Trail Ride Adventure

                                               by Laura Crum

            The other day my son and I found a new bit of trail across the road from our place—a trail that linked our favorite starting spot to a trail that we hadn’t used in a year or so—we call it the ridge trail. We used to have to access the ridge trail by basically sneaking through someone’s backyard, which didn’t ever feel very good, so we quit going that way. But now we had found some trail that led us to the ridge trail through the forest, skirting around the dubious backyard route—a new trail that was obviously created by riders from the local boarding stable. Yay!

            We decided to make a big loop—riding up the ridge trail to the Lookout and coming back by our usual trail. Our friend Wally went with us. We headed up the ridge trail in good spirits, eager to see its particular views again. We had sort of forgotten exactly what this trail was like.

            There are no photos—I never have photos of tough bits of trail because I’m just too busy riding. Maybe you endurance riders would scoff at me calling this tough—though in the endurance blogs I read, I have never seen any photos of trail that is more technical than this—except, of course, for things like Cougar Rock. Let me describe and see what you think.

            The ridge trail is quite steep and runs unrelentingly upward for maybe a quarter of a mile. It is narrow singletrack and follows the spine of a ridge, so there are impressive dropoffs (50-100 feet) on both sides. In some places the trail runs right on the edge—the sort of place where a misstep or a spook could be, uhmm, bad. The brush is dense, and between the dropoffs and the thick brush, there is no possible deviation from the trail. All of this, by itself, is a bit unnerving, but quite doable. The footing is good—sandy ground. The real problem is the step-ups.

            Because there are numerous (like maybe fifteen or twenty) places on this climb where tree roots and erosion have created big “step-ups.” When I was thinking about writing this blog post I asked my husband if I would be exaggerating to say that most of the step-ups were two and a half feet or so. He said they were more like three feet. Now this is really worth mentioning because my husband usually thinks that I exaggerate. So picture two and a half to three foot vertical step-ups all along this very steep trail. It’s daunting. It’s actually very hard to hike on foot (I’ve done this many times).

            Our horses are not trail horse athletes by any means, but they are steady and reliable and they have climbed the ridge trail maybe a hundred times—but not in the last year. The trick is to take the sections with the step-ups at a brisk trot so that the horses can use their momentum to leap up the big “steps.” It is, well, a bit exhilarating.

            Anyway, we headed up the ridge trail, and I will admit that I sort of sucked in my breath when faced with the first very steep section of step-ups. I’d just forgotten how hairy they were. My son said, “This looks pretty scary.” But we kicked our horses and up they scrambled like the good little trail horses they are.

            On and on, up and up, leaping up the step-ups. We stopped halfway to let them breathe and I stared at the next steep section with even bigger step-ups, thinking that this might have been a bad choice of trail. But I didn’t exactly want to go back down. Going down the ridge trail is pure torture. It hurts my back and the horses really don’t like doing it.

            Wally echoed my thoughts. “Have we ever ridden down this steep son of a bitch?” he asked me.

            “Yep. Lots of times. But we quit doing it because we hated it.”

            Wally shook his head. “I don’t ever want to ride down this trail again. Up is tolerable—barely.”

            So on we went. By the time we reached the top of the climb the horses needed another long breather. But we made it, unscathed. I’m not sure whether any of us are game to ride the ridge trail again any time soon, though. I dunno—does this sound like fun to you other trail riders? I have to say that any trail that daunts Wally is a pretty tough trail.

            The rest of the ridge trail beyond the big climb is gentle and uneventful, following the ridge along, until it meets up with the trail that we usually take (and then leads up to the spot at the very highest point of the ridge—what we call “the Lookout.”) Nice views from here.

            We take another trail on the way back, also gentle and pleasant, following a very old road bed, and then, to get home, must take a narrow little singletrack for half a mile, once again on the spine of a ridge, through some dense woods. This trail has no step-ups and is not steep overall (just in a couple of short bits). But the trees are quite tricky.

            The trail weaves in and out between various very solid tree trunks and branches that lean into and over the trail. Narrow and snaky, the singletrack must be adhered to—the slopes on each side are steep and dense with brush. Over and over again I have whacked my knee or shoulder on the oak trees that turn this trail into a pole bending course—with poles that won’t yield. I have learned the technique that works best—send the horse straight forward past the obstacle and then let him turn once your body is past—trying to bend the horse or sidepass away from the tree often backfires.

