Wednesday, July 18, 2018

Big Horn 100: A Most Epic Adventure

Wednesday July 18 2018

The short of the story is that us 6 Idahoans (5 riders: me, Connie, Layne, Anne and Shyla, and Crew Master Regina) had a fun time at the Big Horn 100 in Wyoming. I was the only one who didn't finish - I pulled Dezzie at around 40 miles when he started to feel a little off.

You can read a ride recap here, 

and stay tuned, because an alternate story may appear as a book or an e-book! 

Meanwhile, here are a few photos from one of the most beautiful endurance rides I've done (and lucky me, I got the best scenery in the first 40 miles of the ride!):

This was our warm-up ride on Thursday, over the first 8 miles of trail we'd be riding over in the dark at 4 AM.

Going up the Dugway into the Big Horn mountains - looking back over our tailfeathers

Looking back down the Dugway over Dezzie's tailfeathers as the sun is rising. that's Connie on Saruq and Tom on Rocky

Top of the Dugway. Now heading back down… before heading up again 

Finally on top top of the mountain, leaving the first vet check

We traversed so many beautiful meadows. The wildflowers were downright raucous (Connie took this pic)

Friday, July 6, 2018


Saturday July 7 2018

What with a very busy June, and with one thing and another coming up lately, and being semi-whiny-worried about the heat and migraines and stamina, I've been conveniently ignoring the fact that we're headed for the BIG HORN 100 in Wyoming on July 14.

But now departure day is 5 days away, so it's kind of hard to keep ignoring it.

Connie's riding DWA Saruq, I'm riding Sarah's horse Dezzie, since she can't be here; Regina our Big Horn Guru is hauling us there and crewing for us (yay!). 3 more Idaho peeps are planning to caravan there with us. 

Our horses are sound and fit, their last ride being a hard and fast 55 at City of Rocks on June 8.

Me? I'm fairly fit, but… for 100 miles? And for (my nemesis) the heat? 

I think I'll just continue to ignore that part of the equation for now, but it is time to think about starting to pack.

I haven't done a 100 miler since my Tevis Cup Magic in 2009 - almost 10 years! - and I probably haven't pulled an all-nighter for anything since then, either! I've never done the Big Horn, but if I did do another 100, this is the one I'd want to do.

So, I reckon it's time for me to face the facts and admit it and put it out there: it's official! We are bound for the Big Horn 100 starting line (knock on wood). 

Friday, June 29, 2018

Nyssa Nite Rodeo Part II: All the Pretty Cowgirls and Cowboys

Wednesday June 27 2018

The Nyssa Nite Rodeo's a big fast-paced, slick show, of cowgirls and cowboys, flash and glamour, dust and sparkle, speed and horsemanship, skill and daring, rough and reckless. 

The cowgirls with their long flowing hair and brilliant smiles, the cowboys with their swagger and stern stares (or cracking smiles after a successful 8 second roughstock ride) dazzle the crowd and bring the old Western way of life to the spotlight.

Yep, Garth Brooks knew what he was talking about when he sang about the broncs and the blood, the dust and the mud, this thing they call rodeo.

Monday, June 25, 2018

Nyssa Nite Rodeo Part I: All the Pretty (Rodeo) Horses

Monday June 25 2018

It was an honor and a treat to get to shoot the 73rd annual Nyssa Nite Rodeo in Nyssa, Oregon.

During three nights of fun and competition, luck, skill, timing, bad timing, rough, tough, fast and furious, the barrel and roping and bucking horses were impressive to watch.

Here's a sample of some of those fit, fast, athletic, smart, wily, wild, rank, well-trained, pretty rodeo horses.

More photos at:

Wednesday, June 6, 2018

Book Review: Foinavon: The Story of the Grand National's Biggest Upset

Wednesday June 6 2018

Jump racing makes me cringe, but I can't help being fascinated by it. The Grand National Steeplechase, held every year (usually in April) since 1839, at Aintree Racecourse in Aintree, Liverpool, England, is the granddaddy of them all.

Four miles 514 yards, 30 fences, none under 4' 6", except the water jump, at a height of 2' 6".

Foinavon: The Story of the Grand National's Biggest Upset, by David Owen, was a most excellent read. This 100-1 shot pulled off the win in a terrifically chaotic race in 1967. (In his previous race, one bookmaker had him at 500-1; he finished last.)

