Moving onward and upward...

First foal of the season – born in lower ground.

Moving onward and upward…

Life is nothing if not an adventure, I once read.

I, for one, am ready for a new adventure! Perhaps, you ask, outfitting was not enough? Well, it was plenty fun. But my husband has done it for thirty years. He’s had enough. Do you blame him? He didn’t want to ride up the same trail one more time with a pack string and a line of riders following behind him, no matter how spectacular I still find that trail to be. Fair enough. What I find remarkable is his willingness to change, and in this case, it’s a mighty big change!

Horses, I remind him. I have to work with horses. And so, we will continue to do so. Just in a different location, and for a very different means...

On one hand here, we’ve become too comfortable. A bit of “been there, done that,” combined with years of building and setting up our home and ranch so nicely that now we feel a bit sinful living so well at such a young age (can I still call 43 young?).

On the other hand, it could never be comfortable enough. As in, I lost horses due to the altitude and soil bacterium. And not just any horse, like a good old horse that had a good long life. No, I lost foals. Foaling is the highlight of my year. How can I live where I can’t have foals?

And so we pack out bags, and our brand new (new to us, at least) horse trailer and head north!

North? Yes, way north! It’s cold up there, someone told me. Well guess what? It’s cold here in Colorado, if you live at 10,000 feet elevation! I understand where we’re going up there already has dry ground. Here we’re still tucked in under two feet of packed winter snow. Today didn’t even rise up to 30 degrees and the snow fell horizontally. So if you’re worried about our heading to a cold climate, well, I think we can handle the cold.

And so our adventures continue. In fact, I think they’re only just beginning. Every day is a new beginning, remember? We’re off to begin a great journey of which the horse will continue to be a part, or perhaps even a greater focus. Just you wait! Yes, I’m so very excited!

So much to do to make it happen. So much to learn once we begin. For now, no time to sit around and write about it. It’s time to begin it!

Leap and the net appears!

For now, I’m still weaving that net… but don’t be gone too long; I’ll be back soon to share the adventures with you.

Stay tuned for a link to our new site…

At winter's end

Elsewhere, your thoughts, your pasture, your warm air may be turning to spring. Your trees may be swelling, budding, in bloom, or already leafing out. Your horses may have already shed, feet trimmed, and now are getting in shape for the season ahead.

Here our world remains white. Winter remains. I reflect back upon post from earlier this winter, originally posted on the High Mountain Muse site.

I know spring is coming, though it may be harder to see here. Our mare, Tres, the first of the season due to foal, has been led off the mountain into caring hands where we anticipate a new life, a healthy colt, soon, so very soon…

In the meanwhile, I share this with you about the world from which she just descended, the world in which we still remain.


The horses’ coats are thick and heavy. Shaggy, fuzzy horses. Wild beats to look at. Even their winter coats do not keep the cold from penetrating their skins, chilling them deep within. Frost builds up on their eyelashes and at the base of their tail. Small opaque icicles form around their muzzles.

I wonder if they know this cold spell will not last but a day or two. Temperatures will warm. Mornings will return to around zero. A noticeable difference from twenty below zero, as we have this morning.

In the mornings the air is as still as the ice. Sometimes I think you can almost see the frozen water in the air.

In the afternoons, the wind blows strong and violent as the sun slides behind the slope of Ute Ridge. It is early, not even 4 o’clock as the sun silently slips away for the day, the signal which warns us to prepare for nighttime. I finish my outside chores as the thermometer’s figures drop before your eyes if you had nothing better to do than watch. Keeping busy keeps you warm.

The horses huddle in the wind. A mass of many, all with their rear ends to the wind. From one another, from the position of their hearty yet so fine and delicate bodies, they find simple protection from the elements. They remain out in the open. I wonder why they don’t seek the shelter of the sheds. Deep inside, they are still animals of the plains. They are still wild as that wind. More so in the winter, when they are allowed to be here, forced to be here.

Wild, or so very domesticated, as they have been for thousands of years, our companions, our partners, our beasts of burden, of transport, of war. They have changed the life of man. They have certainly changed my life.

Who says horses can not tell time? They are as punctual as I am. Usually more so. They watch in the direction from where they expect me to arrive, anticipating their next meal that they know will be… soon, so soon, never soon enough. Like so many sun dials if I were the sun. I suppose my presence, that which brings promise of hay, is nearly as welcome as the rising of the sun.

We feed heavy. Calories are heat. An apparent conversion. Extra hay and a concentrated pelleted feed. They endure, heads down, eyes not meeting with mine. Just surviving. They will eat. This will pass. They will make it through.

Only my little stallion seems to suffer. Born in California and raised in a protected stall, he seems to find this all so wrong. I think at times he is right. His coat is as thick as those born here, those who accept the cold blasts and biting winds without visible concern. It is an expected and tolerable part of life for them. As if they shrug their shoulders and acknowledge that which they can not change.

Why do we go there?

Why do we go there?
Out there with our horses?

I was giving some thought to this question, considering the feeling of being out there at camp with our horses in the high country. I lost myself in the reverie of sitting in the warm sun, my back against a large, smooth rock with a book in hand as my horses graze contentedly in the tall grass around me at the end of a long day in the saddle. Together, dreamily, we watch the shadow of the sun slowly falling behind the mountain, inching its way across the valley towards us.

It is far away now, that picture, as our world is white and frozen, our horses still shaggy, and morning temperatures still sinking below zero. But the feeling is very close. It is inside me, something I cherish, something I will always have with me.

I’ve discussed the “how to” of horse camping quite often and in details here, but more important to me, I consider the “why.”