            Anyway, we make our careful way along this trail until we reached the “headbonker tree.” The headbonker tree (and all of these trails that I am describing) is featured in my 11^th and 12^th novels, “Going Gone” and “Barnstorming.” This is a very solid branch that hangs over the trail. One must go under; there is no workable way around.

            We have ridden under the headbonker tree literally hundreds of times, but every year it gets harder to do. It is amazing how much an oak grows in girth in just a few years. So after six straight years of riding this trail, this tree is far more challenging to duck under than it was when we started.

            Wally and I may have grown in girth, too, and my son has gotten taller. The horses haven’t shrunk. And so today, for the first time ever, we stopped and dismounted and led our horses under the headbonker tree. There was a mere four inches or so between the top of my saddle horn and this tree branch. And I do have a photo of the headbonker tree—I took it just before I dismounted.

            Ok, we got off, we went under, we got back on, and we descended the rest of the trail, which has one steep little 50 foot chute in loose dirt that the horses sort of slither and slide down, but is otherwise pretty easy. At the bottom of the trail we ride through a little meadow to wait by the side of the busy road that we must cross to get home.

            This is actually the most dangerous part of the ride. The road is very busy—cars zip along at 50 miles an hour or so, with few gaps in the traffic. We have to stand right on the shoulder in order to see. There are city busses and logging trucks, bicycles and motorcycles…you name it, whizzing by not three feet from the horses’ noses. A spook in the wrong direction would be literally fatal. A helmet is not going to be of any help in this situation.

            So we wait and wait by the side of the road, looking for a big gap in the traffic. The horses are flawless--patient, quiet as statues, waiting—even though they are perfectly aware that once across the road they are home again. It is as if they know the need for caution here as well as we do. I’m not sure this is the case, but I am sure that none of them have ever flinched or pranced, or balked in all the hundreds of times we have crossed this road. Either on the way out or the way back. But I still find it nerve-wracking.

            Eventually we cross the road and head back up the hill to my front gate. I pat Sunny on the shoulder and tell him what a good horse he is. My son says,” Well we had a good trail ride adventure today.” And I think he is right.

            So here’s my question to you more intrepid trail riders and endurance folk. Does this sound like a fun little ride to you? Or would you find the obstacles I’m describing to be a negative? I’m curious if maybe I’m just a total wimp.

            

My Life With Horses--Part Eleven

                                                by Laura Crum

            With Sunny and Henry my son and I began exploring the trails along the ridge near our home in earnest. My son was seven and a half. I was fifty years old and, to my surprise, a new horseback passion had entered my life. Because I became quite obsessed with riding the trails of my home.

            And here, if there is anyone out there who has been reading my posts on Equestrian Ink from the beginning, is where you came in. Because I began blogging here just a couple of months after I bought Sunny. In fact, one of my early posts was titled “The New Horse” (May 2008).

Sunny was always a very reliable trail horse and he gradually came to accept me as his boss and dropped most of his “testing” behaviors. I’ve blogged about him here often enough, so probably most of you have a pretty good idea of this little yellow horse’s personality. Suffice it to say that Sunny and I formed a good partnership and from the beginning I was deeply grateful for how steady both he and Henry were on the trails. These two horses opened up a whole new world for my son and me.

We began riding in the hills several days a week, sometimes with our friend Wally, sometimes just the two of us. We rode the trail to the Lookout often. 

We also discovered new trails, a whole network of trails that criss-crossed the wild ridge that we could see from our front porch.  

We hauled the horses down to the shore and rode them on the beach. 

Sunny and Henry were and are amazing trail horses. In the redwood forest.

    Crossing creeks. 

           In the mountains. 

I could never describe, or even show you in photos, half of the delightful and beautiful things my son and I were privileged to see from the backs of these two wonderful horses. I have to say that though it may not sound as exciting as training and showing cutting horses or competing at team roping, these last five years exploring the trails of our home and the beaches and mountains have been my absolute favorite part of my life with horses. It has been a time of pure enjoyment, of taking delight in both the horses and my son and the wonder of what we were all seeing together. There has been nothing to prove to anyone, and no need to improve or train or push. The horses have been our partners every step of the way; they were competent, solid horses when we got them and they brought their own confidence and experience to share with us. My forty years with horses stood us in good stead, and I am proud to say that my son has grown up riding, has challenged himself as he saw fit (and yes, kicking Henry up to a gallop after a steer and riding some of the steep, tricky trails we have ridden has been a true challenge), and has become an adept, kind and secure rider, one who really understands horses. I don’t know what the future will bring, but we have done and seen some lovely things. My photos can show our life with these two horses better than words. 

