Death on the Range

It was the most bitter winter the West had known since 1889, still remembered as the winter of the Great White Ruin. Since January's great blizzard (TIME, Jan. 17), one swirling snowstorm had followed another; Wyoming, Nebraska and South Dakota had been hit by 18 in 27 days. There had been incessant cold--temperatures had fallen as low as 40DEG below zero. Howling winds piled the snow in endless dunes. On the range, feed was buried deep; springs, watering troughs and streams were frozen; ranch houses were isolated, thousands of miles of roads were lost in drifts. Snow even covered the Mojave Desert.

Last week thousands of dead cattle lay in tumbled rows on the arctic barrens of the great plains; thousands of dead sheep were buried on the plateaus and in the snow-choked valleys of the Rocky Mountain states. Whole herds and flocks of weak and starving animals had been without food for weeks.

Haylifts. Westerners--with eleventh-hour aid from state and federal governments--began a grim and final battle with the weather. The most spectacular was "Operation Haylift"--the Air Force's attempt to feed more than a million sheep and 100,000 cattle marooned in distant and desolate corners of Nevada and Utah.

Day after day last week, big C82 "Flying Boxcars" with their wings and tails painted fire-engine red (for easy spotting in case of forced landings on snow) labored into the air at Fallen, Nev., heavy with bales of alfalfa hay. They rumbled over the mountains to a field at Ely, landed, picked up guides and took off again for mountain valleys.

Hazards. The engines of the planes, chilled nightly in the sub-zero cold at Fallen, had to be warmed with hot air for hours before flight. Operation Haylift flew over rugged mountains which pilots nicknamed "Lower Slobbovia." To get feed close to the animals, the planes flew low (from 150 to 200 ft.) while airmen, muffled and goggled, toiled in a storm of freezing wind and flying chaff to kick bales out of open doors.

The haydrops were accurate--sometimes too accurate. A rancher who asked that a bale be dropped close to his house was astounded to see it crash through the roof of his front porch.

Once dropped, the hay was ready for feeding--the tightly pressed bales frequently burst like bombs when they hit the ground, scattering loose alfalfa in sprays. In its first seven days, Operation Haylift had flown 126 "sorties," had dropped 525 tons of alfalfa, seemed on the way to saving thousands of starving animals. Other missions were flown from Denver, Ogden, Utah; Kearney, Neb.; and Rapid City, S. Dak.

To most cattlemen, feeding was only one of many trying problems. On the plains there was hay in plenty--if it could be gotten to the herd. But cattle (which, unlike sheep, refuse to eat snow) were dying of thirst as well as hunger. The cold froze their eyes, feet, scrota and udders. It also threatened next year's stock--weakened cows and ewes would be unable to produce calves and lambs.

Horses & Help. The real battle had to be fought on the ground. In Wyoming every available tractor and snowplow was pressed into service convoying trucks on the fast-drifting roads. Many a farmer fell back on his horses, using them as pack animals to carry feed concentrates, or as draft animals to pull huge, hastily constructed sleds.

To help the ranchers, President Truman turned over $300,000 for blizzard relief. He asked for a million more (Congress appropriated $500,000) and authorized the armed forces to spend any amount necessary to fight the storms.

This was welcome news, but more welcome was the fact that Army & Navy snow-moving equipment, bulldozers, weasels, and other heavy machinery was being moved into the battle; the West had long put its faith in a caterpillar with a bulldozer blade. But at week's end death still haunted the range. Starving deer walked helplessly along the streets of Salt Lake City, Ogden and other western cities.

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