Saturday November 4 2006
Dang, is it hot in Ridgecrest. Well, okay, maybe it only hit 77* this weekend, but being used to 15* mornings and maybe 40-50* days, Gretchen and I just can’t take the heat. Wimps, we are.
First thing before our ride on Saturday, we shaved Fuzzy Bear – Raffiq. We’d already taken a little hair off his neck and chest for the last ride, the High Desert in October, but that was up north where it’s pretty chilly. Next weekend’s 75 miler will be down here near Ridgecrest, where, if Gretchen and I think it’s hot, Raffiq must think it’s hot too. We can peel layers off, but he can’t. We took a lot more hair off, his neck, shoulders, belly, left a big brown pile under his feet. Anybody ever figure out what to do with all that horse hair? There must be something. Pillows? Mattress stuffing?
Spice isn’t nearly as hairy so we didn’t shave her.
We hauled the horses up to one of our favorite training trails at Brady’s, in the foothills of the Sierras. It’s the shortest hardest ride we know. Eight and a half miles of: a stiff climb up to a dirt road that meanders flat for a few miles, then another long tough climb, then a long downhill, a fun sandy glissade-able trail, then one more medium uphill climb, then down another sandy trail, and a few easy flat miles back to the base.
For the first time ever here, we ran into a few motorcyclers.
Now here, a few words about motorcyclers and 4-wheelers. Spice is afraid of motorcycles, and that is because last year on a ride, an idiot riding one almost crashed into us. We were rounding a curve on a logging road, and here came two dirt bikers. The first one immediately slowed down, and made sure the horses were okay as he slowly rolled past us, and the second one saw us, gunned his bike around the corner, hit a groove in the road, wobbled crazily and almost slid and fell right into Spice and me. She blew up (who wouldn’t have) and jumped up and twisted away from him even as I and the other riders around me were yelling curses at the asshole while I tried to stay on Spice. (He continued gunning it on down the road, never slowing down, almost getting the next two riders thrown.)
Thanks to that one mentally deficient person having intelligence in the lowest measurable range, Spice has since been afraid of motorcycles. Also since then, Spice and I have met only one other idiot, and that was a young kid who actually did stop when his elders told him to, but he didn’t wait long enough for us to pass, and he gunned his bike to a start right behind Spice (Gretchen aboard), which caused her to freak again. Everybody else we have run into has always slowed down (sometimes we wave them to slow down but usually, they automatically slow) or stopped and turned their engines off till we pass. And believe me, we will always happily give motorcycles and ATVs and dune buggies as much space as we can – they can have the trail, road, whatever they want, we will move off - they can just come up on you so fast.
Today at Brady’s, one group of about 5 passed within 20 feet of us, but we were off the road, and they slowed down, and while Spice tensed up under me, she didn’t panic or jump. (I told her she was very brave.) Then, while on the dirt road, we ran into another group coming towards us. We waved at them to slow down, while looking for a place to pull as far off the road as possible. These guys, about 8 of them, stopped and turned off their bikes and were going to sit there while we rode by. Instead, we waved them to come on, but, seeing as there were so many bikes, I jumped off Spice. Good thing, because even though they went by slowly and as quietly as possible, after about the 4th one, Spice couldn’t take anymore. She reared up a bit and jumped back, crashing into Star, who, fortunately, like Raffiq, was not bothered in the least by the bikes. I talked to Spice and petted her while she was trying to figure out an escape route, and then they were all past, and I told her how awfully brave she was for withstanding the attack of the motorbikes. Maybe, since they didn’t really attack this time, she believed me and maybe she won’t be so scared next time…
It turned out to be a lovely ride on a beautiful day (above the desert floor, it was nice and cool), but the horses sweated quite a lot.
I think we’ll be giving them both pretty good body shaves for next weekend’s 75 mile Get R’ Done ride, and come to think of it, I may be doing the same thing, because it sure feels like summer already…
Saturday, November 4, 2006
Friday, November 3, 2006
Trailer Terror
Friday November 3 2006
Trailers and trailering horses always makes me nervous.
An acquaintance of ours had a terrible trailer accident with her horse about 2 weeks ago. She was about to unload him, and she didn’t get him untied before he started backing out. He hit the end of the rope, freaked, reared up, got a front leg caught in the upper part of the trailer (where the horse’s head would be looking out), snapped it in two, then was caught there for a while. I don’t know the details, don’t want to know the details, just know that it was pretty awful.
Spice used to shoot backwards out of the trailer as soon as the door was opened. We’ve always been careful to make sure the horses are untied before any doors are opened, but it still scares me. One guy at a ride saw Spice come shooting backwards out of the trailer, and told us of someone whose horse was still attached when he did that; the horse’s back leg slipped under the trailer and he broke it that way. Trailers are just dangerous even if you do have a horse that doesn’t panic. You and a horse in a small enclosed place…
Spice has gotten better about flying out, and we’ve found that if you put her in last or next to last, she isn’t in such a rush to get out. A friend who was explaining this last accident said, “That’s why it’s so important that your horse will stand in there a while until you ask him to back out.” Common sense of course, but we’ve just never done it. We started that day on working with Spice to stand in there until we ask her to come out. It’s going to take a while.
