The image of tough cowboys pushing huge herds of cows across the open range is stamped on

our imaginations.

But by the 21st century – with western states growing and changing fast - most horseback

cattle drives have been run off the range by suburban sprawl, government regulation,

lower beef consumption, and the return of protected predators.

But there's a group of stubborn men and women in Wyoming who every spring push thousands

of cows along the same 70-mile route their ancestors pioneered 125 years ago.

As we first reported last fall, this throwback to the old west is called the Green River

Drift, and it's the longest-running cattle drive left in America.

Just after dawn one Saturday in June of 2021, I'm trying to help Wyoming rancher Albert

Sommers and his team move hundreds of cows – most of them mothers with new calves – in

a cloud of dust toward high pastures where they'll graze all summer.

ALBERT SOMMERS: And if you feel inclined, Bill, you can whistle.

You can yell.

BILL WHITAKER: I can do anything to m-- move these--

ALBERT SOMMERS: This is like a cowboy's therapy.

You get to voice everything out.

BILL WHITAKER: “C'mon Indy.”

I DO THE BEST I CAN...

BILL WHITAKER: “C'mon cows, move cows!”

…BUT IT'S NOT QUITE AS GOOD AS LITTLE SHAD SWAIN, THE SON OF ALBERT'S RANCHING

PARTNER, TY.

BILL WHITAKER: Shad is 5 years old?

TY SWAIN: He is.

BILL WHITAKER: Shad, if you can do this I can do this, ok?

SHAD GOT TO DO IT WITH A SOUR APPLE LOLIPOP IN HIS MOUTH.

ALL OF US, WITH THE HELP OF SOME FEARLESS HERDING DOGS – MOVE CATTLE OVER HILLS, ACROSS

CREEKS, (nats) THROUGH SHIMMERING GROVES OF ASPEN, ALONG WHAT COWBOYS CALL DRIVEWAYS … AND

ACROSS HIGHWAYS, NORTH TOWARD THOSE DISTANT MOUNTAINS.

BILL WHITAKER: How long does it take you to get them to the summer feeding area?

ALBERT SOMMERS: So it-- it takes about 13 days from when we start to when we get up

there where we wanna be.

We travel up to about 60 to 70 miles.

ALBERT SOMMERS: “Hey, Cow!

Hey Cow, hey cow”

ALBERT SOMMERS IS ONE OF 11 RANCHERS WHO WORK TOGETHER TO DRIVE MORE THAN SEVEN THOUSAND

HEAD OF CATTLE ON THE GREEN RIVER DRIFT.

THOSE 11 RANCHES ALL LIE IN WYOMING'S GREEN RIVER VALLEY, SOUTH OF JACKSON HOLE.

HERE, THE WYOMING RANGE IS TO THE WEST, THE WIND RIVER RANGE IS TO THE EAST, THE VALLEY

BETWEEN IS PART BONE-DRY HIGH DESERT AND VERDANT RIVER DRAINAGE WHERE NATIVE AMERICANS ONCE

HUNTED BUFFALO.

TODAY, THE GREEN RIVER RUNS THROUGH ALBERT SOMMERS' RANCH.

BILL WHITAKER: And your family's been doing this how long?

ALBERT SOMMERS: My family's been doing this since about 1903.

ALBERT'S NEIGHBOR JEANNIE LOCKWOOD'S FAMILY HAS BEEN AT IT EVEN LONGER

JEANNIE LOCKWOOD: This was my granddad's ranch.

He homesteaded this in 1889.

HER RANCH IS ABOUT 20 MILES SOUTH OF ALBERT SOMMERS' PLACE.

WE JOINED HER ON HORSEBACK BEFORE DAWN THE DAY SHE STARTED MOVING HER CATTLE NORTH…

JEANNIE LOCKWOOD: “There's that sun.

It's gonna peek out over the hill”

…ALONG THE SAME PATH HER FAMILY HAS TREKKED FOR 125 YEARS.

BILL WHITAKER: So you're going to be doing this for the next two weeks?

JEANNIE LOCKWOOD: Yes.

Yeah.

BILL WHITAKER: Getting up at 4 o'clock in the morning.

JEANNIE LOCKWOOD: Or 3.

Or 2:30.

BILL WHITAKER: Or 2:30.

THOSE EARLY STARTS BARELY COMPARE TO WHAT OLD-TIMERS ENDURED, WHEN COWBOYS STAYED OUT

UNDER THE STARS ALL NIGHT AND THE SUN ALL DAY UNTIL THEY GOT THE HERD TO HIGH PASTURES.

ALBERT SOMMERS: “Well, I think we can go home.

What do you think?”

TODAY, THEY GO HOME AFTER EACH DAY'S DRIVE.

THE NEXT MORNING THEY TRAILER THEIR HORSES BACK TO WHERE THEY'D LEFT THE CATTLE, ROUND

UP THOSE THAT HAVE STRAYED, AND MOVE 'EM OUT AGAIN BEFORE DAWN.

