My very first rope, or lasso as my grandpa called it, was a grass rope he gave me when I was 10. The problem was I didn’t have a horse despite the fact that grandpa was an avid team roper and produced rodeos which he always called ro-day-ohs. Grandpa had sold his rope horses and quit team roping before he could teach me anything so I was left to my own devices, and although I couldn’t rope a dead Longhorn when I first started, using that old grass rope over time I became a World Champion at roping fence posts and my younger sister. Yes sirree, I was a regular rock ‘em, sock ‘em double hock ‘em roper. Whenever my sister saw me draggin’ my rope in her direction she planted both feet firmly on the ground and wouldn’t move them. That’s why I became a header.

The legendary Ace Reid said, “A man shouldn’t rope somethin’ he didn’t plan to brand, doctor or eat,” but without any cattle I was forced to rope dogs, chickens and even my sister’s Hampshire show pig. I slept with that old grass rope and like all good cowboys I did everything but eat with it. So, you can understand my consternation when an uncle tried to pull his truck out of the mud with it and turned it into cow feed.

When grandpa heard about the demise of my grass rope he gave me an old maguey rope made from the century plant. Talk about a temperamental rope with a mind all its own. Those long fibers of the cactus plant were extremely stiff and what Mexican charros called “hot” because it gave the worst rope burn of any rope. I swear you could cut a tree down with that rope. I never got the hang of it and threw a lot of empty loops with it. The only useful tasks I could think of for that rope was to either hang the person who originated it or use it to clean the lint out of my wife’s dryer vent. You could feed that stiff maguey through the vent and it was like a regular Roto Rooter®.

When I got my first show steer, I bought my first real rope at the feed store. It was a manilla rope and I used it to rope my mean steer so I could get a rope halter on him. At least that’s the excuse I gave. Frankly, I just needed the practice. That rope confirmed that I was a header, not a heeler, because whenever I aimed for his feet all I caught were dried up cow pies.

When my grandpa saw I’d bought a manilla rope he hit the roof and brought me two leather reattas. (Grandpa was a traditionalist.) He brought me two and told me if I wanted to be a cowboy use the 30-foot reatta but if I wanted to be a buckaroo use the 60-footer. It didn’t really matter because I couldn’t catch a cold with either one. You couldn’t tie hard and fast without breaking the reatta and you had to give up some slack when a calf hit the end of the line or you’d snap it in two. You had to dally round your horn and give-and-take that was more like fishing than it was roping. I never could get the hang of it and retired both ropes and hung them on the wall.

As a leatherworker, I’d always wanted to visit King Ropes in Sheridan, Wyo., because Don King was king of the saddlemakers and made famous the “Sheridan Style” of leatherwork. When I worked the Buffalo Creek Sale in Sheridan I finally got the chance to visit. When you walk into King’s Saddlery you are met by a wall of the ropes and if you walk to the back of the store and cross the alley you enter a fabulous museum dedicated to the art of leatherworking and the cowboy. Of course, I bought a King Rope and the requisite King Ropes ball cap.

When I wrote for Super Looper (now defunct) someone gave me a Classic Ropes “Rattler” and that rope had eyes. People still talk about the time I roped two calves and the fence post they were standing next to all in the same loop.