The “how” enables us. The “why” drives us.

That “why” is a clear picture to me. It is the picture of traversing a narrow cliff on a surefooted horse and descending the rocky slope into a lush green valley, my horse and I, worn and tired but elated to be there. We pause, look about to notice the elk scatter before us under the shadows of red tail hawk circling high above. Then my horse lowers his head to taste the high mountain grass, and I dig into my saddle bag to pull out a snack. We remain there a moment before moving on. We savor the mountain together.

“Why” is much more than a picture. “Why” is a feeling. It is the feeling of camaraderie, of connection with our horses. We remain with them, partners, a team. Out there, we don’t leave them behind, put them back in the barn or turn them out to pasture until we need them next. We stick together, work together, get tired together, rest together, stop and enjoy the view together. We face challenges together not so different than the knight in shining armor heading into battle on his trusty steed. There is the essential element of trust. Neither of us would be there if not for the other. Together, we can conquer. The mountain. Our fears.

We return a different team, together, closer, more compassionate, more efficient, clearer in our communication and understanding with and of each other. And don’t tell me the horse doesn’t see that view. And feel the fresh air and dewy grass and comfort of the woods at night and warmth of the sun in the early morning and the coolness of the clear mountain stream, and the gentleness of my cheek as I rest my head across the low of his bare back in the evening sun as he stands out in the open field, very much at home with our horse and human herd, together in these wild open mountains.

They feel it too. I’ve had my horses run jubilantly, kicking up their heels in an uncontained joy if allowed, when then know they are almost to “their” favorite camp.

For most of us, horses are no longer a means to an end, a mode of transportation. Those that still treat their horses that way get what they ask for.

The trip is but the excuse. An excuse to be with our horses in a more intimate environment than anything we can find or create back home, at the barn or in the arena. Being out there, together. It’s as much, perhaps more, about the relationship with horse than it is about the journey. The horse therefore becomes the journey, more so than the places we pass through and the camp we arrive at together.

That is why we go there. To be out there with them. Out there with our horses. Enjoying the mountain, enjoying our horses, building trust, learning a quiet communication, creating a camaraderie and building companionship.

And of course, all along the way out there we can share the view and the wideness of our hearts and minds as we stop and stare at it... together.

Pass it on

I was not raised around horses. Then, I did not know anyone who was. Even fewer have that opportunity today.

Just as this did not deter me from finding and creating a life with horses, it also need not be the demise of the horse industry. Perhaps it is just time to readjust our way of looking at the horse world.

If the numbers are fewer for those of us who live and work with horses, perhaps our responsibility for sharing our knowledge and experience is now greater. We can reach more people, teach more people, and share our life – and horses – with more, especially the younger generation who just might get the same “horse crazy” bug that many of us found ourselves with.

In fact, the sharing of our horse understanding, passions and skills need not be limited to the young. There are plenty of excellent and dedicated horsepersons – both professionals and enthusiasts – that were not “exposed” to horses until later in life. But they would never have turned to the world of horses if they never had the opportunity, the simple introduction.

That’s our job. It should be the job of all us horsemen and women to be not only ambassadors of the sport, but representatives for the horse. All we need to do is open the window to this world a little bit and let the fresh breeze flow through.

It is no longer easy. For most, horses are not readily accessible, just down the road, and part of the extended family. Demographics show our society as a whole is now further removed from the rural lifestyle – and the ensuing knowledge and experience with horses that this could allow. Horses are no longer a way of life, or even a part of life, for most families. Two generations ago, many folks still had or knew families living and working on farms with horses. With each generation, these numbers dwindle. Thus the opportunities for even the extended family and friends to “get to know” horses – say, the young suburban family coming for the weekend to visit the grandfolks who are still managing the old farm – are fewer and fewer.

But not gone. The opportunities are still there. We may just have to work a little harder to find them. And for those of us with horses, working with horses, we may just have to work a little harder to share them.

Now, I don’t want to share my horses, per say. They are not only my business and my work partners, but they are a part of my family. But what I can do is share my knowledge, share my experiences, and help pass on the passion I have for my horses, even if it means taking a friend out to the pasture to just walk by and talk to the horses, or a child out to groom and learn to pick a hoof.

It is up to those of us who still do live and work with horses to share our knowledge and pass it on. Our responsibility to teach, to share, to pass on the skills, the traditions, the ethics, manners, dedication and hard work. As an outfitter, horses have also been a part of my job. At times I am as awkward charging for my services and lesson as I often feel charging for cabin rentals when I feel like folks are here as my guests. But horses aren’t free, and they sure aren’t cheap. Feed, supplements, vet bills, shoeing expenses, transportation, insurance, tack and tools, etc., etc., etc. So yes, like it or not, sometime we do have to charge… it is a practicality we can not avoid. But it is not one that should limit us in our ability to reach others, just a minor detail.

The largest burden here seems to fall on the grandparents. And for grandfolks with horses, I’ve been told, it is not such a tough part of the job! Probably more like of the best. Sharing horses with grandkids.

Well, I don’t have grandkids yet, but I do have a bunch of young nieces and nephews. These are my surrogate grandkids for now, and the focus of my “passing it on.”

We share and show what we can, when we can. Sometimes, here, with us, will be the child’s only opportunity to glimpse into another world and take a bite, and hopefully, as is with a small but important percentage, taste enough to be hooked, to get the horse fever.

It’s not just horses; it’s the whole rural lifestyle. Camping, campfires, baking bread, gathering eggs, shoveling manure. It’s a package deal, and few kids don’t enjoy at least parts of it. They may not choose to live it, but they can love it. They will always remember this, and for those lucky enough to have had the chance to be exposed to our lifestyle and our horses, the memories and skills and understanding will remain with them forever.

