Faraway Horses (19 page)

It’s hard being on the road so much of the time. I miss my family a lot when I’m gone, and it seems unfair that I have to be away from them as often as I am. Mary and I remain absolutely committed to each other, but I have a calling. I have a mission, and I have to fulfill it.

T
HE TERM
“
HORSE WHISPERER
” was first used in ancient Scotland, but since the novel and the movie, the phrase has been used to describe trainers who have developed methods of working respectfully and gently with horses. It defines what I do for a living. It’s not a bad definition, but it’s incomplete and somewhat misleading.

I observe the horse, learn from him, and remember the experience. Then I try to find a way to use what I’ve learned to fit in with what I’d like the horse to do. These are the techniques that I learned from men like Tom Dorrance, Ray Hunt, and others who were using them long before I ever did.

I can’t say enough about Tom Dorrance and Ray Hunt. Tom is a genius. He has spent his entire life observing horses and learning from them. He knows them inside and out, and he loves them more than any man I have ever known. He’s in his nineties now, and he remains as curious about the horse as he ever was. His curiosity and his search
for perfection are the cornerstones of his wisdom. Ray Hunt, who has followed in Tom’s footsteps, is, in my opinion, the greatest horseman alive.

In 1994, I learned that a writer by the name of Nicholas Evans in London was trying to get in touch with me. He was doing research for a fictional character in a novel who would be based on the concepts I use when working with horses. He had called friends of mine around the country; his phone messages followed me from clinic to clinic. They said that he’d heard about my horsemanship techniques, and he wanted a chance to meet me.

Nick also called my ranch and told Mary he was having a hard time getting me to call him back. Mary made a suggestion. “If you want to talk to Buck Brannaman, you ought to go to one of his clinics and spend some time with him. If he feels you’re for real, he’ll help you get the information you want.”

Nick took her at her word. He flew out to Novato, California, where I was doing a clinic and spent a few days with me. He watched me work with horses and listened to me talk about my methods. He told me his interest was in formulating the essence of a fictional character who would eventually become Tom Booker in the novel.

Nick is a very nice guy, and I got along with him well. But I’ve been on the road for many years, and in that time I’ve had more smoke blown up my backside than you can imagine. Lots of people were “going to write a book.” Nick
said he was going to write a novel. I left it with, “Well, Nick, good luck to you. I hope I’ve been able to help you and that it all works out.”

Nick took his notes, we said our farewells, and he went on his way.

The next thing I knew,
The Horse Whisperer
was selling about a zillion copies. For those of you who haven’t read the book or seen the movie,
The Horse Whisperer
tells the story of a fourteen-year-old New York girl named Grace and her horse Pilgrim who are injured in a terrible riding accident. When Grace’s high-powered mom, Annie, realizes that in order to help her daughter recover, she has to help Pilgrim, too, she gets in touch with Tom Booker, a cowboy and horseman who is famous for his ability to work with troubled horses. Tom lives on a ranch in Montana where Annie takes Grace and Pilgrim. After Tom begins making progress with Grace and Pilgrim, he is able to help Annie with her own problems as well.

Nick called me a few months after the book was published. This time he actually got ahold of me, which is no minor miracle when I’m on the road. He thanked me for all the help that I’d given him, and he told me he had sold the movie rights. After we had chatted for a while, I congratulated him on his success, and we wished each other the best. Again, I thought that was the end of it.

About a year later, in the spring of 1996, I was doing a clinic in Ojai, California. A young woman I’d seen at several of my California clinics introduced me to a fellow named
Patrick Markey. He had long hair, and he was wearing jeans and a pair of shoes that reminded me of the old earth shoes from the 1970s. I was a little surprised to learn he was a movie producer; I thought that all producers went around wearing suits. A lot I knew about Hollywood producers.

After we said our hellos, I excused myself and went over to the arena, where I’d seen a young filly had been kicking. I put a rope on one of her hind feet so I could work on her “giving.” I’d pick her foot up and set it down, and she was gradually getting better.

“Tell us all about what you’re doing there, Buck,” the woman with Patrick said.

“Well, I’m just trying to get this horse a little better about her feet. She’s kind of touchy, especially around her hind feet, and that can be kind of dangerous for both of us.”

Patrick didn’t look like a man who cared about horses, but he was really paying close attention. Then he came over during the lunch break and asked, “What do you think of
The Horse Whisperer
?”

I told him I liked it and that I was very happy for Nick Evans’s success. Nick was a good guy and deserved it.

“What about the horse scenes in the book?” Patrick went on. “I mean, how did you feel Nick did in interpreting what you do?”

“Well, Nick wasn’t really trying to teach people how to work with horses. That wasn’t his intention. So you can’t look at the book as instructional material.” I thought the book was a love story with a main character who happened
to be a horseman. I liked it because Nick had written something that was a little different from what I typically read. “I can’t criticize Nick for not being able to portray the action with the horses exactly.” If someone wanted to hang Nick Evans for being a horseman, they’d be hanging another innocent man.

Patrick continued, “Well, what would you change about the horse scenes in the book?”

“If you want to know the truth, I’d start over.”

He laughed, and said, “Would you be interested in giving us some advice on this movie?”

“Yeah, sure,” I nodded, thinking that all the advice he would want would amount to a few short phone calls from a hotel room wherever I was giving a clinic at the time. We shook hands, and he went on his way.

Little did I know that the film was to be a Robert Redford production and it was already under way.

As they say in Hollywood: “Dissolve to.”

