What Happens?

                                                by Laura Crum

            What happens when you take a couple of horses who haven’t been ridden much in a month, other than short rides around the property, and haul them to the beach on a brisk spring day with a chilly little wind blowing drifts of clouds around, and the waves crashing in a sprightly way on the shore? Well, lots could happen, but because these two horses were Henry and Sunny, our two very reliable trail horses, what actually happened is we had a lovely ride.

            Ok, I’m bragging. But I’m not bragging about myself because I didn’t train these horses. Nor am I doing anything to help keep them solid (see the above mentioned lack of riding). No, I’m bragging on my horses because they are such good horses and I’m proud of them. They are the ones who have simply decided that being reliable, calm trail horses is their job, and they intend to do it well—because they choose to do this. Whatever happens, they take it in stride.

            Yesterday we had the time, so hauled them down to the beach near Moss Landing (the central point of the Monterey Bay) for a ride. And they were so good. So happy to be out—it was quite obvious—brisk and forward without once pushing on us or doing anything disruptive. We had a lovely ride and I am just so grateful to these horses. What a gift they have been.

            Sunny power walked quite a bit, and I let him. We were in pretty deep sand and I didn’t want to risk trotting or loping, so we power walked down the beach for a couple of miles with sea lions playing in the waves, sand pipers running along the shore, and sea gulls swooping overhead. It was big fun.

            And my son’s 26 year old Henry was just a champ. As free moving as if he were 6 rather than 26. As long as we avoid hills, Henry is completely sound. Which makes the beach a good destination.

            Here we are headed down the trail through the sand dunes to the beach.

            Looking toward Monterey.

            Looking toward Santa Cruz. You can see the curve of the bay if you bigger the photo up.

            My son and his 26 year old Henry. My 13 year old kid does not like his photo taken, but doesn’t Henry look good? Those are the stacks of the Moss Landing power plant in the background—which I sometimes refer to as the “Two Towers.”

            Anyway, this isn’t much of a post, but I hope you can all enjoy a brief vicarious experience of riding down the beach on a pretty spring day on a really good, reliable horse. Not a dead head, but a horse who is enjoying the expedition as much as you are. A horse you can trust to take care of you. It doesn’t get much better than that. (At least for lazy riders like me who have no interest in going 50 miles, or even 30 miles, let alone 100!)

My Life With Horses--Part Ten

                                                by Laura Crum

            I have told the story of how I came to acquire Henry rather recently on this blog (see My Son’s Horse). So, in the interests of not being too repetitive, I’ll just say that Henry opened a brand new chapter in my life with horses. And you could call this chapter “The Trails Along the Ridge.”

            As you may remember, my seven year old son had begun asking me to go out on trail rides. And as it happens, there was a network of trails on the ridge across the road from our house. Many years ago, when we were first together, my husband and I had explored these trails on Flanigan and Plumber. But I had not been up there since I got pregnant with my son. So I hadn’t seen the trails in eight years. I didn’t even really remember them all that well, and the way we used to access them had been blocked by a housing development. Thus I was pretty much starting from scratch to figure out if we COULD trail ride from here.

            I headed out on the newly acquired Henry to explore a little (and make sure he was as reliable on the trail as I thought he was), and I found a way back up to the ridge. As was inevitable, it involved crossing the very busy road at the end of our driveway, and then some rather dubious skirting of other people’s property. But horse hoofprints indicated that riders from the nearby boarding stable rode this way. And sure enough, I eventually found (and recognized) the same old trails I had ridden years ago with my husband, and reached the Lookout—a high spot with a glorious view of the Monterey Bay. I knew that this was where I wanted to take my son trail riding.

            Henry was an absolute champ outside. Nothing bothered him, he was relaxed and calm, and walked quietly at all times. He was as steady as a rock when I crossed the busy road, indifferent to the traffic. I felt that I could take my son riding out on the trails with a reasonable degree of safety. So we tried a few expeditions, beginning with some easier trails. And I realized that the only problem I was going to have had nothing to do with my son or Henry. It was Plumber.

            Plumber was nineteen years old at this time and I had done plenty of trail riding on him in the past. But for the last eight years he had been strictly an arena horse. My friend Wally roped on him and I rode him while I accompanied my son on short rides in the arena. Plumber was starting to slow down and Wally and I were pretty sure this would be his last year as a team roping horse. I thought that the timing was perfect and Plumber could now become my trail horse. But I was wrong.

            Because it turned out that Plumber didn’t want a new career as a trail horse. And he made this very plain. Every single time I took him out on the trail, he danced anxiously and spooked at every little rustle in the brush. He also protested at the downhill bits, tossing his head and pinning his ears, switching his tail, and walking at a slow, reluctant crawl. He absolutely never relaxed and just walked along, enjoying the scenery, as Henry did. I took my son for his first ride on the beach and Henry was perfect. Plumber was nervous and unhappy the whole time (which I think you can see in their respective expressions in the photo of that expedition—below). In every way he could, Plumber communicated, “I don’t want to do this.”

