Keeping control of shear chaos

A well-organized shearing barn is a place of controlled chaos. Restless sheep constantly move and rustle and bleat in their pens. Dust motes hang in the air, stirred up by activity in a shed that sees a multitude of use. There's a clear space for the shearer, a clean area for the wool to fall and a wool bag in a nearby stand. Extension cords lie ready for the clippers. Brooms are nearby to sweep the wool away. The rancher and helpers shift from foot to foot, waiting for one of the biggest days of the year to begin.

The shearer is the master of this small universe. The success of the day hinges on his skill and ability to cope with sheep that are not always cooperative. He expects to find sheep waiting in the pens and a cooperative crew ready to go at his pace, keeping out of his way.

One of the barns on the Cyrus family ranch was the recent scene of a shearing day. Awbrey Cyrus, daughter of Matt and Kelly Cyrus and at least the fourth generation of her family to raise sheep, got her helpers all lined up, and local photographer Gary Miller spent the afternoon behind his lens, capturing the action of the day. When Sisters resident Allan Godsiff, a New Zealander who's been shearing for 37 years, arrived with his clippers in hand, everything was ready.

There's an economy of motion involved in shearing, a set pattern of "blows" that a shearer makes with his shears. He begins with the sheep tipped belly up, the clippers traveling across the skin under the fleece just below the breastbone. He removes the belly wool, tossing it aside, then heads south to the genitals, backside, and left hind leg.

The next blow divides the neck wool near the jugular. Several more take the clippers around the back of the head and down the left front leg. One step to the right and the sheep is lying on its side, ready for the "long blow," a sweeping movement of the shearer's arm that causes the fiber from the back to cascade off in even waves. It generally takes three long blows before the shearer steps back, lifting the sheep to rest between his legs again. The right front leg, right side and right hind leg are clear of wool in a few more swift blows.

The shearer steps away from the sheep, which scrambles to its feet and out the door. The fleece is left lying in a pile on the floor, waiting to be tossed into the wool bag.

A skilled shearer makes it look easy, but Godsiff quips that some of his best customers are those who've tried to shear their own sheep, usually without much success. He also notes that while he expects certain things from his clients, he also sees the shearing as a team effort. He works with the clients to make sure things go smoothly.

Awbrey's sheep, raised to be competitive in the show ring, are a meat-producing breed and don't grow a long and lustrous fleece. Wool from meat breeds is typically used in quilt batting or insulation and sells for less than fine garment or craft wool.

"Even though this wool isn't worth much, it's worth something," she said. "Those two bags of wool will pay for Allan being here. It covers the cost of keeping my sheep healthy."

Shearing reveals issues covered by a full fleece. Observing her freshly shorn sheep allows Awbrey to see the ewes' body condition and adjust her management accordingly. This year's shearing uncovered a flock in good shape, testament to her passion for ranching, a long family tradition with sheep and a shearer's skill.