In horse country, bulls are the show at western-style ranch
By Jason Jacks
On rolling pasture halfway between Round Hill and Middleburg, 2-inch-wide wood planks are all that separate human flesh and bone from 1,700-pounds of snorting beast.
“He could come right through that fence if he wanted to,” cautioned the bull’s owner, Glenn Kester, before warning his wife, Karen Kester, to watch her back as the snow-colored bull, Superstition, inched closer to the fence. “I don’t trust him.”
Glenn would know. He’s been in the bull business most of his life. He once rode the animals; he now raises and trains them to buck other cowboys off their backs before reaching the much-sought-after 8-second mark, the industry standard in bull riding.
In the land of fox hunts and steeplechases, the Kesters have created a small slice of cowboy country in Twisted K Ranch, which the couple bills as the only western-style ranch in Loudoun County.
On 40 acres along Route 719 near the tiny village of Bloomfield, yes, bucking and barrel riding do occur, minus the tumbleweeds and lonesome prairies.
The pair also runs a rodeo company out of Twisted K, supplying bulls, horses, trick riders and rodeo clowns to most of the summer fairs in the region, including those at The Plains and Berryville over the next two weekends.
"We get a lot of, 'I thought you would be from Texas or Oklahoma,'" Karen, an accomplished equestrian, said of fans’ reactions, adding, "We’re just unique."
Glenn started riding bulls in West Virginia where he is from at about the same time most kids were still mastering riding a bike. He competed up and down the East Coast, winning enough bull-riding events and money to keep him in the business for about 15 years.
It finally took a burly bull shattering his right ankle for him to give it up and to turn his attention to raising and training bulls, and eventually running rodeos.
“This is a way I can stay in it and not get hurt," he said.
After meeting Karen at a horse sale in Maryland, he moved Twisted K operations six years ago to the ranch in Loudoun, where Karen now gives horseback riding lessons, Glenn practices darting horses around barrels and where the two host western-style riding shows several weekends a summer.
As far as the main draw, as always, the Kesters said, it's the bulls. The Kesters have 10 of them, most of which are kept at a larger neighbor's farm. Only now-retired Superstition, which the couple is trying to breed, stays at Twisted K.
Under a cloudless sky one day this month, Glenn dragged a bag of feed toward the pasture where the bull and several cows spend their days grazing and swatting flies with their whip-like tails.
Glenn made a loud yelping sound as he threw the feed over the fence. Seconds later, Superstition emerged from where he was shading himself among a stand of trees. He lumbered toward Glenn as the females galloped ahead, his horned-head jerking from side to side in a seemingly vain attempt to scatter the nagging flies.
"Don't put your hand through the fence," Glenn said, having probably said this a thousand times before. "If his heads hits it, he could break your arm."
Only thing -- a request was made for Glenn to hop the fence, arms and all. A photo was needed. Man next to bull.
"You want me to stand where?" an incredulous Glenn asked. "I'll stand next to one of the cows, but I am not standing by him."
The layman in attendance forgot Superstition was bred for bucking, not posing.
Still, not one to back down from a challenge, Glenn made the leap and inched within a few feet of the bull, never removing his gaze from the animal, who never removed his gaze from the feed.
"Take the picture," he said, readying himself to scamper back over the planks. "I'm not standing here long."
With photo taken and back on the safe of the fence, Glenn eyed the bull, who was now scraping the fence with his horns, as if daring someone else to join him on the other side.
"Get back, Superstition," Glenn barked, not sounding angry, but respectful.
Finally, a rap on his horns by Glenn caused the bull to slowly turn and walk away.
"I can't imagine my life without an animal to ride on," Glenn said softly.
To learn more, visit www.twistedkprobullriding.com.
Contact the reporter at jjacks@timespapers.com