Moments on a Horse

                                                by Laura Crum

            We’ve all had them. (Or at least most of us who read this blog, anyway.) Those moments when magic is palpable—and a horse is part of the picture. My novels were inspired, to some degree, by my desire to portray the magic I found in horses.

Lately I’ve become more and more interested in photographic images, and (sadly for a writer) less interested in wordy descriptions. I am not a good photographer in any technical sense, but I like the feeling that I can sometimes capture in photos. I enjoy looking at my favorite photos—the ones that bring a special moment back to me. Anyway, I take a lot of photos. My husband was looking through them the other day, and he said, “All these photos are of HORSES.” Uhmm, yeah, guilty. (They’re not all of horses, but lots of them are.)

Yep, photo after photo of horses in my files—many of them taken from my horse’s back. Perhaps I could find an image that truly captured the essence of riding? So I went through my photos again, looking for my favorite shots--pictures that illustrated the feeling of delight that I have in riding a horse. Pretty soon I had a whole list of these photos. It was impossible for me to narrow it down to one or two. And this gave me an idea for a post.

So here are some photos of horseback riding. They are almost all of trail riding, in one form or another. After selecting them, I realized that the beauty of the country we ride through is an integral part of the magic of riding—for me. I will comment on what I like in each photo. Will you guys vote on which ones speak to you? There is no prize. Just the fun of discussing the magic of being on a horse, and what images convey this magic to the observer.

A lot of these are ear photos, and all of these photos were taken by me from Sunny’s back. There are several of my son on his horse, Henry, also (mostly) taken by me from Sunny’s back (which is why a few are a little bit blurry). The ones that show me and Sunny were almost all taken by my husband. All of the photos were taken in the last four years with a little point-and-shoot that fits in my pocket (or my husband’s pocket) when we ride or hike. I haven’t included any of my older photos (taken with a fancier camera—that won’t fit in a pocket), or any that were taken by my friends who are “real” photographers. This is strictly an amateur’s snapshot collection of trail horse photos. But it makes me smile, and brings back those happy moments. Let me know what you think.

I love the above photo. To me, it says it all. About riding, about the beauty of the place where I live. Ears forward, looking out at the edge of the continent, above an empty beach by the lovely Monterey Bay.

I used this photo for my Xmas card one year. Taken by my husband as he hiked with us in November on our local trails. I am on the palomino (Sunny) and my son is on the sorrel (Henry). The ridge in the background is the one I see from my porch.

Something in the drama here speaks to me, maybe the light or the body language—we were looking at sea lions surfing, and that comes back to me every time I see this photo.

This is my favorite photo of the view from the Lookout (about a mile from my front gate, via our local trails). Looking north toward Pleasure Point and Santa Cruz. Taken on a bright January day.

Riding down the local trail we call “the pretty trail” (going home from the Lookout). Taken by my husband on midsummer’s day. Really captures the lush beauty of these woods in summertime and the peaceful quality of riding two steady horses.

 This is blurry (shot from Sunny’s back) but I still love it. For me it captures my son and Henry and this lovely ride through the redwoods.

              A boy and his horse—loping along in the spring sunshine. Pure joy.

              About to go wading. When I look at this I can almost smell the ocean.

Riding down to the sea through the sand dunes. The red vest makes a good focal point.

Riding to Parker Lake in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. I love the reflections. This photo takes me right back to being in the mountains.

Crossing Aptos Creek—I love the reflections here, too, and the drops hitting the water.

This shot was taken by our friend, Bill, as we rode away from his place in the Glass Mountains. “Tiny horsemen in a big landscape,” says it all.

This is my husband’s favorite “ear photo.” He thinks it is one of the few truly interesting riding photos I’ve taken.

                                    This shot seems almost iconic to me.

                                       This has an epic Biblical quality.

This one just speaks to me of so many happy rides with my son on Sunny and Henry.

       A boy and his horse alone on a big empty beach. No footprints but our own.

                         Ok—this is not a great photo. But it makes me smile.

I’ve got LOTS more I could post, but I guess this is enough for now. Interesting how so many of them feature water. Anyway, if you have a favorite, tell me.

On Being a Horsewoman

By Linda Benson

Can you still call yourself a horsewoman if you don’t own a horse? Or if you don’t ride anymore? On social media sites, there is usually room for just a short description and usually I’ve used something like Horsewoman, author, animal lover, book worm, chocolate addict, etc.

