know
a thing about,

but I was desperately
lonely, and I walked up

and said, "Hey, you guys,
I found a Blackburnian

"Warbler nest this summer,
and it had four eggs in it."

And they turned
and glared at me,

and I turned and ran
back to our cabin.

My mother went off
picking blueberries,

I was supposed to
babysit my father,

or sit with him, and
make sure he didn't

need anything,

and my father said,

"I've got a surprise for you,
there's a Cedar Waxwing nest

"right outside my porch."

And he was all excited.

I said, "Old birds, their
not worth anything."

And I just took off, running.

Oh, man.

I remember picking
a yellow violet,

and spinning it in my
hand, and turning it

into a blur of gold.

Finally I remembered
my father, and

as I approached the cabin,
I could see the screen door

was smashed down, and there
was blood on the pine needles,

and it scared the
life out of me,

and there was my father,
lying under the cedar tree,

flat on his back.

He said, "A big snake
crawled up and tried to get

"the nest, but I got him."

What he did was, wheel his
wheelchair to the screen door,

and threw his body at it,
and there was a big, flat

snake underneath him.

He'd fallen on the snake.

But ever after that, I thought
if a man like that could

enjoy birds, well, it wasn't
too bad if I enjoyed them, too.

Just adding diesel to
our tank for the pump,

put water in the
tank for the horses.

This one on red, or.

Junior's my oldest son,

and lives in Oregon,

and works in construction.

Hey, Dad.

He comes back two
or three times a year

just to check on me,
and helps whenever he can.

We're kind of kindred
souls in many ways.

A five gallon bucket
would fill faster,

and make me feel like
they're getting something.

I'm pleased with
what he's done here.

Certainly left his
mark over the years.

But I don't think
I've got the same

background as my
dad does on horses.

At home we'll ride the trails

just for the heck of riding.

But nobody rides
when they come here.

500 horses, and not
a single one of them broke.

And, I've seen a stud
kill a saddle horse, so,

it's not going to happen here.

Anytime you get this
many women together,

there's always a
lot of fighting.

South Dakota historically
has ten years of drought

and ten years of wet.

So, even if they
are free roaming,

somebody's got to make
sure that there's water.

We have to be the managers
and the caregivers.

We say that the
horses own the land,

we're just here to help them

so they can have enough
food and enough water.

I was 13 and my uncle
had written a letter from Oregon

saying that his cowboys had
just run in 30 wild horses,

and were in the process
of breaking them.

What kind of letter is
that to write a kid,

if you don't expect him
to run away and join you.

You've got to remember that
the Depression had been on,

and people were hungry,

and I felt that I was
a burden on my family.

So, I went down to
the rail road yard,

and got on a freight
train, headed west.

So, wild horses drug me away.

No matter now that I had
neither spare clothes,

nor money, and every
bit more of 60 miles,

from home.

I'd yet to ride a horse,
but at that moment,

I was already a cowboy.

I was a naive kid,
I guess, but I think

I was running away from myself.

I got to my uncle's
ranch, the Yamsi Ranch

which is in Chiloquin, Oregon.

He had about 90,000
acres of range

that he leased from
the Klamath Indians.

I was named after
my Uncle Dayton,

and I think he felt a
certain bond with me

because I was named after
him, and he loved my mother.

We'd brand calves for
three weeks straight.

And haying season would
come, and it was hard work.

Somebody described that
ranching operation as one

big mismanaged
emergency after another.

But I loved it, and
spent as much time

with the cowboys as I could.

And eventually, some
of them showed me

how to hold my reigns,

and how to get on a horse
so they wouldn't kick you

in the shins.

Little by little, I got
to riding horses better,

and breaking colts, and
riding bucking horses.

I spent all my time on
horseback, and I always

regretted having to get
off a horse to go and eat.

For a long time, I worried
about the blizzards that sweep

South Dakota occasionally,
but the horses seem to love

those blizzards.

When there's a storm, they
get right out in the middle

of it, and stand in the
open where lesser animals

seem to go for shelter.

You ready?

We're going to release this
stallion into the herd.

And hopefully, we'll
get some wonderful paint

babies from him.

There you go, baby.

There you go,
baby, take it easy.

Take it easy.

Take it easy, it's just
a little step there.

Hello.

There you got it.

We only put out as
many studs as we need foals.

The stallion has never
had his own band before,

so he's going to get
kicked a few times,

but he'll learn and eventually
he'll stay in the herd.

- I don't know.
- Make sure he doesn't get kicked too bad.

The reason we breed
them at all is that there's

some very valuable blood
in these wild horse herds

here in the sanctuary, and we
want to keep that blood alive.

Also, by breeding a few
foals, we have something

to sell to help
support the sanctuary.

And the mares are a
lot happier, and more

peaceful, just a few
babies to fuss over.

I've been
looking for you, bays.

That's more mares
than most stallions can keep

track of, if they have
competition, but in this range,

he's the only stallion, so he
can handle them pretty well.

And if one of these mares
disappears someplace,

and is left behind, well,
he'll go hunting for her

and put her back in the herd,

he'll know she's gone.

Boy, he's just pushing them
where he wants them.

Yeah.

He's driving them now.

Come on babies,
run for it.

Beautiful to see.

Jesus, it's cold.

Yeah, typical spring
in South Dakota, is it?

As a teen, I loved
being on the ranch.

But in the winter, my
uncle didn't know quite

what to do with me,
so he sent me down

to California
to The Cate School

in Carpenteria, south
of Santa Barbara.

I was a terrible student.

I was good in English
and that carried me through.

But I was always desperately
afraid to get kicked

out of school, that was
my recurring nightmare.

And every time the
Headmaster would send me note

to come and see him in his
office, I would just panic.

One day he sent me a note,

I thought, here it is.