Pat, in the pink, my Irish jockey friend in a National Hunt race
I worked in an Irish National Hunt yard one winter (chapter 2 in my book Soul Deep in Horses) and same thing: I was fascinated, but watching our horses run over the jumps made me cringe, hold my breath, and heave a sigh of great relief when they returned to the stables. Our horses did have a fall or two… frightening for me, but all in a day's ride for the jumping horses and jockeys… and none were seriously hurt. 
our horse Castle Ranger almost tipping over on the landing, jockey loses reins; Ranger tumbles at the next fence but was unhurt

But I was captivated by this terrifically-written tale that for me was bigger than life, knowing Foinavon ran at some of the racecourses our horses ran over, and knowing exactly what these astounding athletic animals go through, as well as the people who work with them.

David Owen's storytelling reminds me a lot of Laura Hillenbrand's Seabiscuit: thorough, engaging, and could not put it down till the end! 

(And then I found Foinavon's race on youtube... watch it after you read the book!)
one of the bigger National Hunt fences

Thursday, May 31, 2018

Cover Photo #48

Thursday May 31 2018

I've been waiting for the surprise to hit the fan. 

I knew my photo would be on a cover of Endurance News, I just didn't know which cover or when. It's the next June issue!

It just so happens that my 48th cover photo features my good friend Connie and her horse DWA Saruq (one I've ridden in a couple endurance rides), who was bred by my good friends Helen and Archie of DWA Arabians.

I kept it a secret, and the timing was such that I told Connie her birthday surprise was in the mail. Helen and Archie will be thrilled, too, when they find out. They breed wonderful Arabians, and they have long contributed to our sport of endurance, so it's lovely that one of their home-bred horses is now a cover boy!

Sunday, May 27, 2018


Sunday May 27 2018

I knew we'd be getting to help band young ferruginous hawks on our field trip (a repeat of the one I did a couple of years ago), but little did I know we'd get to help with juvenile RAVENS also!

It's a local outreach program between the Boise BLM and the Morley Nelson Snake River Birds of Prey National Conservation Area and Raptor Research Center that gives raptor (and RAVEN) enthusiasts like me a chance to go on a field trip with biologists to assist them in banding birds of prey (and RAVENS!!!).

Our first stop was a platform nest with 5 juvenile ferruginous hawks. As the adults circled in consternation high above (they are generally not aggressive), one by one the babies were plucked from their nest, and handed off to the arms of us eager hawk holders, each bird awaiting their turn to be measured and banded.

These babies, averaging about 30 days of age, are just about as big as they'll get, but their flight feathers have not fully developed, nor the muscling needed to flap those (one day) powerful wings yet. Nor are they aware of the strength of their toes yet nor the razor sharpness of their talons. In your arms, a ferruginous hawk baby will pretty much do exactly what he does when sitting on the nest: just sit there unafraid and seemingly unworried, not trying to escape. Two of them were even set down on the ground under the truck in the shade to await their banding, and they just sat there and waited patiently.

These birds are currently plentiful in the Snake River Birds of Prey Conservation Area, on the flats north of and above the Snake River canyon. Their primary prey is ground squirrels (of which this year there are approximately a billion) and jackrabbits, though they'll also eat insects, lizards and snakes. I told the little one I held that maybe one day he'd be flying above my place in a year or two.

Our plans had been to go to band a second nestful of ferruginous babies, but due to propitious unanticipated circumstances, we instead went to a RAVEN NEST to band 4 juvenile Raven babies!

Oh, my stars. I have held a Raven before, an adult that we crick neighbors rescued from a dog injury, and nursed back to health (and it was probably Hoss, the same crick Raven that Linda raised from a baby when his nest blew down years earlier), but it's still a thrill to hold a RAVEN, any time, anywhere.

This nest of 4 was conveniently ensconced in the crook of a weather station on the flats (not far from another ferruginous platform nest), and these babies were cranky and nervous and LOUD (and so were the parents shrieking at us flying above) and they *did* know how to use their beaks and very healthy vocal cords and their feet, on the ends of which were some rather sharp talons (though not as dangerous as the hawks'). They could flap their big wings just fine, too, and were probably within a week of fledging, and would then have been uncatchable.