I’ve been giving this a lot of thought lately, whether I can still call myself a Horsewoman, since my herd has dropped down to merely two donkeys. Previously, my equine career consisted of owning horses for 45 years, owning a successful saddle shop, competing in sports from barrel racing to cow penning, jumping to endurance riding, and logging literally hundreds of miles horseback up mountains, across streams, and through some of the most gorgeous country imaginable. Just remembering those moments makes my heart glad.

But what about now? I’m in my early sixties, and although I always imagined myself a galloping granny well into my seventies, in the last couple of years I’ve had some health problems which caused me to pretty much quit riding.  I sold my nice paint horse because he wasn’t the kind who could take time off – he needed riding. I adopted another old horse and rode him a bit, but we ended up having to put him down last year.  I had an empty barn for a few short months, and now my little donkey herd (Mr. Chocolate and Mr. Big) satisfies my need to feed, brush, and bond with a four-legged critter with hooves.

But we have acres of green pasture available, tons of woods and riding trails behind us, and the urge to get another horse is still ridiculously strong. The age-old dilemma of whether to listen to the head or the heart (just like in Natalie Keller Reinert’s new novella by that name) plays on and on inside me every. single. day.

My head says:

We live in an area where it rains for nine months out of the year, sometimes more.

The expense and trouble of keeping a horse for maybe 2-3 months good trail riding weather is enormous.

I have no good riding buddies to ride out in the woods with anymore, and it’s foolish to take a horse out alone (at my age.)

It’s rare to find the type of horse that can sit for months at a time, and still be a good solid citizen when you do decide to ride him.

Although I do have friends older than me that still ride, another older friend just ended up in the hospital when her green mare acted up, and let’s face it, we don’t bounce like we used to.

My heart says:

The longing for a horse never ever goes away, and in fact, I’m sure I’ll go to the grave with that longing intact.

I started crying (yes, real big-time tears) when I walked through the horse barn at our county fair last week.

I’m crying as I write this because I just miss riding so darn much.

Horses have been a passion and defining force in my life of from the earliest age I can remember. I miss riding more than I can say in words, but I am happy I can still write about horses, and in fact I have a new book out on submission, about a time in the future when people have largely forgotten about the horse-human bond, except for one girl, who remembers. You’ll be among the first to know when I have good news on that one (which I hope is soon.)

I stay active in the horse world - keeping up with horseracing, the horse slaughter debate, the barefoot/shoes argument, the mustang removal/BLM controversy, and of course the world of equine fiction.

So my question to you is what actually defines being a horsewoman? Should I call myself a horsewoman, an ex-horsewoman (but that sounds so final LOL) or an armchair horsewoman? *grin*

And also, for those of you who are getting older, at what point do you foresee giving up riding? Know anyone like me, who has had to quit and misses it like crazy? How did they cope?

Vacation Horseback Rides

I’ve been lucky enough to ride horse on three different Hawaiian Islands, as well as in the Dominican Republic. I’ve also rode mules to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, across the Colorado River and back up again.

Although these guided trail rides are often in some fantastic country, they leave you feeling slightly guilty. Not only the cost, but also the fact that you have horses at home that need to be ridden. However, chances are you might not ever get to that part of the world again, especially to ride horses. Sometimes you have to just go for it.

But I do have a few hints if you are ever lucky enough to experience one of these rides.

#1) Go with a spirit of adventure. When you arrive at your destination, it might not always look like the glossy photo on the brochure. Be ready for anything.

#2) If you are in resort country (think tropics) no need to pack your usual riding boots in your suitcase. Usually (but see # 4) the horses on these rides are plumb gentle and know the trails, so just throw in a lightweight pair of jeans and some old tennis shoes. Often there is a bit of a hike involved.

#3) Eat a good meal before you go. Although some outfits offer more expensive dinner rides (and I’m sure they serve you lots of food on those) many are an easy 45 minute ride one way to a stopping point, a ten minute walk to a waterfall (where you can go swimming – if you’re up for riding back in a wet suit), and lunch - which might consist of just cheese, a few grapes, a couple of cookies and a bottle of water.

