The Old West, Canadian Style : City Slickers Pay a Visit to British Columbia’s Rough-and-Ready Sundance Guest Ranch

You can’t get more Western than a herd of cow ponies, fields where buffalo roam and a ranch named Sundance.

But Butch Cassidy never made it this far north. Lots of kids have, however. And instead of saying “Howdy!” the wranglers say, “Eh?”

The Sundance Guest Ranch in British Columbia is nestled at 1,700 feet in the layers of a coastal mountain range, about a four-hour drive northeast of Vancouver. This is Big Sky Country, Canadian style. Bordered by the thundering Thompson River and its miles of rapids, the ranch covers 22,000 acres of pine forests and irrigated mountain meadows that provide lush relief from the surrounding sagebrush hills.

My husband and I came here on a summer vacation last year in search of a laid-back ranch rest where our children, then ages 6 and 2, could kick up their heels while we treated our horse fever.

During our four-day stay, we enjoyed hearty meals and engaging dinner conversation with a cosmopolitan assortment of guests. We also made an acquaintance of sorts with some of the unseen guests--the pioneer ghosts that supposedly haunt this place. And we experienced some of the most heart-pounding, adrenaline-pumping rides this side of the Oklahoma Land Rush.

One of 13 guest ranches in British Columbia, the Sundance can accommodate up to 75 people. It’s relatively close to Vancouver, a five-minute drive from the sleepy village of Ashcroft, and doesn’t have that tony resort atmosphere that seemed to be implied in other guest ranch brochures that we consulted. What appealed to us was the authentic Western look and feel that, despite the area’s British roots, could pass for any of its counterparts in Wyoming or Montana. (Some of the early pioneers staged fox hunts through the sagebrush.) Buffalo heads and Indian blankets adorn the main dining hall. Wooden floors creak when trod upon, pole-rail fences keep livestock from roaming too far, and an old wagon wheel graces the main yard.

This is a family-oriented ranch, which is evident even in the rate structure and another reason why we picked this place: The $105 daily adult fee, based on double occupancy, includes all meals, which are substantial; riding; accommodations, and use of all ranch facilities, including the swimming pool and tennis courts. The daily charge for youths 15 to 18 years old is $90; it’s $75 for children 8 to 14 years old. Children under 8 are $8. And children can stay in either their parents’ room or the ranch house’s special kids’ wing.

The ranch is stocked mainly with quarter horses, which owner Stan Rowe chooses himself; he replenishes the herd yearly. And he does his best to provide what the brochure calls “the Western experience deluxe,” from the herd of buffalo to staging a square dance every Saturday night.

The day starts early at Sun- dance, with a sunrise wake-up call from the barn swallows that swoop through the rafters of the guest wings. A full-scale breakfast of eggs, pancakes, bacon, sausages and cereal served in the dining room by a full-time chef fortifies us for the 9:30 ride, one of two held each day, seven days a week, rain or shine.

Guests gather in the main corral near the stables, situated in front of the guest rooms for a succinct briefing from the silver-haired Rowe on the do’s and don’ts of horsemanship, followed by the pairing up of mounts and riders. Our toddler stays behind with other children too young to ride, who are cared for by baby-sitters.

The mount-rider matchmaking is prearranged: Before getting close to a horse, guests fill out a height-and-weight form and a brief description of riding experience. This ensures that an overeager Joe Greenhorn doesn’t inadvertently get paired up with, say, Widowmaker.

Sundance may be the only guest ranch in Canada that enforces a weight limit for humans, said Rowe. He instituted the requirement several years ago after having one too many horses ruined by hefty dudes. The limit also sends a not-so-subtle message to guests that they should be in at least moderate shape to enjoy the stay here. If, for some reason, you and your equine partner don’t get along well, there are about 80 others from which to choose.

I’m assigned Sandy, an athletic, stocky little roan gelding who, I am warned, can take off like a bullet.

On this first ride, my husband stays behind to work in the corral with our 6-year-old on a pinto named Montana--insurance restrictions keep children under 8 off the trail and in the corral.

We start out at an easy jog-walk--a blessing to muscles unused to a horse’s back--through a wide meadow that climbs into dusty foothills.

The air is as clean and crisp as the river below. Billows of white thunderheads float low in the sky. I notice the blood-red petals of a lone wild lily on the side of the trail. It’s a tiny contrast to the dun-colored sagebrush, but among many grand visual delights of this rugged Western terrain.

I discover that most of my fellow riders are enthusiastic veterans of past vacations here. One young woman in her mid-20s has been coming here ever since she was 7. An accountant from Vancouver Island is vacationing here with her preteen daughter and two of their friends. A Vancouver trucking company executive in his 40s says he feels the weight of the world slip off his shoulders when he drives through the main gate.

We’ve been riding for about 20 minutes when we come to a clearing, and wrangler Dave Ens, one of two shepherding us along on the trail, gathers the group of 10 riders into a small circle. “OK, who wants to go for a run?” he asks, smiling broadly. Most nod eagerly. I hesitate, figure “what the heck,” tug my baseball cap down tight and say, “Sure.”