THE OLD CHUCKWAGON: IT'S BEEN REPLACED BY A COOLER AND THE TAILGATE OF A PICKUP TRUCK.

BILL WHITAKER: But compared to what your grandfather did-

JEANNIE LOCKWOOD: Our ancestors, yeah.

BILL WHITAKER: This is easy.

JEANNIE LOCKWOOD: Yeah, we have it easy.

ONLY RANCHERS WOULD CALL THIS EASY.

DRIVING CATTLE IS HOT, DUSTY, DEMANDING, AND THEY'LL BE LUCKY TO MAKE A $50 PROFIT PER

COW WHEN THEY FINALLY SEND THEM TO MARKET.

JEANNIE'S DAUGHTER HALEY AND SON-IN-LAW FRANCE HELP WRANGLE THE HERD, HER HUSBAND,

MILFORD, SHUTTLES THE HORSE TRAILERS.

THEY ALL LEFT “REGULAR” JOBS AND MOVED BACK TO THE RANCH SEVERAL YEARS AGO AFTER

JEANNIE'S BROTHER, WHO HAD BEEN RUNNING THE PLACE, DIED IN AN ACCIDENT.

JEANNIE LOCKWOOD: It takes all of us to do it, it seems like.

So -

JEANNIE WAS A LIBRARIAN.

BILL WHITAKER: So what is it about this place that makes you give up regular, normal American

jobs and come back here to do this really hard work?

JEANNIE LOCKWOOD: Well, first of all, it was home to me.

And it was hard work for my parents.

And I know it was hard work for my grandparents.

And I just couldn't see lettin' it go.

Labor of love, it's called.

Yeah.

BILL WHITAKER: Where's the emphasis?

Labor or love?

JEANNIE LOCKWOOD: Love.

LOVE MIGHT SUSTAIN THE GREEN RIVER DRIFT, BUT IT WAS BORN IN CRISIS.

CLINT GILCHRIST: The winter of 1889/'90-- is really what started the Drift.

CLINT GILCHRIST IS AN HISTORIAN WHO GREW UP IN THIS VALLEY AND HAS WRITTEN ABOUT THAT

HARSH WINTER.

CLINT GILCHRIST: And it killed off-- the vast majority of the cattle herds that

were here, because they weren't prepared for a bad winter.

Nobody had prepared for a bad winter.

WHITE SETTLERS WERE NOT PREPARED.

NATIVE TRIBES, WHICH THE U.S. GOVERNMENT DROVE OFF THE LAND TO MAKE ROOM FOR HOMESTEADERS,

KNEW THAT WINTERS IN THE GREEN RIVER VALLEY COULD BE MERCILESS.

CLINT GILCHRIST: The Shoshone Indians and the Crow Indians were one of the dominant

tribes in these areas.

And they didn't winter here.

They wintered over on the other side of the mountains, where it was s-- you know, less

elevation.

AFTER THAT BRUTAL WINTER, RANCHERS REALIZED THEY HAD TO MOVE THEIR CATTLE OUT OF THE VALLEY

LONG ENOUGH TO GROW A CROP OF HAY.

BILL WHITAKER: So while the cattle are up in the uplands, you're able to grow hay.

ALBERT SOMMERS: Right.

BILL WHITAKER: And that feeds them all winter long.

ALBERT SOMMERS: Right.

And so that was the genesis of what we call "The Drift.”

“THE DRIFT,” ALBERT SOMMERS SAYS, BECAUSE WHEN THE FIRST FALL FROST CHILLS THE MOUNTAINS,

THE COWS INSTINCTIVELY HEAD FOR HOME.

BILL WHITAKER: And just on their own?

Turn around and start coming back?

ALBERT SOMMERS: Turn around and start…

we open the gates…

BILL WHITAKER: Drift back?

ALBERT SOMMERS: And they drift back.

In the spring, we drive them.

In the fall, they drift.

WHEN THE DRIFT BEGAN 125 YEARS AGO, THERE WERE NO REGULATIONS, NO SUBDIVISIONS, JUST

WIDE OPEN RANGE.

ALBERT SOMMERS: “Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.”

Now, ranchers drive their cattle to U.S. Forest Service land - the largest grazing allotment

in the country - 127,000 acres of the Bridger-Teton National Forest.

Last summer, they paid the federal government $1.35 a month for every cow and her calf.

JAMIE BURGESS: “Murdoch!

Sommers!

Price!

Murdoch!”

HOW MUCH EACH RANCHER WILL OWE IS TALLIED AT A PLACE CALLED THE “COUNTING GATE.”

IT'S JAMIE BURGESS' JOB TO READ BRANDS OR EAR TAGS AND CALL OUT WHICH COWS BELONG

TO WHICH RANCH…

JAMIE BURGESS: “Sommers!

Sommers!”

“Sommers, Sommers, Price, Price”

…WHILE HIS WIFE RITA ADDS UP THE TOTALS.

WHEN THE COWS FINALLY REACH MOUNTAIN PASTURES, THEY ARE HANDED OFF TO “RANGE RIDERS,”

“Bring em!

