Friday, December 19, 2014

Darn Those Russians!

Friday December 19 2014

Salsola tragus, aka “Russian Thistle,” or Tumbleweed, is as ubiquitous in the West as barbed wire, and coincidentally the two go together like peanut butter and chocolate.

A native in the Ural Mountains in Russia, the plant seeds snuck over on ships in the late 1800’s from Russia apparently hiding amongst flax seeds, showing up first in South Dakota, and tumbling all over the West thereafter. While “Tumbleweed” aptly describes the entire plant’s existence and planetary purpose, I am also fond of the honorific “Wind witch”.

The tumbleweed is an annual plant that, once it matures, dries out and dies, breaks off at the base of the stem and tumbles away in the wind, efficiently flinging and dispersing its seeds along the way to take root in your soils, and then to ultimately shore up your barbed wire fences. (See Steph’s accurate cartoon depiction of tumbleweeds here)
and my short video of me running the gauntlet of them on an Idaho highway on a windy day!:

(or link)

Once the desert soil out here is disturbed - that is, as soon as you plow it up thinking you’ll have a fantastic self-sufficient green pasture, or, after a flash flood that scours the sand, or almost immediately after a burnishing wildfire, Russian thistle will be the first plant to move in and take hold. On the plus side, they are pretty - turning maroon in the fall; and if you didn’t have the tumbleweeds, you’d soon have sand dunes developing. But on the downside, they spread, and spread, and are virtually indestructible. One winter I uprooted a whole plot of them and tried to set fire to them - they wouldn’t burn! (Oh, but they will burn quickly when they are dried.) And they are sticker-y as hell.

Before I became more than casually acquainted with tumbleweeds, I thought I’d gather one to send to my artistic sister, who I was sure could make some spectacular work of art out of it. After I collected a handful of painful stickers trying to stuff one in a box, she also found a handful of stickers when she opened the box and tried to remove it; and she decided not to use it. “They are not the cute tumbly little things bouncing across the road. They are very pokey.” Now I know to wear gloves when I have to wrangle with tumbleweeds.

Out of all the tumbleweeds everywhere, this particular one caught my eye. It was a large one, hanging out with a barbed wire fence. It was so impressive, I thought I’d drag it home. The horses were impressed in different ways - not at the tumbleweed, but me, a human, dragging it behind me!

Sunny and Jose are alarmed

Stormy is not bothered.

Batman is bored

Dudley is (no surprise) hungry! He’s actually picking it up to pull off a prickly stem!

Sunday, December 14, 2014

Stagecoach Etiquette #6: Firearms Allowed

Sunday December 14 2014

It's time we review rule number 6 of Stagecoach Etiquette, for the day and time this method of travel returns.

"Firearms may be kept on your person for use in emergencies. Do not fire them for pleasure or shoot at wild animals as the sound riles the horses."

I can see where, in the old days, everybody walked and rode around with a revolver in their hip holster. It was the old days, and the Wild West, after all. Heck, a local Owyhee guy rides every day with his revolver in his hip holster (Is his horse used to shooting? I haven't asked.) Some of the local ranchers wear their revolvers in the local diner for lunch. In fact, I expect there are more guns per capita in Owyhee than there are people in Owyhee. 

But: "Do not fire them for pleasure…" - really? This needs to be a written rule? I can’t think of any passenger within the small confines of the stagecoach that would derive any pleasure from some nimrod firing pleasurably from inside of it, nor would the horses pulling the stage appreciate it, whether or not they are broke to shooting, which I sure want them to be, if I’m riding in the coach!

Besides, there’s the obvious fact that the shooter won’t be able to hit any wild game from inside the stagecoach. Have you ever ridden in a stagecoach or wagon? It’s bumpy. It whips around behind the horses a bit. And it’s often crowded.

So, ride with your firearms in the stagecoach but, use your common sense, and don’t fire them while aboard!

Review the others:
Stagecoach Etiquette #5.

Stagecoach Etiquette #4.

Stagecoach Etiquette #3.

Stagecoach Etiquette #2.

Stagecoach Etiquette #1.

Monday, December 8, 2014


Monday December 8 2014

Dudley left the herd and headed up the pasture to gaze at the Owyhee winter sunset. Of course, the handsome horse may have had an ulterior motive, as he had no trouble posing and enhancing the scenery.