The first Raven I held was a bit smaller and settled down well enough while I held him/her in the shade awaiting his banding.

The second Raven I held was handed to me after banding, and he/she was bigger and really perturbed and insulted and cranky and NOISY, and gripped strongly with his claws and wanted to flap away towards his nest. I named him BRUISER, but I held him firmly in the shade and told him, too, that one day maybe he'd be flying over my place and I'd say hi and he'd remember me.

While Ravens eat primarily carrion, they'll really eat just about anything. They'll eat other birds' nestlings and eggs, reptiles, insects, seeds, fruit, garbage. They're great opportunists. They're also  known for collecting shiny pretty things. They're very smart. And I LOVE RAVENS, if that needs telling.

The opportunity to do something like this really makes you think about the birds. They aren't always just a speck in the sky or a sentence in a news report. They lead a precarious life growing up on a nest in the wild, where it truly is survival of the fittest, from weather, predators, humans.

Conservation efforts you support or don't support can effect their future, for the better or the worse. If you've made the effort to go out and see a wild bird up close and *particularly* if you get to hold it in your arms and feel its heart beat, what happens to them might really matter to you. 

And, anyway, it's just a thrill if you love birds. If you've never closely visited or held a wild bird before, I highly recommend it!

Tuesday, May 15, 2018

The Standardbred: Watch That Topline

Tuesday May 15 2018

After a year of successfully going down the endurance trail, and a good start this year (he won his 25-mile ride at the Owyhee Tough Sucker in April), now it’s time for Hillbillie Willie, Steph’s off-the-track Standardbred, to start going down the trail right.

He moves along easily, and fast, and easily fast and fastly easily, just like an ex-racehorse would, but he can be high-headed and heavy on the forehand - especially when he gets excited, when those hooves go CLOP PLOP CLOP PLOP CLOP PLOP CLOP PLOP.

If he can learn to drop his head, round up, get his balance better underneath him, it will likely keep him going sounder longer… and that’s what most of us want in an endurance horse, right?

So I’ve gone and done it, committed (see, right here in writing), to work on it. Aarene Storms and her Standardbred Fiddle are my inspiration; she says that getting Fiddle to ‘lighten up’ was huge for them.

I’m not great at it… kinda clumsy at times. So it’s a bit of me and Willie learning together at the same time, working out a language that gets the results. 

Connie got him started on the dressage-type work in the arena, giving him the idea of what’s wanted, and I’ve taken it from there, more or less. No, I don’t enjoy arena work - it’s work, and tiring, for Willie and particularly for me - but the good thing is, I really do see just a little improvement day by day.

Willie’s starting to carry his head a bit lower on his own, he can hold a round collected shape longer, and I can now often get it while trotting down the trail, even in company. And it’s all getting a wee bit easier for him to do. Of course, the big test will be getting him to be able to do that and relax in an endurance ride… which may be a ways down the road. He raced for 2 years, and probably trained for 2 before that, so that instinct is not going to be so easily erased or replaced. But we're on it.

So watch that topline. He's grown a wee bit of a butt from working and endurance riding hills for a year, and his giraffe butt has mostly disappeared. One day, we may see his body changing shape for the even more better. 



Thursday, March 29, 2018

Crazy Owl Night

Thursday March 29 2018

When I went out late to feed Dudley his dinner in the moonlight, I was delighted to hear a long-eared owl hooting… but then I stopped short when I realized I was also hearing the call of a saw-whet owl - !!!! 

I've never heard a saw-whet owl anywhere but the forest, when out doing spotted owl surveys in Washington and Oregon. I didn't know saw-whets existed here in SW Idaho in the desert, but yes, says my expert birder friend Karen, they nest in boxes on the NCA (Birds of Prey Nat'l Conservation Area) north of here, around the Snake River.

Not much later, I heard not 1 but three screech owls, a male and 2 of last year's young.

I was so excited that I emailed Connie, who emailed back that at the same time that she thought she'd heard a pair of saw-whets tooting away up the crick. Upon further investigation of owl calls, now she thinks she heard not saw-whets but pygmy owls (!!!!!!!!!!). They aren't even supposed to be in this area, but that's what their calls sounded like.