#4) There is usually a little box to check on the sign-in form where you state your riding level, i.e. Beginner (I know nothing about horses and in fact they terrify me), Intermediate (I’ve ridden enough to think I know what I’m doing) or Advanced (I’ve been riding since before you were born, raise and train horses for a living, nothing scares me, what have you got?) Always, Always, ALWAYS swallow your pride and mark BEGINNER. This way you will be assigned the most honest, dead broke, trustworthy horse in the whole string. Do not, absolutely DO NOT mark Advanced rider. If you do, heaven help you and I take no responsibility for what happens. Because sure enough, they’ll give you one of their – well, here’s what happened to me:

Quite a few years ago my mother and I decided to ride horses on the North side of the Big Island of Hawaii. The brochure pictured a hidden canyon with waterfalls flowing down the surrounding cliffs. It sounded like a grand adventure. Our pickup point was at a gift shop in a tiny, remote town. Then the 8-10 riders in our group climbed into a jeep where we navigated a pot-holed one-lane road that twisted and turned downhill into the jungle. After several miles of this, the jeep turned abruptly into a cleared area with a tiny shack, a corral made of two strands of sagging barb wire, and a few posts to which an assortment of horses stood saddled. Where was the ranch? The buildings? The bathroom? We gulped.

But the horses were fat and shiny and their feet in good condition. A wiry young guide in shorts and a t-shirt came out to size us up and estimate our abilities. No boxes to check or forms to fill out on this ride. Several people stated how well they did (or did not) ride and were matched with mounts. When the young man came to me, I started to mumble “yes, I can ride a little . . .”

“Oh, she’s an expert rider,” my mother gushed, as mothers tend to do. “She’s won ribbons and trophies and trained lots . . .”

I tried to catch my mom’s eye to shush her. Please, Mom, I’m thinking. No, please don’t. You’re going to jinx it.

But the damage was done. “Expert, huh?” said the young guide. He found a very gentle horse for my mother. And he brought over Amigo for me.

I sized my horse up. A big, muscular, bright sorrel quarter horse with a kind eye, he was obviously from registered stock and far nicer than any of the other horses in the string. How did I get so lucky?

I mounted up and as soon as the procession started, I knew why I had been assigned to Amigo. Before we even left the staging area, Amigo pulled his one and only trick – backing up as fast as he could go. I walloped him hard on the rear end, growled at him, and figured that once we started down the trail, that would be the end of it.

The ride took us back out onto the main road. Down, down we went, with high cliffs on one side, and a broad green valley appearing on the other. Avoiding the deep chuck-holes and the occasional jeep crossing our path, all the horses seemed gentle and willing. Amigo walked out well, except that about every few hundred feet or so, he’d have another “backing” attack.

And no matter what was behind him, he’d have a “reverse” attack more quickly than any horse I’ve ever rode, backing up into other horses, people, creeks, cliffs. Some of the riders in the group shrieked in horror at his antics, but I’d wallop Amigo again, turn him this way and that, untrack him and urge him forward, and eventually he’d start out in the right direction again, with me grumbling under my breath.

We waded through numerous streams, past loose horses turned out to eat the lush grass that grew everywhere, and farmers tending taro fields by hand. We picked fresh ripe mangos growing wild in the jungle from our saddles. And sure enough, Amigo acted up, every single time, just when I thought he was done with his shenanigans.

Obviously this was a good horse that had grown sour, and had pulled this kind of nonsense with beginning trail riders over and over and over again. Probably most reputable companies would not have kept a horse such as Amigo in their string. And probably I could have asked for another horse, but by then we were at the bottom of the canyon. Besides, I didn’t want that darned old coyote of a horse to think he was going to get away with it.

All of the other horses on the ride did fine, and we all made it back in one piece. And even though I’d spent the entire ride retraining this spoiled horse, I knew he would try that behavior with absolutely every new rider on his back. But even with Amigo’s misdeeds, it was worth every penny to be able to ride through that hidden valley, surrounded by cascading waterfalls. It was truly a spectacular and magical place.

So don’t hesitate to take one of these guided rides when you are vacationing. But just remember. No matter how good of a rider you are - never, NEVER state that you are an EXPERT rider. You might get a horse like Amigo.

