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Sappy Trails
At Cowgirl Camp in New Mexico
Dale Evans wannabes learn ridin', ropin' and ranch chores.
By Jeff Berg
The last thing I said to her before she left for her adventure was an old cow person cliché, attributed to Will Rogers. "Don't squat with your spurs on."
I watched my wife Sarah drive away, with hardly any cow person regalia. The car was loaded with some kind of dated "fashion" boots that had a small heel, sans spurs, the two pairs of jeans that she owns — since she usually wears black skirts and dresses that have earned her the nickname "Morticia" — and her floppy straw gardening hat. I loaned her one of my repro cowboy-style shirts — long sleeve, neutral color, no collar.
No saucer-size belt buckle, no weather-beaten Stetson with turndown brim, no chaps, wool or otherwise. Why, not even a lindsey-woolsey shirt was in that bag.
The place she was going had stressed that communication with the outside world was going to be minimal at best. Plus she refused to take her camera. So I was playfully wondering if this adventure was going to end up with her camped out at the Holiday Inn Express in Silver City, basking in bath salts, chocolate, coffee and gossip rags, with a side dish of Oprah on the tube in the afternoon.
I could hear it now: "Oh, I had a great time!"
But as it turned out, she went, saw, and conquered.
Sarah was headed for the Gila Ranch, which is located about 40 minutes north of Silver City. She had signed up for Cowgirl Camp.
An acquaintance had told me about the place about a year ago. She'd said that she had the time of her life, learning the ropes (literally) and being a real cowgirl, if for only a week. Hmmm, I pondered, gosh, with the high salary of a freelance writer, I bet I can afford this for Sarah as a Christmas present.
So, I checked the Hidden Trails website and was soon fully convinced that this was not some kind of lame "dude" operation. The novice cow people who show up would be put to work in a real ranch environment.
Sarah had occasionally told me stories about her girlhood in Indianapolis — not exactly an Old West hotbed (although the city does have the renowned Eiteljorg Museum of American Indians and Western Art) — and had at times casually mentioned her fondness for most things Western. Indeed, her move to Montana — where we met in 1994 — put her in a tiny community on the Crow Indian Nation that was also a good place to observe working ranches and any number of horses. And she never complains when I slap a non-John Wayne western into the DVD/VHS player.
She had told me that her "initial defining moments" that created her adoration of the world outside a building came during Brownie and Girl Scout adventure camps. "That's where I discovered the joy of being outside," she said. "That, joined with television shows where I saw the horses going fast with the cowboys, caused me to believe that there might be much delight gained in the experience of riding horses and being outside."
She continued, "When I was a very small child, I would get up and go outside before the rest of my family was awake, and my frantic mother would later find me 'communing' with nature."
Her vivid imagination helped develop early riding skills while watching Dale Evans at work on TV. "I would get a straight-back chair and turn it around, and use my father's belt for reins. There was also lots of fun to be had on the mechanical nickel-a-ride horse in front of the A&P."
Life was not without conflict for the daydreaming cowgirl. "One of my earliest and biggest disappointments occurred when someone came around our neighborhood with a pony. He had hats and jackets and such, and you could dress up, sit on the pony, and have your picture taken. I thought it to be nirvana; my mother thought it outrageous — the price that is. I think I was eight then."
Not to be afoot forever, opportunity again arose during her freshperson year of high school. It became quite in vogue for parents, at least in Indianapolis, to send their fry to a dude ranch located near Dallas. "My parents found out from someone else's parents, learned that it was co-ed, but well-chaperoned, and that summer I was on the train to Texas. I guess it might have been my mother's way of making amends for the pony picture."
Returning for the next two summers, Sarah fantasized about being a girl on her own ranch even then.
Her first horse at the Texas dude ranch was a big red-and-brown gelding called Rhythm. Rhythm never gave her the blues, as she would ride off-trail and out of sight of the chaperone riders, as she overlooked her imaginary Ponderosa.
The ranch was not without humor, however. "When I first tried getting on the horse, I tried mounting from the right side." Which of course is the wrong side — and the horsemen certainly had a gentle chuckle at this tinhorn's "faux hoof."
A return to Texas for college brought her back in touch with her horsepersonality. "Instead of going to classes (at Trinity University in San Antonio), I would go to Breckenridge Park, where there were stables. I would go horseback riding instead."
