| Pittsburgh, PA Saturday November 21, 2009 |
| News Sports Lifestyle Classifieds About Us | |
![]() |
|
|
|
|
|
![]() Contemplating favorite trips from the back of a horse
Sunday, July 28, 2002 By Suzanne Martinson, Food Editor, Post-Gazette
Any scenic vista looks best from the back of a horse.
True, the travel photos can be a little wobbly, but if horseback riding is not part of my package, it feels like no vacation at all.
Over the past year, my husband, Ace, and I put my cowgirl theory to the test with trail rides on four outings, from as far away as Hawaii to as close as Gettysburg.
We rode with the spirit of John Wayne in Monument Valley, where the stunning buttes, mesas and spires poking out of the plain are recurring visual themes in car ads and western movies. When we're home again watching TV and those majestic "mitten" formations come into view, it is, as the great philosopher Yogi Berra once said, "deja vu all over again."
When we saddled up Upcountry in Maui, Hawaii, from the foothills that surround Mount Haleakala, we had glorious glimpses of tourist havens, such as Kihei, Wailea and Maalaea Bay, far below, then the Pacific Ocean stretching into eternity. A second ride on the other loop of Maui's Figure 8 took us through pineapple fields and deep tropical forests of the West Maui Mountains.
In Central Oregon, Black Butte Ranch always provides a ride with a view of the spectacular Three Sisters mountain peaks, as well as the resort's namesake Black Butte. When the horses are saddled in that roomy corral, they seem to know the resort's native cows are only a gallop away.
This spring we took a leisurely ride along the hill where Gen. George E. Pickett once charged at the Gettysburg Battleground National Park. We rode past rick-rack split rail fences that are the way they were when the Union fought the Confederacy from July 1 to 3, 1863, in the battle many consider the turning point of the War Between the States. We paused at a barn that still had holes from cannonballs shot during the battle.
It would be impossible to choose a favorite. The terrains were different, the temperatures swung dramatically, though the horses remained stalwart.
There are many guided horseback tours. We list some we have enjoyed.
Hourly rates begin at about $30, which seems cheap for anybody who has ever owned, fed, trained, doctored and shoed a horse. Prices can go much higher for full-day rides, including one with Oregon's "Black Butte Posse," which is $150 and includes lunch.
-- Suzanne Martinson
Are you experienced?
Ah, the horses. If you grew up with equines and maybe even owned one once, a commercial trail ride can be disappointing. If you are an experienced rider, you have to content yourself with an amble leveled to the lowest common denominator, which means you might just as well walk the whole way. It's often that SLOW.
This is because the trail leader has to contend with all experience levels, from children to old people, from people who were born to the saddle to scaredy-cats. That can make for a boring ride, but my advice is to mellow out and enjoy the trail. Most trail-ride horses hardly need reining and tenaciously follow one another down -- or, in some cases, up, way up -- the trail.
I've never been sure how much to reveal about my own horsy past after the first -- and worst -- commercial horseback ride I've ever had. Tell too much and your confidence can get you in trouble. The setting was beautiful Cannon Beach on the Oregon Coast.
"How much experience have you had?" the twentysomething leader asked.
"I've been riding since I was 2," I said honestly, but perhaps with a bit of braggadocio. Bad form. She put me on a giant gelding with a mouth of steel and a head as hard as asphalt.
Once on the beach, with its white sands and the mystical Haystack Rock begging to be noticed, the hard-headed old pro took bit in mouth to head for the barn. (They all move faster on the way home.)
When I pulled on the reins, he reared up. I did not feel like Roy Rogers -- more like Gabby Hayes -- and figured I should have stuck to a Jeep for this little foray in the sand. I stayed on, but only because I'd paid what was then big bucks for a bad ride.
That was many years ago, but I have been circumspect about my so-called experience with horses since then. Still, I'd like to experience once again the clop of horse's feet on sand while the Pacific Ocean waves roll.
And I can't blame the vaquero. She had a big horse whose appetite she'd fed all winter and probably figured he could earn his keep at least this one day and that I could handle him.
Could this happen today? Probably, because horses -- even well-trained ones -- can sometimes be as flighty as 14-year-olds at the mall eyeing the opposite sex across the table at the food court. Given the right circumstances, the fries can really fly, and so can an unfamiliar mount.
Getting acquainted
Today, most commercial trail rides begin with a preamble similar to Introduction to Litigation 101 in the first year of law school. Even at our church camp, we must sign a form that is scary at best. Young riders must agree to wear helmets, though adults may opt out, if they sign, initial and otherwise exempt the horses' owners from lawsuit.
One of our best rides was at the Y camp in Napoleon, Mich., where our 23-year-old daughter, Jessica, works. In Michigan, a sign nailed to the barn door informs us that state law prohibits suing the providers in case anything might happen. In any case, the camp seldom purchases a horse younger than 10 and puts each through rigorous acclimation to camp exercises before a child is ever boosted aboard.
"He's a real nice horse, but he'll never be a 'camp' horse," our daughter is wont to say, as she assesses the newest candidate for the camp "herd," which swells to more than 100 horses in the summer. Their horses are ridden for at least two weeks by experienced horse staff and counselors to make sure they will be well-behaved, even with the most inexperienced rider aboard.
