The living rhythm of Marin’s working landscapes

It’s not every day you’re invited to a roundup of cattle on horseback. So when I got the invite to join a group of riders to gather 75 head of cattle within the Mount Burdell Preserve in Novato, visions of Billy Crystal’s City Slickers began playing in my head: This was my big chance to pretend to be a real cowboy.

We met early a few days later at the entrance to the preserve, where sixth-generation Marin rancher Steven Pozzi was already preparing for the day ahead. Each spring, Steven brings his herd up to graze the fast-growing grasses of Mount Burdell. But when the hills turn gold and the grass stops growing, it’s time to move them off. Pozzi’s family has deep roots in Marin County, continuing their ranching legacy not only at Mount Burdell but also at their Tomales ranch protected by a Marin Agricultural Land Trust (MALT) conservation easement.

At daybreak the morning of the roundup, a motley crew of characters poured out of their trucks and began to assemble their gear, readying their horses and mounting up for the day’s ride. I pretended to look like I knew what I was doing—little did they know that my cow-wrangling experience was limited to a previous mishap where I borrowed two calves to graze my family’s small place in Novato and nearly lost them both.

“Fake it ’til you make it” seems to be my mantra these days, and I found confidence in my borrowed horse named Kevin and the quick study of the preserve map the night before. A loose plan formed as the saddles were being cinched—find and push the cows off the mountain into a corral near one of the preserve entrances—and off we rode.

The Coast Miwok people, whose descendants remain connected to this land today, called this place home for thousands of years, managing the land with fire and an intimate knowledge of its rhythms. The mountain’s first titled owner was Camilo Ynitia, the last Miwok headman, who secured a Mexican land grant to the land in 1843. It eventually passed to the Burdell family, who gave the ranch its name. Today the mountain is split between state park land on the north side and Marin County Parks open space on the south—the latter being where we spent our day.

California’s open grasslands still need active stewardship. Our coastal grasslands evolved with large animals moving across the land, and without them invasive brush moves in, native grasses lose ground and the wildfire risk climbs. Pozzi’s herd arrives each spring when the mountain grasses are growing fast and abundant, doing the ecological work the land needs. When the dry season sets in, the cattle come off—this particular herd bound for pastures in Oregon—and the mountain rests until next year. MALT works with ranchers like the Pozzis to keep this cycle intact, protecting the land from development while investing in the viability of the farming families who steward it.

By mid-morning, as Kevin and I stumbled through pushing our third group of cattle into the corral, it became clear that this wasn’t just tradition for tradition’s sake. While all-terrain vehicles (ATVs) and side-by-sides have revolutionized ranch work in so many ways, there are times when a good horse is still the best tool for the job. This experience on Mount Burdell was the perfect lesson as to why some ranchers still use horses:

HORSES ARE SOFTER ON COWS

Cattle ranchers, I’ve learned, are always working to reduce stress on their animals. Healthy, happy animals maintain their weight and are less likely to get sick. So whenever animals are moved, it’s important to keep them from being stressed. Slow and gentle is the key.

Acclaimed professor of animal science and renowned livestock handling expert Temple Grandin has spent much of her life proving what cowgirls and cowboys have known all along: Cattle are highly sensitive to sudden movements and loud noises. Her research, informed in part by her personal experience with autism, has helped confirm how using horses can result in calmer cattle and more efficient movement across a pasture.

Being horseback that day on the mountain gave us that ability to approach cattle quietly, apply just the right amount of pressure to encourage movement, then back off when cattle began moving in the desired direction—a gentle flow that’s hard to replicate with machines.

HORSES CAN GO WHERE FOUR-WHEELERS CAN’T

I’ll never look at open spaces and what’s accessible on horseback the same way after that day on Mount Burdell. Much of the preserve consists of steep grassland habitat dotted with ancient oak trees. Navigating that landscape with a machine would be dangerous for even the most skilled ATV rider and pose a wildfire risk with hot engine parts moving through dry grass.

As we moved groups of cattle down the mountain, they would often try to hide in thicker brush and trees—areas where horses could quickly navigate over downed logs and steep ravines while maintaining forward momentum in the right direction. ATVs definitely have their place and offer big advantages at times—but they’ll never match the agility and versatility of a good horse.

HORSES CAN OUTRUN CATTLE

A few groups of cattle that day were particularly stubborn and had no interest in entering the corral. We had a blast racing across the pasture to head off wayward cows, working together to redirect them toward the corral’s entrance. My face hurt from smiling ear to ear.

A crowd from the local Novato neighborhood had gathered along the fence line to watch the action. I thought at one point they might even set up chairs and make bowls of popcorn. Pozzi later reflected, “The neighbors get so excited about having cattle grazing the land near their homes—not just for the fire risk reduction that comes with grazing, but for the simple value of having these animals in their backyards. Those few tricky cows would be really difficult to corral with an ATV, it’s so nice to have the horses and it makes for quite a show.”

HERD PSYCHOLOGY

At one point, we had grouped the majority of the herd—maybe 40-plus cows—and were driving them gently to the main corral. It was just like the ending scene in City Slickers (well, maybe not as cinematic) as they brought in the herd and I could hear Billy Crystal’s singing playing in my head.

When Kevin saw the group for the first time he surprised me with one of the loudest whinnies I’ve ever heard him make—like a teenage boy’s voice cracking with excitement at a big party. I realized only later that there was such contentment in the herd being together, a deep instinctual comfort and safety in numbers for both horses and cattle.

And maybe that’s the real magic. Horses can be the interpreters between people and cattle—translators for our blunt human senses. They’re the natural bridge to the emotional state and body language of cattle, masters in reading the ear twitches, energy shifts and herd dynamics that we humans have largely lost—the language of livestock.

Well, clearly I’ve drunk the Kool-Aid and am a believer in all things horseback. But I realized through my brief experience pretending to be a real cowboy that I’m not hopelessly romanticizing an American West that’s done and gone. Horses still have a very practical purpose to serve in the ranching world here in Marin and Sonoma counties, proof that the cowboy spirit isn’t just alive in our imaginations and cinema—it’s alive in the work itself.

Call me old-fashioned, but I find some comfort knowing that in a world of artificial intelligence, algorithms of endless content streams and digital everything, that there are still some things we simply can’t replicate with technology and machines. A key part of our food system remains dependent on close relationships with animals, instinct and the land.