I'm headed back to
Northern Michigan,

a complete failure,
a disgrace.

But then, once I got there,

there was an elderly couple.

We had tea, and I sat
like a little mouse,

and listened to all this
grownup conversation.

All of a sudden, a bird
called a Pallid Wren-tit

sang from the chapparal,
and the woman said,

"What bird is that?"

And I started in and a
Pallid Wren-tit and how it's

headed into the ecology,
and I was really waxing poetic,

and all of a sudden I realized
everybody's listening to me

in silence and maybe
embarrassment and I turned

and I felt a hand on my
shoulder and the man,

the old man there, put
his hand on my shoulder,

and when I turned, he
said, "Go on, go on,

"that's beautiful."

And tears are streaming
down his cheeks.

Well, that was Alfred Noyes,
the English poet.

He would come to the
school after that

and get me out of class

and I'd walk in
the hills with him

and he'd recite
The Highwayman

and come down to Kew in
lilac time, lilac time

and lilac time.

Come down to Kew in lilac
time, it isn't far from London.

That was, I think,
another turning point

in my life, cause the
fact that somebody

who was that notable,

had taken an interest in
me and encouraged me,

well, it just,
it meant a lot.

By then, I wanted
to be a writer,

but I knew that I
would have to do a lot

of adventuring,
and a lot of learning

before I'd ever be
able to write a book.

The old man who sold
me this ranch said.

"You'll starve to death, but
there'll be lots to look at."

To me the great tragedy
in the West is the demand

for housing.

Our National Parks,
and wilderness areas

are overrun with people now.

There is no place to
be alone and be quiet

and observe wildlife.

This land was sacred
to the Indians,

cause the river that flows
four different directions

out there.

Ten thousand years ago, there were
Indian villages on top of that ridge.

There are a lot of
cliff writings here,

and wonderful pterygoidea.

More than ever, it has
become a piece of land

we're saving, and the
horses, are my partners

in saving this land forever.

Come on, babies.

Come on.

We have it set up now so
it can never be built on,

so in a hundred years
from now, when I come back

as a horse, well, I'll have
this place to gallop over.

Places like this is
probably going to be the only place

you're going to see
wild horses,

in the next ten
to 15 years.

And it's just a national
treasure that we cannot lose.

I wish everybody I've
ever met and known

would come here and see this.

You're going to see a
homestead up here to your left,

the feller was named
Fergouson, that lived in it,

he was here around
in the 1870's, 80's,

we hope to refurbish it,

because once it falls away,
it'll be gone forever.

We have visitors
from all over the world.

They've heard about wild
horses, they've heard

about cowboys, they
want to come to the West

and see it all.

Oh, look at that
old mare over there.

The horses just keep on
doing what they're doing,

so I think
that's really cool.

I didn't expect to be
this close to the horses

It's great.

But they wanted to
come right up to us.

That was very neat.

To be able to see
the natural landscape,

undamaged in any
way, you feel like

you're a part of the
landscape or you have a chance

of noticing
the value of that.

Hey, let's keep this,
let's keep some of this

in our country, let's
not destroy everything

with modernity.

These horses here,
about 80% of these is domesticated

broodmares, and about
20 to 25 of them horses

are wild mares.

We kind of call them
our naughty mares,

because they kept a
trying to find boys

when they were with
the other horses,

so we've got them
penned up here

where they're easier
to see and where

we can keep them away
from the stallions.

How can you tell if a
horse is a girl or a boy?

Well, that's a good one.

Well, a boy.

That's a pretty good one.

A girl uses.

Just like you can
a man and woman.

Yeah, just like you
can a man and woman,

that's the best way of all.

There were horses
like doing horse stuff,

and beating up other
horses going, bam.

We petted a horse, it just
sort of walked up to us.

You usually see horses,
like kept up in pens,

or in barns, it's just
really a neat experience

to see all these horses
running wild in the prairie.

I wish I could take
every horse in the world

that needs a home,
but we have to be real

about how much we can manage.

My battle is to keep
this place going.

We're lucky to break even.

We have a good tourist
trade, but it's still tough.

There've been times
when we've lived

on Grape Nut Flakes here,

for weeks at a time,

because there simply wasn't
the money to buy food.

Work seven days a
week, no vacation,

and there are no salaries.

We'll get it done,
one way or another.

Because that's what
we're about.

That feels good, yeah.

That makes my days, I
get to talk to a horse.

I graduated from The
Cate School in 1943.

The war was on,
and I was drafted,

and as I was heading
to basic training,

going from Reno east
on a troop train,

we passed a bunch
of wild horses.

The train whistled and started
those horses a running.

And for a magic 15 minutes,
they ran right alongside

of the troop train, cause
they're over there all

saying goodbye to me.

I've never forgotten that
sight of those horses

running free, when
I was a captive.

I didn't go across an
immediate invasion.

But, you know, shortly after
where the beach was still

littered with bodies.

It was in The Battle of the
Bulge, in the Rear Pocket,

and was in Patton's
third army.

What I remember now is
not the artillery shells

going off and planes
going overhead,

but I remember the cold.

Whenever we got a chance,
we'd do a little fire,

and cook bacon
and I've

never tasted anything

better in my life.

I was a long time getting
back to the ranch.

Stationed at Camp Polk
near Leesville, Louisiana.

I paid the fine on a scrawny
mare that the sheriff

had impounded and hid
her in the empty barracks

next to mine.

Every night I would slip
out and lead the poor animal

to graze on orderly
room lawns,

until finally, she put
some meat on her bones

and began to prosper.

Oh, look.

When at last,
I was discharged.

I bought an Army surplus
truck, loaded my mare

on the back end, and
struck out for Oregon.

And there she goes out the
gate, right there.

There you go...

That's the way horses
ought to be able to live.

World War II
changed the West.

