Jennifer Gordon Smith flies via three different countries to discover Uruguay on horseback, but proclaims it the ride of her life.

“Where’s the nearest pub?” piped up one member of the group, as we approached the first sign of civilization for miles- a remote estancia and our base for the following two nights.

Of course there wasn’t one, but you don’t need pubs on this riding holiday. The sparsely populated, lush green interior is what makes Uruguay a rider’s paradise. It has enormous pastures to canter over, miles of sandy beaches without a sunlounger or overstuffed bikini in sight, and not a whiff of petrol fumes. After that, who has energy for a pub anyway?

It was in mid-March that I, and seven other riders, converged in South America to experience this equine utopia.

I knew little about Uruguay beforehand, other than the random trivia that it was the first country to win football’s World Cup- and I had to study an atlas before my eights day adventure (it’s on the east coast, wedged between Brazil and Argentina, for those equally in the dark).

Among our group of eight were a hurley maker (the wooden stick used in the Irish game of hurling) from Tipperary and an othopaedic surgeon from Limerick who had been riding only a year but had already spent the season hunting with his legendary local pack.

From the USA we had a 69-year-old bionic lady who ran her first marathon at the age of 65, and a Connecticut businessman, plus three high-flyers from London.

            The ride began on the Brazilian border, in the beautiful province of Rocha, a four-hour drive from Montevideo, along one of only 10 paved roads in the country. Sally and two gauchos led the way-Martine, who played the “mean and moody” part, and the cheeky-faced Cesar. Both rode what seems to be the regulation gaucho accessory- a fiery chestnut.

            Each day we rode for up to eight hours, covering nearly 30 miles. Having ridden sedately for an hour at a time around a London park in preparation, it was a shock to the system, but by day three, and after some medicinal gin and tonics. I had adjusted- with the help of huge sheepskins covering the saddles.

            The sturdy native breed of South America is the Crillo. All our horses had fantastic temperaments, sure-footed yet forward-going and responsive enough to turn on a peso. In Uruguay, the horse is still considered primarily a mode of transport, but Sally is introducing British bits and vet treatment and our horses were well cared for. She had done her homework and we were perfectly matched with our respective steeds. Apparently the first canter, with Sally nervously looking on, is the litmus test. Her sense of relief when nobody fell off or revealed they hadn’t learnt to canter yet (which has happened) was visible.

            I fell in love with Laura, my little roan mare. She was a pleasure to ride and didn’t mind my enormous hugs and pats too much (South Americans don’t do petting).

The tack is minimalist- some bridles consisted of little more than a string headpiece, cheekpieces and bit. Oh, and the girths have no buckles and are tied implausibly far back. But it all seems to work.

            I’d never ridden Western before, but as soon as you get the hang of neck-reigning you’re away. To master the lope- the most common pace at which the Uruguayans ride- you slouch your back and sit with your shoulders behind your hips. Unfortunatley, this goes against everything my dressage instructors have drilled into me over the years and after a couple of days bouncing around with my poker-striaght back, I reverted to rising trot.

            We quickly settled into a daily routine: three- or four- hours riding: picnic or BBQ lunch: siesta: another couple of hours in the saddle in the cool of the late afternoon, and finally a swim, drinks and dinner before bed. We felt very spoilt by having our horses tacked up and waiting for us every morning, getting banquet-proportions of food delivered to picturesque picnic spots and riding to the door of the next night’s accommodation.

            As we traveled south along the Uruguayan coast, every day brought different scenery and unexpected sights, all beneath blazing skies. The riding is fast paced, with exhilarating gallops along miles of empty beaches- one of the highlights of the holiday. We passed through huge estancias and weird and wonderful villages, where we received a warm “hola!” from the locals.

            We spotted a wealth of wildlife, including birds such as the rhea- a smaller version of the ostrich- storks and owls, Vultures unnerved us slightly as the circled overhead, and we also saw armadillos, one of which may have ended up as road-kill as we galloped (unintentionally) over it.

            My favourite day’s ride was heading inland over wetlands, then up through the Don Bosco hills and the 300-year-old palm groves where Aberdeen Angus cattle grazed. We were then treated to lunch next to Laguna Negra (“the black lagoon”) by landowner Fernando. We started with a few tumblers of hooch, a potent alcoholic liquid fermented from palm fruit. The gauchos enjoyed the tradition of passing around a cup of mate (rhymes with latte), which they carry around everywhere in a thermos flask. It is a bitter, green, tea-like liquid drunk through a straw, apparently full of antioxidants as well as a mystery stimulant.

