I was born ranch, raised ranch, and feel ranch. My closest friends are ranch, and my pride comes from that base. Something about ranching captivates me, and for nearly all of my eighty years, I've been involved with the land that enchants me.
My stories in Part One of this book are all about ranching in the Big Horn Valley, Wyoming, where I was born. I take a few detours here and there, but everything you read here is, in one way or another, related to ranching.

I hope I have done justice to the Native Americans who were here first. They are a vital part of the history of this beautiful country in northeastern Wyoming, and their influence is still highly significant today.

Besides covering some history of the Big Horn region, my honest-to-goodness real "tales" will probably give you some good laughs along with some serious thinking in my more philosophical musings about the extraordinary landscapes I've had the privilege of being a part of. And even if my old elementary teacher would insist on my correcting that "dangling participle" in the last sentence, well, that's just how I talk.

From my grandfather's time through my own years, the Fordyce family has been a constant presence in the Big Horn ranching scene. Out of the several enterprises I was involved with, Tepee Lodge was one of my high points. Tepee was a family-oriented dude ranch where people could watch the world roll by, go horseback riding, dance, visit other ranches, eat, or simply enjoy being alone in a purely wonderful place. My stories of Tepee are not to be forgotten!

Later in life, after my ranching career came to an end, I found my place in the world of the camera. I learned the art of darkroom and black-and-white photography from David Scheinbaum and Janet Russek in Santa Fe. Through them, I met Eliot Porter. I worked with him for a spell printing his early eight-by-ten negatives for a book he would publish.

My ranch-trained eye helped me to understand the relationship between the natural elements involved, and I got to see Eliot do his magic with the dye-transfer process. He had no equal and was to color what Ansel Adams was to black-and-white.
These people greatly improved my life in many ways beyond photography. Through them I met people like Paul Caponigro, Bill Wright, Willard Van Dyke, and others. A marvelous group they were!

I served on the board of a New Mexico group from which evolved the Santa Fe Workshops, and though I never reached the preeminence of these people, they all added greatly to my time in photography. I also met David Lubbers, a man I much admired while in New Mexico, and, along with him, I saw most of what we call our Southwest.

Later, my present wife, Jane, and I angled toward the Southeast and lived for a spell in Aiken, South Carolina. She is not only my partner but my best friend, and she carried me through a crippling surgery that left me unable to stand in a darkroom or continue with black-and-white photography. We met a man, Forrest E. Roberts, who introduced me to digital photography and insisted I work at it. This began a trip with color with Jane, a portrait painter of note, and together we moved to Georgetown, Texas, followed by another move to Round Rock, Texas.

My ventures in photography gave me great fulfillment. It is therefore my pleasure to share some of my favorite black-and-white photos with you in Part Two of this volume.

Throughout my life, I followed my father's advice, "Let the good luck happen." He told me I needed to remember this saying in order to be successful. I also believe that hard, honest work goes well with luck. I hope you, too, will let the good luck happen, and that you'll enjoy these remembrances of days gone by in a part of the world never to be forgotten.