RADERSBURG — When Al Grandchamp was born, Oct. 9, 1907, it was into a horse world.

At 101, Grandchamp still likes to talk horses, and his eyes kindle at the prospect, even though he gave up riding five years ago at age 96.

It is his gift with horses and, particularly, his skill at braiding hackamores, a type of bit-less bridle, that earned Grandchamp a place in two books — “Old Masters of the West” and “Montana Folks.”

From his kitchen window, Grandchamp could see his uncles’ livery stable back in those days when miners, cowboys, and horse-pulled wagons moved down the then-bustling streets of Radersburg.

This is the house where Grandchamp’s mother was born in 1880.

It was here she and Grandchamp (pronounced grand-shaw) came for summer visits from their home in Thompson Falls, first taking the train to Toston and then a horse and buggy to Radersburg. And it’s here he began his lifelong passion for horses.

“My uncles were all horsemen,” he said. “They tried to make a cowboy out of me — beginning at 8.”

Although he loved horses and ranching, Grandchamp turned to teaching as his main career, which spanned 25 years and several states. It included earning a bachelor’s degree from what is now Eastern Washington University and a master’s degree in education administration from the University of Chicago.

But horses were in his blood, so to speak.

In 1963 Grandchamp moved to Radersburg, returning to his cowboy roots, working at and inheriting Riverside Ranch. He also taught advanced horsemanship classes into his 90s.

Over the years, his interest in horsemanship led him to making hackamores, learning from some of the famous rawhiders of the West.

Hackamores, Grandchamp explained, aren’t all that common in Montana, but are popular in other areas of the West for training and riding horses. They originated with the Moors and were adapted by the Spanish.

To Grandchamp, they were just one more essential tool for being a master horseman.

“I broke and trained as many horses with hackamores as anyone in the country,” he said.

Although he made at least 200, he doesn’t have even one left.

“I gave them all away,” he said. “I used to make a hackamore in six hours.”

But that didn’t take into account all the hours that went into preparation of the hide, cutting it, cleaning and scraping it, slicing it into strips and then drying it. The dried strips he started with resemble a small bundle of dried and bent pasta noodles.

“I would soak it in warm water, wrap it in a damp cloth and then be ready to work,” he said.

“Your hands know it, you just feel it.”

Grandchamp stopped braiding seven or eight years ago, but then retaught himself so he could teach the craft to Hial Steele, maker of Steele Halters in Manhattan.

Since then, Grandchamp no longer makes them.

“These 101-year-old hands won’t do it,” he said.

But his 101-year-old mind is still nimble and quick, as is his memory. He rattles off the names of gifted horsemen and rawhiders he admired without a pause.

He also speaks of the events that he’s witnessed during his century of life — the arrival of the Model-T, two world wars, the Great Depression, a man walking on the moon.

These experiences give him a certain equanimity when faced with such traumas as the current stockmarket meltdown.

“I don’t think it is nearly as severe,” he said, comparing today’s economy to the Great Depression.

“The Depression was bad, awful bad,” he said. “I seen people out on the garbage dump fighting to keep the seagulls away to eat the garbage.

“People ask me, ‘What was the most important event?’ ”

His answer: “The atomic bomb and the murder of (President) Kennedy.”

He credits his age and spry mental and physical health primarily to good genetics — his mother lived to be 99, his grandmother 95. Until recently, he took daily walks, and plans to start up again walking three times a week.

He still reads a lot. Stacks of books line the back of his sofa.

“I try to keep a pretty positive attitude,” he added. “That might have something to do with it.”

He also adopted the philosophy of a Canadian doctor he’d read about — “live in day-tight compartments.”

“The past is over. You can’t tell the future. I try to live in a day-tight compartment.”

Grandchamp accepts life and aging with grace.

Although he can’t ride horses, he still talks horses with horse friends in 13 states, two Canadian provinces and one in Germany.

“Here’s my philosophy on the tragedy of old age,” he said in a 2001 interview in The Townsend Star. “It isn’t false teeth. It isn’t hearing aids and it isn’t losing your strength or reflexes. A person who has lived a long time and has lots of experiences, first hand or vicariously and a lot of observation — maybe gained some common sense, maybe gained a little bit of wisdom.

“And we can’t pass it on to the younger generation. To me, that’s the tragedy of old age.”

Reporter Marga Lincoln: 447-4074 or marga.lincoln@helenair.com