            A full rack of wild boar ribs, stuffed beef fresh from the estancia, sausages, wine, salad and vegetables were all consumed as though it was our last supper. We ate extremely well on this holiday.

            Our afternoon ride set off slightly later than planned, as our horses made a bid for freedom and sent gauchos running, Benny Hill-style, after them. Safely back on board, we scrambled to the highest point in the area for fabulous views and the regulation photo opportunity.

            Beach riding in Uruguay is amazing. One rider described arriving on the huge sandy expanse of Barra Chuy as an “awakening”. As we neared the beach, the sound of crashing Atlantic waves and the scent of salt mixed with pine and aniseed had my senses working overtime. Visitors rarely reach this stretch of sand, so for six mile we walked, cantered, galloped and splashed our way in spending isolation.

Towards the end, we stayed on private estancias. The 12,000- acre Estancia El Sauce was our first sample of traditional living and the brothers who owned it welcomed us heartily. Together with their gauchos, they work the cattle, keep 120 horses and produce a substantial rice crop. Even riding round the estancia for four hours, we didn’t manage to see the whole property. But it provided plenty of opportunities to ‘Vamos!” (“Let’s go!”)- Sally’ cue for us all to up the tempo across the flat grasslands. My new mount was called Gato (“cat”, so called, as he is the traditional Crillo colour of chestnut with a dorsal stripe and tiger-striped legs).

            We were led by Carlos, the estancia’s gaucho, and his two sons, both of whom had been allowed the day off school provided they learnt six words of English from us. I don’t think they learnt one, but they certainly taught us a lesson in race-riding, as they left us for dust galloping across the estancia.

            Our second ranch stay, Estancia El Charabon, was the ultimate in luxury. It is set in a beautiful location and owned by Jorge and Graciela who, with their exceptional team of staff, went out of their way to spoil us with their hospitality and platefuls of exquisite local food, including slow-roasted pig. Evenings were spent sitting on the terrace watching the sun set, the reverie spoilt only by the incessant scratching of mosquito bites- a real hazard on this holiday. They paled into insignificance, however, when, one night one of the horses was feasted on by a substantially larger bloodsucker- a vampire bat.

            On our final day we all donned our cowboy hats and tried our hands at gauchoing. We herded a field of Herefords into a corner and, after being shown how it should be done by the pros, had to peel them off and count them. It soon brought home how skilled these gauchos are. The bulls tended to do their own thing and we didn’t argue.

            We were a morose bunch as we rode back to the estancia for the final time and said farewell to our hosts, horses and guides. Some 180 miles and a few bow legs after we’d all set out, broad grins and not forgetting a few thousand photos, it was time to go home. The thrill of galloping across grasslands, beaches and experiencing the Uruguayan rustic lifestyle had us all vowing to join Sally again soon to find out what other equine adventures South America has to offer.

What to wear: December to March is summer and days can get hot. Be prepared for the odd downpour, though.

Preparations: some basic Spanish would be useful- we were all frustrated by our inability to converse with the locals.

Group Size: 4-10

Riding Ability: Intermediate to advanced standard is recommended, as you will spend up to 8 hr a day in the saddle with plenty of fast-paced riding.

Contact:
Ryan Schmidt at Hidden Trails.
Hidden Trails offers a variety of riding tours all over the world and came across this ride three years ago.

For more info on this trip, check out the Hidden Trails website at
 

After an overnight flight, direct from Heathrow to Cape Town, despite the early breakfast, it is a welcome relief not to have any jet lag. And as there is only 1 hour time difference during the SA winter or Cape green season, we can start our holiday programme straight away. We are met at arrivals by our genial host and guide Carl, who is our Guardian Angel for the full duration of the next 8 days of our tour.

After checking in at our luxurious, Victorian guest house and enjoying a light lunch we are introduced to our hunters at the nearby Cape Hunt’s country base where the hounds are kennelled. The huntsman and his wife, who is the stable manager, along with Carl, accompany us on our first ride around the Hunters Valley estate where there are ample opportunities for cantering and jumping. The ground is mainly soft sand with numerous natural jumps  made from brush, stones, logs and hay bales as well as a tyre wall, bank drop and coffin, all of which are between 18 ins to 3 ft high. We ride through wooded areas, bush, and savannah-like prairies and along the edges of rolling hills of wheat fields for the next two hours before stopping to let our horses cool their legs in a dam. After an exhilarating ride we return back to our guest house for a sumptuous dinner of a traditional Cape Malay dish of ‘Bobotie’ – curried mince with a baked egg and milk topping, followed by a welcome early night.

