From the outset, Wyoming teaches me that distance is deceptive. Leaving Cody behind in my rearview mirror, the road unspools through a landscape so vast it seems to have swallowed perspective whole. Fence posts shrink to the size of matchsticks. Mountains hover on the horizon for hours without moving an inch closer. Along the Wild Horse Highway, two free roaming herds materialize in the distance like mirages, manes flicking in the wind, before dissolving back into the sagebrush.
By the time I reach Paintrock Canyon Ranch, snuggled beneath the Bighorn Mountains near the tiny town of Hyattville (population: 47), I have already begun to feel pleasantly untethered from normal life. My phone signal has surrendered; my inbox will go unmonitored for the week. The only thing demanding my attention is a fast-flowing creek and the crescent moon hanging above a meadow scattered with white canvas tents.
The river provides a constant soundtrack of welcome white noise, layered with birdsong at dawn, crickets at dusk, and the occasional unexplained rustle that reminds you this is very much a place shared with wildlife. My tent is gloriously simple: a giant bed piled with thick blankets, solar lanterns glowing softly beside it. Through the triangular opening in the canvas, I can see the moon each morning before I even lift my head from the pillow. The temperature swings wildly here; sometimes I wake to visible clouds of my breath rising above the duvet, after one overnight snowfall leaves the Bighorn peaks lightly sugared with snow — only to melt away beneath the afternoon sun as part of the seasonal identity crisis Wyoming seems to tussle with in spring.
It might be easy to dismiss a ranch holiday as merely the latest expression of a revived Western obsession. Cowboy boots have migrated from working ranches to fashion runways, while TV dramas have transformed cattle herding into a global aesthetic, with the Duttons continuing to dominate screens in the Year of the Horse. Yet what becomes immediately apparent at Paintrock is that nobody seems particularly interested in performing the West, they are simply living it.
This 80,000-acre plot is part of Ranchlands, a family-run company founded by third-generation rancher Duke Phillips III, whose childhood was spent on a vast cattle property in northern Mexico, five hours from the nearest town. After years working under renowned Colorado cattleman Dale Lasater, Phillips launched Ranchlands in 1999 with just 35 cows and a lease on Colorado’s Chico Basin Ranch. What began as an ambitious ranching operation has since evolved into something far more expansive. Today, Ranchlands manages large-scale working ranches across the American West, combining cattle production with wildlife conservation, ecological restoration, hospitality, education, hunting and fishing programs, a leather workshop, artist residencies and community outreach through its nonprofit arm, The Collective.
At the heart of it all is a belief that ranchers can be more than livestock producers; they have the potential to steward entire ecosystems. Rather than viewing conservation and agriculture as opposing forces, Ranchlands treats healthy grasslands, thriving wildlife populations and sustainable cattle operations as interconnected parts of the same system. The result is a model that feels refreshingly optimistic and forward-thinking: one where working landscapes are not preserved by excluding people from them, but by actively engaging them in their care. Guests aren’t invited to simply observe this way of life; we’re folded into it. For a week, we ride the same trails, eat at the same tables, fish the same creeks with the wranglers, artists, and ecologists who call Paintrock home.
Which is how I find myself standing in a corral being introduced to a 12-year-old palomino called Camaro. Having ridden since I was little and grown up watching a steady stream of Westerns, there is something surreal about finally following my feet here, fulfilling a childhood idea of what riding could be — sharing wide open spaces with a group of like-minded, horse-loving, wildlife-respecting women.
Camaro’s name sounds more appropriate for an American muscle car than a ranch horse, although it takes approximately five minutes in the saddle to realize it couldn’t be more fitting. This sporty Quarter Horse appears permanently convinced there is another gear available, powering uphill with enthusiasm, shifting around corners with remarkable precision, and treating every open stretch of trail as though we might have to escape an ambush of bandits at our backs.
Riding him is tremendous fun; the equine equivalent of being handed the keys to a vintage Chevrolet and told to take the scenic route. His coat seems designed specifically for this backcountry. In the early morning light, when Paintrock Creek throws metallic reflections across the tall grass and yellow butterflies drift lazily through wild mustard flowers, his mane catches every conceivable shade of gold — wheat, amber, honey, copper.
Leading me throughout my Ranch Vacation week is Lauren O’Toole, Head of Stay Programs, whose journey to Wyoming feels almost as winding and colourful as the canyon trails themselves. Originally a showjumper, she followed a path that gradually drew her away from arenas and toward wild places, teaching biology in Thailand, studying sea turtles on Hawaiian beaches, completing a Master’s in Conservation Biology in Australia, and working on an estancia in Uruguay before wrangling at Zapata Ranch, Paintrock’s beloved predecessor in Colorado’s San Luis Valley. Ranchlands built a fiercely loyal following in bison country beneath the shadow of the Great Sand Dunes — so much so that many repeat guests who first discovered the company there have since followed it north.
