Riding around the Texas hills, Dixie Dude Ranch
ALL THE YOUNG
Keen to try out as cowboys (and girls) Andrew Newall and his family headed for the Dixie Dude Ranch, just outside Bandera, ‘Cowboy Capital of the World’
T he Dixie Dude Ranch driveway winds through sun-dried trees, and horses stand around, momentarily looking up from grazing to watch our Uber pass by. A heatwave has sent temperatures soaring above 100ᵒ, unusually high even for Texas, so you can imagine how it feels for a family from Scotland. In the cool of the reception lodge, we’re greeted by Kim and given a rundown on activities, lodgings and meals. “It’s lasagne tonight,” she advises. A reminder that we are not in a hotel, we’re in someone’s home, albeit one with very comfortable guest cabins. Although, one of the first things I note, is no TV in either of our cabins. WIFI is limited too, unless we go to reception and, given that we have two teenagers and this holiday was my idea, I worry they’ll be bored. That concern doesn’t last, as they both seem perfectly happy lazing on the porch swing or making full use of the ranch pool and hot tub, along with activities like pickleball and volleyball, in fact almost everything you’d find in a resort. But this is no resort, it’s a working ranch with housekeepers, cooks and wranglers who
live here year-round, along with longhorn cattle, as well as Spanish goats, pigs and, of course, horses. Cowboys ride horses, this is a given, and as the early Texas sun warms us on our first morning, we wait expectantly, and a little nervously, to be paired with our rides. To get some experience under our belts, we’d taken a few lessons back home in Scotland, where the first thing we learned was how to mount the horse with a mounting block. Fast forward to Texas. “Can I use the mounting block?” my daughter blithely asks wrangler Garrett. “Nope, we’re not doing that,” he replies, before promptly hoisting her on to a waiting steed. I’m paired with ‘Jet’, and my head fills with visions of my horse thundering ahead at lightning speed with me, silhouetted in the rising sun, like the true cowboy I am. As I discover, the name ‘Jet’ isn’t short for jet-fuelled or jet-propelled. In fact, Jet turns out to be the most chilled horse ever, content to hang back and only quicken his pace when a wrangler gives his backside a slap.
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