Home is where the herd is

Goats too often get a bad rap. Sure, goats eat the inedible, escape fortified enclosures to ravage gardens, eerily and randomly collapse with syncope, scale trees and terrorize unsuspecting passersby, and embody the devil himself. But is the humble goat’s pernicious reputation justified? Not if you’re on goatherd-weed-control patrol.

Carolina and Greg Noya run a truly epic herd of 800 nanny goats in northeastern Wyoming at the foot of Devils Tower (no association with the goat-headed Prince of Darkness). Because goats will only eat grass when everything else is gone, they don’t compete with cattle for graze, so the Noyas’ meat goats also serve as holistic weed control. They’re currently employed by private ranches surrounding the soaring laccolithic column that inspired Theodore Roosevelt to create the first national monument. Ironically, the monument’s managers haven’t caught on, and still prefer herbicides over goats’ gullets.

Carolina is the chief goatherd and, for her, life on the range is simple and sure. A typical day begins with the dogs coming to camp for breakfast. Goats wait patiently while Carolina saddles her horse, preparing to lead them to fresh feed. She packs a peanut butter sandwich and water for refreshment, along with a Kindle for diversion. Around midday, when it’s time for a break, Carolina sits back in her saddle and her horse becomes a comfortable reading chair.

Planning ahead for weeks at a time, Carolina determines where and how long the goats will graze on a given day. Some days are on the prairie, and some days are spent scrambling over rocky terrain and through scabrous canyons. She walks her goats through the rough country, so, sans horse, she takes along a border collie for help and for company.

When herding small livestock, having the right guardian dogs is serious business. Carolina’s best ranch hands are mixed-breed dogs—Ovcharka/Akbash/Kangal—she obtained from an old-time Basque sheepherder who moves his flocks through wolf country in the nearby mountains. Confronting danger from birth, her guardian dogs were bred by the old sheepherder to be predator aware. “Our dogs keep the herd safe,” Carolina declares. “Without our magnificent dogs we would not be able to raise meat goats on the open range.”

During goat grazing season, home is a primitive sheep wagon. “Predators are the main reason I stay with the herd all the time. At night, the livestock guardian dogs work full time to keep the herd safe. During the day, I lead the goats to good feed and keep them nicely bunched up so the strays don’t become mountain lion bait.”

She has her camp rules for predators: “Always check the tree before you do your necessaries” because big cats can lurk in the branches! The range in Wyoming is rife with predators, so the goats provide an additional benefit to local wildlife. “The deer learn to live with us as well,” she says. “They stay close enough to the herd where the dogs don’t bother them and the predators don’t get too close either. It’s kind of a buffer zone. It’s pretty amazing to see wildlife, livestock and predators living and sharing the range.”

Greg is the camp tender and once a week he delivers water and provisions to Carolina’s base camp. The wagon is warmed by a propane catalytic heater and equipped with a propane stove. She spends evenings reading on her solar-powered Kindle.

Animals brought this couple together. Born in Holland, Carolina was raised around goats and horses, but it was horses that first captivated her. After finishing law school in the old country, she moved to New York City and trained racehorses at Belmont Park. It was during one of her stints as a “sky jockey” that she met Greg. Describing the happenstance, she says: “I accompanied horses and all kinds of exotic animals all over the world in cargo planes. On one of those flights, there were only four seats, two of which were taken by other passengers. One of them was Greg.”

A mutual love for working with animals has literally taken the Noyas around the world, but Carolina always had her eye on Wyoming. “As a child I used to look at an atlas and pick out the countries I wanted to visit. I spotted Wyoming and at age 12 decided I was going to live there at some point in my life.” She reflects: “After I had galloped thoroughbreds on the track and flew all over the world with horses, I decided it was time to move to Wyoming.”

Her first ranching job was on the Allemand Ranch, a cow/calf/sheep operation in Douglas. Carolina worked there for two years before leaving to take day jobs with different ranches in the state, and that eventually led her and Greg to large-scale goat herding. She explains, “After the first summer herding goats, the owner of the herd wanted to sell, so Greg and I decided to take over.”

With a past as offbeat as their present, the Noyas have taken to the quiet and big spaces of goat herding. “It’s rewarding to see the kids and nannies thrive,” Carolina says. “I know each goat and who her kids are and her grandkids. It’s beautiful to watch these herd dynamics.”

She continues, philosophically: “Herding is the second oldest profession in the world. We are modern herders doing an ancient job. Cowboys have a much bigger presence in the West, but herders and their sheep and goats belong here as much as the cows. Working and grazing together we can accomplish a lot. Home is where the herd is.”

Marjorie Haun is a freelance writer living in southeastern Utah. Running social media for RANGE’s various platforms, Marjorie interacts with readers throughout the globe. She met Carolina Noya on Facebook, and that’s where the “goatherd” story was conceived. This story originally appeared in RANGE magazine’s Fall 2020 issue. Call 1-800-RANGE-4-U for more information.