Parental intervention and marriage followed these adventures, and for many years, no horse had the privilege of having Sarah on his back.
It wasn't until after the birth of a daughter and the release of the movie The Black Stallion that horses came to play again in her life.
"My daughter was always looking at picture books of horses and we went to all of the horse-related movies, and I did some hunter jumper riding for about three years."
Then the stable was closed again, except for a brief foray while working at a school for American Indian youth in Lame Deer, Mont.
So, after not being astride a stallion, gelding or even a pony for so many years, what were her thoughts on going to Cowgirl Camp? After all, she had seven months to try and talk herself out of it — that being the gap from Christmas to camp dates.
"Well, I had misgivings about not riding for so long. I thought my legs would be too weak, as compared to others who ride on a regular basis. It wouldn't be fun for them to be stuck for a week with someone like me who may have inferior skills."
There were four other cowgirls at this camp, all experienced riders — three from Minnesota, one all the way from Belgium. But Sarah's worrying was for naught. Including the worry about her age, which has allowed her to retire.
"The other women were probably in their 30s, so I felt pretty good about being able to keep up with them," she told me proudly.
"The first day at the ranch, we were welcomed, told the rules, and what was going to happen during the rest of the week."
She'd somehow failed to recall, however, that even in the lamest cowperson movie, the cowpeople are up at the crack of dawn, hunkering over the open fire, drinking coffee and rolling cigarettes.
"We got up at 6, and were soon at the stables taking care of the animals — feeding, watering and shoveling horse poop."
No coffee until the stable was de-pooped!
"Then we had breakfast, and after that we were back at the stables grooming the horses from head to tail. I recalled some of the procedures, such as covering the area where the saddle rests more than the other parts of the horse."
The first workday, the cowgirls worked on their basic riding skills in an arena. Gonzo was the gelding that Sarah was assigned for the week.
"We spent a good part of the morning getting used to the horses and listening to RJ (one of the real ranch hands), who wanted to make sure we all understood how the horse 'worked.'"
After lunch they went on a trail ride for most of the afternoon. The evenings were free time for the women to do as they wished on some of the ranch's 30,000 acres.
Mostly they relaxed and reviewed the day, and by early evening, everyone was turning in or attended to aching muscles or derrieres.
Tuesday was more of a workday for the guests. "The staff had gotten some cows huddled at one end of the arena, and three riders were then supposed to pick out three of the cows and move them to the other side of the arena."
From there, the steers (not calves, mind you) were to be herded into an area and behind a gate. After this was done, a rider was to raise her hand to signify that they were finished.
"It was lots of fun. I really had to concentrate, and that was hard sometimes because my body was really sore. And it was very competitive in a fun way. Some of the other women really could cuss and they did so when one of the cows would get away. You'd be an inch from success, and one cow would head in a different direction, and the others would follow."
Dang!
After another evening of rest and good food ("Lucy the cook was great — I loved her homemade salsa") and perhaps a massage, which came at extra cost from a local massage therapist, the women found themselves back in the stable the next day, shovels and curry combs in hand.
"Wednesday was when they taught us how to lasso. In the morning, we had instruction on how to make a lariat, how to hold it, how to make circles with it. There were 'pretend' cows, which were made out of two-by-fours. We would swing the lariat over our heads and release, all the while controlling the horse with our left hand on the reins."
This is when the ranch staff really began to show their patience and their confidence in what the women could do, as opposed to what they thought they couldn't do.
"RJ told me that I came out to this situation by myself, and he had an enormous amount of respect for anyone who would come all that way to try it. He told me that I was thinking too much, and to let my body do the work. Forget all of those old negative thoughts."
This worked wonders, as the afternoon proceeded to a game of "H-O-R-S-E," just like the game that uses a basketball, but with roping instead. "There was lots of merriment when we played. When we got to 'H-O' or 'H-O-R,' everyone really laughed. There were lots of tangled ropes, but it was all good fun."
And probably the highlight of the week was when she was able to lasso an actual living moving steer from the back of Gonzo the cowpony. Sarah's eyes were alight with pleasure when she related this tale. Around the horns and on the move, and that steer was no longer in the "get along" category.
There was also barrel racing, a traditional cowgirl rodeo competition that only some of the women took part in. "For some of us, it was more like barrel 'trotting.'"
