16 hours ago
Showing posts with label trail ride. Show all posts
Showing posts with label trail ride. Show all posts
December 6, 2010
Just Call Me Snow Plow
October 23, 2010
I Love Fall
It really is the best time of year. Too bad the gun season for deer starts next week and ruins it all. Today, though, priceless.
Cross country is fantastic, a rush like none other I have known. But it will still never fill me up the way a day in the autumn woods alone with my horse does. His quiet hoofbeats through leaves and pine needles complement the swing of his head and tail and the rhythmic notes of our bell. The cool air of fall is tempered by the warm afternoon sun, spattering through the changing leaves across the trail. Solo eats up the trail with a long, swinging trot and brightly pricked ears. The rise and fall of his back muscles echoes the beat of my pulse. Every stress, every worry, every tension falls away with the passing breeze and my universe narrows to this, one strong horse and one winding trail.
What makes your soul settle and sigh in contentment?
Cross country is fantastic, a rush like none other I have known. But it will still never fill me up the way a day in the autumn woods alone with my horse does. His quiet hoofbeats through leaves and pine needles complement the swing of his head and tail and the rhythmic notes of our bell. The cool air of fall is tempered by the warm afternoon sun, spattering through the changing leaves across the trail. Solo eats up the trail with a long, swinging trot and brightly pricked ears. The rise and fall of his back muscles echoes the beat of my pulse. Every stress, every worry, every tension falls away with the passing breeze and my universe narrows to this, one strong horse and one winding trail.
What makes your soul settle and sigh in contentment?
October 6, 2010
Day 6.1: The Running Of The Bulls
I also learned that Sam loved one thing more than anything else: running. And he loved something else even more than that: running while chasing bovines. So when the bulls were turned loose after a vaccinating session, his ears about popped off with excitement. You can almost hear him gasping Want, waaaaaaaantttt....
October 5, 2010
Day 6: A New Landscape
When we left, I was tucking myself in at the Hacienda San Francisco. In the morning, we had to meet the van again to connect with Sally, who owns the outfitting company, and make our way to our new horses. We bumped around the edge of the valley and through the tinted window, I caught the first glance of what was to be a constant companion and undefinable presence for the next three days: Cotopaxi, which at 5,897 m (19,347 ft) towers as the second highest volcano in Ecuador (Chimborazo is the highest at 20,560 ft and just for reference, the summit of Everest sits at 29,035 ft).
In front of a chapel on a rutted road awaited our partners. I was introduced to Sam, a striking buckskin around 15.3 or so with a keen attitude and a strong will. One part English Thoroughbred, one part freight train, one part friendly companion, and one part enthusiasm.
Mum was paired with a very solid citizen named Jalisco. (Yeah, it's HARD taking pictures from the back of a horse. You try documenting nine days while never standing still!)
Anna found herself with a little liver chestnut named Alverito who was the very definition of his breed, a Peruvian Paso. Although apparently from the back of Sam, he is the size of a Shetland pony.
An English volunteer, Hannah, brought up the rear with Caesar, who would be our chagra for the remainder of the trip. Hannah started out with one of Sally's experiments, a dark bay Hanoverian who Sally had brought down to see if the heavier horses did well at altitude (they don't). She led Anamike, a dappled grey Arab mare, while Caesar, riding the improbably named grey, General Pintag (it's a bus route in town apparently), ponied our familiar other-grey friend, Gitano (Anna rode him on the first half of the trip -- Gitano, not Caesar).
Our goal for the day was to ride south towards Cotopaxi, where we would arrive at the night's lodgings. It soon became apparent that we were in a whole 'nother world from what we experienced north of Quito. There was much more vegetation and livestock had flesh on their bones. It was greener and fresher and felt more...enriched, and yet at the same time, more wild. And Cotopaxi itself peeked out at us, flirting from behind the rolling hills.
Soon, we passed through a gate into a private hacienda. And by hacienda, I mean a massive ranch that sprawled across what was probably square miles. The owner bred (of course) Spanish fighting bulls and grazed them on the high meadows around Cotopaxi. Check out that pasture view.
