- Location
- Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk
I did say I’d look a bit deeper into my recent Alpine cow herding travels, trying to pick out some detail for you. And I suppose the cows themselves come first. Handling mixed groups of strange cattle gives an unusual insight into their nature. Cows are generically cows- obviously, and individuals will have their own traits. But handling groups of beasts running together allows patterns and comparisons to be revealed, and working with mixed herds coming off the mountain allowed me to glimpse this.
Tyrolean Greys were most common – think chunky pale grey coloured Jersey – all with up turned horns. They’re biddable enough, with an independent self-confident nature, and an intelligent mien. They’ll come and stand in the way, cocking a snoot to puny humans….it’s their landscape and culture, and well they seemed to know it. Next numerically would be the Brown Swiss. Taller and ganglier than the greys, mousie brown in colour, they were all polled. With a lugubrious look and docile trusting nature, being your friend is all a Brown Swiss really wants out of life. Ridiculously easy to handle, you could live in close proximity with them all your days, and never get stressed. Boredom might eventually kill you though. Next up were the Simmentals and very similar Fleckviehs – similar to the extent that I was never clear that they were differentiated much. While individuals were as dopey as anything you ever met, the pattern revealed a slightly more belligerent streak than either of the former breeds. If a cow thought she would go through the gap –or you- she kept pushing. Only might and main stops her, or a judicious swat of your stick on her nose. They run bigger than the Greys, and carry more flesh than the Browns. Then came the few Holsteins on display. I’m sure they yield up more milk than the others, but you could hardly say they’re suited to living on the top of the mountain through the summer. I can’t be comfortable with the bony build of the creatures, and would say there was also a wooden nature and lack of co-operation in the narrow sample encountered. I also met one magnificent Pinzgauer – an impressively big framed and heavy boned, self-possessed red lineback cow, a herd of which would have looked very fine. She was a cow rightly confident in herself. And lastly, a single black linebacked Pustertaler. They’re very rare, and originate from a nearby valley.
The 11 Highlands I’d encountered in the summer weren’t brought down with the rest – I later found them loafing unconcerned high on the mountain, presumably to be picked up before winter really hits.
Another aspect of this latest odyssey was experiencing immersion in strange cultures and communities. Travelling alone in a distant landscape is a liberating experience at the best of times, and none the less for a middle aged old twit…Thomas Cook it was not. After the first day helping farmers I’d previously met last summer, the following day I was dropped further up the valley for the next days ‘Almabtrieb’. Arriving too late for the drive down, and not knowing anyone, I simply pushed my ways through the hundreds of onlookers and tourists, finding my way in among the cattle and herders. Explaining with faltering linguistic skills, I indicated that I didn’t speak much German, but I could speak good ‘cow’, and that I’d like to help. For 20 minutes, a few sidelong glances suggested I was some stupid tourist, who they’d just about tolerate. But putting myself in the right place to be useful, and showing that I am indeed fluent in ‘bovine’, I was soon made welcome. By the time the cows were mostly sorted, and bells and decorations removed and loaded into pick-ups, it was break time. I was invited to eat with the herders, where names and beers were exchanged. As the tourists evaporated, and the remaining cows were sorted for their respective owners, a few friends from the previous day rolled in. The sun ducked behind the surrounding snow-capped fir clad mountains, and the crowd thinned to just the local farmers clustered around the makeshift bar. A handful would break away each time a livestock truck rolled in to load another half dozen of the dwindling summer herd. Further rounds of medicinal Schnapps were called for, as the crickets chirped in the bushes lining the cold rushing river. I found my language skills somehow improved greatly as the evening went on, and that cattle farmers are pretty much the same everywhere…give or take the lederhosen and conical hats.
Tyrolean Greys were most common – think chunky pale grey coloured Jersey – all with up turned horns. They’re biddable enough, with an independent self-confident nature, and an intelligent mien. They’ll come and stand in the way, cocking a snoot to puny humans….it’s their landscape and culture, and well they seemed to know it. Next numerically would be the Brown Swiss. Taller and ganglier than the greys, mousie brown in colour, they were all polled. With a lugubrious look and docile trusting nature, being your friend is all a Brown Swiss really wants out of life. Ridiculously easy to handle, you could live in close proximity with them all your days, and never get stressed. Boredom might eventually kill you though. Next up were the Simmentals and very similar Fleckviehs – similar to the extent that I was never clear that they were differentiated much. While individuals were as dopey as anything you ever met, the pattern revealed a slightly more belligerent streak than either of the former breeds. If a cow thought she would go through the gap –or you- she kept pushing. Only might and main stops her, or a judicious swat of your stick on her nose. They run bigger than the Greys, and carry more flesh than the Browns. Then came the few Holsteins on display. I’m sure they yield up more milk than the others, but you could hardly say they’re suited to living on the top of the mountain through the summer. I can’t be comfortable with the bony build of the creatures, and would say there was also a wooden nature and lack of co-operation in the narrow sample encountered. I also met one magnificent Pinzgauer – an impressively big framed and heavy boned, self-possessed red lineback cow, a herd of which would have looked very fine. She was a cow rightly confident in herself. And lastly, a single black linebacked Pustertaler. They’re very rare, and originate from a nearby valley.
The 11 Highlands I’d encountered in the summer weren’t brought down with the rest – I later found them loafing unconcerned high on the mountain, presumably to be picked up before winter really hits.
Another aspect of this latest odyssey was experiencing immersion in strange cultures and communities. Travelling alone in a distant landscape is a liberating experience at the best of times, and none the less for a middle aged old twit…Thomas Cook it was not. After the first day helping farmers I’d previously met last summer, the following day I was dropped further up the valley for the next days ‘Almabtrieb’. Arriving too late for the drive down, and not knowing anyone, I simply pushed my ways through the hundreds of onlookers and tourists, finding my way in among the cattle and herders. Explaining with faltering linguistic skills, I indicated that I didn’t speak much German, but I could speak good ‘cow’, and that I’d like to help. For 20 minutes, a few sidelong glances suggested I was some stupid tourist, who they’d just about tolerate. But putting myself in the right place to be useful, and showing that I am indeed fluent in ‘bovine’, I was soon made welcome. By the time the cows were mostly sorted, and bells and decorations removed and loaded into pick-ups, it was break time. I was invited to eat with the herders, where names and beers were exchanged. As the tourists evaporated, and the remaining cows were sorted for their respective owners, a few friends from the previous day rolled in. The sun ducked behind the surrounding snow-capped fir clad mountains, and the crowd thinned to just the local farmers clustered around the makeshift bar. A handful would break away each time a livestock truck rolled in to load another half dozen of the dwindling summer herd. Further rounds of medicinal Schnapps were called for, as the crickets chirped in the bushes lining the cold rushing river. I found my language skills somehow improved greatly as the evening went on, and that cattle farmers are pretty much the same everywhere…give or take the lederhosen and conical hats.