Somewhere along the way Lauren learned horsemanship from an old Hawaiian paniolo — one of the state’s legendary cowboys — and now seems to inhabit that rare space where scientist, naturalist and horsewoman overlap seamlessly. Each morning, she appears mounted on Pistol, a striking bay mare with more than enough athleticism to leave the rest of us in the dust if she felt so inclined. Watching Lauren ride her is a lesson in subtlety. There are no dramatic corrections or visible negotiations, just quiet communication. The relationship between horse and rider rarely feels equal in the way you might expect. Camaro knows infinitely more about this place than I do and is shouldering nearly all the hard work. He knows the trails, the creek crossings, how to tackle the steeper sections in a sensible zigzag down.
But somewhere between the Red Wall, Luman Canyon and the sprawling hills beyond camp, a partnership begins to emerge. I learn the subtle shift in his stride before we decide to pick up the pace. He learns that I will inevitably become distracted by every flower and geological curiosity we pass. Together, we spend the week traversing terrain resembling the sets of both a spaghetti Western and a sci-fi — one moment we are riding through lush green ribbons of meadow that hug the creek’s path through the canyon, the air sweet with wildflowers and damp earth. Indian paintbrush ignites the hillsides with fiery flashes of crimson. The slender stems and delicate petals of Mariposa lilies pop up among the grasses. Prickly pear cactus blooms with startling yellow flowers. Then, without warning, the scenery transforms entirely. Red sandstone ridges that began life as millennia-old seabeds rise from the earth in layered, lunar ripples. Pale limestone escarpments tower overhead. Sagebrush plains stretch into the distance beneath an impossibly large sky that is filled to the brim with stars at night.
At times, it feels as though several planets have collided and agreed to occupy the same coordinates. If, for some inexplicable future reason, humanity decides horses are necessary for extraterrestrial exploration, I suspect Paintrock’s herd — already well-versed in navigating Martian-like mountains — would be uniquely qualified. The ranch takes its name from ancient petroglyphs hidden within the canyon walls (it’s briefly tempting to attribute those to visiting aliens too). Long before cattle arrived, Indigenous peoples came here to leave marks, stories and symbols etched into the stone. There’s something fitting about that. Paintrock feels like a place people have always wanted to respond to creatively, the landscape demands it.
While riding forms the backbone of each day at Paintrock, afternoon activities reveal the breadth of ranching life beyond the saddle. I join Grace Phillips beside the creek for a fly-fishing lesson, where casting techniques give way to conversations about regenerative ranching. The youngest daughter of founder Duke III, Grace recently returned to the family business after seasons spent working as a fishing guide in Alaska and Argentina. As part of the fourth generation of her family to make a life on the land, she brings both an outsider’s perspective and a deep-rooted connection to the cattle-raising world she grew up in. “You have to take care of your land for it to be fruitful,” she tells me, explaining how Ranchlands’ livestock are moved frequently across the landscape in carefully planned grazing patterns that mimic the movement of the vast bison herds that once roamed the West, preventing overgrazing and allowing grasses time to recover. “Everyone has a connection to the land in some way, they just don’t necessarily know how to interact with it.” At Paintrock, that disconnect is gently herded in the right direction, making it an ideal introduction for the ranch-curious.
Throughout my stay, I try my hand at roping with wrangler Oliver, quickly discovering that what appears effortless from horseback is in fact a masterclass in practice-honed skills. This quintessential cowboy party trick is actually rooted in centuries of practical livestock management, requiring timing, agility and a surprising amount of restraint. Leatherworking with Taylor reveals another thread in the Ranchlands story. What began nearly three decades ago as a practical necessity at Chico Basin Ranch to mend tack has evolved into a collection of handmade leather goods, each designed to withstand years of hard use and available to shop in The Mercantile.
Seated around a workbench scattered with rivets, stamps and strips of vegetable-tanned leather, we craft dog collars and coasters by hand. Under Taylor’s patient guidance, I measure, cut, bevel the edges and stamp my dog’s name into the leather. By the end of the session, my collar is far from perfect. The p in Humphrey sits ever so slightly higher than the rest of the letters, a small reminder that it was made by hand rather than machine.
The same attention to detail finds its way onto the plate, where every meal tells a story about what’s around us. Breakfast is served beside the creek each morning, coffee steaming from enamel mugs while we compare sightings of coyote and rattlesnakes and someone scans the treeline for birds, catching glimpses of Lazuli Buntings and Yellow Warblers flitting between branches. Generous silver platters of blueberry pancakes crowned with cream and maple syrup are followed by thick-cut bacon and the ranch’s own naturally raised beef that’s been slow-braised over the open fire. Nothing seems to go to waste. Leftover boysenberries from pie reappear the following evening transformed into mocktails; homemade syrups find their way into drinks and desserts alike.