I can truly say that for five straight years we rode Henry and Sunny everywhere and had a blast. We may be getting close to a thousand rides all told (I kept track the first year and we went on 165 rides that year alone). We were never hurt or scared, never even very anxious—none of us. And it is all due to these fine horses. We have had so much fun. Gathering and working cattle with friends. 

Just loping along in the sunshine.

This year my son turns thirteen and Henry is twenty-five. We are still riding a couple of days a week, but we aren’t pushing Henry too hard, and, to be fair, my kid is developing other interests and isn’t as passionate about riding. And that’s OK. The magic will always be with us and in us. And Henry and Sunny will be with us until they die. The gift they have given us is beyond price, and I will always be grateful.

I wrote my 11^th and 12^th novels in the Gail McCarthy series about trail riding along the ridge by our home (of course the books feature some very dramatic happenings out on these trails—which I am VERY glad we never experienced in real life). Sunny and Henry both have prominent roles in these stories and are described very much as they actually are. So, for a glimpse of this part of my life, and a couple of exciting mysteries as well, try Going, Gone and Barnstorming. 

Bad News and Good News

                                                by Laura Crum

            After Terri’s sad post yesterday, and the very sad news last week, my own bad news seems pretty minor. But I’m hoping that telling this story may help someone else. So here goes.

 I posted a while ago about the little horse near the school playground. See my post on this problem here. Some of you asked for updates. I do have an update, but I’m afraid it isn’t good.

            The last I had heard, the SPCA had been called by a “do-gooder” who felt the horse was too thin. When I came back to the school, five days later (our program only meets twice a week), the horse was gone. I asked our teacher what had happened; she didn’t know. So I asked the school secretary and the yard duty supervisor. The yard duty supervisor said that he had seen someone taking photos of the horse and the shed last week. The horse was gone when he came to school this week. He didn’t know more than that. Uh-oh, I thought.

            At a guess the photo-taking person was SPCA. And then the horse disappeared.

            I asked the school secretary. She said she didn’t know much, but one of the neighbors—not the neighbor with the horse—had said that they had seen a horse trailer pull into the property on the weekend. They did not see the horse leave in the trailer. But now the horse is certainly gone. No one at the school knew more than that.

            My heart just sank. It is possible the horse went to a rescue or was re-homed—but it’s  pretty unlikely, given the circumstances. Maybe he was euthanised. I don’t like to think about the other alternative, which is the most likely, unfortunately.

            I don’t like to think about it, but I’m going to spell it out here, in case it helps some other little horse somewhere. Here is what I said in my previous post:

“I have been around in the horse business for a long time. I know the conventional wisdom is to call and report a horse that is too thin. I also know that this course is as likely to do harm as it is good. Having watched this horse lead a reasonably contented life for the past eight years, I certainly would NOT have reported it to the local SPCA.

            There are a number of reasons why I feel this way. First off, I have known of a good many cases like this where the owner, who never was all that invested in the horse, simply gets rid of it after the complaint. Trust me, these horses almost NEVER end up going to a better place. At best they get euthanised. At worst they end up on a truck. It’s possible that once in awhile the owner takes it as a wake-up call and buys better feed for the horse. And its possible that one in awhile the horse is re-homed to a better home. Its possible—but I haven’t seen it that often. Especially with an older horse.”

            Now, I don’t know for sure what actually happened, and the only way I could find out would be to knock on the door of complete strangers who have already made their decision (whatever it was) and probably (and justifiably) feel pretty hostile towards anyone from the school right now. But from long experience in the horse world, I can tell you what probably happened.

            To begin with, I can’t know if these people were truly fond of this horse, but I never saw anyone with him, ever—in eight years. Still, I was only there on weekday mornings. If the people worked, they wouldn’t have been home then. Perhaps they lavished attention on him in the evenings and on weekends. In any case, the horse always looked reasonably content in his small falling-down pasture and the school kids regularly fed him apples. He wasn’t suffering. Yes, this fall he was a touch too thin. NOT starving.  You could see a shadow of ribs if you stared hard. His ribs did not stand out, his hip bones did not stick up, his fuzzy winter coat had some shine to it. He was a LONG way from distress. I know he was being fed, because I saw him eating hay in his shed. As I pointed out in my previous post, he would undoubtedly have gained weight when the grass came on strong in the spring.