Taking a Break

By Laura Crum


I mentioned in a post awhile ago about “finding balance” that I have a really hard time feeling Ok about not riding four or five days a week. Today I want to explain why I feel this way, and ask if any of you struggle with this “guilt issue”. I know that for me, it can really take the pleasure out of having horses and I am always working on finding the right balance in my life and not obsessing on riding. So, how did I get to be this way?

Well, I was raised to be a bit of a zealot about riding my horses regularly. My tough old team roper uncle, who was my first and main teacher, felt that you should ride your competition horses (and practice horses for that matter) virtually every day to keep them legged up. The horse trainers I worked for in my twenties espoused a similar ethic (though they didn’t always practice it). During the ten years Gunner was my main mount it was a rare day that I didn’t ride that poor horse. I bought him as a coming three year old and retired him at fourteen, due to various arthritic issues. I firmly believe those issues were caused by early and fairly intense training, and just an awful lot of miles.

By the time I was riding Flanigan and Plumber, my ideas had changed. My team roping partner was a more relaxed guy, and though he liked to ride and did ride regularly, if the weather was bad, and/or there was some other reason, he was perfectly happy to let a horse stand for a few weeks and then go roping on him. And lo and behold, nothing bad happened. The horse wasn’t too fresh; the horse didn’t get hurt. The horse didn’t even lose that much condition. This went on for years.

I learned something. You don’t have to ride a broke horse into the ground all the time to keep him going. It’s a fallacy.

I began riding my horses when I felt like riding. Sometimes that would be four or five days a week. Sometimes it would be once a week. The horses did fine. Plumber and Flanigan both stayed sound and competitive until they were twenty—far longer than Gunner had done.

Now, I grant you this won’t work on every horse. I’m not arguing that point. But on our fairly easy going mature QH team roping horses, it actually worked better than riding every day. The horses felt better, seemed happier, had less lameness and overall just did better.

I should add into this equation that I keep our horses in large (100 by 100 on average) corrals where they can run around and play if they feel like it, so they are not stuck standing in a stall or small pen when we don’t ride.

So, anyway, hey, sounds great, right? I’m riding when I want to, the horses are happy, no problem.

Well, there is one slight problem. I was raised by my zealot uncle (in the horse biz, anyway). I’m a Catholic school girl. The problem, in a nutshell, is guilt. I feel guilty if I don’t ride five days a week. At some deep level I still believe I’m “supposed” to. That the horses need this.

Fast forward to the present. I spend my riding time trail riding and riding with my son. Our mature easy going horses do just fine whether I ride them once a week or five times a week. They’re reasonably fit and I never demand too much of them. A long trail ride is a three hour ride. If they start to puff, we rest and let them air up. They are never ridden to the point of being really tired.

So wouldn’t you think I could let go of my guilt issue and just enjoy these horses?

Well, sometimes I can. And sometimes I get sucked right back into my old way of thinking. This fall we rode a lot. The weather was good—my son and I went riding three or four days a week. Week before last we rode six times. And then the weather got cold and wet. Suddenly I’m back to riding one day a week if I’m lucky. And I start to feel guilty.

Oh, and lets not forget the mud. I live in a part of California where we get a lot of pleasant weather all year round. It virtually never snows—it doesn’t get real hot or real cold. But in the winter we get these long rainy spells. And during these rainy spells the horse corrals get muddy. Even big corrals get muddy in heavily used areas. And I look at my horses, squelching through the mud and feel guilty. Never mind that none of these particular horses have ever had one mud related problem in their lives (if any of them had a tendency to develop abcesses, I’d be more concerned). But there is nothing like muddy corrals to ratchet up the guilt factor.

It took a conversation with a friend, another recovering “ride em every day” horseman, to show me what I was doing to myself. Between work and such, she is lucky to ride one day a week sometimes, just like me. Her corrals are muddy, too. And, as she pointed out to me, her horses are thriving. They are both sounder than they were when she rode more often. She reminded me of what I already knew, but had forgotten. Its Ok to take a break. Its Ok to ride when you can. Its Ok not to push too hard. Both our horses and ourselves benefit.

Now I’m taking a break, while the rain rattles on my tin roof. My horses are dozing in their sheds, taking a break, also. And we’ll all enjoy a trail ride on the next sunny (non-muddy) day—guilt-free. Or that’s my goal, anyway.

Anyone else have this issue? How do you cope with it? Any suggestions?