            A lifetime spent with horses will teach you a few things. Even though it was reasonable to suppose that the still quite sound Plumber could be my trail horse, I had to acknowledge that it wasn’t working for either him or me. Steady as Henry was, Plumber’s constant spooking triggered Henry to spook once or twice. Despite the fact that I felt perfectly safe on Plumber in an arena (and had ridden with my kid in front of me in the saddle for two years—that’s how safe I felt), I did not feel safe standing next to the busy road while Plumber danced anxiously. I was pretty sure I could control Plumber, but at this point I had my son on the pony rope and I absolutely needed to keep my whole focus on him. Nor could I risk that Plumber would startle Henry. So I made the rather unpopular decision (just ask my husband) that I needed to buy a new trail horse. And I knew just the one.

            Nine months previously, I had tried a little palomino horse as a possible replacement for Toby the pony (Toby’s cancer had reoccurred and we had removed another tumor from his sheath—I was aware that his time might be limited). This was a horse that I had known for a few years and I believed that he was a steady, reliable trail horse. But upon trying him I realized that he was also opinionated, ill broke and a bit spoiled—not a good combination for a kid’s horse. So I passed on him and eventually bought the much better broke Henry for my son. Still, for some reason, I couldn’t forget the cute little palomino horse. Neither could my boy, who continued to ask about “Sunny.”

            Sunny remained for sale. A friend of mine tried him and rejected him for much the same reasons I did. “Too ornery for a kid’s horse.” But when I thought about finding a steady trail horse for myself, Sunny popped into my mind with irresistible force. And despite my husband’s protests that we did not need another horse, I picked Sunny up that very day to take him on trial. The rest, as they say, is history.

(To be continued—the beginning of the saga is here)

Beach Drama

                                                 by Laura Crum

            The other day we went riding on the beach. This is our “go to” ride in the winter, when the hillside trails get muddy and slippery. This time we went to a new beach (one where we had never ridden before). The day was cool and cloudy with the sun just breaking through in long shafts of light. A big storm was predicted. We started our ride up on top of the cliffs, and the view looked like this.

            Epic sky, don’t you think? Reminded me of some grand Biblical movie extravaganza where Moses calls out to God to part the Red Sea. This would be the sky in the background of that scene.

            We headed down to the beach on a well marked access trail that proved no problem. It was a very low tide so lots of lovely firm wet sand to ride on. The sky was just as dramatic once we were down next to the water. Sunny looks out at the Monterey Bay.

            The horses all seemed happy to be there. They marched out eagerly, pricking their ears to look at birds and clouds and such, but never spooked at a thing. We were all having fun. Wally and Twister.

            We long trotted and loped, we cruised at the walk, we stood and looked at the view. Henry and Sunny look down the beach at Twister. Looking south towards Monterey.

            We did not see one other person. We did see many gulls and pelicans and sand pipers, as well as other shorebirds. We saw dolphins jumping just beyond the surf. We rode south for an hour or so and then agreed it was time to turn back. Headed north towards Santa Cruz, looking at birds.

My companions—my son and Henry, Wally and Twister.

            As we rode down the beach I was aware of how happy I was. My little yellow horse is a great trail horse and he is equally good at the beach. He marches along, feeling good, happy to move out, but relaxed and under control. And I am relaxed and enjoying every moment of my ride. I am so grateful for this at this point in my life. I can’t count how many times I have ridden hot, spooky, anxious young horses at the beach. At the time, I didn’t mind so much. But I am acutely aware of how much I enjoy riding a steady, reliable horse now. This, I thought, is what it feels like just to relax and enjoy riding along the beach on a horse. Some people long all their lives to ride horseback on the beach And I am here now and absolutely happy. And then I took a picture so I would remember. It’s a little blurry but it captures that joyful moment for me. Thank you, Sunny.

            All the horses were stars. We had no drama but the sky and sea. And I am so grateful. It was a lovely day. So I thought I would share it with you. Cheers--Laura

The Unpredictable

By Laura Crum

Reading Jami’s post early this week had the effect of reminding me how unpredictable life is. Just as I toddled down to the barn last January expecting to catch my son’s horse for his little friend to ride and instead found Henry colicked, dealt with the colic persisting for 48 hours, eventually culminating in our sending the horse to colic surgery to save his life (they removed a stone the size of a big cantalope), and plunging me into three months of rehabbing the horse…well, Jami’s story reminded me that you just never know what will happen next (and I hope your mare is doing well, Jami, and your husband, too). Its not that I don’t know this truth intellectually, but sometimes life seems calm and predictable, as if nothing will change. Its an illusion, I know, but life can seem stable, reliable, downright boring. I think we all forget that it isn’t really like that. Until something happens to remind us.