The next morning we return to Hunters Valley where a special drag hunt has been organised for us and we are pleased to meet some of the Cape hunt members who also join us. We all thoroughly enjoy our hunt, with most of us taking all the jumps enroute, although there is also the option of going round them for those not wishing to jump. The hunt breakfast, which follows, is cooked on a traditional South African open fire. We enjoy one of the huntsman’s special lamb ‘potjie’s’ (casserole) whilst sitting under the trees, on the lawn outside the Cape Dutch club house of the stables. In the late afternoon we drive via the beautiful Franschhoek pass with its stunning sandstone rock formations of cliffs and gorges and the Dutoits River flowing far below enroute to the historic Houw Hoek Inn, where we stay for the next four nights.

After a short drive down the Houw Hoek Pass the next morning, we meet our horses which we will ride for the next three days, as well as the characterful, Afrikaans stable owner, Manfred, who entertains us with his tales over lunch during the following days’ rides. We set off along a totally empty, pristine beach where we enjoy some of the longest canters any of us have ever experienced with most of the horses happy to splash through the edge of the water as the Atlantic Ocean waves lap up the beach.  Later, as we walk the horses along the shoreline we are thrilled to be able to watch from the saddle, numerous whales gathered together in a giant pod that seems to stretch for up to half a mile, just 20 meters or so from us. We ride on to explore the Kleinmond Lagoon Nature reserve and are lucky enough to see some of the wild horses living there as well as flamingos and pelicans. After a picnic lunch we thoroughly enjoy ourselves following Carl as he leads us at a canter up and down and round the sand dunes ‘bundu bashing’ before we reappear on the shore line again for the canter home, back along the deserted beach. Next, to refresh ourselves, Carl drives us to the Beaumonts’ Wine Farm where we all enjoy tasting their various different white and red wines, before we return to the Inn for dinner.

The next day we ride out directly from the stables following a former ox wagon trail up the Houw Hoek Pass, and at times along the side of an old railway line, which still has the occasional train running along it. The horses are used to the train, so when it does appear, we stop and let them face it, and the train passes without incident. We ride to the top of the mountain through the beautiful indigenous shrub land known as ‘fynbos’, where we stop to take in the spectacular view, before descending down to the Houw Hoek Inn for a late lunch, leaving the horses tied up in a paddock in the grounds. In the afternoon we complete our days ride by returning back to the stables.

The next morning we set out directly from the Botriver Stables again and spend the day riding along the edges of fields of wheat and vines of grapes and through fields of cows and sheep before reaching a wine farm where we stop for lunch. We complete a circular route back to the stables and say goodbye to our horses, and Manfred. In the evening we spruce ourselves up for a dinner dance held at the Houw Hoek Inn and despite the fact that we must get up early the next morning, we all make the most of dancing and partying with the locals until the end of the evening, although none of us can match the ‘two-step’ (a variation of the foxtrot), which the Afrikaner couples of all ages do so elegantly and effortlessly to the music from the 60’s onwards.

Somewhat subdued, we have an early breakfast dressed in our full English hunting attire, which we have all tried to keep as pristine as possible in our suitcases up until now. We have an hour to cat-nap or admire the scenery as Carl drives us to Spiers Wine Farm, the venue for our drag hunt. Our horses which we rode when we first arrived have all been plaited and tacked up and transported to the hunt so that when we arrive all we need to do in jump on ready for the stirrup cup of whisky or sherry (or hair of the dog…). We are lucky to be attending one of the most popular hunts in the calendar of the Cape Hunt Club and we find out that we are part of the 65 hunters that are riding that day. We have a great hunt around the wine farm over the next two hours and are able to enjoy spectacular mountain views when we stop at the checks enroute, as well as trying out different ‘nips’ from the hipflasks of various members of the hunt club as well as one or two glass of Champagne when the support team meet us at the halfway point. We say goodbye to our horses and join many of the club hunters for lunch in the restaurant at Spiers, before saying goodbye to them too. Carl then drives us to Cape Town and to our splendid Victorian guest house, nestled beneath Table Mountain. Changing our hunting attire for our glad rags once more, Carl takes us to the picturesque Victoria and Alfred waterfront. He leads us past stylish restaurants and a parade of shops full of African curios and souvenirs to the upmarket, Quay 4 restaurant. The speciality here is fish, which we enjoy whilst taking in the impressive view of the harbour.