Take a kid riding. Take a friend riding. Have someone share in the chores, the care, the companionship. Bring a friend to a horse show, on a trail ride, to a lesson. It can no longer be about “me and my horse.” Perhaps it’s time we began to consider it is more about “us and our horses.” All of us. So, let’s share our passion and enthusiasm for horses and riding. Let’s pass it on.

Flying on fields of snow

Out on the field of white they run. They run because they can, because it feels good, because their legs and lungs were built to run, because our snow is not as deep as they and we anticipated. A shallow winter. The horses revel in the low snow. They move freely, unconfined to their packed trails and shelter of the barns. The pasture is as open world boundless to movement for them as it is in summer. And if for a moment they stop and paw, they will be rewarded with the tops of tufts of last years grass.

This is no place for a horse naturally; they would not survive on their own here, would have left long ago with the deer and the wiser of the elk that descended the mountain months ago. But we help as we can, with good food and open water. And they adjust. Their coats are thick and long; the curry comb does not penetrate to their skin, though is always a welcome touch as they stand with me out there in the long shadows of the afternoon sunlight, in the surprising warmth of a windless afternoon, and await their turn. They are shiny, all of them, from rolling in the snow. There is no dirt, no dust, no mud. Only snow.

For those born here, four of those out there now, playing in the vast expanse of white, it is all they know. For the others, they have been here long enough. I wonder if they can remember days before. Does the stallion recall the confinement of his little stall where he stood for years without direct contact with another horse excepting that from across a chain link fence? I watch him out there now, moving freely, nuzzling with his mares, romping with his eldest son, Tresjur, who is coming on three and already nearly a full hand taller than his sire. They play like brothers. I think of my husband and son and understand.

The horses will play because they can, because their long legs make light work of breaking through this low snow, because it feels good to move, because a part of them, somewhere deep inside, I wonder if it remembers what it may have felt like to just run wild and free across the plains, across the dessert, across the big wide open expanse. Do we forget the horses great need to move, unrestricted and unbound, even if just for a few minutes, with or without rider on back, to just fly, liberated and limitless, across a wide open expanse?

Watching them out their running free, soaring across the white hillside, veils of snow fluttering up at their heels as they race with one another, the young ones around the old mares, manes and tails waving in their currents of cold air, we remember the legend of Pegasus, and imagine from where the story was born. Our horses have wings; on horses we fly.

New Years Resolutions

The start of a new year allows us time and encouragement (read: an excuse) to reflect upon the accomplishments, both large and small, of the past year; and to consider goals, both simple and lofty, for the year ahead. On one hand, I look at making New Years Resolutions as a trite tradition. On the other hand, I find it a missed opportunity if I pass by the occasion to reflect and review, as well as the chance to revel in hopes and aspirations.

We begin to look at the year ahead with dreams of what we would like to work on, within ourselves, and with our horses. With each horse, each lesson, each goal, each accomplishment, we evolve into a better horseman. And in turn, don’t we then evolve into a better person? We could remain stationary. What we learned yesterday is good enough. My guess is, if you’re reading this, that’s not your feeling either. Instead, more often than not, most of us strive for improvement and progress. We are not the same today as we were yesterday. Each new day is an opportunity to develop.

This development is all the more important to us because our horsemanship skills can be viewed as a clear reflection of who we are as a person. I don’t know about you, but I like to look back and see how much I have progressed with my horsemanship. The story reads like a personal growth gauge. The lessons the horses teach us, the lessons we learn interacting with horses, go far deeper than what we do in the saddle.

I allow myself the time to look where I am with each horse, and what I hope to accomplish this coming year. A review session, just me and my memories and imaginings. With each horse, there is anticipation for advancement. The greatest advancement will be, of course, somewhere inside me. I set realistic goals for each horse, each task. I look at each horse, and each goal, as an opportunity for my own growth and learning. Horsemanship does not simply represent physical tasks, but mental accomplishments every step of the way. And something great and mysterious, too, on which my words can only shed a pale light. It is this, I believe, this deeper meaning and relationship, that draws us to work with horses in the first place, and keeps us here, keeps us hooked, keeps us longing.

I begin this year by making a list of each horse, of what I hope to teach him or her, of what I need to work on within myself. It is a long list. Included are words like “patience,” “leadership,” “communication skills,” “increased knowledge,” “refinement,” “lightness.”

Each lesson is for both me and the horse. Each will teach me as I teach him or her. Every lesson is valuable, though we often fail to appreciate the value at first. Sometimes what we set out to accomplish, of course, will be far from what we achieve. The process of the lesson dictates what we ultimately learn.


All these plans, these lofty goals… and yet this year, I am willing to let them all go for the one thing that really matters: my commitment to my mares and finding a good safe place for them to foal, even if temporary, and a new ranch from which to continue our life with horses. Anything less than that is a compromise I am no longer willing to make, a selfish act based on attachment to the past, fear of moving forward, and personal comfort considered without the well being of my horses. The losses have been too great here.

That, my friends, is all I will resolve for my New Years Resolutions. The big move. That is more drastic, more time consuming, more costly, than any other I had considered. And yet… we will pull through, my horses, my family and I. And along the way, I somehow believe that if I remain with an open mind and open heart, the lessons I learn could be greater than any I ever have learned before.

So in all your time dwelling and contemplating and brewing over the New Years Resolutions you may consider for you and your horse this year, please remember too the big picture – the well being of the horse. Ultimately, what could be more important? What improvements can you make for him or her or them? Is it possible that a better life for them would also mean a better life for you?