Dave lines the horses up in order of antsiness. Some, mine included, prance in anticipation of the run to come. Dave orders me to the front of the line. I’m part relieved, part terrified. Relieved because I know I can’t hold 1,200 pounds of coiled muscle and sinew in check for much longer. Terrified because it’s times like these that I always remember this warning from an old riding teacher: A horse is an accident waiting to happen.

As I gather up Sandy’s reins and jockey for takeoff, Dave leans over his saddle horn. “Remember, Sandy likes to run ,” he says calmly, smiling ever so slightly.

Sandy quickly breaks from a brisk trot to a lope. Reins in one hand, hunk of mane in the other, I can almost feel his hoofs pounding into the earth, hear rocks kicked up in his wake, catch glimpses of low-hanging pine branches. There’s no way to stop it, so you might just as well hang on tight and have fun.

Which is what I do. Sandy stretches into a flat-out gallop in a wide part of the trail, as familiar with the route as he is with his stall. At a sharp turn, I can feel him collect his balance as he swerves around a cluster of huge rocks exposed by a recent rain. Sandy sees the wrangler and his mount standing calmly in the clearing before I do, and puts on the brakes.

What may have felt like a wild ride to me, however, was actually very much under control--for the wrangler stationed at the end of this quarter-mile dash through the woods is insurance that no one gets caught up in the thrill of the run and winds up in Toronto.

We are told that no one ever does, even the greenhorns. While some riders, me included, have spent years earning their saddle sores, most of the guests are actually greenhorns. They’re started out with simple instructions and practice in the corral, then shepherded onto beginner trail rides. That, in fact, is part of the beauty of this place. Riders are grouped according to ability so no one goes unwittingly on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, and experienced riders can go on outings that make them feel challenged.

And after this ride, I feel challenged. With my heart pounding, I feel my entire face light up in a huge grin. And I can swear that Sandy is smiling, too.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch. . . .

My 6-year-old has tired of riding around the corral and of her father ordering her to keep “head up, heels down!” With the toddler in tow, they spend the rest of the morning exploring the children’s game room and trying to coax a buffalo to a fence railing for a quick pet.

Father and kids wind up in the huge swimming pool, and this is where I find them after our morning ride. Elizabeth is playing pool tag with some Belgian children, and the toddler is splashing in the shallow end as my husband, stretched out on his back, keeps one eye on them and the other on his beer.

By dinner time, we’re ready for the company of adults. The ranch staff understands this and has arranged mealtimes so that children eat lunch and dinner an hour before the grown-ups. While we eat, the kids are kept occupied by a video in the game room.

Dinner consists of hearty fare to which creative flair has been applied by a competent chef: We start with a consomme, followed by medallions of pork, baby carrots, new potatoes, a salad and homemade rolls, all washed down with Canadian wine.

Conversation flows as readily as the wine as couples from Switzerland, Quebec and Belgium discuss in German, French and English everything from the day’s ride to politics to horses. By the time the raspberry torte arrives, we’re ready to lean back, sip coffee and watch the sun set behind the mountains.

But wait, the evening entertainment is about to begin, my table-mate says.

The guests head for the dining room door. “Here they come!” someone shouts. From around the corner thunders a herd of horses at full gallop--dust and tails flying, nostrils flared, unencumbered by saddles, halters or humans.

One of the wranglers rides close behind the herd, swinging a lariat high over his head as he spurs his horse on. Within seconds the horses are far down the dirt road and turning through a wide gate into a pasture. Someone jokes that all that’s missing is the theme song from “Bonanza.”

This race to freedom is part of the ranch’s nightly routine, when the horses are turned out to graze and snooze, entertaining the city folks along the way.

But the best of the evening’s fun is yet to come. If you believe in ghosts, that is. The children have been tucked snug into bed, and as the wind moans through a stand of weeping willows, some of us gather in the lounge.

Stan Rowe is our reluctant storyteller. He is a no-nonsense man in his mid-60s who isn’t comfortable talking about things that can’t be explained. But there have been too many sightings for him to ignore and so, pressured by a couple of guests, he starts by telling us the history of the place.

The ranch dates back to the 1860s, to Canada’s gold rush. An old supply route to gold mines 400 miles north passes about a quarter-mile from the ranch’s main complex. Today it looks like a scar on the sagebrush hillside. But ghosts of pioneers have been known to haunt this trail.

Two of these ghosts were seen one evening in 1978. As two young women hired on as cooks headed out for an early evening walk, they passed a barbed-wire fence that ran by the old pioneer route.

Suddenly, one of the women turned to the other. “Who are those men?”

“What men?” her companion asked.

“Why, those two,” she said, pointing. She described them to her friend, who couldn’t see them: Both were dressed in boots, oil-cloth overcoats that scraped the ground and wide-brimmed hats pulled low on their heads.

She joked about how they looked dressed for a costume party. Then she gasped. The apparitions walked right through the barbed-wire fence, then disappeared.