And then we come to Stormy. Yes, we all know Stormy is The Most Beautiful Horse on the Planet, but, I must come clean, he is not the most intelligent one. When we first got him in our barn on the racetrack, he came with a reputation of being a flipper in the paddock. He never flipped in the two seasons of racing that I had him, but those reputations aren’t made up.
After his racing days were over and I’d had him a while, I witnessed him pull back when tied to a trailer; he panicked and fought and pulled so hard the rope broke and he fell over backwards – luckily not on cement. I saw him another time tied in a stall at the Hunewill Ranch where he jerked back, panicked, and would have done the same thing except the stall was small enough to bump his butt, which scared him into jumping forward, which eased the pressure on his head, which removed the impulse to panic and struggle. He since learned to spend all day tied to a hitching rail when he was being used as a dude horse, but, once a pull-back always a pull-back. He can never be trusted.
He also has a few trailer issues. He will back out of a trailer, but he gets very nervous about it the closer he gets to the end, and when he feels that foot going down to the ground, he panics and throws his head up, which results in a terrific bang on top of the head on the top of the trailer. Happens every time. He panics because he knows the trailer is going to bang his head, which it does because he panics. He’s also panicky when he’s separated from other horses unless we work on this diligently – and being turned out at Hunewill Ranch with 150 horses all summer, he has not been alone at all.
So, that set up the scenario for when Gretchen and I picked him up from the Ranch to haul him down south with Spice and Raffiq. Spice and Raffiq were unloaded and tied to the trailer; we were going to put Stormy in first since he’s the heaviest. (Uh, okay, I must come clean – the fattest.)
Stormy was getting a bit wiggy, because here was a trailer, the thing that bangs his head really hard every time he gets out of one, and it meant he was going somewhere, and that is always nerve-wracking, and even though 2 horses were standing there (and he knows Raffiq), well, it was just terribly unsettling. I led him into the trailer, and slipped his rope through the metal tie loop. Something in my head said something wasn’t right, wait a minute, and, instead of standing quietly facing forward, Stormy turned his head right, which pushed his body into me into the side of the trailer (meaning he was paying absolutely no attention to me), and still my hands wouldn’t start to tie the slip knot, because this did not feel right, and I was just about to call to Gretchen to come close the trailer door, and right then, Stormy shot out the trailer backwards and 15 feet beyond.
My heart was pounding because that right there would have been a disaster – a broken leg, him crashing back into the trailer into me, the rope breaking and smacking him or me in the face, whatever - the death of him if he’d been tied. Kind of makes you feel like throwing up.
I caught Stormy, who was still nerved out, and Gretchen moved Raffiq to the other side of the trailer, where Stormy would be able to see him when he was inside. She got on the door, ready to close it behind us as soon as Stormy got in, but, now that Stormy was wigged out, he didn’t want to go back in the trailer. He’d get close, then refuse and turn his body sideways. If I swing the leadrope at his shoulder, he knows that means to move forward, which he’d do, and get his front feet in the trailer, then jerk back out in panic again. Once, twice, then the third time he went all the way in and Gretchen had the door shut right on our heels. Stormy started to back up, but bumped his butt into the side of the trailer, and he stopped. He then followed me forward, and we stood there, with me petting him, telling him Raffiq was just there outside, (he could see him), and he calmed down. I didn’t tie him up till I was sure he was calm enough. If he panicked with me in there, there was no escape route for me but the back door, which he’d be heading for.
I tied him up, then backed up to swing the compartment door shut. He started moving backwards again, but I patted his big fat butt and told him he was okay, and he stopped moving, and I swung the door shut and pinned him in there. He started moving around, and I patted his butt some more, then slipped out, and we loaded Raffiq in right away. Stormy was fine after that, except maybe for being a little claustrophobic, being so fat and all.
The trip down went smoothly, and once we got to where Stormy was going to stay, I made damn sure Spice and Raffiq and Stormy were all untied, then we unloaded Spice then Raffiq. I wasn’t going to ask Stormy to back out because he’d slam his head again, so I had to let him turn around, which he was going to do as soon as I swung his gate open. Only thing was, he’s so FAT, he almost got stuck turning around, which made him start to get scared, which was going to make him bolt once he got unstuck. Which put me in a vulnerable position, trying to hold the gate open enough for him to swing around.
Anyway, he safely made it out, and he was happily reunited with his buddy Woody from last winter.
We loaded Raffiq and Spice back up and hauled them to their place, where I made Spice stand in the trailer before letting her out. She didn’t like it, didn’t take it well, and when I let her go, she flew backwards out the trailer, which is exactly what we don’t want her to do. I loaded her right back up, which she also didn’t take well, but once in, she stood there a little longer, and didn’t fly back out quite so fast.
That’s what we’re going to be working on this winter with everybody – trailer safety. It won’t guarantee no accidents, but it can reduce at least a few of the possibilities, and (besides being common sense), will just plain reduce trailer trauma for horses and people.
Trailers and trailering horses always makes me nervous.
An acquaintance of ours had a terrible trailer accident with her horse about 2 weeks ago. She was about to unload him, and she didn’t get him untied before he started backing out. He hit the end of the rope, freaked, reared up, got a front leg caught in the upper part of the trailer (where the horse’s head would be looking out), snapped it in two, then was caught there for a while. I don’t know the details, don’t want to know the details, just know that it was pretty awful.