The changes need not be as extreme as they will be for me and mine, but perhaps one small change to make their life just a little better…

Solstice

Winter solstice. Winter begins. Cold and darkness begin. Time of heavy coats, for me, for my horses. We trudge in deep snow. I do not ride. I feed, and pet, and talk to them. It is their time off. Down time from a long, hard summer. We share the darkness. We recover, reflect, rest, rejuvenate. We will have to work again, to ride again, to run together up these high mountain trails. Later. For now, we are slow, dormant, tired. Summer is far behind, far ahead. We are here, now, cold and dark and I wonder if they get bored standing around waiting, do they need a job to do, a point and purpose, or do they revel in the nothingness that winter allows them? I look in their eyes, deep within. They will come to me, rest their big warm shaggy chin on my shoulder, in my arms. They will stand there in the swelling snow and follow me to another feeding, another day, in another storm. I believe they too are longing.

Where is the warmth of the sun, the green of the grass, long days and open trails? Where are the tourists now? They ask. I ask. We look around the cold dark air hanging heavy over our thick coats. We remember, we long. We sigh and the winter begins and passes. We can feel the growing grass beneath this deepinging snow.

Insulated Water Trough

I don’t know how many folks reading this have to deal with morning temperatures which regularly read anywhere from an even zero down to “off” – that’s what happens on my digital thermometer when the temperature sinks lower than 22 degrees below zero. And it does here.

The challenge of providing the horses with winter water has always been an issue for us. We do not have open waters or a creek we can keep flowing or break into the surface ice each morning. The Rio Grande crosses our ranch, but the only way horses drop down the bluff to the river is when we ride them, and for better or for worse, we are not out there riding in the several feet of packed snow that winter brings. And anyway, the river gets about a foot or so of solid ice on its surface. Trying to fight the ice to keep the water flowing would be a loosing battle. In addition, our ranch is completely off-grid, and our solar electricity was not designed to keep a stock water heater going all night long every night for half the year. As a result, we’ve been dealing with smaller water buckets filled several times a day, and the habit of dumping out solid buckets of ice hours later.

Looks like we finally came up with a great solution. It does not take a constant flow of water, nor any power for heat or water movement, so it is extremely economical. We simply fill the large water trough every other day, close the lid at night, and open it during the day. Voila! Horse water without the ice!

The trick is that we insulated the water trough really well, and even built an insulated lid that is kept shut at night. So far we’ve made it to zero (yes, that’s Fahrenheit, so about -18 Celsius) without so much as a film of ice on the surface of the water in the morning when I open the lid.

Cost to us? $0. We started with an old black plastic stock tank we had been using for years but which would freeze solid each night in the past. Then we dug a hole about 18 inches deep and wider and longer than the tank. (A backhoe helps for this part of the job.) We set down several layers of sheet foam insulation that we had lying around below the tank, set in the tank just below the ground level keeping in mind that the horses can only lower their heads to drink to about the level of the front hooves. Then we built a box around the tank with an old panel of foam core insulation from a neighbors building project scrap pile. Around this, we nailed an external layer of 1”x4” scrap lumber, then back filled the dirt, piling extra around the back and sides, leaving the front as an easy ramp to the water for the horses. Next, we built a lid out of plywood, and glued on several layers of that sheet foam insulation. Neat thing here is that is silvery on the surface, so it reflects the sunlight back onto the water if we angle it just right, thereby helping to heat the water during sunlight hours. My son came up with a good simple rope and pulley system so that I can open and close the lid with one hand, and tie the lid up by hooking a loop around a nail so that it hangs closed just enough to direct the sunlight down onto the water, but not enough to be in the horses’ way.

Like so many things on this ranch, with our learning to adjust to the altitude and harsh climate, this is an experiment, but so far, so good. It’s working! We’ll see what happens when that thermometer drops to “off.”

Peace Returns

In so many ways.
A warm spell, perhaps the last until the end of March.
Calm, a rest from work, a reprise in play, the pasture is melted out, gates open wide, spirits soar and simply run free. A letting loose across the mountain like a warm, fresh breeze. The horses pretend they are wild. They do not need me until feeding time. I let them enjoy their freedom, and watch them as if they were untamed and boundless.

The experiment worked. The stallion, Flying Crow (Fadjurz Ideal) has returned to his herd, and is getting along.

Good old ground work. All it takes is time and patience, but it works wonders. At least, that’s what I’m giving the credit to here. See, my hope was that if doing ground work with a horse improved their manners around me, perhaps my doing ground work with the stallion in and around his herd might remind him that he has to behave around the other horses as well.

For three days, I led him out of his separate pasture and into his herd and spent about fifteen minutes doing work in hand – moving front end, back end, backing up, longing, and leading. A subtle and simple dance under my lead, with his herd members flocking about him perhaps in curiosity, perhaps wishing it was they receiving my attentions.

On the forth day, I brought him out to the pasture with his herd, went through the lessons, then took off the halter and let him go. After standing there near me for a few minutes, he finally put his head down and began eating, then milling around his family. But not chasing them.

It was one of those things I kept looking out the window for, waiting for. I was sure I’d see it. I was expecting him to “remember” how badly he felt the need to run after his 2-year old, Tresjur, to boss his herd around, to give them all chase, cornering the mares and yearlings on one end, and keeping Tresjur far off on the other.

I never saw it. It never came. It never happened. Five days later, I have realized that something worked. I would like to hope I can take the credit for showing him the necessity of behaving around the herd. I would like to think it was all thanks to “ground work.”