Monday, December 1, 2014

Just Ride - No Matter What

Monday December 1 2014

I guess I’m lucky in a way that Dudley is in a constant battle with corpulence. It means that no matter what, he’s still got to have diet and exercise - in the summer, in the winter, and every day in between.

But when you’re riding a big beautiful horse in Owyhee in the winter (the best season of the year), that’s all for the better.

Friday, November 14, 2014


Friday November 15 2014

(pronounced SAY-ih)

Tségi lies at the heart of Dinétah - the traditional homeland of the Diné, surrounded by the four sacred mountains.

Tségi is sacred land to the Diné - The People. Tségi is home: family, culture, traditions, tranquility, harmony, land, seasons, sun, moon, earth.

Us white folks call the Diné the Navajo. We call Tségi Canyon De Chelly.

5000 years ago, long before the Navajo called this home, hunter gatherers lived in this canyon. Then came the ancient ones, the Anasazi, or the Ancestral Puebloans, who left their mark in their cliff dwellings and artwork, in petroglyphs and pictographs. Then came the Navajo, who lived here from 1700-1863, until the white man purged them from their homeland. The Long Walk is a miserable 4-year chapter in Navajo history, where one estimate says a third of The People died during their forced march to and exile on a reservation in New Mexico. When the government finally admitted this was an abject failure, the Navajo were allowed to return to their homeland and Canyon de Chelly in 1868.

They still live here today, the farmlands in the canyon being passed down from generation to generation. Our Navajo guides in Canyon De Chelly were Justin Tso and his granddaughter Kristy. Justin’s grandmother was 7 years old when she was forced on The Long Walk. She survived, returning to her homeland when she was 11.

Canyon De Chelly became a National Monument in 1931, jointly administered by the Park Service and the Navajo Nation. Visitors in the canyon must be accompanied by licensed guides. Justin has been taking riders into Canyon De Chelly for 35 years. Most of them, it can be safely said, have been plodding tourists. He hasn’t seen too many of us endurance riders.

I hitched a ride with Sue and 2 of her horses from Utah, where we joined Christoph and Dian, and Howard and Kathy for a couple of days of guided riding. We lucked out at the park visitor center in getting to hear a Navajo tell the story of The Long Walk, from the Navajo perspective. It differs a bit from the white people version, and is more powerful - and painful for this white person to listen to how my predecessors behaved.

The first afternoon of riding, Kristy and her mustang Socks escorted Sue and Solstice, and me and Julio into the mystical canyon. In the spring and summer, water flows in the canyon bottom, which can be rife with quicksand. In the fall, it’s all sand, rich with magnesium that is evident in the darkly streaked and stained canyon walls.

Kristy was an excellent guide, showing us petroglyphs and pictographs, and the Anasazi ruins for which the southwest is so well known. While they live below and around the ruins, the Navajo will have nothing to do with the Anasazi sites and their spirits of the dead.

Passing First Ruin, and Junction Ruin, we took the northeast branch of the canyon, Canyon Del Muerto - Canyon of the Dead. We rode past the hogan and acreage where Kristy was raised; we passed Echo Ruins, Ledge Ruin, numerous storage ruins, and arrived at Antelope House Ruin, where the canyon walls rise some 800 feet, and where antelope pictographs painted by a Navajo join other pictographs from Anasazi times. 

When we turned back for home, it was as if we were riding through an entirely new canyon, with completely different scenery. We rode into a sunset that darkened the canyon floor and burnished the canyon cliffs a fire-glow crimson. 

The next day our entire group rode together, 18 miles up the southeast Canyon De Chelly branch, to Spider Rock. Justin figured we’d take 8 hours to get there and we’d want to climb out of the canyon there and be trailered back home, but we looked rather askance at him. Howard had joked with Justin that we were going to Ride Like the Indians, but now Justin was going to Ride Like Endurance Riders - 18 miles out, and 18 miles back!

An on-again, off-again two-track road braided with the sandy riverbed that we followed up the canyon, with the red cliffs rising ever higher the deeper we rode into the maze. We alternated walking, trotting, and galloping along, gabbing, gawking, laughing, while Justin and Kristy on their mustangs kept up their steady, all-day trot, catching us, passing us, leap-frogging through the canyon. Sometimes Justin grabbed his hat and held it in his hand, as his mustang galloped alongside us.