Lunches are packed into saddlebags before we move out, pausing beneath cottonwoods or beside shaded streams to tuck into sandwiches while the horses graze nearby. The rhythm feels wonderfully analog, hours pass without anyone checking a phone. Mornings can begin cold enough for fleece-lined jackets, only for me to be rolling up my sleeves before midday. Thunder can be heard rumbling on the horizon, as lighting crackles across the plains — more than once, a rainbow arches over camp moments after a sudden downpour. The landscape never sits still.
And throughout it all, Camaro continues to carry me with tireless enthusiasm, always ready to accelerate whenever the opportunity arises. This trusty palomino has become my conduit for understanding my surroundings. Because Paintrock is ultimately about relationships, between cattle and pasture; people and wildlife; visitors and landscapes they might otherwise never encounter. Between horses and riders.
Perhaps that explains why Ranchlands is committed to revealing ranching as something far broader than cattle and horses alone. Through The Collective, the organization supports educational initiatives, conservation projects, wildlife monitoring and apprenticeships designed to nurture the next generation of land stewards. It also hosts an artist residency program that has been running for more than two decades, inviting creatives from around the world to immerse themselves in ranch life.
On my final morning, before reluctantly trading my saddle for a seat on the plane to Denver, I stop by the stables to visit artist-in-residence Brit Larson’s studio. Among her abstract paintings strewn across the barn’s stalls, handmade brushes from carefully gathered horsehair resting in pots, one catches my eye. Its burnished golds, russet tones, and wavy textures remind me of Camaro’s honeyed mane glowing in the previous evening’s sunset.
Back home, it now hangs beneath my cowboy hat, and whenever the light catches the canvas just right, I’m transported back to Paintrock and imagine my golden boy waiting for our next ride together.
Getting there
Paintrock Canyon Ranch sits near Hyattville in northern Wyoming, approximately 90 minutes from Cody Yellowstone Regional Airport and around three hours from Billings, Montana. During the summer season, Cody is served by direct flights from Denver on United Airlines, along with seasonal connections from hubs including Salt Lake City, making it surprisingly accessible despite its remote feel.
It’s worth noting that Cody is not the sort of place where you can rely on ride-hailing apps; Uber and Lyft services are extremely limited to non-existent. If you’re not arranging a ranch transfer, you’ll need to reserve a rental car well in advance. Prices can climb steeply during peak summer months, particularly around Yellowstone’s busiest season, so early booking is recommended.
Most guests choose to arrive via Cody, which is well worth exploring for a night or two beforehand. Buffalo Bill’s legacy looms large here, from the Buffalo Bill Center of the West to independent saddleries (Buckstitch Saddles & Tack), bootmakers (Wayne’s Boots) and Western outfitters (Custom Cowboy Shop) that feel authentic rather than touristy.
Who it’s for
While confident riders will undoubtedly relish the long days in the saddle, you don’t need to be an expert equestrian to enjoy Paintrock. Horses are carefully matched to riders, and itineraries are tailored to individual experience levels. What matters more is curiosity: a willingness to spend all your time outdoors, ditch your devices, and engage meaningfully with the landscape.
Workshops
For many returning guests, the workshops are the primary draw. Among the most sought-after are the stockmanship clinics led by legendary cowboy Cam Schryver, a two-time Extreme Cowboy World Champion and one of the most respected horsemen in the American West. These immersive programs go far beyond improving your riding. Participants learn how cattle respond to pressure and movement, how horses anticipate livestock behaviour, and how effective stockmanship relies on teamwork, timing and observation as much as technical skill. Days are spent riding across the ranch, practising horsemanship exercises in real-world settings and refining roping techniques under Cam’s guidance before gathering around the dinner table each evening to dissect the day’s lessons.
For those interested in a more introspective relationship with horses, Paintrock also hosts Equine Gestalt retreats with practitioner Kelly Dukarski. These experiences blend horsemanship, somatic awareness and nervous system regulation, using horses as intuitive partners for self-reflection and personal growth. Sessions may involve groundwork, riding, mindfulness practices and time spent observing free-roaming horses, all designed to foster a deeper connection with both nature and yourself.
When to visit
The ranch operates between mid-May and mid-October. Spring brings wildflowers, green grass and newborn calves. Summer offers long riding days and creek swims beneath warm skies. Early autumn is arguably the most beautiful season of all, with golden cottonwoods, cooler temperatures and crisp mornings perfect for exploring the canyon.
Rates
Five-night ranch vacations currently start from approximately $4,150 per person, including accommodation, meals and activities.
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