What ever it was, something worked. I’m not the only one grateful for it. You can bet young Tresjur is mighty thankful. Was it the ground work? Maybe. I’m always amazed what it can do. Regardless, we’ve got a bunch a happier horses out there, and a happier person in here watching them all get along.

Winter's Warning

This time of year, the snow comes and goes. One day our world is white, the next a heavy mud, then followed by a day of warm and brown and open ground. But the warmth is deceiving. The ground is freezing. The frost digs in, buries its icy finger deep within the earth, and prepares to stay a while. Five feet under, for months on end, it is a permanent part of our life here, our roots like those of the Spruce and Aspen, lie dormant, awaiting.

We do not ride in winter. The land forewarns us. Between the sudden surprise of hidden ice and snow packed firmly several feet thick, our riding days are numbered.

In fact, they may be over for the season, but I resist admitting this yet.

The signs are all around us. The horses’ coats are growing as long and thick as a cow’s. Each morning they stand and watch and wait as I break the ice in their insulated water trough. I work the horses on frozen ground. The stallion slips and falls and looks up at me questioning. And for a moment, for a change, I am glad I am not riding.

And then noon comes, the relative heat of the day, and the piles of manure remain frozen to the core. When my shovel hits a hard center and will not budge, and I risk broken toes trying to kick a pile free… it is time to retire the manure fork for the season, hang it like a memory beside the bridles. Allow them both to gather dust through the long, cold, winter, a time when we live on memories and dreams, reflections and anticipations.

This feeling is captured so well a post entitled, “Bright vision of momentary pastures,” recently published by Julian on his site, White Horse Pilgrim.

I will strive to find the words to compliment his which so well and beautifully capture the essence of this season, but in the meanwhile, I hope you will enjoy his…

Stallion gone wild

Winter is coming early. The last of our horses who will be spending the following half a year down on pasture in the valley below our mountain have been sent off. The remaining six horses are stuck up here with me. Really stuck. Our ranch is located at an elevation of nearly 10,000, though fortunately with good southern exposure – and Colorado does get sun in the winter. And snow. That snow gets deep; our road becomes closed to anything but skis and snowmobiles, and our horses become confined to the single track they lay down, packing their way through storm after storm, until their trails are set for the season, channels of packed snow they learn to follow like a good book. One step off could mean disaster. Imagine a horse stuck in four feet of compressed snow. It’s not the pretty, fluffy picturesque romp you see in the old westerns. In our reality, it looks like that only for the first snow or two of the season. After that, “falling in” for a horse deems a situation worthy of panic. It is a matter of survival. They know. They do not belong up here, but are completely dependant upon my care. I do my best to provide, and know it is never enough.

Every year around this time we open the gates and let the horses run together in their limited and rapidly reducing environment. And for half the year, the stallion, Flying Crow, is allowed to run with his herd. A beautiful as sight as any I have seen, natural and wild and free.

This year, his herd is reduced. It is small and economical. He has his two best mares, a two-year old gelded son, and two yearlings (a colt and a filly). When I opened the gate, he stepped out of his ½ acre paddock, walked 15 feet, put his head down, and grazed. Ah, the idyllic vision as he is surrounded by his mares and offspring.

But Utopia didn’t last long. About a half hour. Then he took to chasing the small herd around and around, in and out of open gates, all over the 20 acres of pasture. Finally, he cornered the mares and yearlings. They submitted. They were fine.

But the 2-year old was kept out. Ran off. Not allowed near. Not near water, not near hay. Certainly not near the other horses. Why?

This 2-year old, Tresjur is his name and he’ll be the subject of our next post, was suspected of maturing last year, as a yearling, a bit early from my limited experience. After noticing the stallion then chasing the youngster through the fence two times, I called the vet out. It was considered premature, but they were there. He was promptly gelded. We assumed with the loss of his testicles would be the end of the problems. Though we hadn’t tested the waters yet.

I believe in allowing horses to be horses, and let them work things out themselves when they safely and reasonably can. After a night of being chased off, Tresjur was found hiding in the willows the following morning, trembling. Fortunately not a scratch or a bite mark on him.

Crow was put off in a separate field, Tresjur returned to his family and friends unmolested. A snow storm now covers the mountain. Operations shut down for the day. We will regroup and reconsider and figure out how to reintroduce Crow to his herd on a better day, in a better way. Any suggestions? Any one else have experiences they can share to provide insight to a stallions behavior? I have read those who believe stallions are unpredictable. I beg to differ. They are remarkably predictable beings. IF we understand who and what a stallion is, what their needs are, what drives them. I am still learning.

In the meanwhile, I worry for my poor Tresjur, to have been what appears to us unknowing humans unnecessarily harassed by his sire. And now, poor Crow, for being denied the chance to run free with his herd. It will happen again. Later and safer. Time to regroup. After the snow melts.

Trying to be brave

Truth is, I was scared. But I had a job to do. So in the middle of the snowstorm, I saddled up my little stud horse and headed up the mountain, just the two of us, to check on a fellow outfitters camp in the high country. Four hours later, after a lot of slipping and sliding up to nearly tree line and back, my horse and I returned safe and sound, and truly exhilarated in a way, as I chatted on and on to my husband who came to meet me and help unsaddle my sweaty steed.

Sure, I have ridden alone before. And yes, I’ve ridden in the snow and mud before. And of course, I rode this little stud before. But the combination of the three together was, I considered, more than we could handle. No, I suppose I believed we could. The more I contemplated, the more I understood we both were ready; we both needed the challenge, could handle the task at hand. Probably. So why did I have this terrible stomach ache as I started to get my snow pants and down jacket on and ready for the ride?