Spice used to shoot backwards out of the trailer as soon as the door was opened. We’ve always been careful to make sure the horses are untied before any doors are opened, but it still scares me. One guy at a ride saw Spice come shooting backwards out of the trailer, and told us of someone whose horse was still attached when he did that; the horse’s back leg slipped under the trailer and he broke it that way. Trailers are just dangerous even if you do have a horse that doesn’t panic. You and a horse in a small enclosed place…
Spice has gotten better about flying out, and we’ve found that if you put her in last or next to last, she isn’t in such a rush to get out. A friend who was explaining this last accident said, “That’s why it’s so important that your horse will stand in there a while until you ask him to back out.” Common sense of course, but we’ve just never done it. We started that day on working with Spice to stand in there until we ask her to come out. It’s going to take a while.
And then we come to Stormy. Yes, we all know Stormy is The Most Beautiful Horse on the Planet, but, I must come clean, he is not the most intelligent one. When we first got him in our barn on the racetrack, he came with a reputation of being a flipper in the paddock. He never flipped in the two seasons of racing that I had him, but those reputations aren’t made up.
After his racing days were over and I’d had him a while, I witnessed him pull back when tied to a trailer; he panicked and fought and pulled so hard the rope broke and he fell over backwards – luckily not on cement. I saw him another time tied in a stall at the Hunewill Ranch where he jerked back, panicked, and would have done the same thing except the stall was small enough to bump his butt, which scared him into jumping forward, which eased the pressure on his head, which removed the impulse to panic and struggle. He since learned to spend all day tied to a hitching rail when he was being used as a dude horse, but, once a pull-back always a pull-back. He can never be trusted.
He also has a few trailer issues. He will back out of a trailer, but he gets very nervous about it the closer he gets to the end, and when he feels that foot going down to the ground, he panics and throws his head up, which results in a terrific bang on top of the head on the top of the trailer. Happens every time. He panics because he knows the trailer is going to bang his head, which it does because he panics. He’s also panicky when he’s separated from other horses unless we work on this diligently – and being turned out at Hunewill Ranch with 150 horses all summer, he has not been alone at all.
So, that set up the scenario for when Gretchen and I picked him up from the Ranch to haul him down south with Spice and Raffiq. Spice and Raffiq were unloaded and tied to the trailer; we were going to put Stormy in first since he’s the heaviest. (Uh, okay, I must come clean – the fattest.)
Stormy was getting a bit wiggy, because here was a trailer, the thing that bangs his head really hard every time he gets out of one, and it meant he was going somewhere, and that is always nerve-wracking, and even though 2 horses were standing there (and he knows Raffiq), well, it was just terribly unsettling. I led him into the trailer, and slipped his rope through the metal tie loop. Something in my head said something wasn’t right, wait a minute, and, instead of standing quietly facing forward, Stormy turned his head right, which pushed his body into me into the side of the trailer (meaning he was paying absolutely no attention to me), and still my hands wouldn’t start to tie the slip knot, because this did not feel right, and I was just about to call to Gretchen to come close the trailer door, and right then, Stormy shot out the trailer backwards and 15 feet beyond.
My heart was pounding because that right there would have been a disaster – a broken leg, him crashing back into the trailer into me, the rope breaking and smacking him or me in the face, whatever - the death of him if he’d been tied. Kind of makes you feel like throwing up.
I caught Stormy, who was still nerved out, and Gretchen moved Raffiq to the other side of the trailer, where Stormy would be able to see him when he was inside. She got on the door, ready to close it behind us as soon as Stormy got in, but, now that Stormy was wigged out, he didn’t want to go back in the trailer. He’d get close, then refuse and turn his body sideways. If I swing the leadrope at his shoulder, he knows that means to move forward, which he’d do, and get his front feet in the trailer, then jerk back out in panic again. Once, twice, then the third time he went all the way in and Gretchen had the door shut right on our heels. Stormy started to back up, but bumped his butt into the side of the trailer, and he stopped. He then followed me forward, and we stood there, with me petting him, telling him Raffiq was just there outside, (he could see him), and he calmed down. I didn’t tie him up till I was sure he was calm enough. If he panicked with me in there, there was no escape route for me but the back door, which he’d be heading for.
I tied him up, then backed up to swing the compartment door shut. He started moving backwards again, but I patted his big fat butt and told him he was okay, and he stopped moving, and I swung the door shut and pinned him in there. He started moving around, and I patted his butt some more, then slipped out, and we loaded Raffiq in right away. Stormy was fine after that, except maybe for being a little claustrophobic, being so fat and all.
The trip down went smoothly, and once we got to where Stormy was going to stay, I made damn sure Spice and Raffiq and Stormy were all untied, then we unloaded Spice then Raffiq. I wasn’t going to ask Stormy to back out because he’d slam his head again, so I had to let him turn around, which he was going to do as soon as I swung his gate open. Only thing was, he’s so FAT, he almost got stuck turning around, which made him start to get scared, which was going to make him bolt once he got unstuck. Which put me in a vulnerable position, trying to hold the gate open enough for him to swing around.
Anyway, he safely made it out, and he was happily reunited with his buddy Woody from last winter.
We loaded Raffiq and Spice back up and hauled them to their place, where I made Spice stand in the trailer before letting her out. She didn’t like it, didn’t take it well, and when I let her go, she flew backwards out the trailer, which is exactly what we don’t want her to do. I loaded her right back up, which she also didn’t take well, but once in, she stood there a little longer, and didn’t fly back out quite so fast.