When the war came,
a lot of cowboys took jobs

in aircraft factories,
so they didn't want to come back

to the 30 dollar a month wage.

And then Social
Security came in,

so all the old cowboys,
instead of staying

around the bunkhouse,
and telling stories

for the rest of their
lives, they moved to town.

So the oral tradition was
gone on these ranches.

But they had wonderful stories,

and I got them down
as best I could,

before they were only a
memory on my own part.

I had to come
and see and meet you.

And tell you how
much I enjoyed it.

I read all about
you in the paper today,

that's what brought me here

Did the same thing I said to
my husband, Same for all of us

I'm getting dressed
and going over there.

I'm so excited,
thank you very much.

Writing has
given me a tool

to change the way
people think,

and the way that
people do things.

The first book took off,

and I've written I think
20 others since then.

Just put to a fellow
horse person.

Well, all the money
that this book gleans in,

all goes to the horses.

What a wonderful
thing to be doing.

Well, it keeps
me off the streets.

Every book I've ever written,
I've lived those events.

Even though some of the
books have been fiction.

Who's down there?

What's going on here?

Happy birthday!

I've made it all
these years.

Looking good.

How are you, cowboy?

All right.

Oh, my god.

This is a major surprise.

I didn't realize how many
friends I really had.

I'm not a very vindictive
guy, but I had one

great enemy in a rodeo.

It started when I was
an 18 year old beanpole,

and this guy was
whipping his horse,

because he missed
a jump on a steer.

And I threw myself up to
my six foot five inches,

said, "You'd fight a horse,
but you wouldn't fight a man."

And he went right over his
horses' ear and knocked

me out.

I came to, and the great
cowboy, Slim Pickens

was pouring cold
water on me.

Said, "I don't know who
you are kid, but you're

"not too bright."

I was just overwhelmed

by the turnout here.

And I'm sure that
my uncle is smiling

that I'm still using his
jacket after 50 years.

Thank you very much
for coming.

It was a little hard
to come back from the Army

and go back into
an institution.

But I knew I had to write,
and the next four years,

I went to the University
of California at Berkeley.

When you go to a
university as a cowboy,

you miss the open
spaces and the closest

I could get would
be go to rodeos.

While I was doing that, I
started taking photographs.

Photographs gave
me a lot of entree

to a different world.

And I'd go behind the
shoots before a rodeo,

and talk to those
famous horses.

Badger Mountain,
Steamboat

and Five Minutes Till Midnight,

I wanted those
horses' autographs.

Here's a photograph I
took for Life Magazine,

which is a picture of the week.

Here's a picture of my friend,
Slim Pickens, that I took

for Life Magazine
many years ago,

when Slim was truly slim,

before he became
a movie actor,

he rode the bomb in
Dr. Strange Love, and made

a lot of movies.

Here's a picture of Slim
Pickens fighting a bull,

with a cape.

I'd lie down and take
photographs of bucking horses,

and Brahma bulls.

The bulls didn't
bother me at all,

and I wasn't scared of them,

so I decided that if
I ever got a chance

to be a bull fighter-clown,
I would go that direction.

A bull would
be through bucking,

so we'd go out with
our cape and whirl

around, and we'd
distract a bull,

and we saved the rider
from being gored.

When you save a
guy's life, well,

he kind of becomes
your friend.

I rode some, but I wasn't the
greatest bronc rider in the world,

but I was probably
a fairly good bull

fighter at the time.

Photograph here of me,
when I was 65 years old,

and came out of retirement
and exhibitioned

a Brahma bull,

fighting it with my
sport coat jacket.

Every now and then, I'm
watching television,

watching a rodeo, and I see
a saddle bronc come out,

and I think, "Well,
I could ride that."

And then I get to thinking,
"Well, that's 60 years ago."

It's hard to realize
when you get old

that you can't do all
the things you did

as a young man.

Great run
for her, 20.08, third

in the average race, you
can show that he wins.

Dad, do you want
to move the cows,

or can I just open the gate
and push them up the hill?

No, I want.

- You want? Okay.
- Move them.

We're going to do
it at nine, then.

Goodnight, Dayton.

I'm glad you're here.

I'll give that cow
a few more hours.

There's some acreage
here that's not suitable

to the wild horses.

The cows are pretty good,
because in case we had

an economic difficulty, we
could always load up cattle

and take them to the sale.

Is anything calving?

Yeah, one's going
to start pretty soon.

- Thank you.
- Okay.

This is a really great deal
to be able to have a few

cows to fool with.

"Now and again,
a heavy cow, belly distended

"with hay and cow, flicks
her tail nervously,

"as the birth process begins,

"and wanders off,
feigning nonchalance,

"seeking the shelter
of the pines,

"where she finds a windfall
screen from the wind,

"and from prying eyes.

"From beneath her
tail, a sac forms,

"and distends like some
giant blue star sapphire,

"and as she lies and
strains, the sac breaks,

"flooding the pine needles
with pearly fluid.

"Soon come the yellow
and white front feet

"of a tiny calf.

"Then, as she strains and
rests, and strains again,

"the first pink of the nose,

"then head, then strain
on strain, shoulders,

"gaunt ribs, flanks stained
yellow with body waste,

"then hips, then at
last the calf comes

"with a final rush,
breaking the cord.

"Falling low, she lurches
unsteadily to her feet,

"and turns and with
great rough tongue,

"licks the afterbirth away."

So how many generations
is the date of a ladder?

Well, yeah.

It's helpful when
Dayton comes out,

cause he gets a lot done
that I'm too old and decrepit

too get done.

Andrew, will you throw
me up the ladder of the knife?

My son Andrew's actually come
out here for several visits.

- Let me see the rope.
- He never had a chance

to grow up around horses,
but Andrew's been here,

so that's an okay.

