Ranching's Last Stand

January 10, 2008
By Bill Sontag
Feature Writer

 

 Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed up in overalls and looks like work.

-- Thomas Edison

Their ancestors faced challenges Kerr and George Wardlaw can barely imagine. Now, these young brothers see opportunities among hurdles their forefathers never experienced. The Wardlaw boys are bucking a trend of abandonment, a turning away from a lifestyle and agribusiness that – a century ago – put rural southwest Texas on the world stage of meat and fiber production.

Truth be told, they’re not boys at all, but young men, known well among old Del Rio families as the sons of Martin and Elaine Wardlaw. Martin heads up the ranching clan and Elaine is both civic leader and vice president of Del Rio National Bank. But George and Kerr Wardlaw are the latest branches on a family tree that – 123 years ago – pushed roots into thin soils and tenuous water supplies of northwestern Val Verde County.

The brothers find strength in what they see as inexorable links between history, tradition, a strong work ethic, and living on the land – not close to the land, but on it. Kerr, 30, resides in the 68-year-old Martin Wardlaw White Ranch house. George and his bride of less than a year, Kristin, are within a stone’s throw of the headquarters in a modest cabin while they remodel another house for longer-range domicile. The ranch is halfway between Del Rio and Sonora, about 45 miles from either city, on U.S. Highway 277, then roughly 15 miles west along the gravel Dolan Creek Road.

George and Kerr are keenly aware of the attributes and the challenges of remoteness and the sprawl of vast ranchland acreage. It’s a long, one-hour drive to town, and at least another hour to any ranch boundary from headquarters. “Our roads here are so long and slow that we almost always lunch in the pastures. It’s almost always daylight to dark work,” said George Wardlaw. Distances inform daily life on the ranch.

The Wardlaws’ choices of livestock are anomalies in a country where sheep and goats have been royalty for more than 100 years: Brangus and Charolais for beef, and Corriente and Texas Longhorn cattle for rodeo stock. Both pairs are also interbred to achieve greater size. “It’s called hybrid vigor,” said George Wardlaw. To illustrate, he explained that the massive, white Charolais bulls brought here in the mid-1990s by his dad, Martin, bred to crossbred cattle –– show significant increases in weight. “This also shows up as increased fertility, disease resistance, and better milk production,” said George.

Kerr Wardlaw strides from an old barn at ranch headquarters. Ranch equipment and parts are stored here, but chiefly the aging building is used for hay storage. (LIVE! photo/Bill Sontag) (click image to enlarge)

Kerr slices up cilantro to season his bubbling pot of pinto beans for a late afternoon lunch. “The secret to good beans is to use no meat – no ham, no pork, nothing at all,” he said, but wouldn’t divulge the spices he does employ to make a delicious plate topped with chile pequins macerated in a molcajete.. (LIVE! photo/Bill Sontag) (click image to enlarge)

Predators are good for only one thing, in the eyes of Kerr (left) and George Wardlaw. They make interesting mounts and conversation pieces. The men take every advantage to reduce the populations of bobcats (seen here), mountain lions, raccoons, fox, feral hogs and ringtails. Bear have only rarely been sighted in the region, but would be targeted as well. (LIVE! photo/Bill Sontag) (click image to enlarge)

A stout Brangus bull eyes the photographer menacingly, as George Wardlaw admonishes, “I don’t know, Bill. He never looked at me that way,” suggesting a cautious retreat from harm’s way. (LIVE! photo/Bill Sontag) (click image to enlarge)

The men plan to soon crossbreed Charolais with Herefords, in high hopes for larger, more robust cattle. Now, George explains, Brangus – a breed of Angus and Brahman – are typically 800 to 1,000 pounds, and the French Charolais commonly weigh in at 1,100 to 1,400 pounds.

Smallish, tough Corriente cattle, thought to be the descendants of the first cattle brought to the new world from Spain, are bred by the Wardlaws to Texas Longhorns. The offspring are prized specimens for rodeo stock, specifically for steer wrestling, team roping and steer roping.

The Martin Wardlaw White Ranch also supports herds of goats, both Boer and Spanish breeds. “We were raised on wool and mohair here, but now it’s cattle that have become important to us since the early 1990s,” George said. A first venture – an initial 1970s purchase of Charolais – didn’t work out as hoped. “With the drought of the mid-80s, we had to sell off most of that herd,” he added.