That’s what we’re going to be working on this winter with everybody – trailer safety. It won’t guarantee no accidents, but it can reduce at least a few of the possibilities, and (besides being common sense), will just plain reduce trailer trauma for horses and people.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Equus Migratus
Tuesday October 31 2006
Winter coats are thick: it’s about time for the Eastern Sierra Equus migration.
Gretchen and I are taking Raffiq and Spice down to Ridgecrest this coming weekend. It looks like once my job is over, I’ll be taking care of them and keeping them in shape down there for a while this winter. My horse Stormy is hitching a ride down with them; I’ll be taking care of him and watching his shape this winter, as in, Fat Boy is going on a diet. I haven’t informed him about this yet.
Gretchen and I will ride for fun this weekend, then ride for consequence the next weekend. We’re aspiring to do the 75-mile Git-R-Done ride. It will be Spice’s first venture beyond 55 miles. I wonder if Larry the Cable Guy will be handing out awards at the finish?
I expect we will spend some time shaving horse hair this weekend. With the morning temperatures in Bridgeport often around 18*, and at least one morning down to 8*, Spice and Raffiq have grown very woolly, especially Raffiq. This weekend I couldn’t take my fingers out of his plush, thick, soft coat, softer than any stuffed animal. He didn’t want me to take my fingers out, because with all that hair, he wanted a good scratching! The coats are great for keeping warm here in Bridgeport, but it will be too much hair for Ridgecrest, and positively too much hair for an endurance ride. It’s like when I’m out hiking in the cold – start off with 4 layers, but no matter how cold it is, after 10 minutes I’m down to 2 thin layers. A very hairy horse can easily overheat on an endurance ride, even if it is the middle of November.
Our forest service horses are pretty woolly too. Tom wouldn’t let me leave off scratching under his chin today. They’re up at our barn now, getting their shoes pulled for the season, and getting fattened up a little bit (especially the older ones Red Top and Brenda) before we send them off to their winter pasture. It will be cold and snowy at times where they’re staying, but nothing like Bridgeport, where it can be –20* for 2-3 weeks on end.
In a couple of weeks, with all the horses moved, what will I do with myself??
Winter coats are thick: it’s about time for the Eastern Sierra Equus migration.
Gretchen and I are taking Raffiq and Spice down to Ridgecrest this coming weekend. It looks like once my job is over, I’ll be taking care of them and keeping them in shape down there for a while this winter. My horse Stormy is hitching a ride down with them; I’ll be taking care of him and watching his shape this winter, as in, Fat Boy is going on a diet. I haven’t informed him about this yet.
Gretchen and I will ride for fun this weekend, then ride for consequence the next weekend. We’re aspiring to do the 75-mile Git-R-Done ride. It will be Spice’s first venture beyond 55 miles. I wonder if Larry the Cable Guy will be handing out awards at the finish?
I expect we will spend some time shaving horse hair this weekend. With the morning temperatures in Bridgeport often around 18*, and at least one morning down to 8*, Spice and Raffiq have grown very woolly, especially Raffiq. This weekend I couldn’t take my fingers out of his plush, thick, soft coat, softer than any stuffed animal. He didn’t want me to take my fingers out, because with all that hair, he wanted a good scratching! The coats are great for keeping warm here in Bridgeport, but it will be too much hair for Ridgecrest, and positively too much hair for an endurance ride. It’s like when I’m out hiking in the cold – start off with 4 layers, but no matter how cold it is, after 10 minutes I’m down to 2 thin layers. A very hairy horse can easily overheat on an endurance ride, even if it is the middle of November.
Our forest service horses are pretty woolly too. Tom wouldn’t let me leave off scratching under his chin today. They’re up at our barn now, getting their shoes pulled for the season, and getting fattened up a little bit (especially the older ones Red Top and Brenda) before we send them off to their winter pasture. It will be cold and snowy at times where they’re staying, but nothing like Bridgeport, where it can be –20* for 2-3 weeks on end.
In a couple of weeks, with all the horses moved, what will I do with myself??
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Earning a Bear
Thursday October 26 2006
Most of this summer I’ve been, well, not exactly complaining about only seeing 2 bears, but perceiving, regularly, that I have seen only 2 bears this summer. I saw 6 last summer and 6 the summer before. Where have all the bears gone?
Well, some days you just have to earn your bear.
Earning your bear might entail starting work when it’s 8* outside, driving a couple of hairy 4WD roads up to 8500’, then hiking several miles up and up and up an undrivable former mining road to 10,650’ doing an archaeological survey. You gotta sweat and get the heart rate up, peel the layers off as you climb higher, stop to rest and discover and eat some foxtail pine nuts while getting sap all over you, and go where no man has gone for quite a while, where only a lot of muscle and lung power will get you now, and the bear just appears.
The road we had to survey started at the scant remains of an old stamp mill from the late 1800’s and wound up through aspens stands and then above where aspen grew; up through sagebrush-covered hills and then above where sagebrush grew; up and through foxtail pine forests in harsh alpine habitat. We started encountering some snow patches, and there, crossing our road in some snow: nice big footprints – “Bear!”