It's probably as good as
I can do as a parent.

Go see the elephant,
see what it looks like,

see what it smells like,
see what it tastes like,

and then make your own,
I'm not going to tell him.

Okay, you or, where's
my pocket knife?

I dropped
it up there, Dad.

Okay.
Is that enough?

Don't look down.

Just one more step,
just one more step.

One more step,
Mr. Hands, and I'll shoot.

It's even harder than
it looks, isn't it?

When I finally
graduated from Berkeley,

I went up to the ranch,
and my uncle wasn't

very pleased with the fact
that I wanted to be a writer,

and he said, "Do
you want to ranch,

"or do you want to write?"

With him, there
were no two ways.

So for a time, I thought
I could just be a rancher,

and I met Gerda at
Berkeley, and she'd had

a lot of ranch experience,
and was a great

horse woman, and I told
her I owned this wonderful

ranch, and actually,
I didn't own any land,

it was all in my family,

but she bit for the bait,

got married, and
moved up to Oregon.

When she got up
there, it was too late

to turn back.

"My frantically
busy wife, who now cooked meals

"for an average of 20, felt
hellbent about her matriarchal

"domain, gathers, moves,
doctors and sprays the cattle,

"taxis children, runs back
and forth to town for parts,

"referees other peoples'
fights, wins her own,

"handles everything on the
ranch her slothful husband

"forgot to do.

"And it is a constant
challenge to her inventiveness

"to disguise for me that
she can really do most

"anything, far better
than her husband.

"Surely, the rural wife is
a great, unsung American."

We got married,
that was in 1950.

I was kind of homesick
at the beginning,

but I learned to
love this country.

Our oldest son is
Dayton, Junior.

And then we had
Virginia, and Marcia,

and then John and then Taylor.

They're about two years apart.

Morning.

Hi, Dad.

How are you?

I cut up to Dad now,

how many hips do we
have between us, Dad?

I don't know.
Five, five hips.

We're hippies.

Yeah, five hips between us.

Yeah.

I remember you, Ginny,
riding across this field here

in four feet of snow, it was
right up to the horse's chest.

Yeah, it was deep, boy.

Every time he gets
this pneumonia thing,

I just have a terrible time.

Yeah, that's just
from allergies,

and it's not going
to slow me down,

and I'm not going
to give up horses,

even though some doctor
said I was allergic to them.

That's worth the allergies.

Hmm.

I live too far
away from him,

and I never get to see him.

And he's so special to me.

He's the best
dad in the world.

I can't get to South Dakota,

I just can't manage it.

Well, next time
you see me,

my knees will be
working again,

and I'll be able to
ride horses with you.

We'll go ride the meadows
the way we used to do,

and ride up in the forest.

Oh, that'd be great.

"Grasshoppers
buzz busily

"in the tall blue grass,

"which is so thick and heavy,
it is falling over in a mat.

"Blackbirds scold from fence
posts, I pass their nest

"on Ditch Bank, Grass
Clump, and Willow.

"In the rickety old barn,
a late nesting horned owl

"raises it's brood.

"March hawks sail plane
lazily as they patrol

"the ditch banks for mice,

"while sparrow hawks
and strikes watch

"from the swaying hammock
of the telephone lines."

We had so
many animals.

Gosh.

Toby, he was a porcupine.

A coyote was digging
a hole under him,

so he would tip over,
so they could get

to the underside of
him, and we couldn't

drive the coyote
away, so finally,

we just brought him home,

and he was here for 18 years.

Over the years, we had
everything except badgers.

And I mean everything
except badgers.

But growing up, you were
either feeding hay to the cows,

or you're cutting it and
baling it and putting it

into the barn.

I think that was the
distinct seasons of the year.

We were always driving
cattle from here to the marsh,

or here to the BK, Bk
to here or whatever.

I was on horseback
more than I was off,

I think in those days.

Dad was in a great hurry
to get me on a horse,

and I think about
four years old,

I bounced off of a
horse, into a tree,

and I didn't really
ride for, shoot,

eight or nine years.

That put me into the tractor,

and the haying and
all of the mechanical

and the fencing
and all of that.

I think the ranch is a
better father to the kids

than I was.

Cause it kept
those kids busy,

and it gave them a work
ethic that never failed them.

I was so busy writing
my books, probably,

I wasn't as close a
father as a lot of fathers

could have been, so.

"Like the
rumble of wagon wheels,

"the sound of Whooping
Crane and Sandhill alike,

"is part and parcel of
the history of our land,

"and our Western heritage.

"The battle cry of
the Comanches gone,

"and the thunder of
vast herds of bison.

"But the sound of
the crane still rolls

"faint and far
across the prairies.

"We cannot let it
die, for once silent,

"all the science in the
world cannot bring it back."

I was very concerned
on the ranch and the marshes

there because the Sandhill
Cranes were disappearing.

So I reasoned that it
would be good to develop

a way of raising
them in captivity.

And I notice Sandhill
Cranes laid two eggs,

hatched two eggs, but one of
the young birds disappear.

So, I reasoned that if I
could take one of those eggs,

and hatch it out in captivity,
and develop a captive flock.

Which is what happened.

"I would spread
my arms, flap them like wings,

"and Sandy would croak with
delight, and follow suit,

"round and round the
garden, over the back fence,

"out of the hot summer fields.

"And then one day, catching
a sudden gust of wind,

"Sandy became accidentally,
and irretrievably airborn."

So I was raising Sandhill
Cranes, and putting them back

into the wild.

But to advocate nest robbing,

made everybody mad.

Scientists called me
the most dangerous man

in American conservation,
because I was advocating that.

But the Fish and Wildlife
service got interested

in my experiments
and further the things that

I'd found out.

And eventually, I'd
program Help Save

the Whooping Crane, too.