The men are immensely proud of another Wardlaw first, the introduction of the Savory System of livestock rotational grazing, a division of pastures into more-or-less circular “pies,” with “slices” divided by electric fence that, from an aerial perspective, resemble spokes of a wheel. At the center of the “pie,” providing access to all livestock and deer within each “slice,” is a pivotal source of water. According to George and Kerr, cattle are moved from “slice” to “slice” for rotational grazing, giving rest to vacant segments.

The system’s namesake, Allan Savory, is one of the most controversial figures in livestock management, focusing a broad philosophy that many say flies in the face of tried-and-true range practices at his Allan Savory Center for Holistic Management in Albuquerque, N.M. But the simple grazing system on the Wardlaw White Ranch has yielded startling results, according to Kerr and George. “Well, it quadrupled our stocking rate,” said Kerr. “And now we have four Savory Systems operating, with ten times better habitat for deer, too.”

George Wardlaw tosses the last of a batch of high-protein cake pellets from the ranch’s storage shed, enroute to feeding cattle the nutritious chunks. (LIVE! photo/Bill Sontag) (click image to enlarge)	Martin Wardlaw’s canteen sports the ranch’s partial question mark brand. The brand was discovered – unclaimed – in a registration book, and Martin registered the mark thinking its uniqueness would be easily recognized. (LIVE! photo/Bill Sontag) (click image to enlarge)
Kerr Wardlaw pauses in the mudroom where working gear is deposited before entering the kitchen of the 1939 house built by his grandfather, “Dink” Wardlaw. “He was on a plane to Australia to look at some sheep there when he just drew out the plans on an envelope and handed it to the builder,” said Kerr. (LIVE! photo/Bill Sontag) (click image to enlarge)	Kerr and George pause to hand-feed a cluster of Brangus cows jockeying for position to get the sweet treats they know are being offered. (LIVE! photo/Bill Sontag) (click image to enlarge)

 

As with many ranchers who cherish their privacy, Kerr and George loathe talking about proprietary data – acreage and size of herds. The Wardlaw family owns the hills, canyons, bluffs and flats of the Martin Wardlaw White Ranch and leases parts or all of three more, totaling nearly 94 square miles of usable ranchland. Cattle on the land vary with seasons and management of herds, many of which are purchased from Mexican ranches to graze here, then shipped to northern feedlots or markets.

Numbers of cattle at any given time range from several hundred head to a few thousand, according to Kerr. “And we ship multiple truckloads of goats to market twice a year,” he added. There are enough sheep on the ranch to keep the family fed, to sell a few more, and that’s about it. “Oh, yeah, we both love lamb,” said George, flashing an enthusiastic grin.

Kerr’s confidence in his future as a stockman was offered in terms that a passionate teacher of history and a patriotic futurist might offer to eager students: “America will always be a nation of beefeaters, and to maintain our freedoms we’ve got to remain an agriculture-based economy. If all the foreign imports stopped tomorrow, we could still feed ourselves. Without that, we’d lose our ability to rise up against a corrupt government,” Wardlaw said.

In point of fact, Wardlaw is both a student and teacher of history, earning his credentials with studies and graduation from New Mexico Military Institute, Roswell, N.M., then earning a Bachelor of Arts in history from Angelo State in San Angelo, Texas. When he was disabled with a leg injury last year, Kerr taught history at Sacred Heart School to third-, fourth-, and fifth-grade students, returning to ranch life only recently.

 

George explains that hunting lease revenues are a distinct help in revenues for operations here and on most ranches in the region, but emphasizes that the money is ancillary. “We’re ranchers that have hunters, not hunters who happen to ranch,” Wardlaw quips. (LIVE! photo/Bill Sontag) (click image to enlarge)	Kerr shows off a unique cow, a cross between a Jersey dairy bull and a Corriente cow. The smaller Corrientes may be seen in the background. (LIVE! photo/Bill Sontag) (click image to enlarge)
Priorities of work at the ranch, explains Kerr Wardlaw, are feeding and watering stock on the range, maintaining effective fences, and keeping rough roads at least passable, but occasionally caring for an orphaned kid figures into the plans until weaning or finding a surrogate mother. (LIVE! photo/Bill Sontag) (click image to enlarge)	“Lupe,” a 16-year-old Brangus cow nuzzles Kerr Wardlaw after being attracted for a mid-morning feeding with a vehicle mounted siren that signals stock to “Come and get it!” Wardlaw says they once “whooped” to call, then resorted to vehicle horns. “We couldn’t keep doing that. Had to replace too many truck horns after awhile,” he explained. (LIVE! photo/Bill Sontag) (click image to enlarge)

George holds the academic stripes for the livestock and ranch management with an Associates degree in meat technology and a Bachelor of Science in meat science, 2003, from Sul Ross University in Alpine, Texas.

