The Last Ride

I guess I will begin by telling you about why I love this drawing as much as I do...it has a lot of meaning to me.


Ernest "Doc" Scheiber will be someone I will always remember in my life. He could be as crusty as an old corn cob, dried in the sun, but under that gruff exterior beat a heart of gold...if he liked you that is...if he didn't he wouldn't have given you the time of day! I was one of the lucky ones. He was a high country cowboy that had followed in the tradition of his family for several generations, wintering the herd at their home ranch in the El Dorado County foothills near Shingle Springs. Every spring, as soon as the snows melted in the high country, Doc and his friends would saddle up and the herd would be driven some 50 miles up along old Highway 50 to the upper reaches of the Sierra peaks near a place called China Flat in the Desolation Wilderness. In later years, some of the romance of the traditional cattle drive disappeared as the herd was relegated to transport trucks bringing them as far as the Crystal Basin. None the less...every year since the time he could straddle his little legs over a saddle until he passed away in 1992, Doc returned to the place his heart and soul belonged...his precious high country.
I had grown up hearing the Scheiber name. I had even seen some of the cattle drives up Highway 50 but I had never met Doc until I came to the high country to live on the Van Vleck Ranch in 1985.
I loved that first fall when I was living there, going down to Robbs Valley Resort where all the cowboys would congregate around the huge rock fire place after a hard day of gathering the herds for transport to the foothill ranches. There would be Doc, right in the middle like he was holding court. The beer would flow, one after another, and the stories would flow as freely. It was a wonderful time.
The next fall would not be as care-free. It was September 27th and an early September storm dropped several feet of snow in the Sierra and Doc's herd, more than 300 head, were still back at China Flat and blocked from escaping the Rockbound Valley by huge snow drifts. When the storm broke a few days latter, the cowboys gathered to bring the herd down out of the mountains. Ed Hagen, Doug Albright and Barry Gorman rode in from Loon Lake to break a trail to the snow bound valley. Doc was taken by the helicopter, loaded with enough hay to sustain the herd until the cowboys could arrive at China Flat, and was dropped off at his Rockbound Cabin to await their arrival. It took several days of hard riding to gather the herd. All but 16 were collected when they started their drive back to Loon Lake where all the other ranchers had collected together with their personal stock trailers to help bring the Schreiber herd home.
The cows baulked  every step of the way. Creatures of habit, this was not their normal trail to return to lower country and they were hard to drive in a new direction. The last night on the trail, Doc's companions knew he was not feeling very well, but he insisted he was only tired and he kept on working just as hard as the other three. When the herd came in to Loon Lake the next day, Doc went to his cabin at Pearl Lake and it wasn't until the next day that he finally agreed to go to the hospital. He had been having a heart attack while he was on the trail and yet he still kept going. I remember him saying " I knew what was happening but I had work to do." He was about as tough a man as I had ever met.
Doc recovered but Forest Service would not let him return to the allotment in the Rockbound Valley and China Flat. Instead they gave him a new allotment surrounding the Van Vleck Ranch. Unfamiliar with the area, Doc relied heavily on us to show him where to go. We spent a lot of time in the saddle that summer, working with Doc, and I enjoyed every minute of it. Doc would often ride into the ranch on a hot afternoon and take a break on our front porch and again, the beer would flow and so would the stories! I cherish those hours.
In the fall of 1991, Doc's health was failing but that didn't stop him from doing his normal work. He told everyone that he planned to die, doing what he loved to do, rather than to fritter away doing nothing. That fall during round-up, one of the cowboys came into the Van Vleck and said that Doc wasn't doing well and would I come with on the round-up to ride beside Doc and make sure he was going to make it to his Pearl Lake Cabin. My friend and I quickly saddled two horses and off we went to join them. My friend had grabbed her camera at the last minute and as Doc and I were riding along the Bassi trail, heading to Pearl Lake, she took the picture that I used for that drawing of The Last Ride.
I remember that day like it was yesterday. Doc and I riding along, side by side through the forest the dust, stirred up from the herd ahead of us, was filtering down through the trees making brilliant rays reflected from the filtered sunlight. His faithful little cow dog, Pepper, followed dutifully behind him that day instead of doing her normal job, like me, we never left his side.
It would be the last time I ever saw Doc or talked to him. He died the following spring, just one week shy of returning to his beloved high country. He told me often that you had to "earn the right" to live and work in such a beautiful place and I can't think of anyone who earned the right more than he had.
In a way, Doc is still with us. His ashes were spread at the top of the Red Peak in the Crystal Range of the Sierra, right near his cattle gate going into the Rockbound Valley. On a clear day you can see Lake Tahoe. Every year, just about round-up time in September, the cowboys gather for a Memorial Ride to the top of the Red Peak and there they have a drink with Doc and some of his cowboy friends that have joined him up there over the years. Ed Hagen plays his harmonica and everyone gathers around to remember him and a time that is disappearing  from our culture. And, as for me, it is a time to remember our "Last Ride."