Cowboys and Indians: Turning Over in their Graves

By Hillary Rosner, 6-17-05

The large flag that hung across the lobby of the Steamboat Grand Hotel read "Rocky Mountain Mustang Roundup." Because I still have horses on the brain after my brief drive-by visit to the Prairie National Wild Horse Refuge in Oklahoma last week, and because Steamboat Springs is in horse country, after all, I immediately assumed the worst. They were rounding up the wild mustangs to sell for slaughter—and some contingent of the people responsible for the massacre were convening at the very same hotel where I was spending the night!

I was relieved when I drove into the garage and found that nearly every space was occupied by a classic Mustang, the kind made by Ford. The Mustang Roundup, a car rally, has been drawing hundreds of Colorado Mustang lovers for 17 years to cruise, race, and peek under each other's hoods. But of course the name is meant to conjure the mustangs I was thinking of, a way to connect the town’s recreation-hub present to its cowboy past.

There’s nothing wrong with this, of course; it’s a cute play on a myth. Every culture has its mythology, which to a large degree is just a collective storytelling history, the boiled-down takeaway messages from generations of lives lived and tales told. But the West’s mythology has long had the distinction of being both larger-than-life and also riddled with inaccuracies--beginning with the idea that the West was an unpopulated wilderness that European-Americans "discovered." And because it’s been endlessly spun by literature, film and other forms of pop culture, it has taken on a life of its own; there’s virtually no way to stop it.

In my room at the Steamboat Grand (I was in town to report a story that had nothing to do with Mustangs or mustangs) was a copy of a magazine called Cowboys and Indians, which bills itself as "the premier magazine of the West." I’m sure this is not news to many New West readers and I’m simply the last to browse through a copy. But wow. Wow. Printed on heavy-stock paper, the glossy mag features actor Simon Baker on the cover, dressed as Loved by the Buffalo, a character in TNT’s new "epic Western miniseries" Into the West. Inside are stories about eating and drinking in Santa Fe, the Crow reservation in Montana ("proud culture and rich heritage"), and a vacation "wilderness ranch" in Canada (where, I confess, I’m now dying to spend a week).

In case there was any doubt about the magazine’s target audience, the first page is an ad for Bohlin watches, made in Switzerland but touted as "the spirit of the West" for reasons that are unclear (though the men’s watch features a sheriff’s star on the face). Turn the page and you’ll find a two-page spread for Double D Ranch clothing and accessories: a blond model stands in what might be a barn, splayed against some pipes, wearing spike-healed black suede boots with—you guessed it—fringe and rhinestones on top, a woven wavy skirt (very tribal), a massive studded leather belt, a tight tank top (no bra) and a huge turquoise choker.

Keep flipping, and mingled with the enticements to purchase sterling silver belt buckles carved with images of teepees, buffalo, and Indian chiefs you’ll find the real estate ads. "Where bandanas and ascots ride hand in hand," reads a typical one, for a development called Wolf Creek Ranch, near Park City. "From a luxurious enclave with superlative amenities to 14,000 private acres of an aspen cloaked, secluded wilderness, Wolf Creek Ranch defines refined ranch living. In addition to lots of 160 acres each and breathtaking views, residents enjoy exclusive facilities like concierge services and their own private mile of blue ribbon trout fishing."

Another ad touts the Glacier Club, near Durango—a "mountain clubhouse community" built around a private golf course. Many of the ads in Cowboys and Indians for mountain living near scenic wilderness offer private golf courses among their amenities. The Glacier Club, we learn in an article about the development (which comes three pages after the full-page ad), is "a paradise for the outdoor enthusiast," with "inspiring views" and "down-to-earth attitude." In addition to 170 "custom home lots" and 170 "town homes," there’s a 20,000-square-foot clubhouse. All situated in the "glorious" Animas River Valley.

The magazine is an exercise in irony. Can anyone really say "wilderness" and "golf course" in the same sentence with a straight face? But this is the problem. The mythology of the West is so strong that it’s nearly impossible to see the emptiness behind it. Wealthy retirees and second-home-owners who are buying into the faux ranch communities and wheezing under the weight of all the jewelry simply want to live the myth. Horses, mountains, wide-open spaces. Who can pass this up, especially if you can have it without having to sacrifice the tennis club? But with each new home, the "wilderness" recedes. You are destroying the very thing you’ve come to witness.

This, of course, is nothing new. Overdevelopment, encroachment into wild areas, carving up massive tracts of land into small parcels, catering to rich city people who’ve always creamed of being cowgirls—all of these are the story of the contemporary West, its emerging mythology. I just hadn’t realized there was a glossy magazine devoted to it.

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