The next day, Carl becomes our tourist guide and we explore the Cape Peninsula. We start at the magnificent Groot Constantia wine estate, which is a superb example of Cape Dutch style buildings, and we wander around admiring the traditional furnishings and paintings. On to the very British ex naval base at Simon’s Town in False Bay and then the really cute Jackass Penguins which gather of their own accord at Boulders and are only a few feet away from the admiring public.  We drive through the Cape Point Nature Reserve to the most southerly tip of the peninsula and then walk up the steep path and steps to the lighthouse standing on Cape Point before descending for a well deserved lunch. Our last ride is in Noordhoek and is again another wonderful beach ride, but this time we ride ex racehorses - some of which still go down on their haunches before going into canter! We enjoy a good steady canter up the beach and explore the sand dunes at the end before we have our last, long canter home, through the lapping ocean waves. Carl drives us back into Cape Town via the dramatic cliff-edge road around Chapman’s Peak, enhanced by the spectacular view of the deep, orange-red sun, setting into the ocean horizon. We round off our day when we are joined for our farewell dinner by the Master of the Cape Hunt and his wife at the very lively and friendly Africa Café. We eat an eclectic set meal, which allows us to sample 30 different, traditional, Black African dishes.

On our last morning we take the revolving cable car to the top of Table Mountain where we enjoy wonderful views of Cape Town and its harbour spread out below us as well as the cute Dassies or ‘rock rabbits’ that have somehow made it to the top on  their own and are only a few feet from us. We enjoy a 2 hour walk around the flat perimeter of the mountain to McClears Beacon and back before taking the cable car back down. Lunch is a real treat as Carl takes us to Cape Town’s top hotel – the very prestigious Mount Nelson where we are greeted by the white gloved doorman wearing top hat and tails. After lunch we take a stroll through the historic Company Gardens past the old Parliament buildings to the old centre of Cape Town, where we look around until it’s time for Carl to take us to the airport for our overnight flight back to Heathrow. It’s sad saying our farewells to Carl who has done such a wonderful job of not only looking after us but educating and entertaining us too with his vast knowledge of South Africa including its history and society. He has taken us on such a varied journey where we have experienced so many different landscapes, animals, birds, vegetation and people and of course, two great hunts. It was much more of an amazing and incredible experience than just another holiday and one which will remain very fondly in all of our memories.

by Janet Stevens

For more information on this trip and others in Southern Africa, check out the Hidden Trails website at:

http://hiddentrails.com/africa/africa-south/cape-drag-hunts.htm 

Unforgettable is not the breathtaking landscape, nor the almost unbelievable history of this    

unique country and its wonderful peoples, not the exotic animal world and not because of the adventurers in the African bush, but because of a man who got nicknamed ‘Bushman’ by his guests and who has the unique gift to combine for us all these impressions to one comprehensible Composition.

Yes, without exaggeration, the right description of this trail is to call it, a piece of all embracing art, which we were privileged to experience. I see South Africa now with different eyes! On my trail I did not only observe the wonderful landscapes and superb horses but also met some very interesting hosts with fascinating tales, who we spent evenings with in witty, intellectual conversation with lots of laughter.

Of course unforgettable remain the long rides along the dreamlike beaches of the Atlantic and Indian Ocean from where, out of the saddle, we observed nearby whales. But likewise unforgettable were the two days we lodged in the old farmhouse Goedvertrouw (Trust in God) of Elrida. She told us about the old days…. she knew that things needed time to grow to perfection, whether it’s the bread or butter, which she makes herself, or the wine, which she also cultivates by her own after her husband passed away some years ago. One evening on her stoop, one of my dreams came true: once in a lifetime to feel like Tanja Blixen in OUT OF AFRICA, with classical music in the background, laughter in the heart and the eyes resting on the endless African landscape.

                              

With professional foresight Carl manages to instil into the guests an open view for this

country (and when on occasion this failed, his unique humour and the cool diplomacy of a man originating from Hamburg quickly got the situation under control!). And isn’t this what a traveller wants? To enlarge one’s horizon? And if this takes place on the back of a horse, what more could a rider possibly want?  

Birgit de Fries

For more information, check out the Hidden Trails website at:

http://hiddentrails.com/tour/africa_south_cape_safari.aspx

It is the first day of a six day pack trip and we are heading off into the mountains.
I’m always excited to go. Leah and I have the guests on their riding horses, the packhorses loaded up, packs covered with a canvass tarp and tied down with a diamond hitch.

Canvas, ropes and leather; the technology of mountain packing has not changed much in the past couple of hundred years, other than now the pack boxes are made of plastic instead of leather, or wood. 

We will set out with our guests on yet another journey up into the wild mountains of the North. It is truly wild country here, without roads or even human trails.  We go where we please, sometimes exploring and sometimes showing off our favorite places. We follow wild herds of caribou and bison, search for grizzly, moose, and wolves.