And, if I'd felt like it, I could have hiked a hundred yards up the crick to see a pair of great horned owls, nesting in an old cottonwood (I likely would't have heard them hooting, since they are nesting, and no longer courting).

Four, maybe 5 owl species within a quarter mile of my doorstep at the same time - what a wild and crazy owl night!

this is the great horned owl nest, and top photo, the male sitting near the nest (only the female incubates the eggs)

Thursday, March 22, 2018

HORSELY: It's Not a Hobby, It's a Lifestyle

Thursday March 22 2018

HORSELY, a small business manufacturing and retailing equestrian products in Australia, contacted me and asked if I'd try out and review one of their products.

Among their numerous colorful braided belts, this is my favorite - the navy, beige and blue straw and braided wax rope belt. The unique design first caught my eye, and the workmanship is impressive. It is sturdy enough to withstand the outdoor chores in all kinds of weather, dirt, and horse hair, and stylish enough to compliment my casual and dressier outfits off the ranch. As you can see here, it works well with riding tights also (my friend liked it so much she swiped it from me!).

"It's not a hobby, it's a lifestyle" is Horsely's maxim.

Chinkit and his best friend Gagan are a 7 year old family operated business in Sydney. "Our love for the outdoors, barn and Gagan’s leather craft as a ‘saddler maker’ brings us to all things equestrian. You will find us either at a coffee shop or in vineyards perhaps dreaming about our next adventure," Chinkit told me. 

"We sincerely love this beautiful horse community in which we operate and wish we could associate with each horse lover. Currently we are looking to collaborate with horse enthusiast’s to drive HORSELY further. We aim to bring horse lover's with high-quality, price-competitive products to meet their equestrian & lifestyle needs."

Horsely has many other products available for the horse lover: messenger bags, jewelry, watches, bedding, apparel, socks, decor, and pillow covers, with new products regularly added to their inventory; and their customer service has been quick and professional.

Thumbs up review on the belt - I recommend checking out their products and treating yourself to their equestrian lifestyle collection.

Tuesday, February 20, 2018

Cougar Wrangler: Put That on My Resume

Herding cows, herding cougars - it's all the same thing, right?

by Merri Melde and Karen Steenhof
Wednesday February 21 2018

Cougar in my yard, was the subject line of the email in my morning inbox, with an attached photo of a young cougar curled up and snoozing under my friend's camper under her barn roof.

O.M.G. I've seen 5 cougars in my life, the last one being two years ago, just a quarter mile up our own crick. They seem to be my spirit animal.

I'm on my way! I emailed back, throwing coat and hat over my P.J.s, grabbing camera gear and coffee and roaring off down the road.

Karen lives on the outside edge of a tiny development way outside a tiny town in Owyhee County, SW Idaho. Read: on the edge of the wild. Very low population. No children in the area. Often, in the spring and summer, more cows than humans. A few horses, chickens, goats and turkeys in the 'neighborhood.'

Karen was eating her breakfast just before sunrise and looking out her front window when she saw an animal pacing back and forth in front of (and inside) her front gate. At first she thought it was the local feral Siamese cat, but another glance revealed a much larger animal with a much longer tail. She realized then it was a small cougar. The young cat moved to a spot up against her barn.

Only Karen and I would do something like this: Karen threw some frozen mice under the camper in case the cougar was hungry, but it did not seem interested. She opened the gate so the cat could escape if it wanted to. Karen and her 95-year old mother could step out of the tack room and observe the cat from about 15 feet away (keeping the tack room door open in case a quick retreat was necessary). But the kitty was not aggressive.

Karen called her nearest neighbor to let her know that there was a cougar in her yard. The neighbor reported that another neighbor farther down the lane had seen a “big cat” near his chickens the night before and had chased it with his ATV. Karen’s closest neighbor had locked up her goats to protect them overnight.

When I arrived, the young cougar was still curled up snoozing, sleepily opening an eye or two at us while we gawked at it. A fence separated us, but we could walk within 10 feet without bothering it. Karen had done some Google research, and determined from the size of it, the spots it had, and the still-blue eyes, that it was probably between 4-6 months old... probably closer to 6. It was old enough to have been weaned but not old enough to be independent of its mother. Some young kittens stay with their mother for as long as 2 years.