Kerr and George received early tutelage from their grandfather, George H. McEntire, who wisely wanted the boys to see the nation outside of their remote corner of southwest Texas where the most exotic influence was easy crossing of the border to Mexico. In his 80s, McEntire took Kerr and George on a series of whirlwind auto tours of 34 states, visiting historic sites, national parks and national landmarks. Kerr and George remember that gesture and those experiences with profound gratitude.

But George and Kerr are committed to ranch life as lifetime careers, which is not to say that supplementary income or civic service are ruled out in the future. “I could be a county commissioner and still ranch,” said George, “but I want to do this full time right now.” “And there’s that park [Devils River State Natural Area] just down the road, too,” said Kerr, thinking of a closer employment alternative focused on natural resource stewardship.

 

Kerr Wardlaw shows off his prize 11-point white-tailed deer trophy buck, killed in 1997 and, field-dressed, weighed about 120 pounds. It’s one of several mounts displayed in the big room of the ranch headquarters living room, now used as Kerr’s bedroom. (LIVE! photo/Bill Sontag) (click image to enlarge)

Kerr levels down with his 22-250 Ruger rifle on a large skunk that jumped out of deep grass beside his truck, dispatching the predator with the first round. Predators of nearly every kind are shot on sight as the Wardlaw brothers go about their daily duties. (LIVE! photo/Bill Sontag) (click image to enlarge)

For the present, the brothers have immediate challenges to meet, not least of which is a labor force to maintain and improve the ranch. “We have a real problem getting help – help that we can rely on and trust. The workers coming across the border are not willing to come out here and learn to be cowboys anymore. This is resulting in our micro-management of a macro-sized operation,” said Kerr, adding that available workers now prefer staying in town, washing restaurant dishes if necessary, rather than living in the geographic isolation and hard work of ranch life.

“We have to fix roads by ourselves, and repair holes in miles and miles of fences. With all the rains we had this summer, we had 10 major fence breaks, and the rain made getting around on our roads pretty tough for 50 days.” Adding to the problems, he said, is that some of the fences are nearly original, made with 80-year-old wire.

The remoteness – at once a blessing and a curse – is keenly felt by the brothers. Kristin, George says, is an unusual woman who likes the ranch’s quiet, though she commutes 120 miles round trip to work and home each day. “Kristin is a tough girl. She killed 10 rattlesnakes this year, even though she wasn’t raised on a ranch. But we’ll get a house in town when kids need to be in school,” George said.

“I already have a house in town,” said Kerr, “but education of the kids is the only reason I can think of to move there.” But Kerr is a single man, not mindless of the many advantages to having a life companion. “I just haven’t met her yet,” he said, smiling ruefully. Meeting someone is difficult, first, because he lives remotely, and the probability of finding someone who’s willing to share that remoteness is even more remote, Kerr feels.

His transition from school teaching back to the ranch illustrates his dilemma. “I wanted to get back outside, and Dad was asking me to come back.” He, George and three more siblings – Francis Weiss of Del Rio, Stella Braman of Refugio, Rachel Schmidt of Comfort – were all born in Piedras Negras, Coahuila, Mexico to establish Mexican citizenship so they could eventually participate in family ranch holdings in that country. But all the ranching “eggs” now are in the Texas “basket.”

George is content. “I’m not real big on change, and I wanted to do what one of my ancestors started out here,” he said, explaining that George Washington Whitehead came to the southwest Texas region in 1884 after serving as a quartermaster in the Confederate States Army (CSA), then running a stagecoach line from Sonora to San Angelo, all the while studying law. George and Kerr both wear brass CSA belt buckles. “Yeah, we don’t think the Confederate flag is racist. We fly it,” said George.

The remoteness of their ranch has many ramifications, the brothers assert. The social and community loss is profound. “There were five families that lived out here along the Dolan Creek Road, and now it’s just us,” said Kerr. “There’s been a decline in our culture out here. When ranch kids marry town kids, ranch acreages usually just get broken up.”

George concurred, reiterating the brothers’ determination to hold fast to the land and the six generations of family ranching that it represents. “The more land you have, with fewer descendants, the easier it is to ranch, to keep it all together.”

Kerr and George Wardlaw were interviewed December 14, 2007 for this story.