The next day included the roundup. And this was not just something that the staff invented. This was a genuine, although miniature, version of the real thing, complete with gathering, branding and (yikes!) castrating. I'm hoping she didn't take notes on the latter.
"We couldn't get the cows up to 'the box,' which is where Mark (a real cowboy) and I rode to start the fire for branding and to set things up."
Instead, they rode back down to where they action was. Thrown shoes by two horses required a change in plan and direction. But when the roundup started, everyone was busy.
"They would rope a calf, flip it down, and we took turns holding the calf down." Then the cowboys would brand it, castrate it (!) with a pocketknife, and throw the, ahem, evidence on the ground or in the fire.
Rocky Mountain Oysters going to waste?
Well, mostly, although one of the cowwomen, Kiki, decided to try one after she was told that the "oysters" are seen by some as a delicacy — perhaps an indelicacy if one considers the victim! Kiki pulled one out of the fire to taste, but there was no report on how well she liked this Western hors d'oeuvre.
Other duties included inoculations and ear tags, with the male calves getting a notched ear in the bargain, presumably for identification purposes.
For the most part, the cowgirls stepped aside on many of these tasks, with one refusing to take part at all, announcing that the practices were "barbaric." Many required a bit more of an experienced hand, so spectating became a popular activity. Everything was done quickly and efficiently, with about 10 cows being handled in an hour by the cowboys.
The last day was spent on a trail ride by all of the now-seasoned cowgirls. There were two groups, one group taking a slightly longer trail, the second going to look at some land that a previous visitor was preparing to buy from the owners of the ranch.
It was also here where one of the cowboys noted that the subject of this piece had her stirrups set too low. Raising them a couple of inches relieved the cramped legs that had been a problem all week.
Sarah added, "Soaking in the tub with bath salts every night and two massages helped a lot, too."
I've never seen or read about a masseuse traveling with a cattle drive, but of course many things have changed since the days of the Chisum Trail. . . .
It was time to go on Saturday morning. With goodbyes said, addresses exchanged, and hugs received, everyone hit the happy trail for home.
Sarah arrived in Las Cruces around 11 a.m. and joined some friends and me at Tiffany's Greek Cafe, one of Las Cruces' best-kept secrets. Dressed in her ranch T-shirt, somewhat tanned, refreshed and filled with memories and good stories, she told other stories to us for the rest of the lunch. I don't think I had ever seen her wear a T-shirt before, and this one was worn like a badge of honor and pride.
"I cannot remember a time when I was so filled with such pain and feeling so much joy," she cooed in a voice filed with strength and dignity.
"I feel such a delight in doing something that I thought I was not capable of doing."
I just checked the Hidden Trails site for Cowgirl Camp II. Christmas is just around the corner, after all -- Gila Cowgirl Camp
Or call them direct at 1-888-9-TRAILS
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Our 10-day holiday as guests at Hacienda Zuleta passed all too quickly.
We were greeted with open arms by Fernando on our arrival at the airport and by Antonio on our arrival at the Hacienda. It truly felt as though we had come home!
Thomas was introduced to us as the person who would be looking after us for the duration of our stay. He certainly did just that! Both Thomas and Antonio proved to be amazing, informative guides who were an inspiration to us all.
All of the horses were amazingly fit and were a joy to ride.
We visited some incredible places – they were both magical and mystical. The scenery was more beautiful than words can describe - we felt not only as though we were on top of the world (literally!) but also as though the Gods had given their permission for us to be there.
The hospitality that was extended to us by Fernando and by everyone else was exceptional. Ever willing to please, nothing was too much trouble.
José Maria’s food was always delicious. (? and ?) cheerfully looked after us when they brought food out for us to eat when we rode for complete days and Lilliana’s (?) care of us all – and particularly her care for Sarah on the day that she hurt her back – was unique.
John and I were very grateful to Christina for giving up some of her time to talk to Rowena about possible work experience. Hopefully we will have more time to get to know her when we return!
Finally, it was great to see Alvaro and Marguerita again and to chat about the possibility of finding a Spanish mare for me to buy. I will most likely take Alvaro up on his kind offer of being put in contact with the right people in Spain, it unfortunately being totally impractical to bring a Zuleta horse to the UK!!
We are all indebted to everyone and were so very sad to leave. John and I truly hope however to return next year to once again enjoy what can only be described as “the Zuleta Experience”!!
