Royal Tine OUtFitters: Guiding the Guides

Want to sleep outside, wrangle ornery stock (and clients), field-dress an elk and get paid for it. There’s a school for that.

Story and photos by PJ DelHomme

The alarm chimed at 6 a.m. I hit snooze for half an hour, finally roused off my cot by the sound of hooves outside. The metal roof of the classroom where I slept amplified the sounds of the rain. Out the window, I see men in cowboy hats and slickers rounding up the horses and mules that had grazed all night in a nearby pasture. The rule is all the stock needs to be in the corral by 7:30. The first of many rules.

The cowboys, all six of them, are from Pennsylvania, Missouri, Minnesota Texas, Georgia. One made the trip from New Zealand. They are all here, just west of Philipsburg in western Montana, in the rain, covered in mud and a bit of manure, to learn how to be hunting guides. Today they will learn how to attach an elk carcass to a mule. Tomorrow they will learn basic vet care for their stock. Nearly every day for six weeks they ride, even if only for a mile or two.

On my way to the cook tent, the rain comes in waves. Inside the tent, LeRee Hensen is busy setting out bacon, eggs over easy and caramel rolls prepped the night before. Cowboy coffee percolates on the wood stove. Camp cook, guide and proud owner of a dozen black and tan hounds, LeRee is one half of Royal Tine Outfitting and Guide School. The other half is her husband Cody Hensen, outfitter, guide and head instructor.

In the early 1960s, Cody’s grandfather bought land in the hills adjacent to what is now the Anaconda-Pintler Wilderness. Cody’s father was the cow boss on the Montana State prison ranch in Deer Lodge. As a kid, Cody wasn’t much into cows, but he loved horses, the woods and the chunk of ground where he and LeRee run their outfitting school--the same land his grandfather bought decades ago.

Before starting the guide school in 1994, Cody graduated from the University of Montana with a business degree. He met LeRee in Missoula who was learning small engine repair and welding. “I was going to work on the Alaska pipeline,” says LeRee. “But one thing led to another.” They were married in 1996. Even after he opened his own school, Cody worked as a packer and guide for more than a dozen outfits to find new ways to improve his own guide school.

After breakfast, the students each grab a mule from the corral and tie it to the hitch outside the classroom where I spent the night. Everyone takes a seat inside as Cody opens his binder. On a small, white dry erase board, he goes over the differences between decker and sawbuck saddles and how to tie diamond hitches to each. Some students have no experience around stock, but that’s not a problem as long as they pay attention in class. All the guides take notes. Thirty minutes later, we’re standing in the rain. Half the group goes with Cody to learn how to pack hay bales on a decker, while the other half goes with Shawn “Bird” Hensen, a former student turned instructor who has an addiction to turkey hunting--hence the nickname.  Bird is teaching them how to pack elk quarters and a rack on a mule. “Racks need to be tight,” he explains. “If they get loose, something’s gonna bleed.”

On Saturday, there will be a mid-term, and everyone has to pass. Students typically get a half-day off on Sunday and all day Monday. Generally, they head into Philipsburg to do laundry and maybe have a beer. Cody learned long ago sending a troop of young men to town on a Saturday night wasn’t the best idea, especially since alcohol is forbidden on school premises. And that’s just one rule. Cody says he started with a list of rules about two inches long, but after adding to it every year, it measures a couple feet now. Free time can be spent fishing or hiking, but much of the time, students are practicing knots or sleeping.

Outfitting in Montana is big business, and it’s growing. Consider that in 2017, nonresident visitors in Montana spent roughly $374 million on outfitters and guides, which is 11 percent of the total nonresident spending. This is up from $268 million in 2015, according to a report from the Institute for Tourism and Recreation Research. Those tourists looking to fish and hunt Montana need someone to show them the way, so they look to a guide. In 2015, there were 550 active outfitters and 1,600 seasonal guides. Today, there are 749 outfitters and 1,800 licensed guides.

