I've met a few, and two stories come to mind.
Both involve climbers that I would consider cowboys.
Scarpelli:
During the early 80's I worked a couple of summers at a boy scout camp. At the end of the first summer I hitched back to Santa Cruz via Laramie and the Valley. Before leaving the scout camp I got a hold of Scarpelli and made plans to end my first day on the road at his place, which I did.
Bob was a gracious host. I called him from a gas station in town and he refused to give me directions to his place. Instead he was there to pick me up a short while later. During my wait in the station I was amazed at this board they had by the counter. It was like a hunter's trophy display. There was all many of wildlife body parts. For some reason (unknown to me at the time) I was absolutely fascinated by this raptor claw. It was whooomongus. I compared what I considered to be my strapping, young, climber fingers with the length and girth of the thing. I did this a few times a few times out of sheer amazement. I thought owing to the fact that it was as large as my fingers and that of a wild animal with immense 'Farm Boy' strength... It would be a bitch to receive the business end of those things. I was really 'Out West' where the Buffalo and Cowboys roam.
Enter Scarpelli.
Back at his house we drank what beer he had on hand. So we venture into Laramie for some fast food and more beer. Standing at the counter in this liquor store waiting to pay for our beer there is one person ahead of us. It is an ever so drunk cowboy. Drunk, I mean this guy was plastered! He is fumbling and mumbling, taking forever just to get his wallet out in attempt to pay for his purchase. I am looking at Scarpelli, he's looking at the proprietor, we are all watching in amazement at this guys level of toxicity. He could barely stand.
Scarpelli had enough and as the guy wheels a little to one side Scarpelli smacks the guy's wallet downward, out of his hand. It sent the guys Bills, cards, pictures etc all over the floor.
My immediate thought "Will I make it out of Laramie?"
The cowboy starts sputtering and spitt'n "I'm gunna kick yer..." type crap and Scarpelli just stands there. The cowboy starts with another line of B.S and Bob abruptly cuts him off with stuff like, I kicked your ass in JR.High. I beat you a few times in High School and nothings changed except now your hammered. If there's going to be anybody's ass getting kicked, it won't be mine. Now pick up your gear, grab your bottle and get out of my way!!!
I am thinking, drunk cowboy, pick up truck, shot gun/rifle rack... time to go, time to become unseen!
Turns out Scarpelli did know this guy that well. The went through school together and had fought all the way. In typical drunk fashion, the guy recognizes Bob with some prompting and gets all 'Bro' about things. Scarpelli reminds him that he just wants to pay for his beer and leave so 'Hurry the F%*&k up and get out of the way. The cowboy leans down and was circling around trying to accumulate his gear when he starts getting pissy again and making comments under his breath. Scarpelli laughed and told him that he had just done the guy a favor. "How so?" the cowboy asks. Scarpelli explained to him that minutes before he could barely stand and if he walked down the street with a bottle in that condition he was certain bait for the local constable. At least now after a little neighborly confrontation he had a chance. As long as he kept his mouth shut.
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And speak of keeping the mouth shut:
So on that scout camp there were three other instructors on my same staff. One was a guy named Rick who hailed from Oklahoma. Rick grew up on a farm/ranch and hand a good amount of experience with animals. At the end of our first season he left to take a seasonal job as a wrangler for a hunting outfitter in the Yukon. The next summer he was full of stories from his experiences.
On the one day off we would usually all pile into Rick's pickup and go to town with two distinct needs to care for. Cashing the checks would quickly and easily dispatch the first need. The second would take a little more time and cunning.
Later that afternoon/eve we are in this college bar in Fort Collins. While at the bar buying a round of beer for the boys, Rick meets this stunningly good looking gal and invites her back to our table. In short order these two are yacking it up. She loves horses and riding and so does Rick. They start making eyes at one another and myself and the other two guys figure Ricks gunna hook up.
All of a sudden, for Rick things go south real fast. He just couldn't keep his mouth shut! She was raised on a ranch and was into some barrel riding etc and simply loved animals. Rick on the other hand comes out with "Yeah I love'm and it pains me to have to whack a horse with a axe handle when they get obstinate"! They began a debate. She coming from a more cultured, equestrian mind set. Rick started into stories like "yeah well... let's say it's early November and your headed back out to the trail head at the end of the season. You come to a small stream that has a glaze of ice over it and the first two of eight animals cross it but number three freaks out and freezes to a stand still and won't move. You have to get that animal to move or else you are going to have six humans and seven other horses stuck in the wilderness through the winter..."
He should've just kept his mouth shut...
Like he pretty much did the whole drive back up country.
Did you know the term "cowboy" came from the slave owners of the south.
They called the black people that took care of and slept with the cows. " cowBoys"
Went skiing at Jackson in '67. My buddy and I decided to check out the
famous Cowboy Bar in town. I was 6'-1" and 180, my buddy had me by an inch
and 20 pounds. Did I mention we were midshipmen and looked it? OK, maybe
a touch on the preppy side by Wyoming standards but we were wholly unprepared
for our reception. We got about a dozen steps into the bar when somebody
cut loose with a well-honed wolf whistle. Without a word we simultaneously
executed a drill team about face and marched our asses outta there. Maybe
we shoulda worn our uniforms. On second thought...
Don't have a hat. Don't have a horse. Do own the ranch and 30 cows. Most of the other ranchers (as opposed to COWBOYS), make jokes about the clowns in the hats, boots with spurs, etc. We call'em RODEO cowboys, cause that's the only time they really need that schitt, these days.
wow, loved your 'cowboy type history'... just resaw all this, from a bump...
my twin buddies will enjoy it, :)
they like living the cowboy way, :)
they got a ranch, and do all their own work, raise appaloosas, and some cows... well, and
little furry critters on the side--meaning their dogs and cats, :))
i enjoy helping, when i can--but that was a long time, back,
:)
An old cowboy went to a bar and ordered a drink. As he sat sipping his whiskey, a young lady sat down next to him. She turned to the cowboy and asked, "Are you a real cowboy?"
He replied, "Well, I've spent my whole life on the ranch, herding horses, mending fences, and branding cattle, so I guess I am."
She said, "I'm a lesbian. I spend my whole day thinking about women. As soon as I get up in the morning, I think about women. When I shower, I think about women. As I watch TV, or even eat, I think about women. Everything seems to make me think about women."
The two sat sipping in silence. A short time later, a man sat down on the other side of the old cowboy and asked, "Are you a real cowboy?"
He replied, "I always thought I was, but I just found out that I'm a lesbian."
Those of us who actually live here and own places all joke: what's the commonality between cowboy hats and hemorrhoids? Answer; sooner or later, every a$$hole gets one...
Let us know!