It’s been so long that I’ve seen a bear that I was so excited by the footprints that all I could think about was getting the camera out to take a picture of them. Being so focused on those footprints, it never crossed my mind to notice how awful fresh they were, nor to actually look for the animal that had made them.
As I put my pack down to rummage through, Amy said “Whoa! There he is!” He was about 40 feet away from us.
At one time in the 1800’s and early 1900’s, up to 10,000 grizzly bears roamed the Sierras of California. The grizzlies carried with them the image of a fearsome, formidable killer, though most of them really preferred to be left alone. A 2000 lb bear was not uncommon, and the largest on record weighed in (dead) at 2200 lbs, in 1866. By 1922, they had gone the way of the buffalo - they were slaughtered, and there were zero grizzlies in California. Posthumously, if you will, they were named the official state animal in 1953. Now California just has black bears (which can come in any color, including brown), and while there have been black bear attacks (think problem bears in Yosemite), most (and all I have ever encountered) run away from you in the wilderness in fright, which seems kind of incongruous, being such a large, fast, powerful animal.
This one was a young ‘un, 2 or 3 years old, and he ran scared, above the tree line but below the snowy ridge, far and away. We got several seconds’ worth of viewing pleasure through the trees.
Amy said “Whew! My heart is pounding!”
It hadn’t even crossed my mind to be nervous, I was so excited to finally see another bear.
I wasn’t nervous at all… until I was subsequently attacked by a blue grouse. Actually, the grouse had been minding his own business and was strolling out of the foxtail pine stand on one side of the road to the stand on the other side, and we happened to meet at almost the exact same spot at almost exactly the same moment.
The grouse took to the air in frightened flight at this unexpected human, and I took to the air a foot off the ground myself at this unanticipated grouse, with my heart pounding. I must have had some post-traumatic bear willies after all.
We made it to the top of the road, where old mine pits and shafts perched just below and just over the top of a spectacular ridge.
They were likely associated with the remains of the mill several thousand feet below. You wonder what on earth made those early miners come all the way up here to dig for riches, and how they got on up here, and if they got rich. All that’s left now are a few timbers from collapsed shafts and a few rusted cables.
It was a beautiful day up on top of the mining world, with the near peaks of the Sierras to the west and the Sweetwater mountain summits far to the north, and Potato Peak and Bodie Peak (which hovers over the old 1860’s ghost mining town of Bodie) to the east - and a great day all around for this summer’s Bear #3!
Most of this summer I’ve been, well, not exactly complaining about only seeing 2 bears, but perceiving, regularly, that I have seen only 2 bears this summer. I saw 6 last summer and 6 the summer before. Where have all the bears gone?
Well, some days you just have to earn your bear.
Earning your bear might entail starting work when it’s 8* outside, driving a couple of hairy 4WD roads up to 8500’, then hiking several miles up and up and up an undrivable former mining road to 10,650’ doing an archaeological survey. You gotta sweat and get the heart rate up, peel the layers off as you climb higher, stop to rest and discover and eat some foxtail pine nuts while getting sap all over you, and go where no man has gone for quite a while, where only a lot of muscle and lung power will get you now, and the bear just appears.
The road we had to survey started at the scant remains of an old stamp mill from the late 1800’s and wound up through aspens stands and then above where aspen grew; up through sagebrush-covered hills and then above where sagebrush grew; up and through foxtail pine forests in harsh alpine habitat. We started encountering some snow patches, and there, crossing our road in some snow: nice big footprints – “Bear!”
It’s been so long that I’ve seen a bear that I was so excited by the footprints that all I could think about was getting the camera out to take a picture of them. Being so focused on those footprints, it never crossed my mind to notice how awful fresh they were, nor to actually look for the animal that had made them.As I put my pack down to rummage through, Amy said “Whoa! There he is!” He was about 40 feet away from us.
At one time in the 1800’s and early 1900’s, up to 10,000 grizzly bears roamed the Sierras of California. The grizzlies carried with them the image of a fearsome, formidable killer, though most of them really preferred to be left alone. A 2000 lb bear was not uncommon, and the largest on record weighed in (dead) at 2200 lbs, in 1866. By 1922, they had gone the way of the buffalo - they were slaughtered, and there were zero grizzlies in California. Posthumously, if you will, they were named the official state animal in 1953. Now California just has black bears (which can come in any color, including brown), and while there have been black bear attacks (think problem bears in Yosemite), most (and all I have ever encountered) run away from you in the wilderness in fright, which seems kind of incongruous, being such a large, fast, powerful animal.
This one was a young ‘un, 2 or 3 years old, and he ran scared, above the tree line but below the snowy ridge, far and away. We got several seconds’ worth of viewing pleasure through the trees.
Amy said “Whew! My heart is pounding!”
It hadn’t even crossed my mind to be nervous, I was so excited to finally see another bear.
I wasn’t nervous at all… until I was subsequently attacked by a blue grouse. Actually, the grouse had been minding his own business and was strolling out of the foxtail pine stand on one side of the road to the stand on the other side, and we happened to meet at almost the exact same spot at almost exactly the same moment.
The grouse took to the air in frightened flight at this unexpected human, and I took to the air a foot off the ground myself at this unanticipated grouse, with my heart pounding. I must have had some post-traumatic bear willies after all.
We made it to the top of the road, where old mine pits and shafts perched just below and just over the top of a spectacular ridge.