The woman was last seen boarding the next train to Vancouver.

Rowe tells another story. Several years ago, a rather sober-minded business associate of his was among 18 guests invited to run cattle to northern grazing land.

“We’d been rounding up cattle when a big downpour rolled in,” Rowe said. The group broke up and headed for cover. When the downpour showed no signs of abating, they decided to make a dash for the safety of the Sundance barn several miles away.

By the time they reached the barn, the businessman was missing. A short time later, he came riding in, a most puzzled expression on his face.

Rowe asked what had kept him.

“This Indian girl,” he said, then described her as dressed in buckskin holding a string of trout. She had asked the way to the main trail, then if he’d like to have dinner.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning struck a nearby tree, spooking the man’s horse. He ran after it into the woods, and when he returned, the woman was gone.

Rowe then explained to his guest that no Indians had lived anywhere near there for years. But almost everyone in the region had heard the legend of the Indian woman, who supposedly had lived in the last century and whose husband drowned while fishing. Locals say that if you agree to dine with her, you won’t come back.

Rowe declines to say he thinks the stories are true, but he does go this far: “I’ve been close enough to people to believe that they believe what they saw.”

The Sundance wasn’t always a guest ranch and Rowe wasn’t always a rancher. Water rights for the ranch date back to the 1860s, and for decades it was a cattle ranch, at one time running up to 700 head. Eventually it became a guest ranch, which Rowe visited with his young family.

Rowe grew up in the neighboring province of Alberta, where he developed a deep love of horses and the outdoors. He realized early on that he wanted someday to own his own guest ranch. But he knew that it would take a lot of money.

So he set out to be a salesman, was promoted through the ranks and eventually owned his own high-tech business products company. He sold his firm in the mid-’70s, just as the high-tech industry was beginning to flourish. The guest ranch came up for sale around the same time. He bought it outright, renaming it Sundance after his former company.

The Canadian West may long ago have been physically tamed, like its U.S. neighbor, but some of its wild nature surely lives on spiritually in places like this, and in people like Rowe. But with a modern twist. On one ride we could hear the howls of a pack of coyotes echoing off canyon walls. The coyotes were following a rancher’s truck as he looked for a place to dump the carcass of a cow.

Wild or tame, by the end of our four-day stay, our saddle seats were solid and we were beginning to ride like, well, real cowpokes, thanks to the constant encouragement of the wranglers.

And we couldn’t wait for those heart-thumping runs.

GUIDEBOOK: Galloping to Sundance Ranch

Getting there: Alaska, Canadian, Delta and United fly daily from Los Angeles to Vancouver for about $270 for a round-trip, 14-day advance-purchase fare requiring a Saturday night stay.

The easiest and fastest way to get from Vancouver to the ranch-adjacent town of Ashcroft is to rent a car. It’s about a four-hour scenic drive on Trans-Canada Highway No. 1 through farmland, rolling hills and coastal mountain ranges. Or take the bus, which leaves Vancouver at 8 a.m. and 6 p.m. daily, arriving in nearby Cache Creek at 1:30 p.m. and 11:30 p.m. Cost: about $56 round trip. The ranch will usually provide a courtesy pickup at the bus station.

Ranch rates: The ranch is open year-round except Christmas: $105 per day per adult, double occupancy; single occupancy, $125 per day. Youths 15-18, $90 per day; 8-14, $75 per day; 3-7, $8 per day. Low-season rates are slightly less--$90 per adult per day, double occupancy, for example--and apply Sundays through Thursdays, May 2-June 11 and Sept. 13-Oct. 29, and March and April. Daily fare includes two three-hour rides on Western saddles; three heavy, well-cooked meals; use of the game room, heated outdoor pool, tennis courts, and a bring-your-own-bottle adult lounge. The rooms are simple but comfortable; all have a private bath or shower and air conditioning. An extra $12 per day will get you the deluxe room with the fireplace. No phones or TVs in the rooms. Children can either sleep in their parents’ rooms or in the children’s wing in a dormitory-style setting. Call or write Sundance Guest Ranch, P.O. Box 489, Ashcroft, B.C., Canada VOK 1AO, telephone (604) 453-2554 or 453-2422, fax (604) 453-9356.

Watch your weight: Sundance maintains weight limitations for the safety of both horse and rider. The maximum weight for a 5-foot, 3-inch-tall woman, for example, is 155 pounds; for a 5-foot, 10-inch man, it’s 195 pounds.

Side trips: There’s plenty to do in the surrounding area, from fishing in the nearby Thompson River, to river rafting, golfing and kayaking. Folks at the ranch will help you arrange an outing. The Hat Creek Heritage House and Ranch, about a 25-minute drive away, offers wagon rides or a chance to watch farriers shoe horses. Or try the Ashcroft Manor and Tea House, a short drive down the main highway, for afternoon tea. Don’t miss a tour of the Ashcroft Museum, a five-minute drive into the heart of town. For more information about activities, write: The Village of Ashcroft, Box 129, Ashcroft, British Columbia, Canada VOK 1AO.