The economy is shedding jobs at an alarming rate, severing people from careers in once-booming fields like construction and business services.

Colorado's unemployment rate is at 6.1 percent - the highest since April 2003. The national average is 7.2 percent. Despite the passage of a $787 billion stimulus plan, people are still worried and still struggling to make ends meet.

But amid the bleak economic numbers and the changing jobs landscape, some have endured and are still ingrained as a part of the Western landscape and its legacy.

There is the horse trainer. The farrier - also known as a horseshoer. A gold miner. A bartender. The poker dealer. The burlesque dancer. A Western singer. And a traveling doctor. Each profession has managed to survive for the past 150 years - some with more changes to how they practice their careers than others.

Female farriers, for instance, were not a part of that work force long ago. Poker players played stud games, not the ubiquitous "Texas Hold 'em" seen on cable television. Traveling doctors had never heard of Medicare or private insurance plans. And burlesque dancers wear a lot less now than they did back in the days of 19th century music halls.

Others professions today would look more familiar to those who occupied them in the past. The horse trainer still uses the techniques handed down from generation to generation. Gold miners still go underground looking for that untapped vein in the rock. Bartenders pour drinks - though some might have fancier names now. Western music is Western music.

Each of the people represented in these photographs brings a story to the old professions they chose to be a part of and explains why they think the professions will remain for years to come.

Behind the photos

Rocky photographer Matt McClain talks about these Western images and the inspiration behind them.

Growing up in the Midwest, about the only thing Western in my life came from Clint Eastwood movies and Marty Robbins' cowboy songs. Yet, I had a fascination with images illustrating the spirit of the West. To me, they were symbols of individualism and freedom. This project is a celebration of those early interests. I chose to photograph on black and white film in hopes of giving the reader the feeling of a past time, and instead of the standard 35mm format, I picked a medium-format camera, with film larger than 33mm, to allow me to present readers with a different perspective.

The poker dealer

All eyes are on Jim Nolly's hands as he cuts the deck, slides the plastic cover to the bottom and deals the cards in a high arc to each person.

They land gracefully in front of the player's chip stacks. The deal is pretty, but not all the hands are. Seven-two off-suit is folded quickly. Pocket queens move chips to the middle of the table. Watch out for ace-king suited and a raise.

Nolly referees the action quickly. He's been dealing poker for 12 years - including one stint dealing the World Series of Poker in 2003. But he's usually at the Century Casino in Central City dealing the $2-$5 game.

He's part of a Western legacy. The poker game has been celebrated as part of the region's culture. It wasn't always Texas Hold 'em - the main choice today. Usually it was a stud game.

But card games have lasted - with

ESPN's televising the World Series of Poker on a regular basis and professional players becoming household names.

Nolly said poker will never go away. Not as long as the lure of quick riches and the competitive nature of the game exists.

"People tend to gamble away their worries," Nolly said. "It's a chance to relieve their stress" - even if they're losing - although he acknowledges the stress is higher in tournaments and high-stakes games. But the friendly, low-stakes poker game will last, and people like him will always have a job.

The farrier

Without Brooke Witman, horses would be hobbled on bad hooves and living a life of misery.

She is a farrier. One of the few female farriers working in Colorado - a testament to the recent inroads made by women in a field that is steeped in history.

The 28-year-old, who lives near Greeley, has been shoeing horses for about a decade.

There is a uniqueness to the job she does - trimming horses' hooves and fitting them with horseshoes that allow a horse to trot comfortably.

"There is no machine that can do what I do," she said.

"And as long as people have horses, whether they're cutters, jumpers or people just having them as luxuries, they'll need horseshoers."

Like most farriers, she'll travel far to do the job. In her case, the radius is about 100 miles. Witman expects to work into her 60s and she expects the profession will continue to thrive - with some changes. After all, she said, there weren't any female farriers in the Old West.

Times change. Horses' needs don't.

"When you have a horse that has a really bad problem and can hardly walk up to you and when they leave, they're comfortable and happy - that's a feeling of pride you can't put into words," she said. "Nothing in the world compares to that."

The cowboy

There is no getting around the fact that Kenny Miller's job is iconic. The hat. The horse. The dusty stables and weather-beaten fences.

He is a cowboy. A horse trainer. It's as Western as steep bluffs and six-shooters. And it's a job that has existed in this region for more than 150 years. He happens to do it in Longmont.

Miller, 23, has a basic explanation as to why his job will continue to exist for another 150 years and beyond - through depressions, recessions and even economic booms.

"It's the cattle business. Everybody needs to eat their meat, and as long as that's the case, there is always going to be a need for us," he said. "We bring in 200 head of cattle every two months and we work them and feed them and fatten them up so we can eat.

"That's why it keeps going. It's a necessity."

He's been doing it "since I was a kid" and can't imagine doing anything else. Miller doesn't do it for job security - though he clearly thinks he'll have that for the rest of his career.

Instead, he does it for the simplest of reasons. Reasons not rooted in money or acquiring personal wealth.

"It's in my blood. I grew up around it. It's what I do," he said. "This is a business that can't die, and I plan to stay in it."

The Western singer

He owes a lot to Hopalong Cassidy and Gene Autry - more The Singing Cowboy-Autry than the Autry who bought and owned the California Angels.

