In May, my local friend Cindy and I joined our Colorado friend Katy, and her friend Natalie, on our third “Katy Misadventure”. Katy plans these trips regularly, to fun and remote locations. If they involve horses, I try to say yes. If they involve river rafting, I say no. Rapids scare me.
Katy hauled her two horses to the remote N-Bar Ranch in New Mexico, while Cindy and I rented outfitter horses, otherwise known as “dude horses”. My horse was Poncho, a giant black part-draft horse. He stood about 17 hands high. That’s huge, especially given that my horse at home is short, technically a large pony. Suddenly I was having to get on a horse whose withers (top of shoulder) was about eye level on me, instead of chest level. And I had to lift a heavy old-style Western saddle up even higher than that to saddle him. Though I had worked on fitness and strength over the winter, the saddle weight-lifting still tested my limits. At first it took two of us to get the saddle set in the right spot on his back, but by the fifth day of riding, I could do it without help.
Mounting that giant horse was a challenge, but there was always a mounting block, tree stump, or a rock around to give me some extra inches. Still, I had to lift my leg much higher than normal to reach the stirrup, and a loud grunt was required to make that final stretch to swing up, over and into the saddle. But the view from that height was amazing!
Dismounting, on the other hand, was even more challenging than mounting, in part because I kept inadvertently putting Poncho in a slight downhill spot, so that I was making him even taller. If I stepped down with my left foot still in the stirrup, Western style, my leg got a bit torqued and my foot would get stuck sideways in the stirrup, a very vulnerable position. As I pushed the stirrup off my foot with my hand, I could hear every trainer I ever knew yelling, “Danger, Danger, get your foot out!!” So instead, I started dismounting English style, where you step your right leg over the horse, pause while hanging sideways on the saddle, kick your left foot out of the stirrup, then slide or hop down gracefully. But on that mountain of a horse, there was no grace. It was like shinnying backwards off a cliff, when you don’t know how far away the ground is, and you hope you can find enough tree branches and roots to hang onto as you go down to prevent an out-of-control slide to the bottom. I slid down slowly while holding the saddle, until my stretched toes finally, after what seemed like minutes, touched the ground. Poncho always stood nicely as I figured out how to climb down without getting tangled up, and without falling on my butt. I suspect he was laughing at my strange gymnastics. I figure it all counted as another kind of strength training.
A friend at home has been teaching me how to do body work on horses, where you move your fingers lightly along the horse’s body, then hold, waiting for a relaxation response by the horse. Each day in the paddock I would practice a little on Poncho, along his neck one day, shoulder one day, spine or hips another day. He reacted subtly, wiggling his lips or dropping his head. On the last day I worked more around his barrel and girth area and especially focused on some white scars caused by misfitting saddles over the years. He suddenly pawed dramatically with his giant front hooves—I jumped way back, not expecting that, and watched as he stretched down low, grunting, and bowing with his head down between his legs like a circus horse. In my limited experience I had never seen such a dramatic reaction, such a big release. I smiled at him and walked away. My job there was done.
We had no wifi or cell signal at the ranch, so I was in withdrawal from my cell phone addiction. Without that constant stimulus, my brain went down different paths. On one trail ride on a very windy day Poncho and I were happily riding along at the end of the line of horses. The wind was screaming—all you could hear was wind rushing past your ears. I started singing. I am not a singer, by any stretch of the word, yet I was dredging lyrics out of my memory. First singing softly, then belting the songs out: Joy to the World, Delta Dawn, Country Roads, Bohemian Rhapsody… the riders ahead of me couldn’t hear, or could barely hear, due to the wind. I swear Poncho loved it. Or maybe he loved that I relaxed up there, singing in a windstorm, in rhythm with his stride. He walked calmly along, even though we were a fair bit away from the other horses. I think that because I had no phone to distract me, my brain started searching the depths of memories, and landed on songs that I used to know. Another hint to step away from our phones and computers for a time.
On the last day of riding, we had a short group ride and then the guide and I rode off on our own, straight up a hill and along a ridge. On the top we rode through pinyon pine and alligator juniper and as we circled further along the U-shaped ridge we saw live oak. We eventually came to a giant, gorgeous, beautiful old-growth alligator juniper. Right next to it was an ancient large gnarled live oak. We were in the grove of the grandmother trees. We named the area Alligator Ridge.
We dismounted and took a break at the grandmother grove. I had a drink of water from my water bottle, a reused plastic iced-tea bottle, and Poncho was very interested, bumping the bottle with his nose. I poured some water in my hand, but he indicated I wasn’t doing it right. I poured some into his lips. Still not right. Then he grabbed the neck of the bottle in his teeth, but at that point the bottle was empty.
When we got back to the ranch, I filled the water bottle again. I tried to pour it in his mouth; instead, he again took hold of the bottle with his teeth, tossing his head and chewing on the neck. He looked disappointed. I am certain he expected beer. Note to self: always pack extra beer for the horses.
[Photo credits: Me, Cindy, and Katy.]
Michelle Eames 