MUCHAS GRATIAS, ZULETA
MUCHAS GRATIAS, ECUADOR
With much love to everyone from
Joyce, John, Rowena and Sarah
For more information on trips at Zuleta,
check out the Hidden Trails website at:
http://hiddentrails.com/america-south/ecuador/zuleta.htm
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Story by Kate Van Pelt DeLoach
It wasn’t until after I planned our honeymoon, and my fiancé, Paul, paid for it that I informed him he wouldn’t be riding the gaited Tennessee Walking horses he was used to on our seven-day horseback riding trip on the Mendocino Coast. No fourth, smooth, running-walk gait for which the Tennessee Walkers were bred and known. Nope, just walk, trot and canter. Though not Tennessee Walkers, the horses sounded lovely and exotic: Akhal Tekes, Russian Orlovs, Arabians, Appys … but nowhere did I read “gaited,” the cue word for that fourth gait.
“You might want to learn how to post,” I said to the man who had entrusted me with planning our post-nuptial vacation. (Posting is when you extend your legs to rise and fall in the saddle with the horse’s stride.) Paul wasn’t amused. And he certainly had no intention of learning to post, I could tell from the real-men-don’t-post glare he gave me. For the next several weeks I could overhear him muttering to his roughest-riding Walker, “I’ll be dying to be on you out in California.” And, “I’ll be missing even you soon, Ol’ Boy.”
I don’t claim to be an expert rider—far from it—and Paul has a lot more experience on a horse than I do. But I had recently taken just enough English riding lessons to know 1.) the value of chaps and half-chaps (to prevent leg chafing) and 2.) the value of posting and riding two-point (to put your tush in the air when any other place is painful). I did manage to convince Paul to take his leather chaps. Perhaps he would survive the adventure after all.
Day 1
The flight into San Francisco was uneventful—just what I want a flight to be—and we stayed the night at a hotel. We got up early to drive north on Route 1, up the California Coast to Fort Bragg. I have been in California Wine Country before, and the ocean waves breaking on the rocky coast is as beautiful as I remember it. We arrive in Cleone, a small coastal town and check in at the Cleone Gardens Inn just in time for a meeting arranged by the host of the trip, Lari Shea, an award-winning endurance rider. Lari is petite and pretty, with a well toned and tan body that speaks to the experience she has as an endurance rider.
The group, at this point, is small: Celeste, a real estate banker from L.A., and her 10-year-old daughter, Brittany; Judy, a high school Spanish and French teacher also from the L.A. area; and Betsy, a computer programmer/project manager from Palo Alto; and, of course, Paul and Kate from South Georgia. Another five riders are expected to join us later in the day—the Gonski family from Alaska. For the 11 of us, there are four guides: Lari, Cynthia, Carolyn and Kyra.
Having advance information on the group members’ experience level, height and weight, Lari has pre-assigned our equine companions. I have been matched with Citron, a pretty palomino Akhal Teke/Arabian mare, and Paul has been assigned to Dakota, a large, muscular, Quarter horse gelding.
It is common among the “horse people” we know—including Paul—to prefer geldings (castrated males) over mares, but I have always considered this a little unfair. Geldings are supposed to be calmer, more predictable, than their moody female counterparts. And while I rode a perfectly behaved mare at Kitty Turner’s South Winds Farm in Americus, Ga., where I took lessons, Goldie is a school horse after all; it’s her job to be well behaved. So I am happy to be on Citron, to judge for myself.
The California beaches’ sand is coarse and granular—far more akin to the Atlantic Ocean beaches I grew up on than to the Panhandle’s fine, packed, powdery sand that I have grown accustomed to. As the horses walk along the beach, their hooves sink into the sand up to their fetlocks, and it is easy to see how they have built such well-defined haunches and shoulders. Citron is model-gorgeous, with a little bit of celebrity attitude, too—a nip here, a pinned-back-ears glare there, even an ill-placed kick towards Dakota—but as long as her transgressions stay aimed at our four-legged companions, I can deal. And then we turn around for home—a place all horses are eager to go.
I had the good fortune (in retrospect) of being on a runaway horse a couple of years ago. Without digressing into that nightmare, suffice it to say that I learned, after the fact, how to handle a runaway horse—turn him, or in this case her, into a circle. Citron’s plan was thwarted. But I think I’m beginning to agree with the folks back home.
