A Day's Horse Ride in the Rockies

Morning comes early in camp. The first glow of dawn brings activity where there had moments before been deep sleep born of yesterday's living. The campfire is stoked back into life, last night's embers glowing in the midst of the ashes. Coffee is placed into the water once it is brought to a boil. But first a glass of water is held to the rising sun by each camp member, some standing together voicing their prayers, others in solitary embrace of the new day begun. Day has come.

We wander into the meadow, checking the horses. Untangling tie-ropes from bushes, stroking the horse's neck in greeting, the horses greet us with a whinny and snort, come forth to nuzzle their noses against our shoulder; friends greeting each other on this new day.

Breakfast is now under way as we sit and sip our coffee, recounting the ride of the day before, it's quirks, awe and danger. We laugh because we are here. We've made it. We are fully living! Some are preparing breakfast this morning; others will wash dishes and pack away the camp. Those who are horse-savvy are spending their morning time with the horses, their partners, like childhood friends suddenly reunited, picking up a hoof to check for wedged rocks or injuries, cleaning mud from the hoof.

Horses are rounded up and tied close. Saddle blanket, then saddle placed atop our waiting animals. Cinches are tightened, belly and chest. Personal gear is tied once more to the saddle straps, water bottle, filled fresh from the spring just moments before, slung from the horn. Bit and bridle are slid into place while the horse's mouth slathers at the iron between its teeth. Reins are loosely laid over the pommel, and we each stand ready until all are finished dressing the horses. All ready! Ropes untied, coiled and snugged to the front strap, we nod to each other and mount up.

The sun is now a hand and a half above the eastern horizon. We will ride till it is a hand and a half above the western ridgeline. Ah, but not hard and straight!  An hour later there is a view of the canyon off to our leftŠ a must-see, let's go check it out! Hey! There are some elk up ahead. Shh! If we keep quiet the horses will carry us right through the herd, as elk are undisturbed by horses (Did you know that? You will come to know this and so much more.) Uh-oh. Stop to readjust a loose belly cinch. That horse always puffs up its stomach when being saddled. Silly horse! Squirrels chatter as we pass beneath the tall fir, spruce and pine. An occasional rabbit bounces up from amidst the tall waves of grass in the meadow as it runs from an eagle's piercing scream from overhead. Suddenly the horses get skittish, stop and stomp, snort and point their heads straight on. They sidestep and back step, indicating to us their awareness of something, something dangerous, right over Šthere! Years of horse backing have taught me the difference between this behaviorŠ they've smelled a mountain lionŠ and their reaction to the presence of a bear, or just another horse ahead. A calming pat on the neck, soothing words whispered into their ears and these mighty beasts, having pride in their communication being received by these sense-less humans upon their back, these ones they must take care of and warn because they cannot hear or smell good enough to do so themselves, surrender their own safety to the knowing discernment of response that these humans convey. It is good. We divert our course away from the curious cat, unseen but now known, lurking in the rocks over there. Horse and rider, together. Together we care for each other, earning one another's respect and affection.

Horses remounted, we set forth again. Vying for predominance the mares bare teeth at each other, while the geldings hang back to pick up whatever morsel of dignity they can find at the tail end of the string of horses sauntering down the trail. The afternoon sun drops rapidly towards the west as we lazily move from one astounding vista to another. Clouds form in the sky threatening rain. Out come the ponchos and rain gear, a sweater for warmth pulled over the head first. After a few hundred yards of travel the first drops of water splat! upon the ground. The clouds grow darker as thunder rolls from the mountaintop to our west. Hail begins to fall; we dash to cover beneath tall clusters of trees. Steam roils from the flanks of our horses. A passing storm, not uncommon, the sky breaks clear and all is sunny once more. The world refreshened by the gift of rain, the grasses seem immediately greener, the bird calls brighter, the horses gain a renewed friskiness. Shedding our rain gear from atop the saddle, we set our sites on looking for a grassy meadow, something with a spring, to set our night's camp.

A half hour later we see a possibility of lush green peeping from amidst the deeper green of pines. A scout sets forth at a gallop (Why a gallop? Because it is fun! Yee-hah!) Returning she tells of the spot she found: lots of grass, water near-by, plenty of firewood around. All right! Let's do it! We jog the horses off the trail towards the meadow. Ah! Beautiful! HomeŠ for the night, but home nonetheless.

Horses are unpacked and led to water. Saddles, stowed safely upon a log off the ground (to keep them dry), we set up the camp. Firewood is gathered, the horses staked out on long ropes. Rocks are placed to hold the cooking grate. Pots and pans are unpacked. Lentils are placed in a pot and simmered while onions and garlic are readied, jerky roasted in the coals for adding to the lentil stew, if desired. Tortillas are hand fashioned from whole-wheat flour, pattied by hand and toasted upon the grate, one side then the other. Someone brings in a bundle of nettles he's gathered. Yum! Steam them and eat them! Better than any chard or spinach you can get. Tasty and highly nutritious, rich in calcium, iron, vitamin C and chlorophyll. How did he know to gather them? Because they were pointed out, and eaten, two days before, along with a host of other herbs and greens and berries upon which we can not only survive, but feast!

Dinner finished, the horses are checked to see that all is ok in their world. Yep. Those are sure some fine looking animals. Rugged mountain ponies, not a pedigree amongst them. No high-class jumpers or show horses, no ribbons wonŠ just the hearts and respect of each of us. They have carried us well this day.

Around the campfire, as it darkens into night about us, stories are shared of past rides, horses' antics and the mysteries one encounters as a matter of course when living in the mountains. Portals between worlds, and photographs to show it. The Little People playing pranks on a whole camp. Big Foot strolling through the meadow of a previous camp. Strange lights overhead, stranger ones still, dancing in a circle around one as one sits in silent fast upon a mountaintop.

The Drum comes out. Songs are sung, the sounds of the Drum and Song resonating not just the night, but our very Soul, carrying us, as our horses have carried us through the glen and forest, into the even deeper realms of the Great Mystery, into the Wild Places... both within us and into the environs where we now dwell, that the distance between the Within and the Out-there dissolve. No longer is it a Wilderness, now it is Home.
 

Meanwhile, tents, if needed, have been set up. Why lock oneself away in a tent when the night sky's stars form a beautiful roof over our heads? Have you ever awoken at an unknown hour in the middle of the night, opened your eyes to be met with a multitude of lights sparking like jewels just a hand's reach away? No? Then you have never slept outside on a Rocky Mountain summer's night! Sleep comes, and comes to claim us deeply. We have earned it. We have lived, this day.

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