Duke Phillips III, the founder of Ranchlands, will shatter any stereotypes you’ve ever had about cowboys or herding. Raised on a ranch in Mexico, he traveled the world, apprenticed to legendary horsemen, ranchers and businessmen, and counts Pablo Neruda among his favorite poets. If you think herding is about riding horses, moving cattle, wearing hats, and driving trucks, Phillips will convince you that it really is about being a steward of the land. “I was thinking of getting into the grazing animal business, but instead it’s more of a growing group of people working together on a mission to create a better world through stewardship of land, people and animals through the legacy of animal husbandry. He wrote in a recent blog post.

Early on, Phillips recognized that herding is one of the few professions that has been passed down from generation to generation. He is lucky that his children, Duke IV and Tess, have enthusiastically adopted the family business, but many of the younger generation have no idea how to run a legacy ranch, let alone make one. viable business. Ranchlands aims to lighten the burden by taking on the tasks of land management for ranchers and, at the same time, bridge the ever-growing divide between town and country by inviting guests to experience ranch life.

Currently, Ranchlands manages five properties across Colorado, Texas, New Mexico and Wyoming. His two properties in Colorado, Medano-Zapata and Chico Basin, a nearly 90,000-acre ranch south of Colorado Springs, are diversifying experiences, with ramifications of hospitality that include lodging, meals from the farm-to-table and programming ranging from the concert series to the artist. pensions. Chico Basin, a property on a 25-year Colorado State Land Board lease, targets seasoned riders who want a taste of ranch life from dawn to dusk, while Medano-Zapata attracts city dwellers like me, who fantasize about ranch life but I haven’t a clue of the real meaning of saddle pain.

Arriving at Medano-Zapata feels like stepping back in time. A bumpy driveway lined with cotton poplars drops me off at a 19th century farmhouse that has been turned into a 17-room lodge. My log cabin, Bird, is the perfect blend of vintage charm and modern comfort, with a Woodsman stove, claw-foot tub, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Guests can immerse themselves as much or as little in ranch life as they wish. Some come to have a cushy base to explore the national park, less than five miles away, and indulge in Chef Chase Kelley’s spectacular meals, while others, like me, want to understand more about riding and rotating grazing. , a sustainable practice that moves cattle to mimic historic bison grazing patterns.

Mornings begin with a multi-course breakfast, far more refined than what most ranchers are used to. I dig into cheese grits enriched with a bacon and chili crunch and topped with hen of the woods mushrooms and a poached egg, along with homemade cookies and jam. As hard as I try, I can’t resist cleaning my plate and have to loosen my belt buckle before lifting my leg to ride Cinco, one of the ranch’s 50+ horses. My wrangler, Lauren, a gangly Californian, explains that each ride is personalized according to the client’s capabilities. You won’t find nose to tail rides here. In fact, many rides don’t even follow the trails. Often times you are just exploring the land.

Ranchlands is one of the few outfits allowed to bring horses into the Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve. Experiencing this otherworldly landscape – a mix of tundra, wetlands and towering dunes shaped by the unique winds of the region – on horseback allows you to reach the depths of the park that few visitors find. ‘venture on foot. Galloping through the ever-changing sand, not a soul at the site, I feel like I could cross the Sahara.

The next day, we tow our horses to the Medano ranch. Many original buildings from the 1800s still exist and are listed on the National Register of Historic Places. This is where I feel my inner cowgirl come to life. We ride for over six hours, without encountering another human, just the bison and an occasional stealth coyote darting between patches of yellow-tinted rubber bunny brush. The whistle of the wind and the occasional neighing of Lauren’s horse, Campbell, are the only disturbances of the silence.

In the absence of trails to follow, our route is dictated by the path of the bison, which we keep at a distance. Lauren trains me in my jumps, and at the end of the day, I found my rhythm in the saddle. Being surrounded by so much open space, I feel a beautiful feeling of freedom and possibility. I understand the attraction that drew the men and women from these early frontiers to the west. We make our way to the Bison Barn, a complex facility where, using a helicopter, the bison are herded together each fall to be vaccinated and about a quarter of them are slaughtered in order to trim the herd for s’ adapt to the range.

Some of these slaughtered animals end up as meat, which is served at the ranch. Chef Kelley sources directly from the ranch and works closely with the San Luis Valley Food Shed to create sensational dishes like honey miso roast chicken, grilled eggplant with green chili yogurt and an apple pie with sherry caramel, thyme and salted whipped cream.

My last night, I grab the pillow-shaped sopapillas the chef made for take-out dessert and meet Lauren for the sunset in the pasture. The horses rush towards us and start rummaging curiously in our pockets for treats. Lauren brought mugs of sliced ​​apples. We’re trying to hand out chunks as well, but when I turn to the trucks I see that Murphy, a tall auburn beauty, has been sneaky and not only got the last of the apples but also the last of my cabernet.

The sky has taken on sherbet hues of orange, pink, and yellow, and Lauren and I step onto her platform to watch the setting sun. I marvel at the landscape stretching out in front of me. What I saw as a pretty sight just a few days ago, now I see it with a new lens.