Beach Ride--Avoiding a Disaster

by Laura Crum

We rode on the beach the other day. It was a lovely day—I started out taking photos. Here I am following my son down the trail to the ocean.

Sunny and I look at the view toward Santa Cruz.

My son and Wally ride off toward Monterey. Wally is going wading with Twister.

Wally and Twister coming out of the ocean.

At a certain point I realized that all my beach ride photos look like the beach ride photos I’ve posted before and I put the camera back in my pocket and just rode. But later I got to thinking about this, and I realized there’s a reason for this sameness. I like to ride on the beach on sunny winter days, mid-day, when the tide is low. So my photos reflect more or less the same scene every time. For the last four or five years, every beach ride has been with my son and our friend Wally. Wally rides his gray horse, Twister, my son rides sorrel Henry and I ride palomino Sunny. So the characters are always the same. I’m the only one who likes to take photos these days, so all you see of Sunny are his ears. Thus my beach photos are pretty repetitive.

On top of this, we ride on the same stretch of beach most of the time. The ride takes a little less than two hours, like most of my rides. And its mostly quite uneventful (my favorite sort of ride). We walk a lot, sometimes we trot or lope along on the hard sand. Sometimes some of us wade in the surf. Sometimes we ride back down the trail through the sand dunes. Its good exercise for the horses and pleasant for us. We’ve only had a few “exciting” moments in many years of riding there (my recent post titled “A Near Wreck,” in which Twister lay down, was one of these times).

Anyway, I was thinking about this, and I realized that the sameness of my photos and the uneventful nature of our rides are linked in a fundamental way, and today I wanted to talk about this. Because I have heard from so many of you who really want to try riding on the beach (kel and Mrs Mom, I’m thinking of you). And it is (or can be) a lovely experience. And yet, so many people have disasters when they try it. So today I’m going to talk about how to ride on the beach sans disaster.

First off, I have been riding on the beach for over twenty years. I’ve ridden several different horses there in that time. Most of my “horse friends” around here also ride on the beach. Between us all, I’ve heard a good many stories, above and beyond my own personal experiences. And then, there’s what I’ve heard from my blogging friends. The first thing I want to talk about was brought up in the comments on my last beach ride post by Aarene of “Haiku Farm” (listed on sidebar). And this experience has happened to many others I know—besides Aarene’s friend whom she mentioned. Listen carefully here, cause this is important. Very steady, reliable horses will sometimes freak out at the sight of the ocean. And if that alone doesn’t do it, being ridden in the surf often will. Aarene’s friend had a steady horse flip over backwards with him. when he rode the horse in the water.

So, tip number one is to try to make your first ride on the beach in the company of experienced “beach horses” ridden by folks who have been there often. Pay close attention to your horse. There is a difference between being excited and “up” and being truly frightened. If your horse is truly frightened, just let him follow a steady horse along. Don’t force him in the water. Or if you do choose to force him in the water, be prepared for a violent reaction.

Wading in the surf, though it looks very fun, is problematic in a lot of ways. Many horses don’t care for the waves. All three of our horses will go in the water if we insist-none of them love it. I never take my horse in very deep because I’ve had the experience of a horse getting dizzy in the surf and almost falling down. This is very common. If you wade in the waves, be aware if your horse starts to get dizzy and staggers. They do fall down—its not a myth.

Some folks are absolutely determined to get their horse in the water. (Wally is one of these.) And some horses really don’t want to do this. My recommendation is not to fight this battle—but if you choose to do it, the easiest way is to back the horse in. OK, don’t say I didn’t warn you that it can be a real wreck. The commonest problem occurs when a person rides a horse in as the wave goes out and the horse is “trapped” by the next incoming wave—he can’t get away from it. Some horses find this WAY too scary and really do panic. So be careful.

Now I know not everyone will be able to find a friend on an experienced beach horse to give them a lead. But whether you can do this or not, there are a few other important things you can do to improve your chances of having a positive experience on your beach ride. First off, choose a nice day, weatherwise. As I say, I like to ride mid-day in the winter on a sunny, peaceful day mid-week. But certainly, just as in a trail ride in any new place, don’t pick a windy day for your first time. That’s just asking for trouble.