The first two nights, we will stay at the Cleone Gardens Inn, a comfortable place with private jasmine-engulfed room entrances and a fabulous multi-tiered deck on the back. The owners serve us hearty breakfasts both mornings on the deck. And the Northern California weather is as perfect as I remember it.
Dinner both nights is arranged at restaurants in Fort Bragg. This first night the group is mostly finished when the Gonski family arrives. We order more wine and hang around to get to know the five who round out the group. There’s Dustin Hoffman-look-alike Jim, his wife, Pat, and their children, Brandon, 17, Meghan, 14, and Katie, 12. The Gonski’s are outdoor, adventure-loving folks—they own a whitewater kayaking company in Alaska to prove it—but have had very little horseback riding experience. They are on this trip for Meghan, compliments of Make a Wish Foundation. Meghan, who is battling cystic fibrosis, has loved horses all her life. And although her extensive knowledge of the equine world is primarily through books, Meghan’s wish is “to canter a horse on the beach.”
Cystic fibrosis (CF) is a genetic disease, Pat explains to me, that results in the faulty transport of salt in organs such as the lungs and the pancreas, which leads to a thick mucus that hinders the function of these organs. Currently Meghan is on a waiting list for a lung donor, but her parents are actively pursuing finding two living donors (they have one). As we all have five lobes in our lungs, and can function normally with four, the procedure is to remove one lobe from two donors and replace Meghan’s lungs with them. Potential donors for Meghan must have O-type blood and be non-smokers, says Pat.
Meghan is small for her age and frail-looking, which is typical of those persons with CF, but quite pretty. She has large blue eyes rimmed with dark brown lashes the color of her long thick hair. She began losing her hearing in the second grade and is now deaf—a common ramification of the medication that CF children must undergo. Her family signs to her as we talk around the dinner table, keeping her informed of the discussion.
While I felt a little odd when planning my honeymoon—that it would be with a group of strangers—I now feel quite blessed to be able to spend it as witness to this special child’s experience of a lifetime. It seems odd, too, that such misfortune can spawn joy. I sink into bed this first night feeling very special myself, just for being here.
Day 2
Today we ride in Mackerricher National Park. After breakfast, we each pack our own picnic lunch from a spread of cold-cuts and trail mix provided at the Ranch, and we pile in cars and trailer the horses the 20-plus miles to the Park. I don’t know if it’s a comment on my handling of Citron yesterday, but today I have a new mount: Indiana Jones, called Indy, a gray Arabian gelding. I must admit, I am happy about the switch.
I am learning what an endurance horse is all about. Our horses scramble up impossibly steep and rocky trails (too steep to hike on foot) and, even more astonishingly, they maneuver back down them. They trot and canter as much, if not more, than they walk. The horses never miss-step or falter or spook.
Indy is Harrison Ford, and more. He wants to go and to go fast. For long stretches of fast, uphill canters, he leads the pack, just behind Lari on Avantii, a chestnut Arabian gelding. At the end of exhilarating miles-long canters, Indy is barely breathing hard. What an incredible horse. Right now it seems like a perfectly fine trade off: our Walking horses’ gait for these Arabians’ speed and stamina.
Lari explains that Arabians make such good endurance horses because they often have an amazing cardiovascular system, capable of delivering a larger volume of blood with each stroke of the heart than some other breeds, so they work with a lower heart rate and recover to normal parameters faster. With a proliferation of little peripheral blood vessels under relatively thin skin, they are able to radiate heat out of their bodies to help cool down. And their relatively small size makes for a greater proportion of surface area in relation to body mass, so they can sweat and cool down faster than, say, a quarter horse. Which is why, as I am leading the pack on Indy, Paul is bringing up the rear on Dakota. Dakota is tremendously muscular, but doesn’t have the respiratory and cardiovascular capacity to keep up with the Arabians. And it is just as well Paul’s back there where I can’t hear him cussing me and Lari and trotting and posting—all in a very high-pitched voice.
Day 3
On this third day, we ride in the morning on the bluffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The views are spectacular, and we take a lot of scenic photographs. The afternoon is free to explore downtown Mendocino. During lunch, Lari tells us some of the history of Mendocino as a logging and fishing community and shares photos of the early methods for maneuvering the huge redwoods from the forest onto the ships for transport.