Now the Whooping Cranes
have gone from 11 birds

to almost 400.

So, when I see a
Whooping Crane go over,

even many years later,
I'm happy to have been

part of that bird's history.

That was a book called Sandy,

and the book did very well.

But my family didn't
appreciate the fact

that I'd included
them in the book,

and they were a little
afraid that things

hadn't happened exactly
the way I put them

in a book, but, no author
can write the truth

and sell the book.

He has to learn to be
a little bit of a liar,

and make things more exciting

than they really are.

I wouldn't read
his books for years.

Wasn't till, I don't know.

Till he wrote the book
about a fly fisherman,

that I read anything.

Cause I didn't want
to have to judge him

based on what he wrote.

And I think that's
what everybody else,

they assume that I know him
because that's what he wrote,

but it's just like,

somebody taking a picture.

It's just another
element to his whole

personality.

Well, the lake's still
there this morning.

Morning, Dad.

Looks out there.

The Pelicans are out
in front this morning.

It's just kind of a nice
spot to come home to.

A lot of hard work
went into that dam,

it's still holding
up after what?

50 years, or?

- Well, let's see.
- 40 years?

40 now, 30.

Yeah.

This is my lake
that I built.

But it's not on the maps.

Change it to in
a boat, Dad.

I consider it my
major accomplishment,

when I built that lake.

This is a big meadow,
and in the springtime,

the melted snow water
would gush through it,

and do a lot of damage.

I got a permit
to build that dam

to stop the erosion.

When I filled out the
papers, I said I had a degree

in ENG at the University
of California, Berkeley,

and the state engineer
thought it meant

engineering, and I
knew it meant English.

I had only four months in
which to build the dam,

so I bought some
old equipment,

and I had a 13 year old son
driving a 35 ton tractor,

a 15 year old driving a
24 cubic yard earth mover,

and I drove a terribly
dangerous earth mover

that was all electric, and
when the electricity failed,

you had no brakes, no steering.

There were times when
we'd run out of diesel,

and I'd go and sell
something just to buy

another barrel of diesel.

My neighbors laughed at me,

and called it 'Someday
Lake' and 'Hyde's Folly'.

But we got the
dam built on time,

and when the engineer
brought down a crew

and inspected, he
finally said, "You know,

"you built a better dam
than any commercial person

"would have built."

The lake has three and a
half miles of shoreline,

and it's a stopover now
for migratory birds.

Hundreds and hundreds
of geese and ducks,

and swans, and all manner of
wildlife use that lake now,

because it's the
only water in miles.

There comes the
Pelicans, flying in.

Look at them, aren't
they beautiful?

And we have those in
South Dakota to, so.

Well, I woke up this
morning, missing the horses

and even as beautiful
as this place is,

in two days, I'm ready to
go for the Black Hills.

I've been gone from
here for 24 years, so.

A lot of people I don't know.

Smile
and wink, you're cute.

A lot of relatives
are here.

Friends, family, people
who used to work here,

it's really exciting.

The ranch was started
in 1911 by Uncle Buck.

Buck Williams.

And, about '59, I
think Mom and Dad

bought the ranch.

So it's been in the
family a long time.

I've been here working

for about 30 years now.

Got to love it to do it.

Cause it doesn't pay very well.

Okay, I'm going
to, can you hear me?

Yes.

She's worked her tail
off all her life up here.

It means a lot to her.

I don't know
if I work hard,

I just, we just
keep trying to do

a little, something a
little better every year

on the land.

Are you fishing with
your red liver, John?

There's a lot
of fish in there.

The Yamsi's
my Mom's project,

and the wild horses,
my Dad's project.

It creates quite a bit of

stress in the family.

The other one
of our generation

is Hawk, Dayton O. Hyde,

where are you, Hawk?

Oh there you are.

My Mom probably

thinks that things could have

turned out differently
over the years,

Let's try it again.

One, two, three.

My daughter,
Marcia was a wonderful horsewoman,

and she had a great
sense of humor,

and made people laugh,
and filled them with joy.

When Marcia was 22, she
was killed by a horse.

I was down at the lake,
writing another book.

Marcia and her mother had
gone to gather the cattle

at the far end of the ranch,

Marcia got off to open a gate,

and when she went
to get back on,

apparently the horse
must've bucked,

or done something, because
my wife looked around,

and Marcia was lying
dead on the ground.

Marcia was 22 when she died,

and had just been married,
and was about to get

her first paycheck, and
she was hoping to take

her husband out and buy
him dinner that night.

It was a shocker, it
just didn't seem fair.

To take her at that time.

It was, losing a
child is never easy.

And,

I don't know, if it
changed anything, really,

but with a big family, you
just have to keep going.

We had other
children that needed

to keep going, also.

Mom had tried to
resuscitate her,

and she was in the middle
of nowhere with no help.

And so she finally had
to just let her go.

And then she rode up
to Deep Creek Ranch,

which was about a
mile and half or so,

and get help.

She just blamed
herself, I think.

I was up in Dayville
at the time,

and she got hold of
me, and she said,

"Marcia's dead."

And then hung up.

And I didn't have
a chance to say

what, how, when, where,
and it didn't dawn

on me till we were
down here, and doing,

you know,
I couldn't believe it.

It just, I still can't.

We rode a lot together, and

I wasn't a very good
sister, I don't think.

I was pretty jealous
of Marcia, but

she had a magic with horses,
she had a touch for them.

She could take one that was
sort of like a mean horse,

and make it just really nice.

Yeah, it was hard.

Yeah.

It wasn't the horse's fault,

and we kept that old
horse to a grand old age.

I think it helped
me leave that land.

Made me think that I was
maybe vegetating there,

that there are things yet
undone that I've got to fulfill.

Dad used to have
a very wonderful way

of leaving a party.

