San Antonio Mountain to Antonito

Cuba and his Mauser España.

The day after Christmas in 2014 while on a driving tour with my family I turned once again onto TP 120, not even thinking about Cuba. But no sooner than we had passed between the Pinabetoso Peaks, Victor came walking toward us from his trailer. When he saw it was me, he rushed to his trailer and came out brandishing a polished lever action rifle. Then he posed for a photograph. While I photographed him he told me about his prized rifle. He described how it had been used by Pancho Villa or at least by his Villistas. I looked more closely at the glistening weapon and saw that the words “Mauser Español 1893” were etched in the metal by the bolt. The España 1893 model was, indeed, manufactured in Germany at the turn of the 20th century and was the preeminent bolt action rifle in the world leading up to The Great War. So, theoretically, the rifle could have been used by Villa, perhaps in the Villistas’ 1916 attack on Columbus, New Mexico.                           

Andrew Abeyta and Cuba.

Cuba and the herd in blowing snow. The Abeytas say herd not flock.

The Great Pyrenees on guard. At 140 pounds the dogs can seem as large as the sheep. They are placid yet fearless.

During our visit Cuba told me that he would be taking the sheep back to the Abeyta ranch in Mogote, Colorado on January 29 and 30.  He said that I could join him if I was interested. I was more than interested so I called Alfonzo the moment I got back to Taos that afternoon. He said that he remembered me but that If I wanted to photograph the sheep being herded back to the ranch, I’d have to call should his son Andrew, the real boss of the operation. He gave me his number and I called Andrew immediately to ask if I could join the them. He replied that, “I don’t see why not. Be there at 8am on Thursday.”

When Victor Hernandez stepped out if his campo on the morning of January 29, 2015 he would be trailing his sheep back to Mogote for the last time or so he said. For forty years Cuba had tended the Abeyta’s flock at the ranch in Mogote, on the llano of the Taos Plateau and in the mountains of the Cruces Basin beyond San Antonio Mountain. And at 76 he had told the Abeytas that this would be his last year tending their sheep before retiring to his own little spread on the Conejos River.

According to 77-year-old Alfonzo Abeyta, Cuba was hired by his father, Amos, in 1978. Cuba says 1975 and others say 1972. Amos’s dying wish was that Alfonzo would promise to care for Cuba when he couldn’t continue herding the sheep. On this raw January morning that eventuality seemed certain. But fate had another plan for Cuba.

The thin crust of ice crunched under our feet and our boots sank in six inches of mud as we started north to Colorado. San Antonio Mountain stretched its sloping form south to north on our left. We took a diagonal course toward US 285 as spitting snow stung our faces. The sheep, carefully tended by two Australian Sheep Dogs and two Great Pyrenees, spread across the llano west to east. The forms of the sheep and of Cuba, staff across his shoulders, were a dance troupe on a stage of prairie, mountains and sky.

The pace seemed leisurely yet I couldn’t get ahead to shoot the herd coming toward me. With time taken to stop, compose and focus I found myself playing catch-up the whole day. About half way to the Colorado border we came to a culvert. The sheep bunched up there, unwilling to cross the iced over stream that flowed through it. After half an hour of yelling and dogs nipping, Cuba and Andrew Abeyta gave up and we made our way north to the state line on the east side of 285.

The llano was strewn with black lava rock and specked with tufts of white sage. Low hills came into focus and Blanca Peak rose before us. Receding layers of prairie and low hills revealed the enormity of the broad San Luis Valley, the largest Alpine valley in the world.

I hitched a ride with Andrew so I could get ahead of the flock. Trailer in tow, he drove me to the Colorado border where Cuba would spend the night. From there I walked back south to meet the sheep coming toward me.

At 2pm Cuba arrived at his campsite for the night. The talkative herder was unusually quiet and distant. I was worried that I had offended him in some way. When I asked how things were going he replied, “Estoy cansado. Necesito dormir ahora.” I’m tired. I need to sleep now. I said, “Adios. Hasta mañana” and headed back to Taos, shins barking.