The Last Shepherd : The Taos Plateau to the San Luis Valley

Victor's campo, the Taos Plateau.

Driving north on US 285 toward the Colorado border I saw dozens of indistinct forms near the eastern horizon. To take a closer look I turned east on TP 120 toward a cleft between two low, rocky hills called Pinabetoso Peaks. I continued straight ahead as TP 120 bent south. Just as I passed the hills a figure with two Australian sheepdogs walked toward me. He greeted me in Spanish. “Me llamo Victor Hernandez.” I responded in kind, “Me llamo Esteban. Soy un fotógrafo.” I'm Steve. I'm a photographer. Behind him a flock of Rambouillet sheep grazed on the white sage strewn across the llano.

Victor with Daddy and Puppy, the Taos Plateau.

Victor told me that he had fled Castro’s Cuba in 1965 and had been herding sheep for his patron since 1975. Victor described commandeering a speedboat with a big “pistola” and sailing to Florida.” When I asked why he left the island he replied simply “Gobierno malo.” Bad government. I asked where he lived in Cuba, and he told me that he was from Villa Clara about 25 miles from Havana. Villa Clara is, in fact, a province that lies 180 miles east of the Capitol. Victor could neither read, write or count. So, where he once lived, how long he’d herded sheep in the San Luis Valley and how many sheep were in his charge were guesses. Besides Victor never let the facts get in the way of a good story. When I asked him how many sheep he was herding that January day he told me 600. The actual number was 325.

East of San Antonio Mountain.

White Sage and Borregos, San Luis Valley, Colorado.

As I spoke with Victor the skittish sheep spread out on the cerro (hillside), chomping on sage and eating snow to quench their thirst. I photographed him on the flats near his metal trailer that he called his “campo.” Then I walked up to the herd on the hill for some shots. When I came back down a pick-up truck laden with firewood and groceries arrived. A sturdy gentleman in his seventies eyed me suspiciously and asked, “What are you doing here?” I told him that I was a photographer from Taos and was fascinated by the scene of Victor and the sheep on the plateau. “I’m Steve.” He said his name was Alfonzo Abeyta that he was the patron of the outfit. He referred to Victor as “Cuba” or the “Cubano.”

I sent a letter to Alfonzo, one that I hoped would open a dialog. I even included matted photographs of Alfonzo and of Cuba in the package. But I heard nothing and set the project aside. Then three years to the day later another chance encounter launched me full tilt into my years with Victor, the Abeyta family and their sheep.

Their story will continue next week.