Bill Barwick marinates in their legacy as singing cowboys. On his Web site, bill

barwick.com, is a photo that looks part Sam Elliot - aka The Stranger in The Big Lebowski - and all Western dude.

He is a Western music singer - performing regularly at the Buckhorn Exchange - amid mounted moose heads and display rifles. Songs he's written ooze the culture he embraces. Wide Open Range and Sons of the Tumbleweed are part of the regular rotation.

Barwick has been singing for decades. And he believes the tradition will endure, no matter what is going on in the rest of the country.

"The West is still alive and there are people who still honor the West," Barwick said by phone en route to Denver from New Mexico. "People still love to come to hear it. It lets them know there is a basis in our traditions and that some things don't change."

He thinks that constant is what has kept the tradition alive for so long and will allow it to continue to thrive for another 150 years - even if he's not around to sing it then.

"There are still cows, and as long as there are still cows, there are still cowboys," he said. "As long as there are cowboys, there is a Western tradition. And as long as there is Western tradition, there will be Western music."

The burlesque dancer

By today's standards, burlesque dancing seems innocent and tame. There are no strobe lights. No pounding music. No thin, perfectly proportioned strippers swinging around poles and grinding in laps.

Watch Annie Medina - known by her stage name as Fannie Spankings - as proof.

"Now days, when you do an act, it gets down to a tasteful G-string," she said. "I wear fishnets all the time and pasties. I think in the olden times, it was a lot different. As history progressed with the outpouring of strip clubs, it took out the tease and the show and the comedy."

The 27-year-old performs burlesque at Lannie's Clocktower Cabaret in the tradition of blue entertainers from the Old West and before. That means less emphasis on the flesh and more emphasis on the actual show - two things you are less likely to find at modern-day strip clubs. She said burlesque performers come in all shapes and sizes and can inspire anyone who wants to perform to feel like they can make it in the field.

Medina said burlesque has survived because it's rooted in escapism.

"I think it is a timeless outlet for people who are struggling with their own economies," she said. "The people in charge - whether politicians or others - can frustrate people. And in those times, there is always a place for live performances. Especially if they're funny and feature pretty ladies in tasteful entertainment."

The bartender

No town worth its salt in the Old West existed without a saloon. And a saloon without a bartender? Well, you might as well have a covered wagon without a team of horses.

That's where Christopher Murray comes in.

For 26 years at the Buckhorn Exchange, he's poured the beer, the shots and other colorful drinks that likely didn't exist more than a century ago. At age 50, he said he plans to work until he retires.

There's no worry that his job won't still exist by then, either, because he believes people will always want a place to congregate.

"Back in the Old West, there was always a saloon in town. After coming off the trails or crossing the prairie, it was a place you could go and meet an old friend or folks you met down the trail or in another town," Murray said. "The difference is now the trails are roads and people travel by cars and airplanes instead of by horse."

He said the fundamental purpose of the bartender and the bar itself hasn't changed much. It's still a place to relax, to gather information and meet people.

Because those are innate human characteristics, he said, the bar will survive. And in turn, his job will survive as well.

At which point someone else will pour the drinks. And they will be called a bartender.

The doctor

Thomas Lally is almost single-handedly trying to bring back the traveling doctor.

The 38-year-old Chicago native moved to Denver in 2003 and worked at St. Anthony Hospital with the intention of someday leaving and never practicing medicine inside an office again.

In 2005, he did just that.

Now he visits up to a dozen patients a day - 80 percent of whom are elderly and suffering from conditions that make them unable to leave their homes. The other 20 percent, he said, are varying ages but have conditions such as Lou Gehrig's disease or are paralyzed from accidents and are housebound.

It's the closest he thinks medicine will get to a return to the time when the country doctor made house calls to treat everything from the common cold to broken bones.

"The only reason this works is because these are the sickest people who cost the system the most and Medicare accounts for 95 percent of my billing," Lally said.

"Private insurance isn't going to cover house visits for otherwise healthy individuals."

His patient list is expanding and he believes it will continue to grow as baby boomers age. But he has had trouble attracting doctors to help him with his practice.

Lally, however, will continue doing it anyway - keeping the tenuous link of the traveling doctor alive. For now, anyway.

The miner

The technology is different, safety procedures are enhanced and the money is bigger.

But what hasn't changed is this: Gold miners still go underground and still feel the same twinge of excitement when a vein of gold is tapped.

That's what has kept Tom Hendricks going down into shaft after shaft for 40 years and will keep him going for another couple of decades.

"I'm in better health and I have a better attitude than I did 30 years ago," he said. "I'm more excited now than I've ever been."

Part of that has to do with the jump in demand for gold - a traditional move when the economy is slumping. He said gold set a dollar record (not adjusted for inflation) last year by trading at $1,000 per ounce. And gold ads have become more ubiquitous as people seek precious metals to stave off possible inflation.

Hendricks, 59, knows all of that, but the tradition of gold mining is what captured him at the age of 16. He said the link between past gold miners and him is unbroken and will remain so as long as people need gold for jewelry, fillings or technology.

Gold mining, he said, is one of the most secure jobs on the planet. And he plans to keep doing it through Calais Resources just outside Nederland.

"It's my goal to carry on the tradition of gold mining," he said. "I hope to do it forever."

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