Its very important to ride on the beach at low tide, or close to it. We do not plan a beach ride unless the weather is good and the tide is low at mid-day. If you go at high tide there will be no firm sand to ride on, and I can assure you that plowing through the deep sand the whole ride will not be enjoyable for either you or your horse. It is very dangerous to trot or lope for any length of time in deep sand—horses can easily injure themselves. So, go at low tide.

Another factor is how high the surf is. This is different to the tide. The tide can be low but if the swell is up, the high swell produces big breakers. This makes the “energy” down on the beach much more exciting. The breakers boom and crash, and if a horse is going to get over-stimulated, this will do it. We do not mind riding our experienced horses on the beach when the surf is high (at low tide, of course), but the “feeling” is very different from calm days when there is little swell. I highly recommend going for your first beach ride when the swell is down.

OK—you pick a calm, sunny day at low tide and with not much swell. What else can you do to make for a good experience? Pick the right beach.

In my part of the world, horses are not allowed on most of the beaches near town. But even if they were allowed, those beaches would be no fun. First off, you need a good, safe place to park your rig—roomy enough and away from traffic. Second, you want the beach to be reasonably empty. If you look back at the photos I posted, you will see that there is not a soul on the beach. This is the way I like it. Most rides we meet a few other people, and that’s no big deal. But let me tell you what can be a big deal.

One November weekend it was seventy degrees and we were free to go and the tide was right. It happened to be a Sunday afternoon, but we went anyway. Big mistake. The parking lot was packed and we had to park the rig on the road. The entrance to the beach was crowded with people, including many running, yelling children. There were kites in the air, and surfers running toward the waves carrying surfboards over their heads, and flapping tents, and boom boxes blaring and beach balls flying through the air. Our steady horses marched right through this zoo (thank God) and once we got a ways down the beach it was reasonably quiet, but I learned a big lesson. I don’t go to the beach on the weekend any more.

So my suggestion is to be sure you choose a beach where horses are allowed, and go check the place out first, sans horse. Try to go at about the same time/day of the week that you plan to take your horse. Check out the situation. Is there room to park in a safe place? What does the access to the beach look like? Is it horse friendly? Are horses allowed? (In any case, be sure they are not prohibited.) How crowded is it? Try to imagine if your horse will be OK with what you find.

Long, flat beaches are the best to ride on. Steeper beaches don’t produce the hard packed sand that flatter beaches do, even at low tide. And a short beach just leaves you going back and forth.

Now on to the unpredictable. We all know that stuff happens you can’t predict. It happens on trail rides and beach rides; it can happen in an arena, too. But trail rides, including beach rides, make you most vulnerable to the unpredictable. A few years ago we had one of these unpredictable scary events and it really taught me a lesson. We were riding down the beach on a pleasant day at low tide and everything we could predict was in our favor. We were having our usual relaxing time. And then….

Two helicopters came flying down the beach, flying exactly above the shoreline, side by side, very low. We could see them coming, but there wasn’t much we could do to get out of the way. Of the three horses, my son’s horse, Henry, reacted the most. His head came up and his eyes got big. I rode my horse up next to Henry and—this is key—I grabbed the halter he always wears under his bridle. Wally rode up on the other side and stood next to Henry. We really didn’t have time to get my son off safely, or I might have done that. I said whoa to Henry and held him (this might backfire if you are holding a horse by the bridle—this is why the halter is important) and fortunately Sunny and Twister never flinched. The helicopters flew right overhead in a huge storm of noise and wind and Henry took a nervous step backwards, but heeded my tug and “Whoa.” We got through it just fine.

So, always keep the halter on under the bridle when trail riding. It can help you in so many ways. Ever since the helicopter incident I also carry a leadrope wrapped around my saddle horn. If you need to tie a horse up, lead a horse from another horse or from the ground, pull a horse out of the mud…etc. that leadrope will come in very handy. If I had had it the day the helicopters came by, I could have clipped it on Henry’s halter and I would have felt much more confident that I could hold him. Having the halter on under the bridle does no harm (yes, it looks ugly) and it can really help you in a bind.

Let’s see, check out my recent post “A Near Wreck” for the description of how Twister lay down at the beach. Be aware. Horses will sometimes try to lie down in sand or water. If your horse stops for no reason, make him go on. Especially if he paws the ground (though Twister gave no particular warning—he just stopped for a minute and then lay down).