After checking in at the old Mendocino Hotel, Paul and I tour the small town’s retail shops and galleries. The group is served an excellent dinner in a private room at the hotel restaurant and is entertained by a dulcimer player and balladeer.
Day 4
This is the day Meghan has been waiting for. We will all canter Ten Mile Beach in the morning on our way to Westport, Calif., where we will spend the next three nights at the DeHaven Valley Farm Bed and Breakfast and ride the surrounding hillsides during the days.
Lari often splits the group into three or even four smaller groups based on the capacity of the horses and the will of the riders (thus, the need for extra trail guides). Paul and I usually are not in the same group, but today we are. Cantering in the ocean’s surf is a beautiful experience, and once again I am amazed at how strong these horses are that they can maintain a fast canter—a gallop if they’re allowed—all the while their legs are plunging into the sand a foot or more with each stride in some places.
At the end of Ten Mile Beach, we get onto the highway (Route 1) long enough to cross a bridge (which in itself is a sight to see—more than a dozen horses trotting across a two-mile bridge shared with vehicular traffic), and we eat lunch on the other side on “Simcha,” property owned by Lari and her husband, Harvey, who has joined our ride this day. On Simcha, Lari hosts 50-mile endurance rides and ride-and-tie races (where partners take turns riding a single horse, the non-rider running on foot). Sitting on a clearing intended for their future home, drinking wine from Harvey’s saddlebags, the group watches a thick fog roll in from the ocean and engulf the hills. Simcha, meaning “joyous occasion,” is aptly named. Today is a joyous occasion—Meghan cantered on the beach!
Day 5
I am getting used to this lifestyle: big breakfast, leisurely pace, perfect weather. We have two guest riders with us for the morning, Deborah and Frank, and we get onto the trail in mostly our standard order—Deborah’s horse, Rascal, is behind Avantii, then Indy, all the others, and then Dakota at the rear. We are meandering toward the hills when the call comes out from the front, “Hornet hole! Turn back!”
By the time we realize the hornets are swarming us, several of us have gone past it; the ones who have not yet reached it turn back. The horses who have been stung are bucking and rearing; Deborah jumps off and Rascal runs up the trail riderless. Betsy is attempting to dismount when her horse sends her airborne with a buck. Her helmet cracks, but her head is saved. Most of the horses have been stung and some of the riders. We move on up the trail and meet up with the others who had turned back and taken another route. I am happy to learn that Paul and Dakota are OK. And I have not been stung either, although I can tell Indy took a fair number of hits by the way he is twitching his skin. But true to his moniker, he takes it like a hero!
Throughout the day, Lari teaches us about the endurance horse, how to read the horse’s pulse, heart rate and general condition, as if we’re at a “vet check” on a 50- or 100-mile endurance race. We ride on Simcha and the ranches surrounding it. We ride through the headwaters of the Noyo River in Jackson State Forest and through the deeper Ten Mile River in the privately owned forests behind Simcha, lunch on the river bank, and then split up into groups based on the horses’ fitness ability. Indy and I go with Lari’s group, along with Deborah on Rascal, Betsy on NightCap, Judy on Nature’s L’Chaim and Frank on Mustard. We ride an exhilarating gallop up one long trail (at more than 30 miles an hour) and pick our way back down the mountain along a ledge trail. It is on this narrow trail that we encounter the hornets again.
Indy is behind Avantii and Rascal behind us, and we manage to pass the hornets before they stir. However, they are in full force on Betsy, again, and this time Frank. Everyone is quick to dismount, as there isn’t enough room on the narrow trail to negotiate a bucking horse. We quickly walk/slide on foot down the mountain with nervous, twitching, bee-stung horses in tow. Frank releases a hornet from his helmet when we reach the bottom. And I slip a carrot to Indy, the perfect gentleman through both incidents.
Tonight is the night Lari has been telling us to prepare for—the night we are to entertain her with a talent show. Celeste, Betsy and I put on a skit acting out some of the fantastic stories Lari has shared with us on the trail of her life and travels; Judy and Jim sing a rendition of L’Chaim, for which her horse had been named; Brittany and Katie perform the one-body-with-someone-else’s-arms routine to hilarious perfection; Pat reads us a poem she authored; Paul and Brandon assist Jim in a sing-a-long; Paul tells a joke; and then Meghan silences the group with a display of her sketches. Most of her pencil sketches are of horses, as if she has been around them all her life.
