Elko is a small town in North Eastern Nevada. It bills itself as the last cow town. Many people are dressed in western attire, but it looks well worn. These people feel like ranchers. The men are bow legged and limp from too many falls. While a few of the performers make a living at this, most are just folks coming together to share their love of life and take a mix winter break. I started going to Elko when I lived in Idaho and was a serious bridge player. I played in their local tournament for three years. I got some great silver and turquoise jewelry in the pawn shops, and ate in the local Basque restaurants. The Stockman’s Casino dealt single deck blackjack. I heard about the cowboy poetry gathering and said one day I would come for it.
The trip had an auspicious start, I was upgraded on my first flight. The Elko airport only has one gate but was all new. Unfortunately there are so few flights, you have to call for a taxi, no Uber. The Days Inn, $130, was close to all the events. Elko sure has grown in the 23 years since I was last here, mainly motels.
Toki Ona is a Basque restaurant next to the hotel. The breakfast choices were hearty, biscuits and gravy, chicken fried steak and eggs, breakfast burrito, and much more all very hearty, but under $10. The gathering started on Tuesday but Thursday, Friday, and Saturday are the big days. I made the keynote, which was unique. Some songs, Basque, native, and buckaroo presentations, and a local teacher talking about poetry in the schools.
The first session I went to was Stories of Basque Sheepherders. There were guys who came from Spain as contract labor starting in the 50’s. After two contracts, the immigration law changed in 1965, and they got green cards. A fascinating hour of oral history. Originally Basques had come with the Spanish 500 years ago and even the word Arizona is Basque. One gentleman sang a couple of a capala impromptu songs. In the lobby they were tasting boutique whiskey distilleries. Unfortunately, I was traveling with carry on and could not take any back. I will be searching for J. Seeds Apple Cider Whisky, yummy.
The next session was titled What I Learned from the Land. Four poets reading their works for an hour. This was true performance art. When Pat Frolander forgot the last verse of her poem about putting down an old cow horse that had gone lame, I was actually glad, as I hate to cry in public, and I was almost there. You can feel the bond with the land in these poems. The Montana writing session featured Wally McRae, 82, who did rhyme and meter longer poems that painted word pictures of his state. Finally I dropped into an open Mic session. One poet was awful, a few were okay, and some were outstanding. The sarcastic guy from Wyoming who had the world’s worst cow dog, and a very funny old coot from Georgia would be worth paying to hear.
The evening session was an all Basque program of song and dance. The highlight was a competitive poetry game of impromptu tag in Basque. One person would make up a starting verse and the next would have to continue the topic and make it rhyme. They had simultaneous translation on a screen for those who did not speak Basque. The man next to me worked at the mine and said 20 years ago they took out 10,000 ounces of gold a week but now were taking four times that. In other words over $2 billion a year.
There was a shuttle downtown but it was not obvious where it started and I had been sitting too long, so I walked the mile and a half to the Star Hotel, best Basque food in town. The night was clear and brisk but the restaurant bar was packed when I got there. I put my name on the list and she said 45 minutes. I finally got a glass of wine, $5, and tipped well so the bartender would remember me. Some of the performers and lots of the audience from the gathering were there, conversations started easily as we all loved cowboy poetry. As the crowd thinned a bit I got close enough to hear the singer who was pretty good. An hour and a half and three glasses of wine later I was seated with two other singles, Walter from Salt Lake, and Charlie from Florida. Walter was just passing through and did not know about the gathering. Dinner was family style, soup, salad, spaghetti, fries, three kinds of beans, rolls. I meant to order the petit ribeye (14 oz) but forget and wound up with the 24oz one. Somehow it disappeared. I usually don’t eat fries but they cut these every morning and they had no similarity to the frozen crap you get everywhere, I ate half the platter. The conversation with 3 strangers was delightful and we all passed on dessert.
Breakfast was again at Toki Ona. I passed on the biscuits and gravy and went for chicken fried steak with cream gravy, eggs, hash browns, sliced tomatoes, and toast, $10. Enough calories and carbs for two days. I got to the first session I wanted to hear 20 minutes early but it was already full and 100 people waiting. So I walked back to the NE Nevada museum, $4 for seniors. They had several good art collections and a current exhibit of photography. One of the collections was Will James illustrations, a canadian western writer from long ago
Back at the gathering I went to a couple of poetry sessions one of which included Paul Zarzyski (a big name in cowboy poetry). Then I caught a new western song session and three more poetry sessions. The one dedicated to “Horses I Have Known” included an 89 year old Elko doctor who also ran a few head of cows. The horse poems were the most emotional of the gathering. I had over an hour until the first evening session so I stopped at the whiskey tasting station and got a glass of Wathen’s Kentucky Bourbon, three ounces, $3. I sipped on that while I recounted the gathering so far. The first evening session was the old classic poets, and even included Robert Service, “The Cremation of Sam Mcgee”. The second session was new western songs. This is a pure version of what western music once was, storytelling with just a guitar accompaniment.
Two days, 12 hours each day, of mostly great poetry and some good music. It brought back good memories of small western towns I have lived in and some of the people I have known in the ranching business. I lost track of how many people said “great hat” about my red western hat I bought in Idaho Falls 25 years ago, four people before I even left Portland. While western hats were rife in Elko, mine was the only red one. Breakfast stuck with me all day and I did not eat again until I was in the Salt Lake City airport on the way home.