Rodeo in California Isn’t Just for Shopping

This undoubtedly will sound funny coming from the editor of a magazine called West, but being an Angeleno, I sometimes forget that I’m living in, well, the West.

By this, I don’t mean to suggest I’m unmindful that California lies far beyond the 100th meridian and, from its station, there arises a spirit and worldview far different from those in, say, New York or Washington.

Still, when you’re sitting in L.A., you can lose sight of just how Western this place is, in the cowboy sense of the word. When the only animal you regularly make contact with is your poodle, it’s easy to miss that the state remains home to thousands of men (and some women) who ride the range and rope and brand.

My disconnect from California’s rich ranching culture occurred to me as I read Paul Cullum’s piece on Mexican midget rodeo--”a touring troupe of little people,” he writes, “who face off against their equally diminutive bovine counterparts to ensuing mayhem.”

The group, planning to perform in Pico Rivera, is far more vaudeville than vaquero. But it did make me wonder how California’s full-time cowboys are doing these days. The answer is that it’s pretty dang rough out there.

“We’ve just been struggling, trying to get by,” says Luke Branquinho, whose family has been in the cattle business since the 1800s. They once worked 1,500 head out of Los Alamos, north of Santa Barbara. But over the last decade, their herd has shrunk to about 450 for one main reason: “It’s hard to find good ground to run cattle on,” Branquinho explains.

Urban development is one culprit. Some parcels are being broken up into “ranchettes,” making economies of scale more difficult to achieve. Even acres that remain wide-open have gotten wickedly expensive to lease as grape growers and others have proved willing to pay a premium, leaving in the dust those looking for grazing land.

At least in Branquinho’s case, a source of supplemental income has surfaced: The 6-foot, 270-pounder is one of the best steer wrestlers on the professional rodeo circuit, having won more than $600,000 since 2000. Branquinho, 25, is quick to point out that much of the money evaporates because of truck and trailer payments; care for his horses, Count and Jackpot; and travel expenses from constantly being on the road. The job carries its share of hazards, too: In 2005, Branquinho tore a pectoral muscle, sidelining him for much of the year.

The sport has its own challenges. Bob Fox, a lobbyist in Sacramento for the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Assn., says he spends a good part of his time fending off animal rights activists. “Believe me, if you own a $200,000 bucking horse, you’re not going to do anything to mistreat it,” says Fox, who characterizes the complainers as misinformed city slickers.

I, for one, am trying to be a bit more clued-in: Rodeo, I’m now aware, is not just a swank shopping street in Beverly Hills.