“P.S. Bring packs.” Th is was the famous last message from General George Custer at the Little Bighorn—an urgent plea for the extra ammunition carried by the mule train.

A Western whirl in Fort Worth, Texas, can be as citified or as countrified as tastes demand. Drew Womack’s lyrics say it best: “Fort Worth, you got class, you blend the future with the past, like the words and music to a classic song.”

On those rare occasions when I plan a vacation, there’s not much chance I’ll consider destinations that promote lounging by a swimming pool or riding in a golf cart. Most of my weekends are spent astride a four-legged animal, and my forays into the hinterland tend to mirror that hobby, albeit with a higher level of adventure.

Broadway has its staged plays and musical extravaganzas, Hollywood has its cinematic spectacles, and the mainstream music world has its globe-spanning concert tours. But in the West there’s a cultural phenomenon that, although small by comparison, is asserting its place as a brand of uniquely American entertainment that’s here to stay—the cowboy gathering.

Sunrise never looks so fine as from the back of a horse, whether I’m at a ranch in the Arizona desert or the Rocky Mountains or the wide open Plains. And there’s just something about the satisfaction of a hearty breakfast at a rustic lodge or around a blazing campfire that makes early morning light come alive across unspoiled country.