Day 6
The last day of riding is a reverse of two days ago. We split into smaller groups for the beach ride. This time Meghan is in the first (fast) group with Indy and Avantii—cantering skillfully and joyously through the surf. The trip has been wearing on her fragile body, but you wouldn’t know it. She rides Faraj, a gray Arabian gelding, as if she’s been riding all her life—her petite frame and delicate beauty framed by the ocean’s overpowering wave-surges and surf.
Back at the stables we leave our horses, pick up our cars and head back to the DeHaven Valley Farm for our last evening and breakfast together before departing tomorrow. Mike and Bill exhibit their culinary prowess again with an astounding dinner culminating in some nameless chocolate creation that leaves us all wanting more. A trio plays guitars and sings for us on the B&B’s side deck.
Day 7
After the bountiful breakfast at DeHaven Valley Farm, we say our goodbyes to the strangers-turned-friends we shared our honeymoon with, and make our way back through Wine Country to the San Francisco airport and to our normal lives. And I think of Meghan, who will never have that normal life, and who made our honeymoon more special than she could ever know—she who may never know her own.
Thank you, Meghan.
For more information on horseback riding vacations on the coast and in the redwoods of California,
check out the Hidden Trails website at:
http://hiddentrails.com/usa/ir/ca-redwood-coast.htm
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Terry Grimwood braves pumas and saddle sores on the wild plains of Patagonia
A hard westerly wind blows in from the distant sea, flattening the coarse pampas grass and whipping the tough matta negra scrub into a frenzied dance. The little horse with the puma scars on her flank shies nervously as a hare breaks cover and darts from beneath her hooves. Condors circle overhead, dark angels of the Andes waiting patiently for us to pass before returning to their communion with a sheep’s carcass that lies drying in the sun. With 20 kilometres behind us and twenty yet to run, this is no time to be dawdling out on the flat pampas. The fairy-tale spires and snow-shrouded columns of the Torres del Paine massif have been drawing steadily closer during the day, and now we are close enough to see its jagged profile reflected in the ice blue of a sub-glacial lake. Settling into the fatly padded Chilean saddles we turn to face the beckoning mountains and urge our uncomplaining horses into a gallop, dust flying from their hooves as we flee across the Patagonian steppe towards the promise of hot showers, chilled pisco sours, and a feast of local lamb barbecued over a pit of lenga wood.
The day before couldn’t have been more different from this mad stampede across the wind-blasted pampas. An amble in light rainfall along the banks of the Eberhard Fjord, with black headed swans on the water and eagles watching beadily from the rocks above. Then a branch-ducking meander through an ancient forest of Southern beech, the local Criollo horses sure-footed as they scrambled and slid down rocky tracks and shouldered aside the savage spikes of berberis lining the path. Flocks of green parakeets chattered noisily in the trees as the rainbow-arched sky cleared, and we lunched al fresco in the dripping, overgrown gardens of a once grand estancia, burned to the ground by its owner rather than letting it fall into government hands during the turbulent, agrarian reforms of the Allende Government in the ‘70s.
Patagonia, remotely located at the Southern tip of the Americas, is literally the bottom of the Earth, the last piece of civilisation before land gives way to the towering waves and lashing winds of the Southern Ocean. Patagonia is not a country but a territory, its 260,000 square miles spanning the lower extremes of both Chile and Argentina. From the storm-scoured rocks of Cape Horn to the verdant forests of the Chilean Lake District, it contains a breathtaking variety of terrain: vast acres of windswept pampas riddled with innumerable lakes and fjords; snow-tipped mountains rising from icy blue glaciers; and the steaming, rolling rain forest – and all with a population density of barely 1.3 people per square kilometre.