Spider Rock, an 800-foot sandstone pinnacle dominates the junction of Canyon De Chelly and Monument Canyon. It is the home of Spider Woman, who taught the Navajo people how to weave. Navajo children were warned that if they didn’t behave, Spider Woman would let down her web and snatch them up to the top of Spider Rock and devour them. It is said that the bleached white that can be seen on the top of Spider Rock are the bones of naughty children.

We tied up our horses and lunched beneath Spider Rock, with Christoph and Howard and Kathy concocting ideas with Justin about an endurance ride through here one day. I could recognize that peculiar Endurance Light in Justin’s eyes - he had caught a bit of the endurance bug.

We had a delightful romp back out of the canyon, galloping beneath sheer 1000-foot walls, trotting under golden cottonwoods, alongside young bear tracks (!), past the old ghosts of the Ancient Ones.

It was a thrill, and an honor, to ride through this sacred land of the Diné.

slide show:

or link:

Monday, November 3, 2014

Wet, Wintry, Windy, Wonderful

Saturday November 3 2014

I like a good cold rain while riding on a horse who possibly has a stick of lit dynamite up his butt as much as the next person (oh - wait - I am the only person I know who likes the good cold rain while riding, though I could do without the stick-of-lit-dynamite-up-his-butt part), but the thought of waking up before dawn with the cold rain already falling, and going out and saddling up in the rain for a 90%-chance-of-rain-and-45*-and-wind day is a bit daunting, even for me.

But when my alarm went off for the Owyhee Hallowed Weenies, the last ride of the season, and it wasn't raining yet, I was pretty happy. And when Carol and August, and Dudley and I found a bubble at the start (and in fact, the entire day - it was like we were the only ones out on a 50-mile training ride), with no riders in sight ahead of us or behind us, all day, and Dudley never had a stick of dynamite in him, it turned into an awesome ride.

It was an awesome ride, even when, middle of the first 15-mile loop, I decided to put on my rain jacket right before the rain started coming down, and I reached in my saddle bag and pulled out… my rain pants.


I tried sticking my arms in the pant legs - no go. So I knotted the pants around my neck like an unfashionable rubber scarf for a while, till Carol remembered she had an extra raincoat with her. (Note to self: spray paint your black rain pants bright orange, so you don't get them confused with your black raincoat).

It was an awesome ride, even in the rain, that continued all day, and the cold, which was only mild at 44*, and the wind, which you were shielded against with your proper raincoat. It was an awesome weather day for a horse and rider who don't do so well riding in hot weather (Dudley and me).

It was an awesome ride, because the Raven, dressed as a cardinal for Halloween, rode along as usual!

It was an awesome ride, because it was Dudley's fourth 50-mile ride of the year, an awesome accomplishment for the big beast I fondly call, among other things, a Recovering Obesaholic. He's come a long way and accomplished a lot this year.

He'll keep up the diet and the exercise this winter (in between his Trick Training) and aim for an even better endurance season next year!

For a ride recap, and results and more photos, see

Friday, October 31, 2014

Ring My Bell

Friday October 31 2014

It seemed natural to want to teach Dudley a few tricks, since he's such a smart horse.

However, he's so smart, he's made up a couple of his own tricks. One is shoving a gate open (I unlatch the gate, say "OK," and with his nose he shoves the gate as hard as he can, swinging it open as far as it will go - he loves doing this).

Another one he debuted yesterday is ringing a bell for a treat. I am not making this up - he figured this out on his own!

Dudley already knew to stop and check out Connie's place - wait outside at her porch, look in her windows - to see if she's home, so he could get a treat.

Yesterday, he figured out, on his own, that if he rang her little bell hanging off her porch, she would give him a treat! I swear, he came up with this bell-ringing on his own.

See the video:

or link:

(and Connie posted later today: Well you have created a monster. I was sitting on the porch minding my own business talking on the phone blah blah, And here comes Dudley, and well he thought about coming up the stairs… Then proceeds to go ring the bell , not once but 3 different times and well I gave him 3 treats, and I would still be up there listening to Dudley ringing the bell and giving him treats, but fortunately his master Phinneas was hollering for him and he left on his own accord!