We gawked and gasped and stood in awe watching this beautiful creature. It wasn't a threat to anything, and Karen’s horses weren't at all worried, so we left it.

A dusting of snow from the night showed little tracks across her yard, and back and forth at the driveway gate (as if the cougar wanted to get out - we'll see later that they either couldn't, or did not want to jump fences).* Before I headed back home, I looked at tracks outside the place, and while there were no big cat tracks, many, many little cat prints went up and down her long fence line to the BLM (as if it or they wanted to get in). I told Karen, "I bet you there's at least one more cub around." I expected mama was around somewhere too, keeping an eye on things… I sure kept my eyes out for her!

Now there are two, was the subject line of my afternoon email. Karen and her mother had been checking on the cougar periodically from the horses’ field across the fence. When they went out shortly after lunch, they saw a second, similar sized cougar stretched out underneath the camper. Later both kittens were curled up together up against the barn, basking in the warm sun. Karen and her mother were almost certain that the second cat had not been anywhere around there before. It must have come in through the open gate to join its sibling while no one was looking.

I raced over again, and caught a glimpse of the two of them before pulling in her driveway. Karen met me outside and we walked around to look at them… and only one was laying there.

Since adult male cougars are larger than females, we will, for the purpose of this story, apply the same to these young-uns, and call them Brother (the larger, and less wary one) and Sister (the smaller, more wary one).**

My motorized arrival was too much for Sister cougar cub. She had gotten up and left, squeezed through a gap between the barn and the fence, and started walking/trotting across the horse pasture away from the barn. Brother was sitting up watching Sister leave, and finally decided to get up and follow her, though he was in no hurry, as he'd been having such a fine nap in the sun and was rather reluctant to leave that spot.

Karen's two older horses were entirely unconcerned with a cougar slinking/walking/trotting away across their pasture. They wanted cookies from us. Heck, we see these guys all the time, Simon nudged me looking for treats. I am guessing, that like some young mammals, young cougars do not give off the same scent as adult cougars do.

As we watched, Sister scooted on to the corner of the paddock, and was boxed in at the corner of the fence. Karen’s property is surrounded by no-climb fence, and the next field is surrounded by hog wire fencing - big enough for rabbits to squeeze through, but not cougars (even young ones). Brother strolled after her, pausing several times to look back at us and his cozy nap spot, Hmm, nap spot, Sister, nap spot, Sister… guess I better go keep an eye on Sister.

We followed them both, as they moved from the horse pasture into Karen’s 1-acre pollinator garden - a Wildlife Habitat Improvement Project (WHIP) designed for birds, bees, and butterflies - not cougars!

Within 20 feet of the corner of the WHIP garden we saw both cats, well camouflaged in the waving golden grass. Brother just sat watching us, while Sister was worried. We were too close for her comfort, and she jumped up and ran along the long fence line away from us. Halfway down was a gate; the next pasture was also all hog wire, but it was right next to the BLM fence line. I said "Let's open that gate and haze them into the next pasture." It had to be like herding cows, right?

So while Sister kept running along the fence line, leaping over tumbleweeds and looking for a hole in the fence, and Brother just waited in the corner, we walked to the gate and swung it open. We swung back around wide to haze agitated Sister back up the fence line and through the gate; then we swung back around Brother (who had been bored-ly watching his silly Sister), and he strolled on to and through the open gate.

Us two Cougar Wranglers now had our two cougars in the last pasture before the BLM… but there was no gate directly onto the BLM; the cougars would have to be driven back down the long fence line to a gate down at the far northeast end. Both cougars walked the short west fence - Brother walked and Sister trotted, back and forth, looking for a hole. She could have easily jumped the hog wire fence, but I am sure Mother cougar had drilled into her, Don't you EVER go jump a fence young lady, you hear me?

The cubs moved to the southwest fence corner, and we figured, just like cows, we'd use the fences to haze them toward the far northeast end and the gate. Easy with Sister - she wanted nothing more than to be far, far away from us. She took off down the south fence, looking and hoping for a hole to squeeze through, leaping over tumbleweeds in her way. Brother, bored, possibly embarrassed by drama queen Sister, laid down in the corner. I want my nap back. Just like a tired calf on a cattle drive.