Our horses are a dependable, tough and good natured lot. We have a motto, “never trust a horse you don’t trust, but trust a horse you do”. We’ve trained most of these boys ourselves (whom are all geldings to keep things a bit quieter), from either young that we’ve raised or taken on as four year olds from feral herds.

Remarkably, with some patience and understanding of where they’ve come from, the feral ones have been very easy to train. Once they trust us and all of our gear, the idea of walking in single file through the bush and over the mountains is already in them. With some more training they can graduate from carrying packs to carrying people. Most of our saddle horses are trained to be real riding horses, responsive to the ques of their rider, while others have been trained to simply carry the person and follow the leader (“dude horses” for our absolute novice riders).

We spend each spring training everyone to a new level. They are all draft crosses, very sturdy, strong legs and feet, with lots of brains between their ears. We’ve seen from experience how lighter high-strung quarter horse types (“southern horses” to us) can’t function in this environment or at this job. Our boys don’t panic, they don’t hurt themselves and they are not afraid of the wild animals that we spend our time following.

Once we set out we spend the first day following a trail that years ago I blazed with an axe through the forested valley up to the alpine meadows of the Yukon’s Coast Mountains. Once above the trees we will travel along caribou trails up and over mountain passes, across high plateaus and between sheer peaks. We will travel each day as far as we like and make camp in the nicest place we find each night.  No signs of people, just caribou, moose, bear, wolf and horse tracks.

Wolves are around us:

The first night of this trip we make camp beside a large meadow that was formed from a drained beaver pond. A beaver worked hard to build a dam, which flooded the forest, drowning the trees, then the beaver family must have been killed (probably eaten by a pack of wolves in the spring) and the dam broke, draining the valley which has now been replaced with lush green grass. It is now a perfect horse camp, with nice hills all around, abundant grass, a meandering stream through the middle and lots of mature spruce trees along the edges providing plenty of dry firewood.

 The horses are all tethered or hobbled (depending on their individual habits of wandering in the night), the tents are up, the guests are chatting about their own show jumping horses and how they would compare (no comparison) to these guys negotiating through the rough terrain that they have just experienced. Suddenly we hear my favorite sound; the howling of wolves.  It is a sound that will get anybody’s absolute attention. Whether it’s a person coming from a country that has long lost its wolves, or every moose, deer, caribou and elk in the valley, everyone stops to listen.

I look up and catch a glimpse of a black wolf trotting through the trees along the side of the hill to the south. Then, a minute later, a huge white wolf comes out of the forest into the meadow with the horses.

He is thick and mature looking with a big square head, at least twice the size of our big shepherd dog and pure white. He is the most beautiful animal I’ve ever seen.

With the guests in tow, I run over to the horses and escort the white wolf as he circles around and through all the horses. They move in closer together but then pretty much ignore him.

These boys have met wolves many times with us, and I’m sure that they know of many more that have been around that I was not aware of. Up here wolves do sometimes prey on horses.

There are feral horses in these mountains whose populations are likely kept in check by them. But it is usually only the very young, injured or very old that offer a realistic opportunity for a predator who knows that if it receives a jaw breaking kick during the hunt, then its own life is surely over. These wolves were probably just making the rounds of the valley as they have to each day of their lives and came in to test this herd for any weakness. However, all they found were nine very healthy, very strong, very confident big geldings who weren’t going to be eaten by wolves any time soon.

The horses all knew this and the wolves knew it also. All the while a third wolf howls from across the creek and up on a ridge to the south-west of us. The big white wolf then swims the stream and circles around us and camp, swims it again and walks around our tents eyeing us in a very relaxed manner. He then circles the camp and the horses one more time before trotting off to the East, probably hoping to run into an old worn out caribou bull.

 I was not afraid for our safety but did have to reassure my guests. For some unknown reason wolves don’t prey on humans. In North America there has only been one confirmed wolf attack in the past two hundred years and because of its rarity there must have been something exceptional about the circumstances.

It’s a real privilege that we have here to be in the company of wolves and bears, and our guests feel that as well. To share the land with these great predators who have been exterminated from nearly all of their historical ranges. They are not to be feared but instead respected. They are what makes the wilderness here wild.  

The next morning we packed up the three packhorses, saddled the saddle horses and rode up into the mountains and above the tree line. We would cross raging rivers, negotiate rocky passes, safely observe grizzly bears on the mountain side meadows, and ride among bands of caribou on the alpine tundra. We would camp and graze the horses in grassy hollows tucked out of the wind, drink from glacier streams, and look out at the whole wide world below us.

If you want to join us on a trip of a lifetime, please, contact Hidden Trails at  1-888-9-TRAILS

Or check out the website at:  http://hiddentrails.com/tour/canada_yukon_grizzly.aspx