The trip is operated out of Puerto Natales, a frontier town of gaudily painted, low-rise buildings clustered on the banks of the Ultima Esperanza fjord in the southern region of Patagonia. While a number of tour companies in the area offer riding as an add-on option along with activities such as kayaking and hiking, they specialise in riding holidays; more importantly, they have their own horses rather than relying on renting them ad hoc from local estancias. Furthermore, their trips are always accompanied by an experienced, English-speaking riding guide, usually either Gustavo, who was show jumping and dressage champion of Chile for two consecutive years, or Heidi herself, who has been riding her own ponies and horses since the age of 6. On each ride they are assisted by a local wrangler, or baqueano, who takes care of the horses during the trip – and whose horsemanship is likely to leave even the most experienced European rider slack-jawed in admiration
While Heidi and Gustavo pride themselves in being able to tailor their holidays to individual needs and skill levels, the unquestioned jewel in their crown is the Estancia Ride, a 10 day trek from ranch to ranch across a wide span of pampas, lakesides and mountain trails. As Heidi says: "Our aim is for people to come to Patagonia and experience the reality of estancia life. We take our clients away from the tourist areas and show them the history and culture of the region, combining this with excellent accommodation, good food and exhilarating riding." With up to eight hours a day in the saddle, this ride is best suited to the experienced rider – not just in terms of riding skills, but also in terms of time in the saddle. Anyone booking this trip with Hidden Trails is well advised to ramp up their riding activity in the weeks leading up to the holiday; the slow-fading memory of my own saddle sores is a reminder that I didn’t take this advice seriously enough!
With over 20 horses at their disposal they cater for all levels of riding skills. My time in the saddle was divided between Heidi’s own horse, the mischievous William, who always seemed to want to be one pace up from the one I wanted him in, and pretty little Leona, still rather nervous and edgy after being attacked by a Puma last year but a delightful and responsive ride nonetheless. We rode in both Chilean and Argentinean saddles, very similar to each other in style and each copiously padded with felt and sheepskin, making them very comfortable on even the longest rides.
For wildlife lovers (and what horse rider isn’t?) the area is a constant delight. Apart from the condors, eagles and parakeets, we saw guanacos (small camelids, like dinky llamas), nandos (bizarre ostrich-like rheas that run at 40mph with their necks stretched out ahead), skunks, spiky-looking foxes, opossum, and so many varieties of wonderful birds that I regretted not having invested in a bird book before the trip. And of course there is the ever-present hope of spotting – from a discreet distance – one of the prolific but seldom seen pumas that prowl the area.
There is no doubt that Patagonia is a long way to go, twenty hours each way is testament to that, but therein lies a major part of its appeal: travelling there is an adventure; just knowing you are at the bottom of the earth is a thrill in itself. And if riding feisty horses across wide open spaces with stunning scenery on every side is what turns you on, then Patagonia has to be at the top of your ‘must go’ list.
To see more info on the 7-day Estancia Getaway Ride, check out the Hidden Trails website:
http://hiddentrails.com/america-south/chile/torres-del-paine-getaway-estancia.htm
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Papoose Creek Lodge offers luxe ecolodge experience in Montana’s Big Sky Country
Cameron, Montana – When it comes to the ultimate green getaway, what if there’s no place like home? With a real-West twist on sustainable luxury, southwestern Montana’s award-winning Papoose Creek Lodge provides top-of-the-line ecolodge credentials—without leaving the U.S.
Catering to a mere 16 guests at maximum capacity, Papoose Creek offers its unusual brand of pampered seclusion with a combination of lodge rooms and private cabins nestled in the cinematically breathtaking, real-life “A River Runs Through It” Madison River Valley.
Executive Chef Michael Showers serves up the freshest of fine dining incorporating local and organic ingredients—with the gourmet picnic option always at the ready to accompany the lodge’s variety of guided backcountry adventures, including fly fishing, hiking, canoeing, and horseback riding experiences carefully tailored to guests’ abilities by Papoose Creek’s elite staff.
Opportunities for personalized learning about the region and its abundant wildlife—which includes the greater Yellowstone ecosystem and the adjacent 25,000-acre Sun Ranch, a leader in eco-ranching—enhance every outdoor adventure.
Papoose Creek Lodge takes seriously its mission to preserve this slice of paradise, working to conserve both the natural environment and the local ranching culture and community while providing an exclusive private escape for its guests.
Its commitment to its status as top U.S. ecolodge has won it honors ranging from
Conde Nast Traveler’s Green List and
USA Today’s “10 great places to tread lightly on earth” to
Fine Living Network’s Top 10 Eco-Hotels and
Natural Home’s “Top Ten Eco-Destinations in North America.”
For additional information, packages, and special rates, contact Hidden Trails in Vancouver
- Check out their website at:
http://www.hiddentrails.com/usa/gr/mt-papoose-creek.htm
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