Then, suddenly, we are on a high, tawny meadow. And I canter on, the snowy cone of Cotopaxi ahead of me, an entire alley of volcanoes, some extinct, some merely sleeping, surrounding me. It is almost pure bliss (if I didn't have to use every dressage muscle in my body to half halt Sam and convince him this was NOT a horse race), tinged only by the realization that I can only truly capture it in memory. Nothing else could hold its grandeur.
General Pintag really likes his job today. Gitano is just happy that no one is riding him!
Mum and I pose for posterity with Sam and Jalisco. One cannot pass by a Kodak vista!! But I don't know why the volcano looks all weird behind us. Perhaps the spirits are angry...
Anna and Alverito want some camera time too!
Caesar and the grey boys only make the landscape look even better.
We are getting close to the national park now and the land betrays its own past. Dirt becomes pumice and boulder fields are strewn across the slopes from the last lava flow that Cotopaxi threw into the skies.
The mountain over Anna's shoulder is Cincilagua. Which I have probably spelled wrong. We could never remember its name, so I called it Chinchilla instead. I longed to see a wild chincilla, but apparently they do not live this far north in the Andes. I had to settle for hungry puppies. Not quite as heartwarming.
The road in the last picture is the road down to our lodge, a sort of chalet called Chilcabamba. And what it lacked in facilities, it did manage to make up for in scenery...which you now have to wait for the next post to see.
In front of a chapel on a rutted road awaited our partners. I was introduced to Sam, a striking buckskin around 15.3 or so with a keen attitude and a strong will. One part English Thoroughbred, one part freight train, one part friendly companion, and one part enthusiasm.
Mum was paired with a very solid citizen named Jalisco. (Yeah, it's HARD taking pictures from the back of a horse. You try documenting nine days while never standing still!)
Anna found herself with a little liver chestnut named Alverito who was the very definition of his breed, a Peruvian Paso. Although apparently from the back of Sam, he is the size of a Shetland pony.
An English volunteer, Hannah, brought up the rear with Caesar, who would be our chagra for the remainder of the trip. Hannah started out with one of Sally's experiments, a dark bay Hanoverian who Sally had brought down to see if the heavier horses did well at altitude (they don't). She led Anamike, a dappled grey Arab mare, while Caesar, riding the improbably named grey, General Pintag (it's a bus route in town apparently), ponied our familiar other-grey friend, Gitano (Anna rode him on the first half of the trip -- Gitano, not Caesar).
Our goal for the day was to ride south towards Cotopaxi, where we would arrive at the night's lodgings. It soon became apparent that we were in a whole 'nother world from what we experienced north of Quito. There was much more vegetation and livestock had flesh on their bones. It was greener and fresher and felt more...enriched, and yet at the same time, more wild. And Cotopaxi itself peeked out at us, flirting from behind the rolling hills.
Soon, we passed through a gate into a private hacienda. And by hacienda, I mean a massive ranch that sprawled across what was probably square miles. The owner bred (of course) Spanish fighting bulls and grazed them on the high meadows around Cotopaxi. Check out that pasture view.
Then, suddenly, we are on a high, tawny meadow. And I canter on, the snowy cone of Cotopaxi ahead of me, an entire alley of volcanoes, some extinct, some merely sleeping, surrounding me. It is almost pure bliss (if I didn't have to use every dressage muscle in my body to half halt Sam and convince him this was NOT a horse race), tinged only by the realization that I can only truly capture it in memory. Nothing else could hold its grandeur.
General Pintag really likes his job today. Gitano is just happy that no one is riding him!
Mum and I pose for posterity with Sam and Jalisco. One cannot pass by a Kodak vista!! But I don't know why the volcano looks all weird behind us. Perhaps the spirits are angry...
Anna and Alverito want some camera time too!
Caesar and the grey boys only make the landscape look even better.
We are getting close to the national park now and the land betrays its own past. Dirt becomes pumice and boulder fields are strewn across the slopes from the last lava flow that Cotopaxi threw into the skies.
The mountain over Anna's shoulder is Cincilagua. Which I have probably spelled wrong. We could never remember its name, so I called it Chinchilla instead. I longed to see a wild chincilla, but apparently they do not live this far north in the Andes. I had to settle for hungry puppies. Not quite as heartwarming.
