Living Legends: A Few Thoughts About My Dad

It has been six years since I started working at Arizona River Runners and the novelty of being Garth's little girl has mostly worn off now. Though I used to hear it all the time, it has been years since anyone has made the statement, "I gotta take care of Garth's little girl". But a couple weeks ago I had the chance to experience that again, because a couple weeks ago, I was on a river trip with a new boatman that we hired this season. Well, he's not a new boatman. He has worked for Hatch for almost 20 years, but he is new to Arizona River Runners. Since I had never been on a trip with him before it was interesting to watch how he responded to having me on his trip. He was very adamant about taking care of me. It was really quite sweet and totally hilarious, all at the same time.

Still, the way he talked about my dad got me thinking about how lucky I am. There are people all over the world who know and admire this man. And I do mean all over the world. Every time I take a group on the river I have several passengers who comment on how amazing my dad is. It's not news to me. I have ALWAYS been a daddy's girl. But I do think that, sometimes, I forget to really appreciate how blessed I am in this regard. Let me tell you the "Readers Digest" version of how my dad ended up in the Grand Canyon and became the legend that he is today.


My dad was raised on the Arizona Strip. For those of you unfamiliar with the area, it is a strip of harsh and unforgiving land in the northwest corner of AZ. It is separated from the rest of the state by the Grand Canyon and there is very little live water to be found. Ranching was the industry that sustained life on the Strip. Cattle, mostly, but I remember hearing stories about sheep here and there as well. He learned at a young age to ride and work hard. He learned to appreciate what he had. He always says he learned to live like a coyote- to eat what he could catch, and run when he got scared. Now, he is a month shy of 78 years old, and he lives the same way. He still works harder than most people I know. He is a cowboy in every sense of the word.

Dad married Mom in 1960. I am the youngest of seven kids. 2 boys, 5 girls. My dad always says they had seven kids because they didn't have TV. I say it was because they had to keep going till they got it right! Either way, I was very blessed to be born into the family I was. Though I didn't realize it at the time, my upbringing was quite humble. My mom never worked outside the home. (I'm sure she had her hands full keeping track of all us kids!) My dad worked his tail off to provide for us. Until May of 1967 (when my parents finally built their first and only home), my parents lived in a trailer that was 8' x 21'-which may not sound so bad, till I add the fact that they had 3 kids by then. My dad had joined the Arizona Teamsters Union and was working on construction projects all over the Southwest. Most of the stories I remember being told are about hanging power lines, though I know there were other projects as well.

 In 1983, Dad went to work for the Bar Ten Ranch as a mule skinner. He would help Tony Heaton bring river rats out of the canyon by mule. It was hard, hot work, and it was only seasonal, but he was good at it and he really liked being back on the AZ Strip. Then, in 1985, the ranch switched from mules to helicopters. Dad had been working at a good paying job through the winter and opted not to go back to the ranch that summer. He figured there was no need for him out there, now that the mules had been replaced with the helicopter. As the summer of '87 rolled around, dad had an accident on the job and had to find something else to do that summer. He ended up back at the Bar Ten, and has been working in the Grand Canyon ever since.

Now, it is true that the world of Grand Canyon river running is laced with colorful characters such as Norm Nevills, Martin Litton, and of course, Georgie White. Anyone in the river community will know these names-will picture a face and will immediately be able to tell a story (or two, or three...) about these individuals who made Grand Canyon river running what it is today. There are select few who can toss their name into the ring with these names and expect to compete, but the truth is, my dad is one of those remarkable characters who is known in Grand Canyon. Say the name Garth Bundy to anyone who has been in the Canyon for any amount of time and immediately they will be able to tell you a story about him.

One of my good friends, Eric Dodge, is a singer/songwriter. He wrote a song called "Last Real Cowboy" for his grandpa, but every time I hear it, I think of my dad. If you want to hear it, (it's definitely worth a listen) just click here- I thought it would be appropriate to include the lyrics here-

I was only three, sittin' on his knee, hearing all those tales he'd tell.

'Bout the good old days, when he'd ride the range and blaze those rugged trails.

He'd let me steer the tractor when he'd plow.

Raising cattle and his family made him proud.

He was the last real cowboy.

He tamed the land with his own two hands, like his Granddaddy had done.

He loved his wife and the simple life of working with his sons.

He was up at dawn with his Stetson on.

He didn't stop to rest, till the sun went down.

He built a legacy.

The last of a dying breed.

He was the last real cowboy.

He was strong and brave and showed real faith, and earned respect from all.

He would plant his seeds, drop to his knees, then pray for rain to fall.

When the cause was just, he always took a stand.

He taught me work, and how to be a man.

He was the last real cowboy.

He tamed the land with his own two hands, like his Granddaddy had done.

He loved his wife and the simple life of working with his sons.

He was up at dawn with his Stetson on.

He didn't stop to rest, till the sun went down.

He built a legacy.

The last of a dying breed.

He was the last real cowboy.

I remember it well,when I got the call, that the cowboy's work was done.

It was nearly night, when I reached his side, and watched that setting sun.

He said his trail was waiting in the sky.

So I tipped my hat, and said my last goodbye-

To the last real cowboy.

He tamed the land with his own two hands, like his Granddaddy had done.

He loved his wife and the simple life of working with his sons.

He was up at dawn with his Stetson on.

He didn't stop to rest, till the sun went down.

He built a legacy.

The best of a dying breed.

He was the last real cowboy.