They were likely associated with the remains of the mill several thousand feet below. You wonder what on earth made those early miners come all the way up here to dig for riches, and how they got on up here, and if they got rich. All that’s left now are a few timbers from collapsed shafts and a few rusted cables.It was a beautiful day up on top of the mining world, with the near peaks of the Sierras to the west and the Sweetwater mountain summits far to the north, and Potato Peak and Bodie Peak (which hovers over the old 1860’s ghost mining town of Bodie) to the east - and a great day all around for this summer’s Bear #3!
Monday, October 23, 2006
Fat Boss Man
Monday October 23 2006
I think my horse at one point must have lived through one of the World Wars and was on food rations, or he heard of some horse who was, because all he does is stuff his face with a vengeance. I believe he is afraid he might go short of food again one day so he’s making up for that very slight possibility. And he is fat, oh lordy, is he fat. He looks pregnant.
Maybe he thinks he should be eating for two.
When, once or twice a week or so I walk out into the big dude ranch pasture to see him, he can’t always pause long from his eating to let me pet him, although today he was quite happy to see me. He actually stopped eating to watch me walk up,
and he paused, oh, like 30 seconds before he had to go back to stuffing his face, and, he even stopped eating a few times for more smooches.
He’s a very jealous sort, that Stormy. When he’s not so obsessively hung up on eating, he gets very possessive, can’t stand to have other horses close to us. Today a nice friendly paint horse wanted to meet me, so he started walking up to investigate. Stormy’s ears flattened against his neck and he charged the paint horse. Now, a timid horse would wheel and flee in fright at this big handsome thoroughbred charging him ready to kill, but this paint was no timid horse. (Most of them are not; Stormy just thinks he’s top horse on the totem pole – he never gets it, no matter how many times he gets bitten or kicked.) The paint just slowed his steps and looked curiously at Stormy, while Stormy was the one who had to stop short. Stormy saved face by keeping his ears pinned, and when the paint didn’t pin his ears at Stormy, Stormy was able to walk away, like, “Huh! Scared you! Kept you away from my mom!” Stormy went back to grazing and pretended he didn’t see the paint come up to me for a pet.
Covetousness flaring again, Stormy tried it two more times when he deemed the painted interloper to be too close to us. I think he did it because he felt safe that the paint wasn’t actually going to beat the shit out of him. Again, both times the paint just looked at him, didn’t even bother to pin his ears back to show who was boss, didn’t squeal at Stormy when they bent heads and touched noses, but it let Stormy again think that he’d protected me and kept me to himself.
He only shows off like this when I’m around. I don’t let on to him that I know who’s boss in the Hunewill pastures and who’s not.
By the way, in the 4 miles of pastures between the Hunewill Ranch and Bridgeport, without even looking, I saw 10 hawks, 1 golden eagle, and 2 ravens. Happy Bird-day!
I think my horse at one point must have lived through one of the World Wars and was on food rations, or he heard of some horse who was, because all he does is stuff his face with a vengeance. I believe he is afraid he might go short of food again one day so he’s making up for that very slight possibility. And he is fat, oh lordy, is he fat. He looks pregnant.
Maybe he thinks he should be eating for two.When, once or twice a week or so I walk out into the big dude ranch pasture to see him, he can’t always pause long from his eating to let me pet him, although today he was quite happy to see me. He actually stopped eating to watch me walk up,
and he paused, oh, like 30 seconds before he had to go back to stuffing his face, and, he even stopped eating a few times for more smooches.He’s a very jealous sort, that Stormy. When he’s not so obsessively hung up on eating, he gets very possessive, can’t stand to have other horses close to us. Today a nice friendly paint horse wanted to meet me, so he started walking up to investigate. Stormy’s ears flattened against his neck and he charged the paint horse. Now, a timid horse would wheel and flee in fright at this big handsome thoroughbred charging him ready to kill, but this paint was no timid horse. (Most of them are not; Stormy just thinks he’s top horse on the totem pole – he never gets it, no matter how many times he gets bitten or kicked.) The paint just slowed his steps and looked curiously at Stormy, while Stormy was the one who had to stop short. Stormy saved face by keeping his ears pinned, and when the paint didn’t pin his ears at Stormy, Stormy was able to walk away, like, “Huh! Scared you! Kept you away from my mom!” Stormy went back to grazing and pretended he didn’t see the paint come up to me for a pet.
Covetousness flaring again, Stormy tried it two more times when he deemed the painted interloper to be too close to us. I think he did it because he felt safe that the paint wasn’t actually going to beat the shit out of him. Again, both times the paint just looked at him, didn’t even bother to pin his ears back to show who was boss, didn’t squeal at Stormy when they bent heads and touched noses, but it let Stormy again think that he’d protected me and kept me to himself.
He only shows off like this when I’m around. I don’t let on to him that I know who’s boss in the Hunewill pastures and who’s not.
By the way, in the 4 miles of pastures between the Hunewill Ranch and Bridgeport, without even looking, I saw 10 hawks, 1 golden eagle, and 2 ravens. Happy Bird-day!
Sunday, October 22, 2006
High Desert II, Nevada
Sunday October 22 2006
Friday:
Checklist for a 2-day endurance ride: helmet, chaps, bags o’ clothes (several changes of tights, Tshirts, long underwear, rain gear, jackets, underwear, socks for any kind of weather), sleeping bag(s), pillow(s), raven.