Well. I tried hazing him like I would a cow. Edged closer, flapped my hat and hollered at him, "Git up cat! Move it! Hep! Git up!" Brother sat there looking at me. I looked back at him and edged closer and flapped my hat. "Git up!" Brother pinned his ears and hissed, No.

"OK!" I backed up a step. "You can sit right there as long as you want, you're the cougar!" The cougar cub was not big enough to eat me, but he was, after all, a cougar.

Brother went back to ignoring us, watching his silly Sister, and finally decided, OK, he'd head off after Sister - who was still rather agitated in that she'd gotten to a pile of prickly tumbleweeds in the southeast corner of the fence, and couldn't figure out what to do next.

We pushed Brother down the long south fence line (letting him go at his own pace), and when he got to the corner where Sister was confused, he turned at the east fence, like a good cow, walked up it, swung out around the inward-opening gate, and strolled right on out. Sister just decided to hunker down into the tumbleweed corner and hide.

In fact, as we were watching Brother walk out, we weren't sure where Sister went. We walked back to the corner of the fence, but only saw the pile of weeds. It wasn't till after Karen walked along the outside of the fence line that she saw Sister hiding in the tumbleweeds, and heard her growl and hiss when Karen got too close. I crawled to the outside of the BLM fence and tossed a rock, then a stick into the tumbleweeds to try to scare her out, but no, she wasn't moving.

So we left, hoping Sister would eventually find her way out the gate that Brother had walked out - she'd watched him from her hidey-hole, so you'd think she'd figure it out.

Karen’s mother had been watching all the activity with binoculars from her apartment above the barn. We joined her and watched the activities continue.

Brother walked on out the development's fence line onto the BLM, and then turned back along the south fence line toward Sister's pasture. Sister came out of tumbleweed hiding, and started trotting along the correct east fence line – but just could not figure out how to swing wide around the inward-opening gate to get out. She'd turn and run back when she got to the gate. Back and forth she went, stopping short of the gate, looking for a hole in or under the fence, putting a paw on the fence, but she would not try jumping over. And we were afraid if she did, she might get a leg hung up in it. "Shoot!" we said. "Let's go back and swing that paddock gate outward and try once more to haze her out."

Out we went, with Brother now sitting patiently outside the BLM fence watching the Sisterly shenanigans. I swear he had a sigh on his face. We swung the gate outward - easy peasy exit now - and swung out wide in the pasture to get around Sister and haze her out. When she saw us, though, she dove back into her tumbleweed corner.

I climbed the far fence and tried my best cow hazing technique. I took off my coat, and as I approached the weed/cub corner, I started flapping the coat loudly and hollering, "Git up cat! Mooooooove it! Out!" and the cub miserably and scared-ly hunkered down hoping she could just disappear. She would not budge. However, the flapping finally did scare Karen’s 29-year old gelding. (Flapping coats are much scarier than cougars, you know).

So we gave up and left it to cougar fate - either Sister would figure it out or she wouldn't.

Karen and her mother continued to watch from the loft apartment. Not too long after I had taken off, Sister cougar left her hiding place in the tumbleweeds and headed back west to the hog-wire fence, where, as a last resort, she tried to go over it. She had difficulty scrambling over it but seemed relieved to be back on BLM land with her sibling. They strolled off together into the sagebrush.

They, and Mother cougar, haven't been seen since by us humans. We are hoping that the mother is still alive and that she joined up with the cubs later the same night. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience for all of us.

And that, my friends is how you herd (or don't herd) cougar cubs. And you can put that on my resume.

And here's a video of us herding Brother cougar. Sister cougar is hiding in the fence corner of the tumbleweeds where Brother stops near the end

And you can see a gallery of more of my Cougar shots here:

*According to some Fish and Game people, they said lions of any age don't like to climb fences, especially chain link, although they were surprised the cubs didn't try to jump the fence.

**This size difference does not necessarily apply to young cougar siblings. It could have just been different growth rates.

***Yes. The entire time we were outside, we were continuously alert for Mother cougar. She could have been watching us from a hiding place across the lane, or blending in with the golden grass on the hillsides.

****Also, Fish & Game peeps thought the cubs had just been separated from the mother, and predicted that if the mother was dead that the kittens would be back. (So far they haven't been.)