Wearing a helmet is always a good idea—says I, who just got one a month ago (but I’m wearing it). Riding a steady, reliable horse in the double digits that has lots of experience “outside” will go the farthest towards keeping you safe. Even if the horse has never been to the beach, the odds are in your favor that he’ll behave himself. Especially if you follow the tips I’ve listed. We took Henry and Twister for their first ever beach rides, and they did great.

That about covers my beach ride insights. I’m sure there’s something I’ve forgotten. Please fell free to add your own tips in the comments, or ask any questions you may have. Riding on the beach IS really fun, and I hope you all get to do it—sans disasters.

PS--I have been pretty sick the last couple of days and not on the computer much, so have not kept up with email or comments. But hopefully I'm better now, and will catch up.

Smoky's Story

by Laura Crum

This last week has been a real roller coaster ride for me, horsewise. Those of you who read this blog may recall that a month ago I wrote that Smoky, my boarder’s good six year old blue roan gelding, a horse that I rode quite frequently, blew up unexpectedly when saddled, got hung up in the trailer safety chains and threw himself down, ending up half under the rig with his leg caught in the chains. I wasn’t there at the time, but apparently Wally, my friend and boarder, and others were able to free Smoky and he walked off sound, though with a nasty cut on his pastern.

So, OK, Wally and I were dismayed that the previously very sensible and reliable Smoky had done such a thing and were agonizing a bit over how we would go on with him from here, and, of course, we were doctoring his leg as instructed, with wrapping and antibiotics and so on. Smoky seemed to be healing fine. And then, a week ago, he got suddenly worse. Obviously lame at the walk.

Wally took him to the equine center—they X-rayed him and said there was no damage to the joint, and they thought it might be proudflesh adhesions. They cleaned out the wound, gave us new medication to wrap the horse with, more antibiotics, and sent Smoky home.

But Smoky got worse, not better. In a couple of days he hardly wanted to put weight on his leg. A week ago, last Weds, I called Wally up and said that we had to do something. The worst of it was that Wally was leaving the next day for four days of team roping finals, on his good rope horse, Twister. Wally would be gone, and so would the horse trailer. (Wally and I share one horse trailer between us.) And I was worried that Smoky might be becoming an emergency.

So Wally hauled Smoky down to the equine center and then took off for the roping. And the next day the vet called me (who was left as the contact person) and said that he thought Smoky had a “septic joint” (in essence, the joint capsule had been injured and infection had gotten inside the joint) and that if we did not proceed with several thousand dollars worth of surgery and follow up, the horse would have to be put down. And if we did go forward, the horse had about a 75% chance of being sound and would always be vulnerable to arthritic changes in the injured joint (since it was the pastern joint, this translates as ringbone).

As you can imagine, this was pretty terrible news. Neither Wally nor I are rich people. And Wally owned Smoky as a potential rope horse. Even if the horse could be saved, the likliehood that he could stay sound as a competitive rope horse seemed very faint. When I finally managed to reach Wally on his cell phone, his first reaction was “put him down”.

Well, I spent a sleepless night agonizing over this, and, as it turned out, Wally did the same. We are both very fond of Smoky. He was never my horse, but I did ride him a lot, and I once thought he might some day become my horse, as Wally’s horses will be mine when Wally can no longer ride. So, I am attached to Smoky, too. And he is a sweet little horse, very endearing. In the morning, on the phone, neither of us could stomach the idea of not giving Smoky a chance. Wally asked me, “Can you find him a good home as a riding horse?”

So, last Friday morning I called many people and eventually found a taker—an ideal home. A lovely woman named Kerrin, who already has another of our horses, Lester, who did not work out as a rope horse. (Lester was/is perfectly sound—just didn’t have the right mind for such an intense event.) Kerrin loved Lester and thought he was a great riding horse, and when I explained that Smoky was an equally nice horse (with the exception of his unexplained blow up and now his injury), she was willing to take a chance on him. Kerrin has a great facility, lots of help, and was in a much better position to do the necessary rehab and only needed Smoky to be trail horse sound, not performance horse sound. So this was great.