I was trying to be brave. All I felt was scared.

Reaching beyond, extending oneself. Stepping outside ones comfort zone. For some, these things come easy. For me, they are labored and worked on, considered from all angles, and stressed about indefinitely until the knot in my stomach can no longer be ignored.

Only by doing it will I feel better.

And so, I push myself, and have learned (or at least, am learning) not to put these things off. Only through facing my fears can I overcome them. No matter how hard I have tried, and I’ve tried pretty hard, they won’t go away on their own.

A roller coaster ride, life and riding both, aren’t they? This year has been a good one for overcoming many fears with my riding and horses. And I suppose, building those fears took years as well. From the ground up, so to say. Starting with my first time being completely bucked and then bucked off again, clear out of the saddle and onto the ground. This shattered the safety I felt on a horses back. I had ridden for years and never been hurt. Ignorance was bliss, you know? I had this false idyllic bubble about me, fragile without knowing, just ready to burst with the slightest poke. And when it burst, it left me not only on the ground and in the dirt, but questioning, always wondering if it would happen again, what else could go wrong, what if, why???

It broke my trust of my “partners.” I have finally regained this trust. I no longer assume a horse would never buck me off, but I have learned to read them better, and ride even better as well. I have learned my fallibility and my faults. This does not mean we can overcome all our shortcomings and be strong, ready and prepared for every horse “incident.” But is does increase our ability to handle what may arise as we work with our horses. And since I do just that, work with them, I did not have the luxury, the excuse of waiting until I felt more comfortable. At least not all the time, though plenty of times, yes. Just ask my husband, who had to ride the rank horses time and time again first before I’d get on.

And so by having to push myself to step up to bat (or into the saddle in my case), I also learned that the best way for me to overcome my fears was to face them. A little bit of “Get over it.” A touch of “Just do it.” And a healthy dose of “Cowgirl up, sister. It’s time to ride.”

Saddle in the... snow.

It makes doing it in the rain seem so easy. I will try to remember that and try to not complain too loudly next time I find myself laden with hat and slicker and boots all dripping like a gutter as I try to get my ponies ready for a day of work.

But the snow? Although it makes for beautiful pictures, I can’t say it makes for a pleasant or comfortable day. The first hour is fine. Beyond that, well, it’s kind of like gloves. Three pairs later, each one frozen and soaked through… It doesn’t feel so good. You start to question why you’re out there. Well, eight hours later it’s the same thing, head to toe. You’re frozen and soaked through, no matter how many layers you put on.

But… I wouldn’t miss it for the world! It is times like this you are happy to be alive, invigorated, aroused, and crazy as it may be, loving life and glad to be out there in it, truly living! You’re appreciative for good horses, motivated by the awe inspiring wild mountains around you, and glad for a good hat (more on that later). You learn to appreciate these simple things we may otherwise take for granted, or not test out completely. Like: just how water proof is that new jacket? And how much do we really trust our horses?

All this is so much easier said right here and now, of course, from the comfort of my warm sofa by the wood stove, as the snow continues to fall…outside.

And about those horses: It’s days like yesterday - a day when we would have preferred the comfort of our cabin, or at most, heading out for an hour or two little ride in the freshly falling snow - that we learn what a good relationship is all about. We test our trust. We have to. Our hands are so cold and dysfunctional that we tie our reins together, loop them over the horn, and let go. Our horses guide us. They find the trail through the deepening snow and gusts of blinding whiteness ahead. Their footing is slick beneath them, beneath us, but they lower their heads, intensify their focus, quicken their pace, though remain calm and even of gait, and find their way along the precarious edge of the trail.

I wonder if the snow would soften the fall should we slip off.

They do not slip off. In fact, they barely slip at all. They know there is work to be done, and they are ready to do it. Yesterday, our horses cared for us. I am glad for that. We care for them so often. I believe they appreciate it. And when we needed them, for a job in the high country that could not wait or be put off until the weather cleared, they rose to the occasion. They stepped up to bat for us.

I am proud of them. This makes riding in the snow… good.

Going alone

I don’t know why I did it, except for some ceaseless, burning voice inside me, whispering, almost nagging like the wind that I had to go.

In part, I did it for myself. In part for my son. In part for my husband. And a part for anyone else who might be intrigued or inspired by what some middle aged woman born in Jersey might do after living in the wide open wild mountains this long.

It was not a big deal, not a long trip. I planned on four days and three nights. I completed it in three days, two nights. And during that short time, I accomplished all I set out to do. I had all the adventure I set out to find. I achieved all the goals I made for myself. And by returning early, showed my husband and son how important they are to me. Brownie points.

It was certainly not about getting away from them. It was just about proving I could do it myself. All by myself. Something I used to always feel I could do before I got married (that was later in life – I was 35). Something I used to feel before my “little boy” surpassed me in height. Now six feet tall and still growing, I surprise myself to hear how often I ask him to help; how regularly I leave the hard, high, heavy work for him to handle; how much I turn to him now when chances are, I could do it myself.

And then there is the issue of proving oneself. To oneself, to ones family. Not so much to prove strength, ability, independence. No, it is far more than that. More important, I feel, was that I wanted to prove to my son that with proper preparation combined with confidence in ones self, a hunger for adventure, and a trust in faith, in whatever direction ones faith may follow… that one can do anything. We can go anywhere. We can be anything we want. Even some crazy woman’s version of Jeremiah Johnson, just for a few days.

My faith is in my horses. My mountain. My boys. My self, including body and mind strong enough to get me through alone. Mother Earth and her wilds, her wildlife. This is my temple. And so, in a way, I set off to a sanctuary, both within and around me.