The correct way was
never say goodbye,

never say see you
later, or anything.

The correct way to
leave a party was,

"Where's Dayton?

"He was here a moment ago."

And he just left.

He didn't...

you expected things
to continue,

you didn't have to
make this big show

of saying goodbye.

You simply left.

I thought he would
always stay on the ranch

but he decided to move on.

He's a roamer,

and I guess that's
what he wanted to do.

It was a little
painful for everybody.

But, I think when you
get to be our age,

if you want to go
do something,

you'd better go do it.

It was tough.

I don't know.

I don't know that I want
to really discuss it.

I wish I could have
them all out here with me,

but they love the
ranch in Oregon,

and nobody wanted
to come with me,

and that's understandable.

They had their own lives.

He followed
his dream, you know.

I guess he needed that space,

and found his own
way over there, so

yeah, it's hard to
see him go, but nice

that he calls.

I want my kids, I
guess, to know that

I tried hard in
everything that I did.

I rode hard, and
rode horses hard,

and ranched hard.

I'd do things differently,
everybody would,

but I don't think
I'd change it a lot.

I think I'd still leave
the ranch in Oregon,

I think I'd still be here.

My solace is that
Marcia would love

what I'm doing now.

These horses were on
their way to the slaughter house.

And Ford Motor
Company intervened,

then they paid 19,000 dollars
to reimburse the broker,

for the monies he
would have gathered

from the slaughter plant,
for the sale of the horses.

And then we stepped
in and said we would

give the horses a home.

Well, I'm glad they're in.

I guess the more
that comes, so.

Yeah.

Some of them
come in here and they don't

even know how to eat hay,

and they'll take a
wisp of hay, and then,

they'll get scared,
and they run,

they don't know to
open their mouths

and drop it, so they've
got this big hanging

string of hay there.

Well, I better get
this back on the road.

I've got to go
placate a few people,

I hurt a lot of feelings
telling them to get the hell

out of here.

Come on.

Come babies.

These horses are not
going to suffer anymore.

We'll see that they
have a great life.

They'll go out like
blazing comets,

over the grasslands,
so they can live out

the rest of their lives,
and nobody'll ever

frighten them, or
be mean to them.

We hope to give
them peace here.

This is a healing place.

Like a beautiful painting in
a museum, it does something

to cleanse souls,

and people can't come here,

and see these horses and be
the same people they were

when they came.

You know, there's
an old saying

that the outside of horse
is good for the inside

of a man and it's very true.

I grew up
at a farm in Iowa,

where I always had horses.

But when my dad
died, the farm went,

and the horses went and sorry.

But this is great.

Hi, Annie.

I have an affinity with Annie,

because we're both loners.

Her mom died when Annie
was about a month old.

So Annie's been alone
pretty much since then.

There you go, Annie.

I feel really privileged
that I get to know

at least some of the horses.

Oh, yum.

Spent my first two
weeks building fence.

There are days out
here in the winter

where you can be the
only person on 20 square

miles, pretty easily.

Working with Mustangs is
the nicest thing about this,

and you get to see them
turned loose again.

The horses teach me
patience, for sure.

If you do have the patience,
they do come up to you,

and you build that trust and
I think that's kind of unique.

Oh, doesn't that feel good?

This ranch is a working ranch,

with real cowboys,
and real horses,

and real cattle.

When you're here,
you feel whole.

Good morning!

You're up early.

Only with the chickens.

If we don't do it, if
we don't save this land,

and save the horses, there's
not anybody else to do it.

So, we have to do it.

Come on.

There's no choice.

That's a good boy.

It's our destiny.

It's my destiny to be here.

Bring her over here,
and let me see her.

You did a good job, Gigi.

This is a domestic horse, Gigi,

that was born here, and
she's just had her first

baby today.

You did such
a nice job.

Yes, that's a pretty baby.

Wow.

When I first came here,

Dayton said, "Well, maybe
if we had a domestic horse

"business, we could raise
some horses and sell them

"and the income from
those horses could help

"take care of the wild horses."

And, that's what we did.

Put my fingers
in her ears,

so she won't be afraid,

as she gets older.

Susan's a
good hand to these foals,

they like her.

What a pretty baby.

- What's the matter?
- Hi, handsome.

Just fixing your
shirt here.

Oh, okay.

You know, I'm from
southern Alabama,

I might not be in
South Dakota today,

but there was a turning
point in my life,

1990, I saw Dayton
Hyde on 20 20.

Come on, and get
your grain here.

Hungry horses
on a cold morning

in the Black Hills
of South Dakota.

I was so impressed
with what he was doing,

and I remember seeing
his face and thinking

what a brave man he was to
seek out his mission in life.

Grain tastes good on a
cold morning, doesn't it?

And the same year,
my daughter was killed in a car accident.

I was totally devastated,
I mean my world

had just turned
upside down.

How could this possibly be?

You know, she was 17,

her life meant so much to me,

and to so many people.

And in 1995, my
husband passed away.

Suddenly, just, one
minute he was there,

the next minute he was gone,

at age 46.

I would wake up in the
middle of the night thinking

this is not reality.

So, I started
looking at my life,

and I wanted to be
different than I was.

I wanted to know what it was
that I was supposed to do.

And I went on a trip to Africa,

and in a hot air balloon
over the Serengeti,

I'm looking down on the
zebras and the wildebeest

in migration across
the grasslands,

and all of a sudden,
this face popped into my

memory bank.

His cowboy face.

Susan called me
up from Alabama,

and I couldn't, I had
a bad phone connection,

and I couldn't understand a
bit of what she was saying,

with her Alabama accent,
and so I kept saying, "Yes."

And about two days later,

a volunteer in the office called
and said, "There's a woman

"here who said you
invited her out."

And I said, "Well, if she's
cute, I'll take her on tour."

