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Roy Salge

An Old-time Saddler in the Classic Tradition Roy Salge lives on a wooded hilltop in the Santa Rita Mountains outside Patagonia, 20 miles from the Mexican border. His house is hidden and remote. Sonoita Creek trickles over the winding dirt road below. Only the occasional twittering of birds breaks the silence. This is where Salge, now 83, hoped to live out a lazy retirement. It hasn't worked out quite that way. After 54 years in the business of crafting custommade saddles for cowboys throughout Arizona and beyond, Salge is finding it hard to escape the demands of his reputation. He put out word of his retirement years ago, but it had limited effect until recently. His name is so well-known among the close-knit fraternity of ranchers, cowboys, and rodeo riders that many sought him out. Customers heard of him the old-fashioned way, by word of mouth. And he has always had more work than he could handle. "It don't take long for word to get 'round if folks like your work," says Salge, as he rolls a cigarette and squints out over the bosomy hills. "You make a good stout saddle, why, they'll find you some way." Find him they have. Salge has shipped saddles all over the Southwest and as far away as Hawaii. Vaqueros have been known to ride up from Mexican ranches to personally put in an order. Salge said his Spanish isn't much, just good enough to cut the deal. "When it comes to saddle gear, I know the right words." Salge came to Arizona from Texas in 1930, when his grandfather bought a ranch in Parker Canyon. Nine years later, in the midst of the Depression and needing work, Salge took a job at a saddle shop in Flagstaff after driving a herd of horses from the Canelo Hills north to Holbrook. But the cold weather quickly brought him back to Patagonia. At the time, the town was the site of several big ranches, but the cowboys had their saddles made in Colorado or Montana. That changed in 1940 when Salge went to work in a shop owned by the late Paul Showalter, a gunsmith and silversmith. Salge's craftsmanship attracted local customers, a trend that blossomed after his Army service in the Pacific during WWII. Soldiers were returning home with money in their pockets and pent-up dreams of riding the open range on a fine saddle. "That was our heyday," said Salge. "Back then ranchers didn't have four-wheel drives, so they used packsaddles and hauled by (OPPOSITE PAGE) Two generations of saddlemakers, Roy Salge and son David, display their handiwork at the Vera-Earl Ranch near Sonoita. The saddle in front is new, waiting for its owner, while the other is the first one Roy made for his son, in 1953.

(ABOVE) Roy Salge's experienced hands stamp, or "tool," a traditional decorative design onto a saddle in production.

On mule and horseback. I couldn't turn 'em out fast enough in those days.

He once sold a saddle to actor Walter Brennan, who was in Patagonia in the late '40s filming Red River with John Wayne. The movie company hired Salge to make much of the tack and leather gear it needed, and he remembered keeping the shop open, sometimes until midnight, to get it all done.

After a day's filming, the actors, including Brennan and Wayne, would congregate at the shop to chat. "Brennan was real sociable and liked gettin' out to visit people," said Salge. "Wayne, too. He came in several times, talkin' and actin' just like he did in the movies. It was excitin' because we never had too many people like that come around."

Many of Salge's original customers have died. But their saddles, some made half a century ago, are still being strapped onto horses' backs. A saddle Salge made in 1947 is still in use on a ranch in nearby Sonoita. When Salge himself goes riding, he uses a saddle he made in 1954. Those old models, which originally sold for $50 to $75, have increased in value dramatically, and not just because of inflation.

"Fact that I made it has a lot to do with how much you can get for it," says the softspoken Salge without a trace of boast. A 40year-old Salge saddle could easily fetch $500 or more today, depending on its condition.

While Salge's saddles will be around long after he is gone, the craft he has spent a lifetime practicing might not. He can rattle off the names of several custom saddlemakers around the state who've died or quit. Their numbers dwindle every year.

"It's dying out, no question," says Salge. "It's too bad because there are still a lot of ranchers out there who want custom saddles. The way it's going, they won't be able to find anyone to make them."

As far back as Salge can remember, he has schooled his son, David, 44, in the particulars of the craft. David's training began at his father's knee, when he'd hang around the shop watching the master work. By the time he was 16, David was doing jobs of his own, repairing bridles, other tack, and holsters at 50 cents each.

"About the same time, I began drawing full pay for summer roundup help at the ranches around here," says David. "Whenever something broke down, they'd bring it to me and say, 'Take this to your dad.' If it wasn't too big a job, I got to do it, myself."

But gaining confidence in his ability was a gradual process. As David recalled, it all came together when he and a friend were at Eastern Arizona College riding broncs as practice for an upcoming rodeo. David was on his horse in the chute, using his friend's brand-new saddle, when the horse got excited and fell over backward. David wasn't hurt, but the saddle, which had arrived that very day, was wrecked.