It was just a pack trip, a solitary journey covering 40 miles in the mountains we call our Big Back Yard. A distance my boys could cover within hours on motor bike or snowmobile (if allowed into the Wilderness…). A horseshoe shaped path around our ranch. Just me, my riding horse, and my pack horse.

No big deal, I suppose. Yet I feel bigger for it. I feel as if I climbed my own Everest. That’s nothing I’ve wanted to do, but this, a solitary pack trip, was. And I did it.

I tell my husband we can not wait for change. We have to create it. If it comes unannounced, we learn to ride the waves. But in the meanwhile, instead of sitting back on the shore and waiting for the big one, we can dive in and enjoy. Change is all around us, with every ebb and flow. It is what helps us see the magnificence in the sun rise, the beauty in the evening light, the joy in every day, as every day is new, and we too are as new as the hour. If we let ourselves. If we remind ourselves. And sometimes, if we challenge ourselves.

Horse Power!

This one is long… but if you have time and any interest in digging, dragging, pulling and plowing with the power of the horse, please take a look at the article I wrote entitled Horse Power at Homestead.org.

If anyone’s been wondering what we do in the high country during the summer season, this will share a little bit of the job with you. There’s more to horses than riding! (and shoveling manure…)

The first of summer

So much I wish I had time to share. Yet like with so many of you, suddenly we find ourselves so busy this time of year. Where did this rush come from? Catching us unprepared once again, caught up in the whirlwind of the season, but enjoying most every moment.

We’re up at our “ditch camp” with our horses four days a week, then taking day rides and giving lessons and visiting with guests two days a week, and cabin cleaning on the seventh day…

And yes, I love summer.

However, there is also so much I’ve been anxious to share – especially specifics on horse camping now that we’re out there with our horses again. (Wendy – I took many pictures of the high line and horses at camp I look forward to sharing.)

The next couple weeks are jam-packed, but I’ll look forward to catching back up and sharing much more as time allows.

In the meanwhile, here’s one thing to think about…

As I sit at camp in the early morning hours, bundled in front of the crackling fire sipping my steaming coffee, with my boys still sleeping in the tent and the horses peacefully grazing about me on the high mountain grass, I can imagine no place I would rather be, no life I would rather have.

There is a closeness to oneself one finds out there, perhaps because one has fewer distractions, only seeing if we choose to look and hearing if we choose to listen. There is a universal understanding which comes to us, however we prefer to spend time out in nature. We begin to see the Big Picture, and realize our small but blessed place within that circle of life. And there is a closeness that comes with our horses when we are out there living and working with them, day in and day out, side by side, that can not be achieved back home on the ranch or in the stables.

And so, off to the high country we head with our horses today….we’ll return Thursday evening. May you all have a wonderful week!

Spring cleaning

Spring comes later to the high country, but alas, she comes. And when she finally does, how is it that every time, every year, we find ourselves so unprepared and overwhelmed with a zillion things to do, half of which we look at and ask why we didn’t get that done yesterday? Yesterday goes way too fast, I suppose, because I know we weren’t just sitting around eating bon-bons yesterday…

Plenty to do, but truly, all good stuff. I do my best to enjoy, and at the end of every day, am grateful that I’ve got so much real, healthy and enjoyable work to keep me busy, and so much more to look forward to doing tomorrow.

There’s the horses, still holding on tenaciously to their winter coats up here, and dragging on the shedding process as long as possible. For a month, I’ve been trying to help them “let go.” And in the process, have every sweater and jacket covered, and more than a healthy dose of horse hair in my nose, mouth and probably stomach and lungs. (I’ll guess that fleece was not invented by a horse person – nothing holds onto horse hair worse – or should I say, better?) I suppose the horses wait for the cold nights to end, and since that never really happens here in the high country, they know the longer they hold on to that hair, the more comfortable their nights will be.

Then there’s trimming their feet. We keep our herd barefoot all winter long, and find keeping them trimmed throughout the winter makes getting their feet back in shape in spring that much easier and healthier. More work for the farrier during the cold and snowy winter months, but he’s found his job is that much easier come summer. Still, the foot wall seems to grow with the grass, and this time of year, keeping them well trimmed is an ongoing race.

Next, there’s getting the horses fit once again, and back into “work mode.” This is the fun part of the job, and I find an easy one for the horses. After a winter of leisure, I believe they look forward to a job to do and a purpose to every day. Wouldn’t you?

Onto the barn, we begin to clean up from the horses using the saddle shed for a winter shelter, and replacing the manure with tack. 15 or so riding saddles and a good bunch of pack saddles, all in need of cleaning, oiling, inspecting, repairs… Bridles, lead ropes, halters, hobbles and more… lots of rope splicing, braiding, and leather work.

Onward to the trail clearing. The snow has melted off of our trails, though most are in need of major maintenance. Between the high winds of last autumn and the heavy snows of winter, there is not a trail around us that is free from serious tree damage. Being more than a little short on Forest Service trail crews up this way, we (the outfitters, and quite honestly, the hunters as well, since they are often the last to use a trail in the fall) do our best to care for the trails we ride. A few years ago, I bought my husband a custom leather chain saw scabbard for his saddle. Trail work is really that much a part of our riding! Otherwise, we always ride with saddle saws, which are all we use in the Wilderness, of course. Though, crossing the river to get to those trails is still a ways away.

I suppose you could say it is all work. But those of us who love our horses and everything about them, times like this you feel that life is especially good…

Quiet trails

We rarely say a word when riding.