So yesterday, when I took my son for a ride on the beach, the unpredictable quality of life was big in my mind. Though I love riding on the beach, and in most ways its very safe (big, wide open, nice soft sand, few obstacles), it, like all public places, is unpredictable. People show up with surfboards, kites, tents, big billowy dresses, wild dogs, fishing poles…etc. You never know when your nice quiet ride will become a spookfest. And though I’m pretty Ok with my horse being boogery, I am not Ok with my son being scared, or God forbid hurt. So, I worry.

But it was a beautiful day, perfect for a beach ride, and I don’t want to spend my life hiding from shadows. I hauled Henry and Sunny down to the beach and we climbed on.

Henry and Sunny both felt good. It had been a week since we rode them and they are fat. (An aside—its not entirely my fault they’re fat—they’ve been eating the acorns dropped by the oak trees in their corrals). I felt a little nervous. My mind was on the unpredictable…combined with two steady horses who were feeling good. But we rode down the beach with no problems.

Sun glittered on the water. It was low tide (which I had checked ahead of time, always being one to minimize my risk of problems) and the waves rolled gently a ways away. The temperature was in the low seventies. Our horses marched down the smooth, firm wet sand, looking alert and very happy to be there. My kid and I watched the pelicans dive. It was beautiful. I started to relax. We were having fun. We were about halfway through our ride and everything was great.

And then…. Two helicopters appeared in the distance, flying along the water line, flying very low. Who knows why, but aircraft seem to like to do this. But helicopters are the worst—they’re so loud. I had almost been killed once, riding a spooky horse on the trail when a helicopter came over, flying low.

However, I’d had helicopters fly over me when I was riding Sunny on the trail and he was fine. In the minute remaining I got Sunny next to Henry. I told my son to shorten his reins and get hold of the horn. The helicopters were almost upon us, the noise was deafening. Henry’s head came up and his eyes got big. He started to move backwards, as if to get away from the choppers. My son said, “Mama!” in a frightened voice. I grabbed Henry’s halter, which he wears under his bridle, crowded Sunny right up next to him and said, “Whoa.” Sunny stood like a rock, unfazed by the choppers. I held onto Henry. On another horse it might not have worked. But Henry is a steady trooper. He stood still. The helicopters passed overhead and went on down the beach.

I let go of Henry and told my kid he’d done fine. We were both a bit shaken. We rode on, but I had a tight ball of fear in my stomach. My mind was fixed on the unpredictable. What if the helicopters came back? What if Henry panicked and ran off? What if my kid fell off and was hurt or killed? What if…? You can imagine.

My kid was not as spooked as I was. When we turned around to ride back, he asked if we could lope, which is something we often do. I was a bit dubious. But the horses seemed fine. So we kicked up to a lope.
Now it was Sunny’s turn. He felt good; he wanted to run. I held him in and he crowhopped and bounced around. It felt like I was riding a pogo stick down the beach. Sunny can’t really dish anything out that I can’t ride, but I also can’t pay attention to much else riding a horse who is behaving like a pogostick. Henry was rapidly loping away from us. I was in no position to keep an eye on my kid. So I called a halt.
“We need to trot,” I said.

So we trotted down the beach. It was almost as fun as loping. Sunny settled into a steady gate, still feeling good, but not fighting me. We trotted a long ways, all the way back to the parking lot. The horses were relaxed and seemed happy. The choppers did not come back. But I have to admit, I was relieved to get back to the rig. We’d had a nice hour’s ride on the beach with only a couple of setbacks. All in all, a success. But “what if” was still big in my mind.

It wouldn’t have taken very much to turn our nice ride into a disaster—I was acutely aware of that. The unpredictable is just that—unpredictable. I pondered the broken bottle I’d seen on the beach, remembering a friend whose horse had stepped on just such a bottle riding across a field and cut his pastern to the bone. The unpredictable.

No, I don’t want to spend all my time riding around my own little arena where I feel safe. But I do, at times, struggle with this fear of the unpredictable. I’ve tried to minimize the risk by buying two reliable horses, and I think this choice has paid off. But as demonstrated yesterday, any horse can spook.

So my question for today is this. Do some of you struggle with this issue? And what are the choices you make? I know there is no simple answer. The unpredictable is just that. If we ride horses and love horses, we are taking a risk, both of getting hurt ourselves and losing the horse that we love. However, life itself is one big risk, and nobody gets out alive. It doesn't make sense to me to give up horses because they are one more form of risk. But I also struggle with my huge need to keep my son as safe and happy as I can. I'm never sure where the line is between acceptable risk and undue risk. I’d welcome any advice or insights from other horse people on how you cope with your fear/anxiety about this.