(whistle)”

LIKE BRITTANY HESELTINE, WHOSE JOB IS TO WATCH OVER THEM ALL SUMMER.

BILL WHITAKER: And you're up here by yourself?

BRITTANY HESELTINE: Yes.

Just me, my horses, my three dogs and a cat.

BILL WHITAKER: How long altogether?

BRITTANY HESELTINE: It'll be about five months.

EVERY DAY FOR THOSE FIVE MONTHS, BRITTANY IS OUT AT DAWN TO CHECK ON THE 600 OR SO CATTLE

IN HER CARE.

BRITTANY HESELTINE: First thing in the morning, you come out on a rise.

And especially in the fall, the elk are bugling and just talking to each other.

Brittany earned her degree in veterinary science in 2019.

This was her third summer as a range rider.

BILL WHITAKER: It's really hard work.

What's the attraction?

What's the draw?

BRITTANY HESELTINE: Something about it speaks to my soul.

I really can't describe what.

But all winter long I'm, like, "Oh, couple months more, couple months more.

And then I'll be up at home."

Her home for the summer was a small trailer in an isolated camp; off the grid, no running

water, no cell service.

At the start of last summer, four of the five drift range riders were women.

SOT: (JEANNIE LOCKWOOD INTV)

BILL WHITAKER: You told us that you thought women made the best range riders.

Why would that be?

JEANNIE LOCKWOOD: They're hard workers.

And I can't say that they're, you know, the men aren't good.

But the women don't go to town and-- and-- as much as some of the men kinda have a tendency

to-- to--

BILL WHITAKER: Visit the tavern?

JEANNIE LOCKWOOD: Yeah.

They'll go on the other side of the mountain.

SOT: (BRITTANY HESELTINE INTV)

BILL WHITAKER: So what happened to the cowboys?

(LAUGH)

BRITTANY HESELTINE: I don't know.

Maybe they're just not cut out for it.

(BILL LAUGH)

THERE'S BEAUTY UP HERE … AND DANGER TOO.

SINCE LISTED AS ENDANGERED SPECIES, WOLF AND GRIZZLY BEAR POPULATIONS HAVE EXPLODED IN

THESE MOUNTAINS.

BRITTANY KEEPS TRACK OF THE CALVES THEY KILL.

BRITTANY HESELTINE: If it was -- actually killed by a predator then there will be bruising

on the hide on the inside.

And it-- it's very obvious.

JEANNIE LOCKWOOD: You know, like last year we lost 24 calves, didn't come home.

ALBERT SOMMERS: Now we lose between ten and 15% of our calves.

BILL WHITAKER: It sounds like a lot.

ALBERT SOMMERS: It's a lot.

It would break us if it weren't for-- compensation program by the Wyoming Game and Fish Department.

BILL WHITAKER: So you get paid for every animal you lose?

ALBERT SOMMERS: We do.

Predators aren't the only threat to these ranchers.

A growing chorus of critics argue cattle shouldn't graze on public lands at all.

Consumption of beef is down and so is the number of ranches on the drift.

There were more than 20 in the early 1990s, last year, just 11.

THE GREEN RIVER DRIFT IS SO ICONIC THAT THE CATTLE DRIVE HAS EARNED A SPOT ON THE NATIONAL

REGISTER OF HISTORIC PLACES.

THESE REMAINING RANCHERS ARE DETERMINED TO SEE THAT IT'S NOT JUST RELEGATED TO HISTORY

BOOKS.

BILL WHITAKER: So what does it mean to you to be doing what your father and your grandfather

did, on the same land?

ALBERT SOMMERS: It's hard to talk about.

(choking up) Means a lot.

It means a lot.

ALBERT SOMMERS HAS NO CHILDREN, SO TO PRESERVE THIS LAND AND ITS TRADITION, HE'S SET UP

WHAT'S CALLED A CONSERVATION EASEMENT.

PRESERVATIONISTS HAVE PAID HIM TO AGREE THAT HIS RANCH WILL NEVER BE DEVELOPED OR SUBDIVIDED,

AND TO ALLOW THE PUBLIC TO USE THE LAND FOR RECREATION.

THAT AGREEMENT WILL ALSO APPLY TO HIS PARTNER TY SWAIN AS HE TAKES OVER, AND TO HIS SON

SHAD WHEN AND IF HE PICKS UP THE REINS.

BILL WHITAKER: So with the conservation easement, this land will not change.

It will stay the same.

ALBERT SOMMERS: It will stay the same.

Well, no land stays the same.

But-- but this land will not be developed.

And-- I will go to my grave peacefully with that knowledge.

But just not tomorrow.

MANY TRADITIONS HAVE LEFT THEIR MARK ON THIS LAND: NATIVE AMERICANS WERE FORCED TO GIVE

WAY TO FUR TRADERS, PIONEERS AND HOMESTEADERS.

TODAY IT'S THE COWBOY WAY OF LIFE THAT IS FIGHTING TO HOLD ON.

ALBERT SOMMERS: “Oh, Yeah!”