Perhaps it’s because we’re getting hard of hearing, or perhaps because there is often a string of pack horses between us. No matter. We don’t need to speak. We can spend 2, 6 or 10 hours on the trail, and find there is little that has to be said, few things that can’t wait until we are done for the day and can sit down together and enjoy the conversation.

From time to time on the trail, I’ll take a look back and smile, and get a warm smile in reply. What else do I need? There are no hand signals, no pointing. Our hands are tied up with reins in one and the lead rope of the pack string in the other. If there is something special worth sharing, all it takes is a tip up of the head to point something out, and a nod down to acknowledge. We’ve done this long enough, spent enough time together, we can figure the rest out.

When we return to the ranch or to camp at the end of the day, unsaddle the horses, put them out to graze and then sit down to dinner ourselves, then we can talk. By that time, we have had time to consider what is worth talking about, what thoughts we’d like to share.

“Did you see…?”
“What did you think about …?”
“We need to plan a day working on that section of trail…”
“My horse…”
“I was cold.”

I think of our son, now almost 16, who has been raised this way, as comfortable in the saddle as he is in the silence, without need for or understanding of small talk. Blessed with time to think.

I suppose it’s quite different for a kid to be raised this way now a days. But you ask yourself, what would you rather teach your kids or your grandkids? How many of us have taught our children to be quiet? To listen? To be comfortable in silence, and contented in stillness? To observe nature, to reflect on the beauty around them, and to sense what is inside?

On the back of a horse, on a day on the trail, this is natural, it is easy. There is time to think, to see, to feel. These things a child can learn without you working to teach. The lesson can be taught subtly and simply. Just take them out on the trail, again and again…

This time of year

This is the time of year the snow begins melting off around the ranch, only to be replaced by mud. The trails are still packed with snow and ice, but I am itching to ride, I feel the season starting and anticipation swells inside me. Limited in what I can realistically and safely do with the horses, I look around the ranch and find plenty of “horse things” to fulfill me; things I finally can do, now that I can stand still outside longer than a few minutes without taking on a deep chill, and even slip off my gloves and down jacket for a while…

We groom the horses, help them rid themselves of their shaggy winter coat. Trim their feet, working on our own skills here as we are going into this coming season planning to allow them to remain barefoot for the first time in their working season. Take inventory of gear. Clean, oil, and repair tack. I always find things here that “need” fixing. I love working with saddles and bridles – I’m not a good leather worker, but I enjoy it. So everything gets taken apart and put back together, in my justification of making it work better for this coming season. Evenings I tie rope halters, splice rope for more lead ropes (“We need more?” my husband asks.), and read books on equine theory, philosophy, care, health, training.

I justify this by saying I am getting done now all the tasks we do not have time for as our main summer season is underway, and I suppose that is true. But more true is that I just enjoy these things. Anything horse related. It’s my way of mentally preparing for the season, as the excitement builds.

This is also the time of year we plan our upcoming schedule, plan our season of rides and horse trips into the Wilderness. There are not many big trips scheduled, not enough, our main business is centered around our guest ranch business and day rides now. Fewer people come up here for the long trips, the back country trips. The majority of folks hauling trailers up this way don’t have horses inside; they have ATV’s now a days.

But we’ll still be out there. We find additional jobs that require our horse power and back country skills, and find an excuse to be out there. At the very least, my family knows, we’ll have to go just because. Because for me, there is nothing as peaceful as waking up in the high country at first light and walking over to the horses on the high line, having them nicker as they see me approach and let one off at a time to head out to pasture to graze. Then sipping my hot steaming cup of coffee as I sit on the hillside with sun just coming over the mountain to warm me, watching my horses happiliy in the tall mountain grass. The high country is their back yard, too, and I believe they love the trips as well as I do.

Perhaps you too are considering, planning or preparing for a horse pack trip this summer. If it’s just a dream, you can make it a reality. Start with little steps, but make some steps, make it happen. Your horses will thank you, and you will thank yourself.

To begin with, you can do it yourself. You can plan, prepare, learn and take a trip yourself. Believe me, if I can do it, you can too. I just learned a few basics (probably not nearly enough) and headed out my first time. It was rather messy, I’m the first to admit, but we did it. And we learned, and the next trip was that much prettier.

If you’d prefer, hire a guide or outfitter. We do this because we love the land, our horses, and working with people. Most of us really care about our guests and making the trip as fun, comfortable and memorable for them as we possibly can.

I’ll share some thoughts and idea about both options in up-coming posts, and hopefully you’ll give it a try. Life is short, but oh-so wonderful. I can’t imagine missing out on taking a back country pack trip. It is one of the most peaceful, fulfilling, gratifying, and eye opening experiences I have done, and am lucky enough to share with others. You don’t have to miss out, and you don’t have to wait… You just have take a few chances…

Introduction

Welcome to High Mountain Horse Blog! It is a rather generic name, but as you’ll see, it's rather appropriate. We live high in the mountains at our home and guest ranch, at an elevation of nearly 10,000 feet. And we’re outfitters; our work is centered around our beloved equine companions. So you see, the name is simple, but it fits.

Throughout this blog, we will be sharing with you our personal stories of our experiences, recounts of our adventures, and sometimes just our thoughts and observations. Other times, we’ll share specific skills we use with our horses for training, riding, packing, camping and working in the back country. You’ll see our love of our horses and the land shining through in everything we do.

We hope you will join us, kick back and read a story, learn a new skill, or perhaps a new way of doing something you already know. We hope you will share with us – we sure don’t claim to know it all. Nor do we believe there is just one right way of doing things. We all have to do what works for each us. And likewise, we all have to learn what works best for the horse. It’s all on on-going process. Enjoy the ride!