 Now my guess is that the people who owned the horse weren’t very invested in him (judging by the run-down pasture…etc). Still, the horse was leading a decent life. I know. I watched him for eight years. The do-gooder who reported him to the SPCA initiated a predictable chain of events. It probably went something like this. The SPCA hassled the owners-- who weren’t wanting to be hassled, and the owners most likely called around until they found someone who was willing to take the horse off their hands. And I’m sorry to say it, but that person most likely hauled the horse to a livestock auction for the small amount of money to be made.

            From the auction the horse was very likely shipped to slaughter. It makes me very sad.

            I wish I could have done something about this, and I was gearing up to try going to the door of the house and asking if I could help (as some readers suggested). But the horse was gone by the time I got back to school. And I will admit that I was struggling with the question of what I should do or say.

            You see the last two times I interfered in such a situation, I was told that the person could not afford to feed the horse any more, and would I take said horse. And both times I took the horse. However, I can no longer take any more horses. My corrals are full and I am maxed out with seven horses that I am committed to caring for for the rest of their lives. I had decided that I could offer to buy some senior food for the horse—but even this was problematic. I could buy a dozen sacks, sure. But I couldn’t afford to support that horse for the rest of his life…and the feed needed as a horse gets older can be very expensive. (Believe me, I know.) Wasn’t I just prolonging the inevitable? Still, if the horse put on a little weight now, and then the green grass kicked in, he might have another pleasant year.

            Anyway, I never had the chance to offer anything. Things happened faster than I was prepared for. But to be realistic, if the people had already made their choice, there might not have been anything I could do about it if I had gotten there earlier.

            And here’s my message. Stop and think before you interfere by calling “the authorities.” If a horse is truly starving that may be the best course of action. But be aware that when you report a horse like the little horse near our school, you may be sending that horse to slaughter—as a direct result of your “do-gooder” action. It might be best to try to determine if the horse has a decent quality of life FIRST, before you decide to drag in officialdom.

            As a case in point, last fall we euthanised two of our own older rescue horses mostly because we felt they were too thin. These horses were on free choice hay and a good pasture and we supplemented with lots of equine senior feed. The horses had been hard keepers all their lives and we had kept them in decent shape for many years by pouring LOTS of expensive food to them. But there came a day when even this wasn’t working any more, and we felt that they were too thin going into winter. They were 31 and 25 years, respectively. If you had driven by this pasture and seen that these two looked ribby, sure you could have called the SPCA. And what good would it have done?

            Such a well meaning do gooder would have no idea that we were pouring tons of money into expensive feed for these horses (and yes, regular worming) and agonizing over what was the best and most ethical thing to do. We monitored the horses carefully, checking to see that they both still seemed to be enjoying life and feeding them all they would clean up. We shed tears when we decided that euthanasia was the right option. We did our best to do right by those horses. We darn sure didn’t need some do-gooder deciding that we were “abusing” them.

            Again, I, too, would report a horse under certain circumstances. But I would try to find out the circumstances first. People who won’t buy feed when horses are starving need to be reported. But its best to be sure that the situation that the horses are in is WORSE than what may happen to them once you report them. We all need to be clear on that.

            OK, I’ll get off my soapbox now. As I said in the original post, its very hard to know what’s best to do in a situation like this. But “reporting” the horse very often leads to the outcome I just described. I think many “do-gooders” mistakenly suppose that reporting a thin horse will lead to the horse having a better life. Sometimes this may happen, but very often it doesn’t work like that. And it’s important to understand this going in.

            On to the good news, which is actually pretty minor in comparison. For those of you who are reading my mystery series featuring equine veterinarian Gail McCarthy (on Kindle), the last four books have been reduced in price—just in time for Xmas. These books have all been previously priced at $10.99, which is pretty expensive for a Kindle edition, in my opinion. Starting today they are $2.99 each. The books (in order) are Moonblind, Chasing Cans, Going Gone, and Barnstorming. Click on the titles to find the $2.99 Kindle editions.

            There has been some problem linking the editions (which should soon be fixed), so if you simply type in the titles you may not be able to find these editions. But the links above will take you there; you can also find them if you look for them under Laura Crum in “Kindle store.” 

            These four books are very special to me, and those who read this blog will recognize some familiar equine characters. I hope this lower price makes it possible for folks who are enjoying the series to complete it by reading the last four books.

            Season’s greetings from my family to yours!