There’s a time to be born, a time to die, and a time to walk on the wild side and spend 10 days in the cowboy state of Utah on a cattle drive, eating dust like the early American settlers. The mothers among them would have been lucky to see a half century, given childbirth and heavy labour.

But, 150 years on, as a fiftysomething financially independent single mother of two teenagers, I aimed to “cowboy up” and move 810 Angus cattle 100 miles from their summer grazing south of Alton to the north rim of the Grand Canyon. Here the cattle will grow fat, and pregnant cows will begin calving in March.

The Heaton family, who settled in Utah a hundred years ago, own the herd. Twenty-five family members will undertake part or all of the drive, including grandparents, cousins, expectant mothers, babies and dogs.

I’ve brought along a sheepskin “tush” protector, black suede chaps, a self-inflating mattress, a hot-water bottle and various hair products. Six women, three blokes, a whiff of eccentricity and a healthy disregard for personal hygiene instantly bond us into tight camaraderie.

The morning of day one is spent being introduced to our mounts. The horses are big: 16 hands plus. Western saddles are deeper than English, stirrups longer, and there’s this great pommel you can hang onto.

We’re shown how to saddle our horses, put up our one-man tents and briefed on the basics of cattle-herding. Don’t get too close to the cows; never stand in front of a moving herd – unless you want to stop or turn them; keep to the outside flank; and chase wanderers and slackers back into line.

Nervously gauging the tolerance of our mounts and the expertise of other riders, we confront our cattle for the first time. My pretty bay mare, Two Bit, quickly realises what a klutz she has been landed with. It’s just two hours into the drive and I have been instructed to stand sentry back from a steep switchback path, to stop cows breaking rank.

How hard can standing still be? Two Bit’s hooves frantically paw the ground, and she seems desperate to join the other horses and riders, who know what they are doing.

A cowboy gently explains that if I hold her reins so tightly she thinks that I want her to jump backwards off a deep drop.

Rugged, handsome cowboys Justin, Jason, Dustin and the foreman, Kim, lead the drive. Their calloused fingers, weathered chaps and battered Stetsons are testament to mountain blizzards and blistering Arizona summers.

They are responsible for the safe passage of nearly £1m worth of livestock – at an average cost of $800 for a full-grown prime-beefsteak cow. How many cows are we expected to lose, I ask? None, is the short answer.

Mel heads up the chow truck. He likes to cook on a primitive propane stove. Cowboy stew, mashed potatoes and fresh vegetables one night; slabs of prime steak and chilli con carne another.

When the gas lantern gives out at 9pm, Mel and his crew – grandfathers in their seventies – hunker down and sleep under heavy blankets and the stars. With temperatures one night dropping to -5C, they wake at dawn, shake the frost from their Stetsons and pass a casual remark: “It’s a pretty cold morning this morning.”

Each day we spend up to seven hours in the saddle, weaving in and out of cows, circling those who have wandered to graze off the main drag, and chasing heifers who hang back at the end of the line. Chasing through trees with overhanging branches that could take out an eye, I marvel at my capacity to lie low across

Two Bit’s mane, keeping hold of the reins at the same time. I urge her into a gallop, exhilarated by the energy, speed, and my own audacity. I bark orders at cattle as if they were naughty schoolchildren: “Ladies, if you don’t get out from behind that bush, I’m going to get seriously angry!”

The Heatons are among the most decent, honest folk I will ever hope to meet. Endurance, stamina and courage are their touchstones. Some days we are lucky enough to dismount for lunch under a tree.

Others we spend all day in the saddle. By day five we have settled into a pace of life where phone ringtones are replaced by coyotes calling to each other in the night and the sound of horses whinnying soothes us into sleep. The clear, black night sky sparkles with stars and planets, and the moon shines into our tents.

Returning home, I try to recall my finest hour. It must be Jason giving me a high five as I finally manage to mount Two Bit without doing a cartwheel over her ears – and an invitation to help the Heatons with the calving next spring.

How to get there

Lisa ter Haar’s cattle-drive trip across Utah was arranged by Equitours; www.ridingtours.com. Prices are from £1,200 for 10 days, not including flights and transfers. Other Equitours riding trips include the Grand Canyon Winter Pastures, Navajoland Ride,

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