But who was going to shell out the initial two thousand? Kerrin did not want to pay this for a horse who might never be sound. I would have to borrow the money from the bank, and though I was willing if it was needed, it was a real hardship for me to pay that amount of money for a horse that I did not even own. Wally, tough old cowboy that he is, thought it was “idiotic” for him to pay a couple of thousand in order to give the horse away. But….Wally’s heart is pretty big. In the end, he agreed that he would pay to save Smoky’s life if Kerrin would assume all responsibility after the initial procedure was done. Kerrin visited Smoky, loved him, and agreed.

So far so good. The prodedures were done as prescribed and went well. By Monday morning Smoky was better, but not out of the woods, and Kerrin agreed to take over responsibility. Kerrin is a vet herself, so is totally competent to make good decisions, and she gives all her horses the best of care, so both Wally and I had perfect faith she would do right by Smoky. The question was whether the vets at the equine center would be able to clear up the infection so Smoky had a chance. And, at this point no one knows for sure if that will happen.

As for me, I’m exhausted. I have gone through tears of grief over thinking the horse would have to be put down, through a flurry of busyness, trying to arrange a new home for him, through sadness over having to let go of my dreams that he would some day be my little trail horse, through relief over the fact that I was not going to have to continue to manage a horse that I really did not have room for and who might be permanently crippled. A whole gamut of emotions. A real roller coaster. And among them was downright exasperation and disgust over the constant fuss and bother that owning horses entails. My husband put it this way—he calls it his five horse rule. “If you have more than four horses, something is always wrong with one of them, so something is wrong 100% of the time.” My husband is not a horseman, but that’s a pretty damn accurate statement.

I guess I’m not ready to give up horses yet, and I try to look at the big picture. Smoky may have been a real disaster for us—Wally and I put in three years of time and a huge investment of emotional energy as well as many thousands of Wally’s dollars on training Smoky, and now we will not have the use of the horse. But overall, our horse program remains great fun—Wally and I and my son ride often and have a blast on the other four horses that I keep here. So, horses in general are still being a wonderful thing for us.

And, if we can save Smoky’s life (still unknown) and he has a good home with Kerrin, surely that is a happy ending of sorts? I am aware that we were really maxed out having the horse here; my property is set up for four horses, and Smoky was always one too many. Wally and I were just barely able to do what needed doing, and we kept after it simply because Smoky was such a good, reliable, perfectly sound, healthy young horse. So, in a way, there is some relief, too, because I did know I had too many horses and I will be able to do better for the ones I have left. But it is still sad. I will miss little Smoky.

Anyway, that’s my horse story for this week. Have some of you been through something like this? Did you, like me, briefly wish that you had no horses at all? I feel sort of guilty for saying that, but the emotion definitely went through my mind. And, please, wish Smoky luck; he will surely need it.

The Escape Artist---and a Disaster

by Laura Crum

As some of you know, I ride several days a week at a local arena where my friends practice team roping. I used to be a roper, but gave it up when I got pregnant at 43, and I’ve never taken it back up again, having decided I prefer trail riding. But I do love moving cattle on horseback, and I enjoy being with my friends, and its also nice to lope circles in a big, well groomed arena once in awhile, so my son and I go ride with the ropers a couple of times a week.

Our favorite chore is gathering the cattle. This is not exactly a real big deal, as the cattle are in a twenty acre pasture. But they can be resistant and the pasture has steep hills and a several acre section of redwood forest, so this can make things interesting. Last time we gathered, we had to do a bit of loping to and fro across the field to deter the leaders from making a break and it was all great fun. Then, when the herd was safely in the catch pen, my friend Wally said, “We’re missing one.”

Sure enough. The dark red brindle steer was missing.

This was not good. Those of you who are cow people know that cattle are herd animals, and they seldom leave the herd unless they are sick or injured.

But another friend, Mark, said, “That steer is an escape artist. He probably got out.”

Oh dear. Because on one side of this pasture are some suburban houses and on the other is several hundred acres of unfenced forest land. Neither scenario was a positive one.

Obviously we had to go look for the steer. Some people rode the fenceline. My son and I rode into the section of the pasture that was forested, to see if the steer was hiding out.

Down the hill we went, riding into a dark gully full of redwood trees, with a steep little creekbed at the bottom. I was not on my steady Sunny horse, but on my friend’s six year old blue roan gelding, Smoky. Smoky is a good, level headed young horse, but he is not Sunny. He jigged a bit and fretted, looking anxiously into the bushes as we crossed back and forth through the dark, hilly forest, trying to find a dark red steer. (So, why couldn’t it have been a white steer, ya know?)

