From Sweden to Working on a Ranch in the Canadian Rockies

I walk up the steps onto the porch surrounding the bunkhouse, my dirty boots clicking and clacking on the stained wooden floors as I make my way to the fridge. Bending down to grab a Modelo, I feel the soreness in my thighs from hours spent in the saddle. The six other trail guides are already settled in their chairs, facing the last rays of sunshine as they settle between the rocky peaks of Lake Louise in the Canadian West. I swing a leg over the porch’s railing and lean back against a wooden pillar supporting the roof. As we chat about the day and laugh over the most random guests we’ve had on our rides, our eyes rest on the view before us: the horses grazing near the barn, their bodies steaming in the cool air of the dusk, still bearing imprints from the saddles. A white gelding named Big Show folds his legs and plants himself in the only muddy patch left on the field. Why is it always the white-furred ones?

 How did I end up here, as a trail riding guide in the Canadian Rockies? I wasn’t raised into the Western riding community, nor do I come from an English-speaking country. I grew up in northern Sweden, where I first learned English riding skills. Like many others with the horse bug, I grew up watching Spirit and reading every book about horses and adventure I could find. My passion was show jumping, but over time, the pressure to train myself and my horse and compete took away all the fun. I stepped away from horses for a few years and tried living the life most of my friends had already embraced. It was fun at first. I discovered pop culture, fashion, and boys. But something was missing. Corny, right? Any horse girl could’ve seen it coming: the emptiness that comes when you’re not surrounded by animals that open a highway straight to your heart. Without them, I felt lost and knew I needed to find my way back. After months of traveling in Asia, I realized I was not ready to return to Sweden and "so-called home," but I’d spent all my money and couldn’t stay abroad any longer. Adventure has always been my thing, but the only kind I could afford now was vicarious—scrolling through others' posts on social media. One day, while browsing Facebook, I saw an ad shared by a friend. A ranch in the Canadian Rockies was looking for trail-riding guides for the summer. I took a leap of faith and sent in my résumé. To my surprise, a week later, I had a video meeting with the ranch owner's daughter, who handled the hiring. After a chat, she offered me the job. I had no idea what I was getting into when I packed my suitcase and a duffle bag and boarded a flight over the Atlantic. At 21, I was young and naive—perhaps to my advantage. If I’d known how tough the road ahead would be, I might never have gone.

Cindy, the 55-year-old manager, picked me up from the bus station in Banff. With her big brown eyes and braids spilling from under a cowboy hat, she tried (and failed) to hide her disappointment. It didn’t take a skilled observer to realize I wasn’t what she’d hoped for. Though I didn’t think of myself as spoiled, I wasn’t exactly a natural fit for cowboy culture either. Cindy showed me the ranch, the bunkhouse, and introduced me to the cowgirls and cowboys at the table. From the moment I walked in, they judged me and threw comments, some in thick Aussie accents. I later learned they’d placed bets on how long I’d last. The kindest among them, Brittany, gave me five days! Determined to prove myself, I worked hard—both with the horses and on myself. I learned to tie the right knots, saddle a horse properly, and ride with loose reins and relaxed legs. I improved my English enough to confidently talk to customers. I learnt how to handle my intimidating boss, an old-school cowboy who communicated better with horses than humans. His sharp, often ironic comments (imagine Kevin Costner in Yellowstone) terrified me at first, but I learned to roll with them. I learned that the harsh tone between the cowboys and cowgirls was mainly out of love and as I went on, I learned snappy responses with my Swedish accent that made us all have a good laugh. But never in my life had I been so humbled. When I arrived at Lake Louise that spring, my boots were way too big for me, but by the time fall came around, they finally fit.

As I finish this, I want to express my love for the Western community. In a time where so much feels fake, this stands out as something truly real—and that's why I trust the people in this culture. It’s the salt of the earth, the ones that work hard with their heart and mind aligned to do the things we love!

Julia