The road in the last picture is the road down to our lodge, a sort of chalet called Chilcabamba. And what it lacked in facilities, it did manage to make up for in scenery...which you now have to wait for the next post to see.
September 26, 2010
Day 5: Halfway And A Goodbye
It was a slow start this morning, so I spent it wandering out to the breeding stock paddocks and petting the faces of the young stallions. Eventually, though, we made it out the gate and I began my last ride with Capuli. The track today would lead us over the mountains to the town of Olmedo. We wound up and down the mountainsides and took a lovely canter weaving and darting through lines of planted gum trees and up a switchback road bordering more grasslands. In the distance, we could see the snow-covered dome of Cayambe. As we came down towards Olmedo, more and more agriculture sprung up as well, from wheat and potatoes to lupine.
Lunchtime found us in the central park of Olmeda -- right during the school recess. Swarms of giggling children engulf the horses in wide-eyed delight. With my non-existent repertoire of conversational Spanish, I can only smile at them blankly.
Then it's time to hug goodbye to the horses who have become our friends. They, however, look relieved to be rid of us and ready for a good nap.
Now it's time to pile into the van and cross the Equator on the way to the Hacienda San Francisco, where we will spend the night. I am surprised that the woman manning the facilities at the equatorial display has a very good presentation when we stop off to check things out. I learn that here, just across the valley on the shoulders of Cayambe, is the only place in the world where the equator crosses a glacier. It's certainly the most interesting line I have ever visited.
Late in the afternoon, we pull into the San Francisco. It's a lovely place, as they all are. Lots of interesting things to look at tucked into nooks and crannies. We are heart-broken when no hot water bottles appear though, we have been so spoiled! I opt to sleep in my fleece. We also bid goodbye to Gaspar and Christian -- tomorrow we will meet Sally, who owns the outfit and who will guide us for the rest of the trip.
Lunchtime found us in the central park of Olmeda -- right during the school recess. Swarms of giggling children engulf the horses in wide-eyed delight. With my non-existent repertoire of conversational Spanish, I can only smile at them blankly.
Then it's time to hug goodbye to the horses who have become our friends. They, however, look relieved to be rid of us and ready for a good nap.
Now it's time to pile into the van and cross the Equator on the way to the Hacienda San Francisco, where we will spend the night. I am surprised that the woman manning the facilities at the equatorial display has a very good presentation when we stop off to check things out. I learn that here, just across the valley on the shoulders of Cayambe, is the only place in the world where the equator crosses a glacier. It's certainly the most interesting line I have ever visited.
Late in the afternoon, we pull into the San Francisco. It's a lovely place, as they all are. Lots of interesting things to look at tucked into nooks and crannies. We are heart-broken when no hot water bottles appear though, we have been so spoiled! I opt to sleep in my fleece. We also bid goodbye to Gaspar and Christian -- tomorrow we will meet Sally, who owns the outfit and who will guide us for the rest of the trip.
September 25, 2010
Day 4: The Roof Of The World
Horses are universal, really. Horse people, no matter what our language or culture, can suddenly slip into sync when discussing our passion. Oswaldo and Diana, the wonderfully gracious owners of the beautiful Merced Baja, were no different and we spent a long dinner talking of horses and breeding and shows celebrating the animals that brought us together.
The morning dawned bright and promising and today we were going to do a loop ride, ending up back at La Merced Baja for a second night. Capuli and I rode out with a ready step and quickly began to climb. Imbabura had snow on its wrinkled top from the previous night.
We climb and climb and climb. Gaspar points to a long, misty valley behind us and tells us that Andean condors like to live up there, where there is a hidden lake and shelter from the wind. We all peer hopefully into its depths, trying to call one out with sheer willpower.
Black volcanic soil contrasts with golden wheat, green mountains, and purple lupine.
Suddenly, we are in a heavy, dark pine forest. All is quiet and still except for the muffled footfalls of horses on pine needles. We wind out soon onto a road cut into the side of the mountain. Gaspar and Christian are passing the time as if we are strolling through a city park.