And she stayed here,

and thank goodness she did,

because I couldn't run this
place without that help.

It was
a Saturday morning,

and I drove over the
hill, the first time,

and came down into the
valley, and I thought,

"This is it."

Hello.

I felt like my whole
life was leading up

to coming here to South Dakota.

What are you
doing, huh?

What are you doing?

You know, don't
you emasculate me.

You're too late.

Dayton has been my friend,

and my companion,

and my teacher,

and my inspiration.

Okey doke.

I fell in love with a
cowboy that I saw on TV.

You asked me what
I wanted for my birthday,

I wanted to watch it rain.

Wow and a rainbow to boot.

- Yeah.
- It takes a lot of burden off me,

having somebody else
to share the worries.

Been so long
since I saw rain,

I had to ask you
what it was.

It's just as though
the good Lord designed

somebody perfect to
come and help me.

It's raining down over the
hay field harder than here,

that's great, right
where we need it.

I'd never seen double
rainbows till I came here.

It's nice
to have company,

and someone there that
can share your dreams.

You go look for one pot, and
I'll go look for the other.

What we need on this
ranch is a pot of gold.

The horses,
they're all enjoying it.

Can I comb
your hair for you?

Sure you can.

And a little makeup would
go a long ways, too.

You're combing my hair.

Susan's been
the person taking care of him

the last how many years.

This is what happens
when you get to be 80.

Susan's not the reason that
Dad came to South Dakota.

In fact, it was almost eight
or ten years before she

even came into the picture here.

So, I think a lot of
family members say

that Dad came from Oregon

just because of Susan.

No.

Find out somebody
can put some joy

in my Dad's life,
that's not a problem

for me at all.

Hey Dottie, do you
have a licker license, huh?

Get them, oh yeah.

I can't think of any of
any of the old cowboy laws

that aren't still
applicable today.

Like, never saddle
anybody else's horse.

With cowboys,
you don't order them

to do anything, you ask them.

So point of honor
with a cowboy to quit.

Yeah.

On his terms.

I've seen that all
across the years.

Whiskey Jim quit 65
times at the Bar Y,

then one day, we'd
look, and there'd be Jim

sitting at the table.

There's a lot to
be said about that

code of honor.

Yep.

There they are.

I've had friends
retire, and drop dead

of a heart attack
within a week.

You might not be
able to ride a horse,

but you can still write a book,

or debate, may be a
lesson for all of us.

Big enough to be the boss
of all these guys, huh?

You big enough
to be a boss?

When I come here, I kind of
realize that I haven't

accomplished anything, so.

I need to redirect what I'm
doing and where I'm going,

and how I'm going about it, so.

Horses are
creatures of the wind.

When these horses run,
I just feel as though

I can go out and run with them,

and gallop free on the prairie.

It's overpowering.

The beauty around you in
all the things that you see,

in hawks, or.

You can see why people
fought over this land.

I'd fight to stay here myself.

My name
is Aduwakanatak-yate.

In English, Tom Cook.

My wife and I have
Sun danced continuously

for 37 years.

Sun dance is the greatest
ceremony of the Lakota people.

All of the Oglala
bands, seven of them,

would gather together,
about this time,

and put up offerings
to the sun.

- This was our 14th, or 15th.
- Yes.

And we're still
arguing about it.

Yeah.

There have been other places,

to Sun dance, but with
unbelievable restrictions.

For instance, in Wind
Cave National Park,

you're welcome to Sun dance,
but we've got this regulation,

"No open fires."

What do you mean, how
can you, how can you

talk to the sun without
actually having a fire?

We spent ten years
at Devil's Tower,

complaining about them
climbing the rock in June,

while we're praying.

And finally, we came here.

This land is full
of Indian spirits.

Once when I went
into the cave there,

with a Medicine
Man, we sat down,

there's immense wind
that filled the place

through with dust, and we
couldn't see each other,

sitting next to each other.

And then that suddenly went,

and you'd hear
voices and singing,

and the shadows of
faces on the rocks.

I don't know how
to explain it,

but there's something there
that just isn't understood

by present day people.

Dayton is a Holy Man.

A man of great vision,
respect and appreciation

for my Father's,

he provided us the
support to dance here.

On the first day of
Sun dance, we usually dance

in the four directions,
starting with the west,

the north, the east
and then to the south.

So as we were dancing
toward the north,

about 12 horses came up.

My niece told me, she
said, "Auntie, look

"our ancestors
arrived by horseback."

And they were all at attention.

Really reverent,
you could tell

our ancestors arriving,
you know, on horseback.

That was how she put it.

I saw it.

And the horses
came, 5:30 in the morning.

Hi, Loretta.

Hi, Dayton, how are
you, Little Father?

Oh, I'm great.

Dayton is about three
weeks younger than my dad,

so he called Dayton
Little Brother,

so that's why I call
him Little Father.

He's very tall,
taller than my Father,

but to me, you know,
he's Little Father.

Did you get to come
up during Sun dance?

I came up, I've never
seen a better organized

- Sun dance than this it was.
- I think so.

Just beautiful.

I would like to give him
an Indian name this year.

This coming year.

And so, we have to
pray about that,

so that we can come
and have a wonderful

name for him, something
that embodies who he is,

and how he is to
people and the horses.

His feeling for this
land is so reverent

that we, the same thing
that we feel, he feels.

You know, you want to treat
it the best you know how.

We want this land to
be better in a hundred years

than it was in a
hundred years past.

We're fighting the
uranium miners now,

and it may be my last great
battle that I'm fighting.

In 2007, Power Tech
Corporation out of Canada

proposed a uranium mine upstream
from the horse sanctuary.

And Dayton heard about
that, and he got involved.

Please don't be apathetic
about what's happening,

because it's very serious.

We don't want to become
leukemia capitol of the world.