David, 18, promised his friend he'd fix it, although he wasn't at all sure he could. "It took me a week to get the job done, but when I showed it to him he was one happy kid," says David, who used to work mornings at the Vera-Earl Ranch in Sonoita, and do his leather and saddle work in the afternoons. "And I was pretty proud. I did it all myself, without my father's help." Now relocated with his family on his father-inlaw's Oklahoma cattle ranch, where he and his wife share management duties, David has reopened his leather shop, making saddles and tack with the same tools his father used for half a century.

David credits his father with much of

what he knows today. “He’s a real fine teach-er,” says David. “He’d show me how to do something, then tell me to go do it. After a while, I could see it come together. He has a lot of patience, and that’s what this work takes more than anything else.” A plain working saddle takes at least 60 to 80 hours of painstaking work to complete. And the Salges take no shortcuts, beginning with a rawhide-covered “tree,” a frame cut into the shape of a saddle. Factory saddles are sometimes made with plastic trees, but the Salges use wood, usually pine. It holds nails and screws better and is stronger than plastic. Depending on the needs of the rider, they usually have the tree itself custom cut. Covered in rawhide, the wooden trees come from Ritter Saddle Tree Company in Anthony, Texas. That has been the strength of their enterprise: matching saddle to rider. “The main thing about making a saddle is that it has to fit the rider and the horse,” says Salge. David concurs. “I like to look at a cus-tomer, see his size, how he’s built. And it’s easier for him to explain what he wants in person.” Individual preference determines the height of the front and back of the seat, called the cantle and swell, respectively, and the design of the fenders. Ropers usually want a high dally (saddle) horn to wrap their rope around. Bronc riders want wide-swelled saddles because they are easier to stay in. The breed of the horse also is important. Spanish horses, which aren't as common as they used to be, are smaller and have tighter withers than the wide-backed quarter horses today's cowboys prefer.

Another important step is buying the leather. Salge and son frequently shop together for leather. It comes in sides, and each costs $160. It takes almost three sides to complete a saddle. “It has to have some life to it, not too hard, not too soft,” says David. “You have to watch out for scars or brands, too. They weaken the leather and have to be cut out.” Father and son also are careful to match sections of the leather to parts of the saddle. Stirrup leather should come off the back of the hide because it is thick and doesn't stretch. Leather from the neck goes on the seat. It stretches easily and conforms to the rider.

The most time-consuming part of the process is fitting the leather over the saddle, soaking it in animal oil to give it flexibility, and rubbing it into shape while cutting it. Then they sew sheepskin into the skirt, which is the under-portion of the saddle that lies against the horse's back.

The sewing is by machine, using waxed linen thread. Factory saddles use nylon thread that can stretch and break down with exposure to sun-light. And a nylon stitch unravels if it breaks.

Finishing touches depend on the customer. A basic saddle costs $1,400. But if a customer wants fully carved leather, which both Salge and son do freehand, working either from a picture the customer has pro-vided or from their imaginations, it can take up to 100 hours and cost $1,800 to $2,300.

The price can go much higher if the customer has special requests. Some want sterling silver lace along the cantle and gullet, or on the horn cap. Others prefer sterling silver conchos (the round metallic decorations that go under the strings). Another fancy extra is buck stitching, which is raised white calfskin lacing around the edges of the saddle. These accoutrements can push the cost in excess of $3,000.

Even though factory-made saddles cost far less from $400 to $1,100 - the Salges keep busy. In the last couple of years, David even shipped a saddle to a man in Poughkeepsie, New York. He was vacationing in southern Arizona, heard of the Salges, and showed up at David's front door, just like people have been hearing about his father for more than 50 years. Now in Roff, Oklahoma, David hopes to continue the family tradition and invites visitors to stop by his leather shop just as they did in Patagonia.

The elder Salge has had to retire from making saddles because he just doesn't have the upper body strength to pull the leather across the wooden trees. In 1997 he still made a handful of saddles a year to accommodate persistent customers. “I don’t mind because if I get too busy I send ’em over to David,” he said. “I’ve always been pretty well satisfied doing this work.” Then he added a caveat: “Long as folks leave me alone and don’t come around askin’ when it’s gonna be done.” he still made a handful of saddles a year to accommodate persistent customers. “I don’t mind because if I get too busy I send ’em over to David,” he said. “I’ve always been pretty well satisfied doing this work.” Then he added a caveat: “Long as folks leave me alone and don’t come around askin’ when it’s gonna be done.” It’s not hard to imagine hearing the same words from another Salge. David’s 15-year-old daughter has yet to make or repair anything on her own, but she loves to tinker with leather work. If family history is any indication, she might continue the business for another generation. Time will tell if his second daughter, now only two, will follow the family trade.

“I’m not going to push either of them into it,” says David, “but I’d be tickled if they decided to keep going with saddle work instead of letting the craft pass by.” Which would doubtless please Roy Salge as well.