My son, on Henry, was his usual fearless self. “I’m right behind you, Mama,” he said as we slogged up yet another hill to the very top corner of the pasture.

I still didn’t see the steer anywhere. But Smoky was focused very intently on the redwood tree at the top of the hill and his whole body was tense. I’m not going to kid you, I took a good grip on the saddle horn, and felt of my horse’s mouth. “What’s up, Smoky,” I said in a meant to be calm voice, hoping quite strongly that he would not spook and try to take off down this steep hill.

“He sees the cow, Mama,” said my son.

“He does? Where? I don’t see him.” And I didn’t.

“He’s lying down. Right behind the redwood tree,” said my sharp eyed kid. “I see him. So does Smoky.”

I urged Smoky to take a step forward and I looked down. Sure enough, right behind the tree, not ten feet from me, lay the dark red steer, holding perfectly still, looking right at me. Well, damn. Its not many cattle that will purposefully leave the herd and then hide from you like that. This was obviously one wily steer.

“Get ready,” I told my kid. “We’re gonna get him up.” And I stepped Smoky toward the steer and slapped my leg with my hand, yelling, “Here now,” or something equally meaningless.

Smoky was tense but willing. He didn’t spook when the steer hopped up under his nose and he didn’t run off when the animal took off down the mountainside. My son and I followed at a more sedate pace and I yelled to let the others know where we were and that we’d found the missing cow.

Some ten minutes later, with several friends helping, the wily red steer was herded into the catch pen to pay his dues as part of the roping herd. And my son had a grin a mile wide.

“We’re good cowboys, aren’t we Mama?” he said. And, I guess, in a manner of speaking, we are. Though I can tell you, I quite sincerely wished I were riding Sunny a few times while we were trekking through that forest.

So that’s my little adventure for today. Does anybody else out there suffer from nerves when their horse gets tense? Man, all a horse has to do is get on the muscle just a little and I tense up inside. I know better than to get tight with my legs or pull on the horse too much, but inwardly I am just as anxious as can be. I can hide it pretty well, but its still there. And this is why I value Sunny so much. He doesn’t get tense—and so I don’t either. But I am riding Smoky a lot, so I need to work on this. Any suggestions?


PS—I wrote this post on Friday. On Sunday my friend and boarder, Wally, took Smoky to a practice roping—I didn’t go. When Wally came home he had a sad story to tell, and both he and I are puzzled and, I will admit, distressed. Because after three years of absolutely no indication that he’d ever do anything violent, Smoky blew up—shortly after being saddled, while tied to the trailer. Bucking and bouncing off the end of the leadrope. Wally untied him, thinking to spare the horse getting hurt on the trailer, and also thinking he could get his attention and get him under control. Not so. The horse was bucking blind, for what reason we don’t know; he acted like a cinchy horse, but this horse has never shown one indication of cinchiness in his entire life. Whatever the reason, he bucked over the tongue of the trailer and got himself hung up in the safety chains. He ended up on the ground, with half his body under the truck and his leg still in the chains. Wally thought he would simply have to find the quickest way to kill him.

The other ropers gathered around and were able to immobilize the horse. They actually had to jack the trailer up to free his leg and drive the truck off the top of him. To Wally’s amazement, Smoky stood up and walked off sound, though with a nasty cut on his pastern. The vet who came said she thought the cut did not go the joint. The next day Smoky was slightly lame and sore, but not excessively so, for what he had been through.

We’re doctoring him, and healing him up, but both Wally and I are really sad. Because if a horse will do this once, for whatever reason, he’s capable of doing it again. I, for one, am not game to ride him any more. At least not until someone else has ridden him for a good long time, and it has been clearly demonstrated that he’s safe. I don’t think Wally should ride him either. Wally is 77 years old. Neither he nor I have any business messing with a horse who is capable of being violent.

But it makes me very, very sad. Because we put a lot of effort into bringing Smoky along and the horse was doing so well. As evidenced by the first part of my post, I trusted him. I never, ever thought that he would be capable of violent, blind bucking. I never saw one sign that he was the least bit prone to being cinchy. I’ve been wrong before, so that’s no surprise, but seldom have I been this blind-sided by a horse.

Anyway, there’s my horse story for today. Any thoughts?