Dude, where's my cow?

Rough riding in the home of the cowboys: Bandera, Texas

Chief snorts as I dig my heels into his ribcage. “Come on,” I shout and he belts towards the 20-strong herd of longhorn cattle grazing at the end of the vast field. My fellow cowboys and cowgirls thunder along beside me, and all but two of them stop well before we reach the four scary bulls. Eventually I pull up, too, right in front of the largest, who simply turns his head, points his horns at Chief and me, and stares.

If this were a staring contest, Lance the Longhorn (as I’ve affectionately just named him) would win. But it isn’t. I’m actually attempting to round him and his pals up towards the gates at the other end of the field. Like Jon Voight said, I’m not a for-real cowboy. My wife and I are in Bandera, the self-styled ‘cowboy capital of Texas’ for a weekend of horseback riding at Rancho Cortez, a dude ranch nestled in the Texas Hill Country.

Larry Cortez runs the ranch with his son, Chris, and second wife, Mary. Ranching isn’t in Larry’s blood. For years, he worked in oil and gas engineering. Chris was brought up in Florida and Bahrain, but when Larry retired, he bought several hundred acres in California and ran a dude ranch there for a few years before moving back to Texas. Larry has about 20 head of cattle on the ranch, in addition to his tourist operation.

Rancho Cortez is a two-hour drive southwest of the Texan capital, Austin. My wife, Courtney, and I arrive late on Friday night to find Chris and a couple of ranch guests sitting round a campfire drinking beers. We booked a two-night stay in a modest wooden cabin. It’s basic but comfortable (ours has a double bed, a bench seat, a chest of drawers and a strong smell of pine). The morning after we arrive, we head to the mess hall, where breakfast consists of scrambled eggs, sausage patties, bacon, biscuits (like scones), and endless coffee. Larry strides over to introduce himself. He has a pronounced Texas drawl, slicked-back grey hair, and he wears cowboy boots and a western shirt. “I wear these boots seven days a week,” he tells me, and hikes up his jeans to reveal a mean-looking set of spurs before casting a disdainful glance at my Adidas trainers.

Rancho Cortez is a family-run operation; while Chris mans the office, Anthony, Larry’s red-headed 6-year-old, runs ahead to the corral to make sure his horse, Bigg’un, is saddled up and ready to go.

Larry stands in the middle of the corral, eyeing me, Courtney and the rest of the motley crew (there are eight of us riding this morning) as he decides who’s getting which horse. “Don’t ever ride one called Petunia or Daisy,” Larry tells us. “People name them that ‘cos they think they’ll turn out OK. But they end up breathing fire and going crazy.” Courtney gets Blaze and I get Otis, who, I discover, isn’t even a horse – he’s a mule.

For the uninitiated, a mule is the offspring of a male donkey and a female horse (according to that bastion of truth Wikipedia, the much rarer offspring of a male horse and a female donkey is called a hinny.) Mules, apparently, can “go for days without water”. I’m not about to inflict this upon Otis, but it’s good to know. When my friend rode in the Grand Canyon, the ranch hand told him that in the pioneer days, everyone riding to the west would sell their nags and buy mules because they lasted longer and carried more.

“Never ask a man how much land he has,” Larry says when I ask him how much land he has. “It’s like asking someone how much money he has.” Chris later tells me the dude ranch sit on 200 acres. There’s so much to do here, but if you ever tire of horseback riding, hayrides, campfires, overnight camping trips, cattle roundups or hiking, you can always find a hidden spot somewhere on the ranch and settle down with a good book.

The trail ride takes us out of the gates of the corral and intro the rolling Texas hills. Once we’re out of sight of the ranch, you really get an idea of the immensity of this place. It’s just us riders, the mesquite and cedar trees and the enormous blue sky. We ride up a hill, Otis carefully picking his way through the craggy, loose limestone boulders. He never loses his footing. The sun beats down on our necks, but there’s a welcome breeze blowing. The stress melts away out here. You can see for miles, and the smell of cedar is wonderful. At one point, far from the ranch, in the middle of this beautiful countryside, I wonder if there’s anything that beats this.

Holidays at Rancho Cortez cost around £110 per night, per adult (based on two sharing) and include horse riding and meals.

(001) 830 796-9339; ranchocortez.com