I, on the other hand, have just turned around. All I can think is "the roof of the world." It's kind of like witnessing a miracle -- you can't quite believe you are awake or that any of it is real. The camera fails to capture it and the eyes are not big enough for this scale. But it is absolutely, piercingly real and you still try to find a way to hold it all inside of you.
All there is left to do is slide back down the hard, slick volcanic dirt back to the village of Zuleta. It feels like you are going down forever. And it's good half-halt practice! Once in the village, we jog down cobbled streets and stop at the shop of a seamstress that Gaspar knows. We walk into a world of exquisite artistry. She embroiders in rich colours on shirts, tablecloths, pillowcases, napkins. And the back of each piece is just as perfect and tightly stitched as the front. She brings out all her pieces with glee, her eyes crinkling with her smile of pride as she unfolds fabric in front of us, each work more beautiful than the last. I am caught by a table runner, its round pattern sewn in shades of blue. I ask her how long it took; she says about 10 days, working on it around four hours a day. I gladly pay her price, she earned every penny.
The hacienda is just down the road and we head home to give the horses the afternoon off to roll in the mud and nap. Tomorrow will be my last day with Capuli, the eager youngster who walks with his entire body and has impeccable balance in every conceivable footing. I hope he gets a good holiday after this -- these rides are HARD HARD work for the horses, yet they take it all without complaint or undue fuss.
The morning dawned bright and promising and today we were going to do a loop ride, ending up back at La Merced Baja for a second night. Capuli and I rode out with a ready step and quickly began to climb. Imbabura had snow on its wrinkled top from the previous night.
We climb and climb and climb. Gaspar points to a long, misty valley behind us and tells us that Andean condors like to live up there, where there is a hidden lake and shelter from the wind. We all peer hopefully into its depths, trying to call one out with sheer willpower.
Black volcanic soil contrasts with golden wheat, green mountains, and purple lupine.
Suddenly, we are in a heavy, dark pine forest. All is quiet and still except for the muffled footfalls of horses on pine needles. We wind out soon onto a road cut into the side of the mountain. Gaspar and Christian are passing the time as if we are strolling through a city park.
I, on the other hand, have just turned around. All I can think is "the roof of the world." It's kind of like witnessing a miracle -- you can't quite believe you are awake or that any of it is real. The camera fails to capture it and the eyes are not big enough for this scale. But it is absolutely, piercingly real and you still try to find a way to hold it all inside of you.
All there is left to do is slide back down the hard, slick volcanic dirt back to the village of Zuleta. It feels like you are going down forever. And it's good half-halt practice! Once in the village, we jog down cobbled streets and stop at the shop of a seamstress that Gaspar knows. We walk into a world of exquisite artistry. She embroiders in rich colours on shirts, tablecloths, pillowcases, napkins. And the back of each piece is just as perfect and tightly stitched as the front. She brings out all her pieces with glee, her eyes crinkling with her smile of pride as she unfolds fabric in front of us, each work more beautiful than the last. I am caught by a table runner, its round pattern sewn in shades of blue. I ask her how long it took; she says about 10 days, working on it around four hours a day. I gladly pay her price, she earned every penny.
The hacienda is just down the road and we head home to give the horses the afternoon off to roll in the mud and nap. Tomorrow will be my last day with Capuli, the eager youngster who walks with his entire body and has impeccable balance in every conceivable footing. I hope he gets a good holiday after this -- these rides are HARD HARD work for the horses, yet they take it all without complaint or undue fuss.
September 21, 2010
Day 3: Traversing Imbabura
Today is our first ride from one hacienda to another. All told, we will ride for six hours. We will traverse the side of the volcano Imbabura and cross a high saddle, then descend into the valley of Zuleta to spend two nights there. It's a beautiful day and we climb quickly.
The landscape changes often. We break away from crumbling villages and move higher into a green zone. Rich volcanic soil is hemmed by neat stone walls. Mountain summits are wreathed in clouds; it is said that when they are not, when the skies are clear, the volcanoes are flirting with each other. I guess when they erupt, that means someone got turned on.
The horses have already been going for several hours when we come to a spring in a rocky meadow and they eagerly dive in for water.
