Gap Pucci, Wyoming’s Spaghetti Western Cowboy, Dead At 89

Gap Pucci, Wyoming’s famous spaghetti Westerner turned cowboy, died Monday.

It was unexpected and it wasn’t.

Pucci was 89, his body ravaged by a life of vigorous physical undertakings. He hurt everywhere and did everything slow.

But he did everything. He was mentally sharp to the end.

Pucci lived a lot in his mind’s eye, recalling countless outdoor adventures with his trusty steeds. Every day, rain or shine or exhausted, he pushed hay in a wheelbarrow toward his faithful equine companions.

Pucci lived by himself on a ranchette south of Jackson where he and his wife Peggy raised their two daughters. Decades after he divorced and the girls moved out, Pucci could not be budged from his home.

He knew he would die there, alone.

He just hoped someone would find him before his horses starved.

“Well, he was stubborn that way,” daughter Teresa Pucci-Haas told Cowboy State Daily on Wednesday. “You could never tell dad what to do. I sometimes hated that growing up, but I see a lot of it in me now.”

The End Was Near

In many ways, the retired outfitter had been living on borrowed time for decades. In a Cowboy State Daily story early this year, Pucci pointed to dozens of sticky situations in the wild that should have killed him.

“I don't know how I'm still here. The things I did, the way I lived. I can't believe I am still alive after all that,” Pucci said then. “The good Lord and good horses are the only reasons I'm still breathing.”

In retirement, Pucci became a published author at the age of 76. His first book, “We Married Adventure,” chronicled life in early Jackson Hole for the Italian-American and his growing family.

A follow up, “We Do the Damndest Things,” was released in 2015. It’s an American adventure story of a family living a way of life in the rugged outdoors that most people only dream about. The book won a first-place award in 2016 from The Wyoming State Historical Society.

Pucci’s third book is set for release later this year.

In Loving Memory

Pucci was noted for his Sicilian background. He was an oddity — an Italian from South Philly cowboying out West in Wyoming.

He was revered for his work ethic in the field as a respected big game hunter and guide.

Famed author and wildlife photographer Erwin Bauer once gifted him a prized elephant gun after Pucci took Bauer on a Wyoming hunt.

Pucci’s Facebook page boasts 425 followers, many former clients who will never forget their experiences of a lifetime with the Sicilian hunter.

But what Pucci will likely be remembered most for is the way he lived. What a throwback. Over and over, Pucci would tell anyone who would listen how he felt fortunate to have met and learned from some of the legends of the West.

Rough-and-tumble cowboys, hardened ranch hands and modern-day mountain men. He admired how they lived and tried to emulate them in every way.

“These old-timers, they’re all gone now. I have no one to talk to who understands. I'm the last,” Pucci said just weeks before his death.

Daughters Deal With Dad’s Passing

In the days following his death, Pucci’s daughters sifted through the old homestead recalling memories. They squealed in laughter at the dated old clothes still left in a dresser in their childhood bedroom.

It’s a daunting task picking through the past in the home they grew up in even as the daughters make funeral arrangements and plans to find homes for Pucci’s horses and peacocks.

The living room remains a shrine to faith and fur. The devout Catholic’s house is filled with religious books, missals and devotionals, as well as dozens of trophy mounts, pelts and bearskins.

“I shot that,” Teresa said, pointing to a deerskin, her first, hanging on a rafter beam.

Mixed emotions, so many about their father they found hard to accept during their upbringing.

“He treated us like hired hands sometimes, especially Catherine,” Teresa shared.

The same memories of her father that brought frustration also brought tears.

“He was always so set in his ways. It was maddening sometimes, but thinking on it now, well, I can’t help but admire that,” Teresa said.

Sept. 29, 1935 – Oct. 7, 2024

Pucci died Monday, probably in the wee hours of the morning but no one can be sure.

A close friend asked for a welfare check after Pucci did not respond to repeated knocks at the door. That in itself was not all that unusual, but his horses had not been fed. That was unthinkable.

He was found inside his home, unresponsive.

Miles away at her home in Montana, Teresa felt something off.

“I was sitting in the backyard, watching this glorious display of northern lights like I’ve never seen. I felt the strong urge to pray,” Teresa said.

Hours later that same night, the phone rang. She said she almost wasn’t surprised.

“It’s hard to believe. I’ve been prepared for this day for a long time,” Teresa said. “I mean, he’s 89. But when it comes, it’s still a shock. It doesn’t seem real.”

Her father died on Teresa’s 44th birthday. Gap himself had just turned 89 a week before.

Eldest sister Catherine posted her goodbyes on Facebook.

“Today we say goodbye to a legend that I called dad,” she wrote. “I don't have a clear mind to come up with the right words to announce this to all that loved him. I apologize.

“I know you're with your horses, family and animals in heaven, dad. You will always, always be loved beyond words and never forgotten.”

A FedEx package arrived on Pucci’s doorstep the day he died. It contained the final proof to his long-awaited third and final book. He always joked his biggest fear would be he would never get it done before he passed away. It was close.

To quote Pucci from January of this year: “I've lived a good life. Wish I could do it all over again. I will, in Heaven, with all the good horses I ever rode.”

Jake Nichols can be reached at jake@cowboystatedaily.com.