Scottish cattle breed a growing herd in Montana

BOZEMAN (AP) — On Bridger Canyon Road between mile marker seven and eight, there's a small ranch with an unusual breed of cattle.

They're black, brown and tan beasts with long shaggy hair and horns that curve into sharp points. They look something like yaks, but call them that and you're sure to get corrected.

AP Photo/Bozeman Daily Chronicle, Erik Petersen

A pair of Scottish Highland steers are photographed in their pasture on Bridger Canyon Road in Bozeman. The breed originated in Scotland, and though there are a few herds in the area, the animals certainly aren't common. The cattle are much different than the typical Angus - they're smaller and have a slower metabolism, and their meat is said to be lower in cholesterol than chicken.

"Yaks you pack, cows you eat," Charlie Immenschuh says to those who get confused.

Immenschuh is the caretaker for the animals, which are actually Scottish Highland cattle. The herd includes about 29 head of cows, heifers, steers and a bull.

The breed originated in Scotland, and though there are a few herds in the area, the animals certainly aren't common. The cattle are much different than the typical Angus — they're smaller and have a slower metabolism, and their meat is said to be lower in cholesterol than chicken. The animals are also hardier.

That's why Mark and Addie Theisen first got interested in the Highland cattle — they seemed inclined for Montana's cold winters.

The Theisens own the land and cattle that Immenschuh watches most of the year while they're in Florida. Part owners of Over the Tapas restaurant, the Theisens spend four to five months a year at their Bozeman ranch.

Some day they might sell the meat at the restaurant. But for now, they're content building up the herd, selling some animals, and keeping some meat for themselves and their family.

Up the Bridger Canyon, the animals seem well-adjusted to the lingering snow and freezing temperatures, Addie said. She noted that in Scotland, people used to bring a highland cow inside their cabin to warm it up because they kept their heat so well. They'd also use the animals' dung to fuel the fire.

But while Addie is intrigued by the cattle's traits and history, she remains wary of their most distinguishing feature: horns.

"Let's face it, they could kill you," she said.

Immenschuh knows that's true too. He's been chased by the cattle and had to be quick enough on his feet to jump the fence and get away from them. And sometimes, he's not quite quick enough. He said he's been butted into the fence before and pulled a muscle in his hip.

But most of the time, he said, it's pretty quiet up on the ranch.

"It's like whitewater rafting," he said. "Hours and hours of nothing for moments of terror."

Friday, he leaned against a fence and looked out at cows and their calves. The snow had just melted from the ground days before, and the animals tromped through the mud.

Immenschuh pointed to three new calves bunched together at a far end of the corral.

"Those ones are full of trouble," he said. "They pal around like gangsters."

He said he's seen all but four of the herd's animals born, and gets to watch most of their life-cycles. But that means the hard part too — seeing the animals die. Now, Immenschuh is nursing a sick calf that he says probably won't make it.

"There's a lot of reality to be faced," he said, adding that working on a ranch isn't like a Walt Disney movie.

But that's not to say he's opposed to the animals being slaughtered.

"That one on the left looks delicious," he said of a pair of steers as they were feeding.

"This one's T-Bone and that one's Fajita," he said, jokingly, adding that it's not good to name cattle since they are destined for the dinner table.

Instead, he mostly refers to them by a number written on a yellow tag stuck in their ear.

Immenschuh enjoys his time up Bridger Canyon, but will soon transition to his summer job guiding horseback rides and fly fishing trips for his Big Sky company, Cache Creek Outfitters. Every year though, he comes back, preparing for calving season and the hard work that winter brings.

"It's a good deal to get to live here," he said. "It's good, clean, honest work — or I should say good, dirty, honest work."