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“A man isn’t a man if he is on foot. That is, except if his horse is named Foot.” … “When there is smoke there is fire. And when there is fire, there is usually steak.” … “Most judgment comes from experience. Most of which comes from bad experiences with bulls and women.”

The crackled face of the cowboy lightens up. His deep blue eyes sparkle for a second as he shares some of his local wisdom accumulated over the years. His accent is typical of Wyoming: terse, shortened words, where “get” becomes “git” and “ing” becomes “in”. I look at his hat, his brass belt buckle and the stitching on his leather boot. I’m for sure sitting next to the real thing.

I come to the Wild West to capture him. The Marlboro Man. Rugged and lonely, handsome and masculine. The printed ads, billboards and movies suggest he lives in “a land of galloping horses, wide-open spaces and dusty red sunsets”… Is this image an enticing myth, an eroding legend or a thriving reality?

For one thing, the Marlboro Man is only a relatively short-lived visual representation of a much longer history of the Wild West! Looking through the 4x4 car window, onto this spectacular landscape around us, I think of this American West, that new frontier explored as early as the 17th century by English and French trappers. The cowboy's Wild West only emerged in the 1860s and lasted a good 100 years, spurred by the great new railroads in the late 19th century and the expansion of the cattle industry. But prior to the birth of the cowboy, trappers were collaborating with the native Indians through sophisticated trading arrangements. The pre-railwork American West economy is little picked up in the media. From that point of view, the Marlboro Man almost "hijacked" the American West through extensive visual representation in the arts and media industry! This simply highlights the power of images.

We are driving along US Highway 14. Stewart is a 25-yr old ranch wrangler who brings me back to the cattle ranch where he works, in Shell, Wyoming, about one hour east of the Cody/Yellowstone airport. Shell is set at the base of the Big Horn Mountain range, one-hour south of the Montana border. POP 50; ALT 4,210. The green road sign to my right betrays the smallness of the town. We make a right on a surprisingly well-maintained road and then a left, through a giant wooden gate with "Flitner Ranch" engraved on it. This is the main entrance to one of the largest working ranches in the Wild West: 300,000 acres, 270 horses, 1,200 heads of cattle. It is also one of the oldest, founded 100-yrs ago this year, in 1906, and operated by the 4th generation of the founding Flitner family. I stay in a charming guest ranch on a property called The Hide Out, which consists of a main guest lodge and a dozen wooden cabins. It opened in the mid-1990s to secure a new revenue stream. A conversation with Mr. Flitner on my last day reveals the management’s desire to also develop winter activities on their ranch.

Beyond those cabins, well, it's Marlboro country at its best. A blessing for photographers, be they amateur like me or professionals. I am sharing a cabin with Dan, a young talented National Geographic contributor; several others are painters seeking inspiration for content and composition. There is the imposing Big Horn mountain range, the Chimney Rock which reminds me of Monument Valley, the Needle Rock (in front of which Roosevelt, Hemingway and others camped) which punctuates a chain of red rock cliffs eroded by the wind, the cool and shallow river beds of Trapper and Shell creeks crisscrossing the plains around our cattle ranch, the painted hills and yellow-green grassy meadows nearby. All used to maximum effect as scenic backgrounds. The landscape is diverse and colorful, dramatic both early in the morning and at sunset, dry and crisp. This stony landscape, those limestone beds throughout have an eerie dream quality. It strikes me they are the ideal backdrop for Wild West legends.

So I spend the next five days photographing the cowboys and their horses. I meet Head Wrangler Bill, a man of few words but whose direct, straight talk will pierce through any conversation, and retired Buckster, of the strong, silent type. “This is a place where distances are long and conversations short,” a visitor once noted, which reminds me of another cowboy wisdom shared by Stewart, “Never miss a good chance to shut up!” There is also Ben, a cocky 19-yr old junior wrangler, keen to chew tobacco and set the record straight on recent Hollywood matters: “This shit ain’t right. I ain’t going down Brokeback Mountain.” And Stewart, the romantic cowboy with a Clint Eastwood face, who writes and sings original ballads with his guitar by the fireplace at night, and makes his own buffalo chaps. And finally the very pretty Bee and Allison, both with skin much thicker than one would first imagine. They teach us about the supply chain of the cattle ranching and seasonal grazing, as well as the responsibilities of the horse wrangler, from grooming, saddling and bridling, to cleaning stalls and barn area. A 6am-6pm 7-day job which requires knowledge, enthusiasm and resourcefulness. I am impressed by their endurance, seduced by their self-confidence and taken back by their unlikely sense of humor.

We are able to do action shots and still lives, silhouettes and atmospheric horse runs as well as capture the ultimate Wild West shot of the lone cowboy roaming on the open plains, symbol of freedom and power. Some of it is staged but most of it is authentic. Those five wranglers are photogenic beyond belief, and quite cooperative with us, coming out everyday with their best accessories, from saddles, buckles and chaps to boots and spurs. Horses are selected based on their colors i.e. no 100% white or black horses as they would not come out as well on photos.

Like most on-field photo shoots, this one has its share of challenges beyond the weather, from horses galloping dangerously close to us (a 73-yrd old photographer nearby is once knocked out, tripod and camera flying in the air, by a wild horse; this is after all a wildlife photo safari) to kneeling on cactuses and introducing dust on camera sensors. The more alert and prepared a photographer is, on the field, the better shape he is in!

Sure, I am exposed here solely to the cowboy and his horses, only one element of the cowboy's Wild West, which at the turn of the 19th century also included the Indians like the Shoshone and Sioux tribes, the bank/train robbers like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, the frontier heroes such as Buffalo Bill (who founded Cody in 1896), the prostitutes, the gamblers, etc. But much of that Far West world has disappeared over time.

The satisfaction of capturing at least part of the spirit of the 19th century American West is enormous. I wonder how much of it will be left 20 to 50 years from now. Consolidation of cattle ranches and the industrialization of the meat supply chain may overtime erode some of these traditions. But the enthusiasm of the younger wranglers gives me some hope on their mid-term prospects. Pride has a lot to do with it. As another cowboy wisdom goes, “You can be anything you wanna be, but you can never be something you're not. Be proud you're a cowboy.”

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