Vaquero in a Vacuum
Monk Maxwell shows us the three phases of California vaquero-style horse training.
By: Jay Dusard 08/25/2009
I've heard it said countless times that if you can punch cows in Yavapai County, Arizona, you can punch cows anywhere. The rough, steep, brushy, boulder-strewn terrain provided the tests that young Monk Maxwell passed with soaring colors. He apprenticed with his father Virgil, who tied his catch rope hard and fast, Texas style and made super-handling horses at the Circle Bar Ranch. Then way back of beyond, on the Yolo Ranch run by a cowman deluxe, his uncle Gene Smith, Monk reveled in the demands of the country and cattle, made a top hand and rose to the rank of jigger boss, second in command to the ranch foreman.
When I learned of Monk in the late 1960s, his young family had brought him in a bit closer to civilization, to the Wineglass Ranch in the Chino Valley-Big Chino area. I first photographed him at the Del Rio division of the Wineglass. When Monk trotted toward me on his fine buckskin mount, what caught my attention was the swaying motion of the long eagle bill tapaderos, fancy leather stirrup covers, my first live sighting of such elegant appurtenances. This gentleman of the range was not at all what I was accustomed to seeing in my rather limited experience in the cow countries of Texas and Arizona. Flat-brimmed hat. Slick-fork saddle with no flank cinch. Fancy silver bit. Braided rawhide reins with silver chains. Clearly, my education was far from complete.
Naturally, I asked Monk about his horse gear. “It’s California style, and it goes all the way back to the old-time vaqueros,” he told me. “Dunny’s packin’ a spade bit [a bit that contacts the roof of the horse’s mouth, versus the curved mouthpiece of a curbed bit]. It took me quite a while to get him through the stages to where he now handles like a dream. The saddle’s a three-quarter single rig, Weatherly A-fork. I use a long rope and take my dallies.”
He went on to explain that vaqueros have long been known for their skill and patience in training ultra-responsive, “trigger-reined” horses. This result was achieved in three progressive steps over a lengthy period of time. The horse was started in a hackamore with a simple noseband, the bosal, with reins. Next came a lighter bosalillo, plus a bit in the mouth, with reins on both, called the two-rein. Last came only the bit, and the horse was declared “straight up in the bridle.”
Quite a few years would pass before I rode and worked cattle, in fairly easy country, with Monk, but my good first impression of him was with me to stay. One day at Prescott College, where I taught photography, the advance man for a movie company just happened to run into me. Did I know anything about locations, livestock, etc? “Yes, but you really ought to hire Monk Maxwell. He knows the country and can fix you up with anything you need.” They did, and Monk delivered as advertised, even becoming one of the on-screen “baddies” in the 1971 low-budget cult film Billy Jack.
“He was up, down, all over the place, absolutely fearless. Just like a little monkey.” That’s what Dorothy Maxwell told me about her son, Virgil Jr., when I had asked her the origin of the name Monk. That brand of nerve and athleticism was to serve him well throughout his freelance career of catching and bringing in cattle that had “gone to the wild” in ranching’s nether reaches.
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