A few weeks later I got another call from Patrick. He wanted to set up a meeting at Mr. Redford’s offices in Santa Monica. I was still in California doing clinics, so this worked for me time-wise.

I told Bill Reynolds that Redford’s people had contacted me about the movie and asked him if he would play agent for me. Bill is a businessman with a background in the advertising and western apparel worlds, and he loves horses. After we’d gotten to know each other and become friends, he began sponsoring some of my clinics in California, and
he also partnered with me on several horse-training video and book projects.

My concern, and Bill’s, too, was that we get the horse scenes right so that they honored my way of life and what I do for a living. On that basis, we agreed that the movie could be a great opportunity.

Quite a few people were on hand for the meeting. Bill and I were there along with technical advisers for other areas of the film. The offices contained western sculpture, Navajo rugs, and overstuffed leather couches, the sort of furnishings you might see in a house in Santa Fe.

When an assistant took me into Robert Redford’s office, he was on the phone, and when he got off, he said, “Hi, I’m Bob.”

We talked some about horses and where we lived, and it turned out that we had some mutual friends. I knew Mike Shinderling, his ranch manager in Utah, and Tom and Meredith Brokaw had been friends of mine for many years and friends of his as well.

After we chatted for a bit, Bob asked, “So, Buck, what do you think of the script? Is there something you can help us with?”

I said, “Well, if I was going to be on the payroll, I’d kind of want to know if you want me to just help you re-create what’s in the book, or if you really want to know what I think.”

He smiled. “I want to know what you think.”

“If you want to get it right for the people who know this approach to horses, I’d rewrite the horse scenes and start over.”

My response surprised Bob a little bit, but he understood what I was saying. He is a stickler for accuracy, and he wants to know that what he’s doing is real.
A River Runs Through It
was a graceful, elegant film in part because Bob didn’t phony up the fly-fishing. He took the time to get it right.

One of his assistants came in to say, “Bob, it’s time to have the others come in. I’ll go get them.”

Bob replied, “No, I’ll get them.” It wasn’t a big thing at all, but I was impressed. He got up, went out into his waiting area, and greeted everybody individually. Bob Redford was just a real outgoing fellow, friendly, polite, and very respectful. There was some real quality to this man, something that he would show over and over in the coming months.

Several days after the meeting, Bill and I arranged for Bob to come out to Bill’s place in Malibu to talk about the movie and also to do a little riding. Patrick and an assistant came with him. Bob and I spent time on horseback in Bill’s round corral. We discussed a major scene in the film, the one in which Bob’s character, Tom Booker, lays Grace’s horse Pilgrim down, a technique many horsemen use with troubled horses to help them get through barriers. Done right, it isn’t all that dramatic, but it can be a very rewarding and freeing moment for a horse that is bothered, fearful, or defensive.

Bob wanted to see what that looked like. I had a horse with me that I had “laid down” before. This horse was used to it, and he kind of enjoyed it when he knew he was in no danger.

I put a rope around one of the horse’s front feet and half-hitched my end to the saddle horn. Then I drove the horse around the corral for a few steps and pulled on the horn. He laid right down.

Bob didn’t think it was that dramatic either. “There’s not much there, is there?” he said. “I thought it was going to be a lot more moving.” He was expecting some resistance or at least a cloud of dust. But it wasn’t like that at all. The technique isn’t intended to be violent, and besides, the horse was at peace.

We talked the problem over, and we decided we could make people think lying down was more dramatic by
adding sound effects, slow motion, and also by making the horse look sweaty, as though he was working harder than he was.

Bill, Bob, and I agreed that we were going to work together on this film. I was hired to serve as technical adviser and horse trainer and to work as Redford’s double when necessary. Bill was also a technical adviser to provide liaison with the western print media world.

We worked on the script for the next year. Any change in a scene that involved livestock produced a ripple effect, so a lot of other things had to change as well, such as dialogue and the shot list (the order in which scenes were filmed).

A lot of dialogue didn’t really fit. Hollywood cowboy talk wouldn’t cut it, so Bill and I worked long and hard with the film’s research people to create a realistic tone for the western characters who were part of Tom Booker’s world. Between us, we contributed maybe fifty lines to different scenes in the movie, and Bill gave them a lot of advice about authentic wardrobe. He outfitted Bob in some fine silver buckles through the Bohlin Silver Company, which Bill owned at the time.

We worked on the film for all of 1997. Shooting started in May and wrapped up sometime in September, and in the middle was one of the wettest summers that Big Timber and McLeod, Montana, had seen in a long time.

The hours were long, but we had some great times. Mary and the girls got to hang out on location. Mary had met Bob some years before when he was making
The Electric
Horseman
and had liked him. The girls were a little in awe of the stars, and for the first time I think they were really proud of their stepdad. In any event, I had a chance to impress a couple of teenage girls, at least for a short while.

One of the most challenging scenes to create was the one where Tom Booker roped Pilgrim inside a round corral filled with other horses. The camera and sound crews were all squeezed together in the center of the corral, along with a million dollars’ worth of equipment, and we were trying to keep the horses moving in a circle around them. We had a stunt horse who could really run as a double for Pilgrim. The point of the scene was that Bob, as Tom, was having trouble catching Pilgrim and decided to rope him, and a running horse looked more dramatic.

To add to the fun, Bob is left-handed. I’m not, and I had spent the better part of the summer roping left-handed so that I could double for him. Another fellow, stunt rider Cliff McLaughlin, had also been practicing, and between the two of us, we figured we could pull this scene off and make it look as if Bob roped the horse.