Still, in the spring of the year, any horse is apt to feel frisky and not above a little buck or two.
-- Suzanne Martinson
The long and short of it is that a horse knows you better than you know him (usually a gelding, almost never a stallion) or her (even an experienced mare may exhibit a quirk or two when she's in heat). By your hands, feet and seat, the horse immediately knows if you're a tenderfoot or an experienced rider. That's why a savvy mount has a feeling about who will allow him to grab grass along the trail (a no-no) or go where she wants when she wants despite the rider's shrieking (this never works).
Two ways to steer
You also can quickly tell the quality of the horse staff. The good ones will take time to adjust your stirrups (if you ride Western, when you stand up in the saddle, there should be about 2 inches of daylight between your seat and the saddle). They'll make sure to tell you to ride with your heels down, and they will never, never let you climb aboard with flip-flops or other flimsy footwear. After a childhood with a father who railed against the possibility of falling off, catching a foot in the stirrup and being dragged to my death, I prefer cowboy boots, though I have ridden with heavy athletic shoes.
There are two ways to steer a horse if you're riding Western style, which will almost always be the case. With neck reining, the horse is maneuvered with one hand by touching the reins on the side of the neck opposite the direction you want to go. With plow reining, you pull the horse's head in the direction you want to go with one hand or the other. English-saddle riders use both hands and bob up and down -- called posting -- during the trot.
On a typical trail ride there isn't much reining involved. The horses follow, head to tail, one by one, and the biggest challenge is keeping your horse out of kicking range of the horse ahead of you. Rest assured, some horses will kick at their stablemates.
Mostly a horse's job is to take you to some beautiful views that you'd never experience if you weren't on horseback. So relax and enjoy the ride.
Highlights
Here are some highlights of our recent rides:
The ride was short on commentary but long on breathing in the gorgeous air of the Hawaiian Islands. My bay gelding didn't want to do much more than follow the paint gelding ahead of him, but I couldn't quibble with the breathtaking view.
There were coffee trees and many other tropical specimens, which our garrulous guide described in his running commentary. He was good about stopping for "photo ops," too. The horses -- including my well-put-together liver chestnut -- were surefooted and hard- working, picking a path up and down steep, muddy hills and splashing through the puddles from the gully-washers of that week. (Our earlier ride was called off because of the slippery slopes, and I arrived home muddy, too.) The ride ended with a snack of fresh-picked pineapple.
The only other people riding with us that day were from London, and these well-traveled Brits told of an eight-hour horror ride they had taken in Mexico, where the barebones saddles, covered only in a ragged blanket, left them with saddle sores they'll never forget.
Best of all on this outing was the Navajo who rode, I guess you'd call it, in the "cleanup" position at the end of the line. He told us all about his life on the reservation and punctuated his conversation by alternately singing Navajo chants and country-western songs.
The two-hour ride we took with Narrows Valley Ranch threaded through the battlefields with views of the Peach Orchard, the barn near where Maj. Gen. Daniel Sickles lost his leg to a cannonball. (Sickles survived, and so did his leg -- he carried the preserved limb around with him, eventually donating it to the National Museum of Health and Medicine in Washington, D.C.) The three-hour ride goes up Little Round Top to the 20th Maine monument.
Our guide rode a McClelland saddle, sat a good seat and knew his history, too. (His great-great-grandfather fought on the side of the Union, but the commentary seemed balanced.) On the drive to Gettysburg, we had listened to an audio tape of Michael Shaara's "The Killer Angels," a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel that helped provide us with historical and geographic perspective.
Later in the day, we visited other battle sites by car, but the horseback view seemed more hands-on to the experience. At one point, we saw some visiting schoolkids lined up shoulder-to-shoulder for a re-enactment of Pickett's famous charge, and I felt grateful that my horse was doing the heavy lifting in this foray into American history.
One guide admitted she wasn't looking forward to their subsequent forays with a bunch of servicemen the next day. It is an axiom of horseback riding that the least experienced riders are typically the most macho and not much fun to ride into battle with.
My favorite mount was a Palomino gelding, which had a good mouth and enough spirit to break into a comfortable canter. One ride -- the inexperienced riders were shepherded by someone else -- was led by a young horsewoman as bright as she was beautiful. Less successful was a twentysomething guy (he would say "stud") who imagined himself a cowboy, made disparaging remarks about "tenderfoots" and couldn't -- despite a summer's worth of rides -- tell me which of the Three Sisters peaks was which. Was it North Sister, South, Middle? He didn't care, either. This is the only time I've ever stiffed a guide on a tip. Ignorance and arrogance -- in a restaurant or on the trail -- should never be rewarded.
Speaking of tips, a gratuity of 10 to 20 percent of the cost is standard for guides. But it's easy to fall in love with cute cowpokes, so ours usually get more.
Just as you see something new every time you go to the zoo, to my mind, another ride on the same horse through the same beautiful country is the best kind of deja vu all over again.
|
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Back to top E-mail this story ![]() | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||