Texas LAND Summer 2017

PROFILE
ON THE GROUND RESULTS
Bell estimates that the company has laid
hundreds of miles of poly pipe through
the years.
“We offer a practical solution for what
is one of many landowners’ biggest
challenges,” Bell said, noting the majority
of the company’s projects are in South
Texas and West Texas. “We will tackle any
project regardless of size. Nothing is too
small—or too large.”
Recently, the team installed 65 miles of
two-inch pipe and 62 troughs on a ranch
south of Marfa.
“We tied into the wells. Then, we pumped
the water to a reservoir at a higher elevation
and used gravity flow to distribute it
throughout the ranch,” Bell said.
On another ranch south of Carrizo
Springs that has operated since the
1800s, the company installed 10 storage
tanks with capacities ranging from 50,000
gallons to 65,000 gallons apiece to
supply the needs for a mixed livestock
and wildlife operation.
A ranch, located south of Alpine,
needed 250,000 feet of pipe run over
the top of mesas and down into valleys
to supply its quail/wildlife waterers.
The project has been implemented in
phases over the past six years. The ranch
manager recently showed Bell the results
of their work.
On the tour, the duo flushed a covey
about every 150 yards. When Bell
expressed his delight, the ranch manager
told him to wait until they got to the
bottom of Cartwright Canyon.
“We flushed a covey that had about 150
birds,” Bell said. “I’ve never seen anything
like it in my life.”
It demonstrated what quail managers
have long told him.
“To have a good quail crop, you need three
things: water, water and water,” Bell said.
Seeing the land’s bounty also served
as a reminder of why this business means
much more than a mere bottom line.
“It’s rewarding to ‘put water where it
isn’t—and see what Mother Nature and
land managers do with the opportunity,”
Bell said. °
LEGACY OF THE LAND
Looking back over his life, Kenneth Bell recognizes that the
land and the people who cared for it have shaped his life from
the beginning.
“I grew up in a wonderful time and a wonderful way in West Texas. I was
fortunate. Our family was solidly middle class. We weren’t poor, but we
didn’t just throw money around either. My dad worked in the oilfield and my
mom was a teacher. My parents and my ranching uncles were all college
educated. School was important.
I grew up in Odessa, but spent weekends, holidays and all my summers
on the family’s ranches. Some of my earliest memories are being on
horseback and helping move stock. I was probably 4 or 5. We had a job
to do.
When we were done, my cousins and I would swim in tanks, play tag
on horseback chasing each other through the arroyos. The Fort Stockton
place was 120 sections and as kids we would have sworn we rode over
every acre. Looking back, though, I figure we maybe covered the same
5,000 acres over and over.
While I spent time in Fort Stockton, I spent most of my time on the ranches
in Fort McKavett and Menard. That uncle was my mother’s brother. His
nickname for me was ‘Rat Bastard.’ It was a term of endearment. (I think.)
We were really close.
My uncle ran sheep and cattle on the place at Menard. On the Fort
McKavett ranch, he couldn’t run sheep because of bitterweed, which
poisoned them, so he ran Angora goats instead. By the time I was 14 and
my cousin was 10, we’d stay out at Fort McKavett by ourselves. Our main
jobs were doctoring screw worms, fixing water gaps—in the rare cases it
rained—and scrubbing out the water troughs so the water was clean.
The goats were sheared in August and mohair was a big cash crop. It
was important that they had plenty of clean water to drink because clean
water caused them to purge the lanolin, the grease, from their hair. The
less grease that was in their hair, the less dirt and trash it attracted. Dirty
hair took a big price hit, so cleaner was better.
We’d ride all day and come home for lunch. We’d loosen the horses’
girths, take off their bridles and let them graze in the yard, while we ate.
There were no adults around. We had to learn to think for ourselves.
When we were done for the day, we bathed in a water tank. We pulled
the truck up close and jumped in from the cab—naked as jaybirds. When
we were finished, we’d drive back hunting jack rabbits all along the way.
Most kids now don’t have that kind of freedom. They’re not going to have
those kinds of memories—and learn those inherent lessons of the land.
I still have a ranch between Menard and London. It’s where we take our
three kids, their spouses and our seven grandkids now. It means a lot to
be able to pass those experiences along. Of course, they’re different than
mine were, but they’re still valuable. In today’s world, they’re rare. It’s a
blessing that my family has those roots and that chance.”
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