Arrival at ride camp Friday night: set up high ties on trailer for 2 horses, hay bags, water. Take horses out on short warm-up ride. Prepare and eat dinner. Grain horses. Go to ride meeting, visit with friends. It’s dark and chilly. Blanket horses, take them on a walk through camp, refill their hay bags and water for the night. Get our things ready for tomorrow: snacks, water bottles, clothes laid out, raven in saddle bag, set alarms for 5 AM, (UGH!), crash.
Saturday:
Alarms ring at 5 AM – UGH! Bodies don’t move from out of warm sleeping nests till 5:15. It is very cold outside (someone later said 16*). Hard to leave warmth of nice trailer, but horses are hungry and ride start time of 7 AM is steadily approaching. Refill hay bags, break ice in water buckets. Prepare horses’ grain, mixed with hot water from the kettle. Feed the horses, go back in trailer to re-warm up and force breakfast down. Take horses on a walk through camp in the cold morning darkness, as are many other riders – get the circulation in those horse legs going after a night of standing tied to the trailer. Shooting stars are everywhere – I see at least a dozen, without even trying. Saddle horses, throw a blanket back over them until we are ready to ride off. Make sure I’ve got everything: helmet, bandana to keep ears warm, chaps, butt pack, water, gloves, raven in my saddle bag. Do I wear an extra coat, a 4th layer? I foolishly opt not to, thinking I will be hot enough that I will have to take it off in 15 minutes, and especially so that I match, with my red and black tights, chaps and new jacket, and I stay pretty damn frozen for a good 45 minutes, and am never warm enough to peel that 3rd color coordinated layer off (Boy do I look good!)(though my horse and I did not completely color coordinate). The starting line is 15 minutes from camp; everybody walks there, horses blowing smoke from their noses, people huddled down into their layers.
7 AM start down the desert trail. Spice does not buck under Gretchen, and Raffiq only pulls hard on me the first 5 minutes – we’ve started in back of the fast and exciting front-runners. First loop is 30 miles (takes us about 5 hours), then an hour vet check back in camp, and the second loop is 20 miles, all winding in and around Ft Churchill State Park, a part of it along the Pony Express Trail, along the Carson River Valley lined with huge graceful old cottonwoods, the yellow leaves in the middle of their striking fall color change. It’s not a particularly hard ride, no huge hills, and only one long sandy wash, but it’s a true 50 mile ride – it’s LONG.
We’re finally done at 5 PM, tired like the horses, as if we’d been 9 hours in the saddle – which we were.
Not much time to kick back and relax (other than a Dr. Pepper) when we get back. We unsaddle, brush the horses while they eat hay, and mix their grain. Take them to the vet check for the finish exams: we both get completions, but Raffiq’s feet are a bit ouchy; I won’t ride him tomorrow. Get back to the trailer, grain the horses and throw light blankets on them. Refill hay bags and water. It’s time for the ride dinner (BBQ! Chile rellenos! Chili!) and the day’s gossip: one guy got tossed off, broke his shoulder and ribs; the gal that parked by us at 2 AM had broken down on Highway 50, then missed the turn to ride camp and got stuck in sand, unloaded her horse to get unstuck and he scraped up his legs, and her friend hauled another horse for her to ride for tomorrow; one guy and his horse fell into the Carson River during our long after-lunch river crossing when his horse got dizzy. Then it’s back to the trailer just before dark to bandage 8 legs. Back to the ride meeting, then back to the trailer. Take the horses on a leg-stretching walk through camp, change their blankets for heavier ones, refill hay bags one more time. Go inside and get ready for tomorrow, then crash.
Camp is dead quiet tonight: dead tired sleeping horses and humans.
Sunday:
Even though I’m not riding, I resist the terrible urge to stay in my cozy sleeping nest, and get up at 5:15 AM anyway (UGH!) to help Gretchen and Spice get ready – Raffiq must be fed too. It’s butt cold outside again, and they will start off their ride with the long frigid river crossing. We go through the morning routine of feeding and walking the horses, going in the trailer to warm up. I’m disappointed I’m not riding, but then, it’s awful cold out, and my warm bed hasn’t been made yet…
I lead Gretchen and Spice up to the start where Spice instantly bonds with some other buddies. I watch the river crossing – Spice has no problem following everybody, but one wild horse refuses the muddy slope down to the river and dumps his rider and runs through camp. The horse is caught and the rider, who will get stitches later for his split chin, gets back on and tries and tries to get his wild horse to go into the river. I can’t watch anymore because I don’t like to see accidents. (He never got the horse in the water; he instead rode the 30-mile limited distance ride starting at 8 AM.)
I go back to the trailer where Raffiq the Drama Queen spends the next 10 hours screaming for Spice.
I crawl back in bed for an hour because I’m chilled to the bone, but Raffiq’s screaming doesn’t allow for much peaceful slumber.
It’s a gorgeous day for a ride, although it’s nice enough if you have to sit in camp too. Raffiq quiets down when Spice comes back into camp for lunch at 10:30, then starts his screaming when she goes back out on her 2nd 30-mile loop. I take Raffiq on several walks through camp, stopping each time at a soft sandy spot to roll.