It's going to affect
an awful lot of people,

not only here, but all
through the Black Hills,

and all across the plains.

They can't avoid polluting
the Cheyenne River,

and a lot of us live
along that Cheyenne,

and we'd better be worried.

Dayton is our lead petitioner

before the Nuclear
Regulatory Commission

against Power Tech's
application to mine uranium

within view from here,
in the same aquifer

of water that Dayton and
all his horses live on.

And it's going to ruin the
water, ruin the horses.

What's left?

So, since then,
three, four years,

we've been in this wide open
fight against Power Tech.

They were scouting
for uranium,

so they flew over
in helicopters,

and that'd panic the horses.

Even those old horses
are scared to death

when a helicopter comes by,

and they don't ask
you, they just come

and fly your land, low.

It never occurred to me
that somebody could come in

and destroy the sanctuary.

Never knew the mineral
rights were for sale,

or that they were
owned by somebody else.

It's called the Split
Estate, and it's true

across the Western
United States.

People who live here
only own the top part

of their land, unless
they happen to have

bought their mineral rights
when they bought the land.

Most people didn't.

So the government owns
what's underneath,

or a company can own
what's underneath

your property, and they have
the right to come and mine,

mining takes precedence
over whatever somebody's

doing on the surface
of the ground.

It's pretty well messed up
here in these Black Hills.

All the money
in the world,

and the best of intentions,

won't clean up a
poisoned aquifer.

And such pollution can travel
far from the mining areas.

Future generations will
only see a death scape,

instead of a place that
has kept its' beauty,

since the last ice age.

I'm afraid they'll
just mine that uranium,

pollute the water,
and then pull out.

Historically, that's
what they've done,

unfortunately.

Edgemont is basically
a very small town,

that's barely hanging on.

There was a uranium
mill there which spread

radioactive mill tailings,
which are basically

sand over the whole town.

So they're a classic
example of a boom and bust

mining town.

I was the mayor of Edgemont
for five and a half years,

and this is, I guess,
my opportunity to help

the community as
much as anything.

I'm a chemical engineer,

I'm an organic rancher,

and a uranium miner.

We've been in the permitting
process for six years,

I'm committed to getting
the project up and going.

This is a operating Incitia
uranium mine, just south

of here in Crawford, Nebraska.

These little white
spots are the wells.

This is almost like
athroscopic mining.

I mean, you drill a hole,
you go in, you get what

you're after, and you
leave with the minimum

amount of impact
to the environment.

The mining company
can say all they want

about controlling
everything they do.

But they cannot
suspend Murphy's Law

that things aren't
going to go wrong.

Frightening, really,

and why they're
even considering

permitting such
use, I don't know.

It's beyond me.

I'm writing editorials,
and I'm working very closely

with the Sioux Tribe.

We're fighting at
State Legislature,

anyway we can.

I'm going to be right there,
cowboys fighting

with the Indians.

I'm being honored
by bands of the Sioux Indians,

who, they were giving
me an Indian name.

And I'm tickled to death,

it does mean a lot to me,

because these are some
of my best friends.

I want all the
relatives, all friends,

I want to thank you very much

for being here and
show your support.

I want to name
Mr. Dayton Hyde.

I'm going to give
him an Indian name.

Dayton Hyde,

Protector of All Ceremonies.

Thank you, John,
I'm honored.

Thank you for
that nice reading.

Our pleasere.

Thank you, Mr. Hyde,
welcome to.

Glad you're a
part of the family.

That's turkey feathers.

I want to thank everybody
here for this great honor.

It does mean a lot to me.

And I hope that
others will continue

to support this very
spiritual land here.

It's up to every person
here to keep those miners

from digging holes
in this land,

and take care of this place.

Cowboys have hours
in the saddle,

and there's lots of
cowboys that become poets.

This is one of my favorites.

About a winter wren.

Which is a very tiny bird,
about as big as your thumb.

"Oh hidden singer, in the
woods, I long to know thy

"name, I fancy such a
glorious voice, the plumage

"just the same, he jerks
his tail up saucily,

"no bigger than my
thumb, his tiny talent,

"king of song, whose
music strikes me dumb

"a half of century has past
since I saw that winter wren,

"it's time I went to Michigan
to look him up again."

I don't think I've ever
ceased to be that lonely kid

in Northern Michigan.

Many a man has
loved several women.

I loved several places,
the ranch in Oregon,

the prairies of South
Dakota, and the Black Hills.

That's one of my regrets,
that my Father was never

around to know what all
his kids became in life.

He died early, and when our
lives were still forming.

There's that dog.

I don't know what they are.

Doctor just gives
them to me, and

I take them with a blind faith,

if they'll add another
few miles to my life.

You keep going as
long as you can,

and make the most of
everyday, seven days a week.

In fact, when being a
cowboy comes to this,

when you have to
climb a set of stairs

to get on a horse.

Yee.

Oh, man, that feels good.

You just don't stop,

You just keep going
on and looking,

and trying to figure
out what can make

life important, the next step.

One old cowboy
can do quite a bit.

Well, it's up to you
to continue to dream.

"Times have changed
dramatically in the West.

"Development's widespread,
and the once lonely

"vistas are now paved over
with the yard to yard housing,

"and shopping malls that
will never grow an orange,

"or an ear of corn.

"Though we must never forget
the beauty and importance

"of our wild horses
and their right

"to run wild and free.

"I can sense this
freedom when I watch

"bands of Mustangs thundering
across the prairie,

"haven, for no other
reason than the pure joy,

"coursing through
their veins.

"The music of drumming
hooves echoes

"from ancient rimrocks,
then dies in the distance.

"I whispered to myself
a long remembered line

"from John Keats, Ode
to a Nightingale.

"Fled is that music,
do I wake, or sleep?"