HaHA! I caught mum smiling when she wasn't looking! And Anna is riding a new horse today. Gitano is tagging along in the rear as spare pony and the bay she has now is Cuchofito, a 26 year old purebred Criollo. He is very proud and confident (and a cryptorchid so must steer clear of mares!) and a well put together horse. It's easy to see why he is still sound. Later, I learned that Sally, the company's owner, bought him literally off of a slaughter truck, starving and half-wild with fear. It took her two years to get his feet back into shape. Looks pretty dangerous now, eh?
As we cross to the next mountain, we pass through a small village full of children playing in the streets. Many are excited to see the horses and we are followed by shouts of "Hola, caballo!"
We must continue on and now we are in a clean, soft pine forest. Even the air smells high. As we move out of the shadows, we break out into a high, beautiful grassland and suddenly I am cantering across the breadth of the Andes.
I can tie many things around my torso at once!! Capuli and Antares just want to know when the next snack stop is. Many people graze sheep on these high slopes and entire groups of month-old lambs spring in surprise across the trails in front of us. They freeze, then bolt back to the ewes, bleating in chaos. Slowly, we wind our way down into the valley, even passing a riotous party. Two men are completely passed out on the road, one sprawled in the pothole where he fell. Capuli and I almost step on the other, as he is huddled under a blanket, but at the last second I see feet(!!!) sticking out!
Heading down the switchback, the scenery begins to change yet again. Hillsides are a patchwork of greens, browns, and golds, fields climbing in graceful curves as far as people are willing to carry things uphill (if it were me, they'd all be within ten steps of the bottom).
Heading down a walled road, it becomes obvious that there is more money nearby. Round hay bales are wrapped in white plastic (the first hay I've seen since arriving) and green fields are serenaded by high irrigation systems. Then we see a hanging sign and we are here: La Merced Baja, and some very beautiful suprises are in store.
The landscape changes often. We break away from crumbling villages and move higher into a green zone. Rich volcanic soil is hemmed by neat stone walls. Mountain summits are wreathed in clouds; it is said that when they are not, when the skies are clear, the volcanoes are flirting with each other. I guess when they erupt, that means someone got turned on.
The horses have already been going for several hours when we come to a spring in a rocky meadow and they eagerly dive in for water.
HaHA! I caught mum smiling when she wasn't looking! And Anna is riding a new horse today. Gitano is tagging along in the rear as spare pony and the bay she has now is Cuchofito, a 26 year old purebred Criollo. He is very proud and confident (and a cryptorchid so must steer clear of mares!) and a well put together horse. It's easy to see why he is still sound. Later, I learned that Sally, the company's owner, bought him literally off of a slaughter truck, starving and half-wild with fear. It took her two years to get his feet back into shape. Looks pretty dangerous now, eh?
As we cross to the next mountain, we pass through a small village full of children playing in the streets. Many are excited to see the horses and we are followed by shouts of "Hola, caballo!"
We must continue on and now we are in a clean, soft pine forest. Even the air smells high. As we move out of the shadows, we break out into a high, beautiful grassland and suddenly I am cantering across the breadth of the Andes.
I can tie many things around my torso at once!! Capuli and Antares just want to know when the next snack stop is. Many people graze sheep on these high slopes and entire groups of month-old lambs spring in surprise across the trails in front of us. They freeze, then bolt back to the ewes, bleating in chaos. Slowly, we wind our way down into the valley, even passing a riotous party. Two men are completely passed out on the road, one sprawled in the pothole where he fell. Capuli and I almost step on the other, as he is huddled under a blanket, but at the last second I see feet(!!!) sticking out!
Heading down the switchback, the scenery begins to change yet again. Hillsides are a patchwork of greens, browns, and golds, fields climbing in graceful curves as far as people are willing to carry things uphill (if it were me, they'd all be within ten steps of the bottom).
Heading down a walled road, it becomes obvious that there is more money nearby. Round hay bales are wrapped in white plastic (the first hay I've seen since arriving) and green fields are serenaded by high irrigation systems. Then we see a hanging sign and we are here: La Merced Baja, and some very beautiful suprises are in store.