For the fall hunting season, guides make an average $100-300 per day, plus 10-15 percent tip for a good time, which doesn’t necessarily include a notched tag. It’s hard work, long hours and low pay. But the students agree that you really can’t beat the view from the office.

Montana is home to roughly two dozen outfitting and guide schools, but not all are created equal. “Alot of time guide schools are going to tell you what you want to hear,” says Cody. When looking for a school, “you have to ask for references. Our references really make it for us,” he says. “I’m more interested in you knowing your stuff than whether you like me or not.”

Royal Tine’s students are here mainly because of the school’s reputation. More than 600 alumni since 1994 help spread the word, but Facebook and Instagram help them get some students, too.

Austin Wethington, a 29-year-old student originally from Georgia, was a guide for an outfit based in Dixon last year. He knew about stock and packing, but he wanted to learn more guiding hunters and finding game. When he started asking around about where to go, everyone kept telling him to check out Royal Tine. To pay the $4500 cost of tuition, which includes room and board, Wethington is using the GI Bill. For five years, he was an engineer in the Marine Corps where he served in Afghanistan. There, he used goats, not mules, to pack gear. Now he guides for Lazy J Bar O Outfitters based in Big Timber. He’ll spend most of the summer and fall deep in the Bob Marshall Wilderness. “The military guys do really well,” says Cody. “They’re used to work and being dirty.”  

Alongside veterans, most students are in their early 20’s, and all men. Some women do inquire, but none have ever taken the course. All the students have to like being outside. “For a lot of folks, college doesn’t appeal to them,” says Cody. “It’s really like a trade school. It’s up to the students to be motivated.” Having 100 percent job placement for their graduates is something Cody and LeRee take pride in. “There are way more jobs to fill than guides out there,” says Cody. “Outfitters are looking for an honest, hard-worker who doesn’t need to be told what to do. But, all the outfitters ask us to find them neutered guides who are allergic to alcohol.”

The close-quarters, testosterone and young personalities could make an intriguing setting for a documentary. In fact, producers from a reality show once approached Cody and LeRee about making one. They declined. “They wanted to create a bunch of drama, and we have no interest in that,” says LeRee. “It made the school look like a big joke.”

There are two downsides to the business on which Cody and Leree adamantly agree. “I’d rather stick an ice pick in my eye than pick new stock,” says LeRee. For both the guide school and their own outfitting and trail-ride business, they need incredibly patient and well-trained horses and mules to deal with young kids and people who haven’t ever been around livestock. “Everybody and their dog has a crazy horse in their backyard they want to sell you,” says Leree.

The other downside is shopping. Every couple of weeks the couple will drive to Missoula and spend around $2,000 on food. “By the time we get to Drummond [30 minutes from camp], we’re already in a foul mood,” says LeRee. “Costco should really open early for outfitters. The place is already packed when it opens.”

At dinner that night, everyone washes up outside and takes off their hat. On the menu, it’s elk meatloaf, mashed potatoes, salad with bacon vinaigrette. Nothing is dehydrated here. Everything is cooked from scratch. LeRee knows how to cook, which is helpful because she also teaches a backcountry cooking and four-day Dutch-oven course at the camp. Alot of times, her students will be older guys who no longer hunt, but want to be in camp. Being the cook is a great way to be appreciated and still get to hear stories around the campfire, says LeRee. But it’s not just for the older set. Marine vet Wellington plans to come next year for the cooking school.

When it’s time for me to leave, the sun comes out for just a spell. The students still have another five weeks sleeping in wall tents, working outside rain or shine. In my rearview, I watch smoke rise from the wood stoves and flatten into the damp air. I feel a little envy knowing these guys will spend their summer and fall fighting mosquitoes, horseflies and stubborn stock. They will guide not-so-horse savvy dudes from all over the world into Montana’s most beautiful places and love (nearly) every minute of it.