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This Montana Life: Horse Trainer Lee Lytten
March 04, 2009
Editor@montanaliving.com
By DAVE REESE
He vowed that one day he would ride with them, that they wouldn't leave him at home.
Since he was a boy watching cowboys through the corral fence, Lee Lytten dreamed of being a cowboy, dreamed of the day when he'd get paid to chase cattle, to start colts, to get paid ropin' and ridin' on the range.
The dream has become reality for Lytten, who each day rises to the sun breaking over the jagged spires of the Mission Mountains, spilling light over the fields and pastures of his ranch near Pablo. Lytten puts on his worn leather chaps and sets out to work in the corrals just out the front door of his house, his gait slow but deliberate.
He walks to a round 40-foot corral to work with four horses already saddled. Like children in a classroom, the horses represent a wide range of skills and experience.
A roan eyes Lytten cautiously as he approaches, shifting its weight nervously within the constraints of a one-leg hobble. Lytten mounts his horse and approaches the roan with a blue flag in his hand, raising it slowly above the horse's head, then sweeping it underneath his chin.
When the owner brought the horse to Lytten, this would have made the horse go crazy. The horse appears a bit nervous but finally drops his eyes and relaxes, allowing Lytten to pet him on the forehead.
This little lesson is the basis for Lytten's philosophy about horses; Know what they want, show them what you want, and reward them when they perform for you.
He's trained more than 2,000 horses in his 30 years of work, but he's the first to admit he has many more lessons to learn.
"I'll continue to improve being a horseman until the day I die," he says. "I've learned more from my students than I ever would have alone."
WHEN HE'S SATISFIED that he's accomplished enough for now with the roan, he leads the horse out of the corral and ties it to a hitching rack along with his other students for the day. A dachshund steps in and out of the horses' hooves while Lytten turns his attention to his next student.
Lytten admits this is not the job for someone who wants a steady paycheck. Still, horse training is good honest work.
"It's chicken one day, feathers the next," says Lytten. "This business can eat your lunch."
His hands are calloused and rough from years of starting and training horses, and his bright blue eyes sparkle with delight as he talks about the things he loves: horses, his wife, his kids — but not necessarily in that order. They all seem to occupy the same plane in his mind.
LYTTEN AND HIS WIFE, Pam, sons Wyatt, 4, and Willy, 1 month, live a simple life within shouting distance of where Lytten grew up on his father's farm. The land is sprawling and wide, speckled only with a few scattered farm houses. The snow-covered pastures bask in the spring sunshine as a flock of honking geese set down in a nearby stubble field.
Lytten points to the deep blue folds of the Mission Mountains, where he likes to fly his small airplane and glide back out of the canyons: "Nothing gives me greater satisfaction."
Pam Lytten is her husband's greatest fan and advocate, and he's quick to credit her support as a reason for his success in the horse-training business. Pam grew up in Missoula and was a stranger to horses until she met Lee, who in two years helped her to become Northwest champion in calf roping.
He admits he wouldn't be where he is as a trainer, a father, a husband without the help of his family and friends.
"Without those people, I never would have built a business," he says. "You need help. Life is too short to try to go it on your own."
Lytten drew on the years of experience of his father, Jack Lytten, and trainers Walt Vermedahl, Al Grandchamp and Hunt.
The Lytten place is a simple training facility. Besides the corral, he has 40 acres or so of pasture and a partially finished barn that he hopes to have done by this summer.
Lee Lytten needs no fancy facilities, no heated horse stalls or cushy indoor arena. He needs only a small round corral for his work.
"I don't get too detailed," he says. “If someone wants to know what time it is, I don’t show them how to take apart the watch.”
At the top in his field, he's able to hand-pick the people who bring him their horse problems. Some are looking for a quick fix for their horses; these people won't get Lee Lytten's time.
"If people aren't willing to ride, I'm not willing to ride for them," he says.
He generally works with clients' horses for 60 to 90 days.
Good riders somehow have an ability to communicate with a horse, a la the Horse Whisperer. Lytten thinks it's much more basic than that.
"It's a lot simpler than most people perceive," he says. "A horse is not as smart as a dog, but on the other hand, to deal with a horse, you have to think like they think, and to do that, you have to be around them a lot.
"It's a very strategic understanding you must have with them. The more you learn about them, the wiser they become, and the more you can get done with them."
Being able to tap into a horse's thought process is not some mystical power. Lytten says most people already have it; they just need to learn their horse's needs and how to tap into them.
"People don't realize how much they have in themselves. They can get as much value out of their horse as they want."
That's how Lytten's mentor, Ray Hunt, worked.
"He kind of put a spell on a horse. He found out what they wanted and had a definite ability to relate and communicate to the needs of a horse."
LYTTEN LOOKS the part of the rugged Montana cowboy, so it was only natural that he ride in a photo shoot for Marlboro. But there is nothing phony or contrived about the man. He is the real deal.
He knows he could make more money working with horses down south. But the fact he could walk to his father's house faster than he could saddle up and ride over there keeps him rooted in Montana.
"This isn't all about money," he says. "This is where my family is."
He wasn't long into his horse-training career when it struck him that the dream could turn on him.
"I'd lie awake at night wondering how I was going to do this. I'd ask myself, 'How am I going to get this job done?'" That's why he lives by the saying, "If you don't know what to do, do something."
Lytten finishes his work for the day and leads his horses to a nearby pasture. Like grade-school students being let out for recess, the horses jump and run, kicking their feet into the air. The deep canyons of the Mission Mountains darken with the fading light.
Then he hears a little voice. "Daddy when do I get to ride?" little Wyatt patiently asks his father, tugging on his leather chaps.
Now comes the time for his family. Lytten saddles up Wyatt's shaggy pony, barely 3 feet tall, plops the boy into the saddle and leads him into the round corral. Father and son beam with anticipation.
Wyatt, who's been roping since he was 8 months old, rides around and around the corral, bouncing gleefully in his saddle. His father, who once watched the cowboys ride to work, watches his son through the corral fence.
"This is why I do what I do," Lytten says.
The cowboys that once left Lee Lytten came back for him. He is home now, where he's always wanted to be.
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