Gretchen and Spice complete their ride at 4:30. We grab a ride dinner, load up the horses, and are back home in 2 hours.
Great way to pass a weekend!
Friday:
Checklist for a 2-day endurance ride: helmet, chaps, bags o’ clothes (several changes of tights, Tshirts, long underwear, rain gear, jackets, underwear, socks for any kind of weather), sleeping bag(s), pillow(s), raven.
Arrival at ride camp Friday night: set up high ties on trailer for 2 horses, hay bags, water. Take horses out on short warm-up ride. Prepare and eat dinner. Grain horses. Go to ride meeting, visit with friends. It’s dark and chilly. Blanket horses, take them on a walk through camp, refill their hay bags and water for the night. Get our things ready for tomorrow: snacks, water bottles, clothes laid out, raven in saddle bag, set alarms for 5 AM, (UGH!), crash.
Saturday:
Alarms ring at 5 AM – UGH! Bodies don’t move from out of warm sleeping nests till 5:15. It is very cold outside (someone later said 16*). Hard to leave warmth of nice trailer, but horses are hungry and ride start time of 7 AM is steadily approaching. Refill hay bags, break ice in water buckets. Prepare horses’ grain, mixed with hot water from the kettle. Feed the horses, go back in trailer to re-warm up and force breakfast down. Take horses on a walk through camp in the cold morning darkness, as are many other riders – get the circulation in those horse legs going after a night of standing tied to the trailer. Shooting stars are everywhere – I see at least a dozen, without even trying. Saddle horses, throw a blanket back over them until we are ready to ride off. Make sure I’ve got everything: helmet, bandana to keep ears warm, chaps, butt pack, water, gloves, raven in my saddle bag. Do I wear an extra coat, a 4th layer? I foolishly opt not to, thinking I will be hot enough that I will have to take it off in 15 minutes, and especially so that I match, with my red and black tights, chaps and new jacket, and I stay pretty damn frozen for a good 45 minutes, and am never warm enough to peel that 3rd color coordinated layer off (Boy do I look good!)(though my horse and I did not completely color coordinate). The starting line is 15 minutes from camp; everybody walks there, horses blowing smoke from their noses, people huddled down into their layers.
7 AM start down the desert trail. Spice does not buck under Gretchen, and Raffiq only pulls hard on me the first 5 minutes – we’ve started in back of the fast and exciting front-runners. First loop is 30 miles (takes us about 5 hours), then an hour vet check back in camp, and the second loop is 20 miles, all winding in and around Ft Churchill State Park, a part of it along the Pony Express Trail, along the Carson River Valley lined with huge graceful old cottonwoods, the yellow leaves in the middle of their striking fall color change. It’s not a particularly hard ride, no huge hills, and only one long sandy wash, but it’s a true 50 mile ride – it’s LONG.
We’re finally done at 5 PM, tired like the horses, as if we’d been 9 hours in the saddle – which we were.
Not much time to kick back and relax (other than a Dr. Pepper) when we get back. We unsaddle, brush the horses while they eat hay, and mix their grain. Take them to the vet check for the finish exams: we both get completions, but Raffiq’s feet are a bit ouchy; I won’t ride him tomorrow. Get back to the trailer, grain the horses and throw light blankets on them. Refill hay bags and water. It’s time for the ride dinner (BBQ! Chile rellenos! Chili!) and the day’s gossip: one guy got tossed off, broke his shoulder and ribs; the gal that parked by us at 2 AM had broken down on Highway 50, then missed the turn to ride camp and got stuck in sand, unloaded her horse to get unstuck and he scraped up his legs, and her friend hauled another horse for her to ride for tomorrow; one guy and his horse fell into the Carson River during our long after-lunch river crossing when his horse got dizzy. Then it’s back to the trailer just before dark to bandage 8 legs. Back to the ride meeting, then back to the trailer. Take the horses on a leg-stretching walk through camp, change their blankets for heavier ones, refill hay bags one more time. Go inside and get ready for tomorrow, then crash.
Camp is dead quiet tonight: dead tired sleeping horses and humans.
Sunday:
Even though I’m not riding, I resist the terrible urge to stay in my cozy sleeping nest, and get up at 5:15 AM anyway (UGH!) to help Gretchen and Spice get ready – Raffiq must be fed too. It’s butt cold outside again, and they will start off their ride with the long frigid river crossing. We go through the morning routine of feeding and walking the horses, going in the trailer to warm up. I’m disappointed I’m not riding, but then, it’s awful cold out, and my warm bed hasn’t been made yet…
I lead Gretchen and Spice up to the start where Spice instantly bonds with some other buddies. I watch the river crossing – Spice has no problem following everybody, but one wild horse refuses the muddy slope down to the river and dumps his rider and runs through camp. The horse is caught and the rider, who will get stitches later for his split chin, gets back on and tries and tries to get his wild horse to go into the river. I can’t watch anymore because I don’t like to see accidents. (He never got the horse in the water; he instead rode the 30-mile limited distance ride starting at 8 AM.)
I go back to the trailer where Raffiq the Drama Queen spends the next 10 hours screaming for Spice.
I crawl back in bed for an hour because I’m chilled to the bone, but Raffiq’s screaming doesn’t allow for much peaceful slumber.It’s a gorgeous day for a ride, although it’s nice enough if you have to sit in camp too. Raffiq quiets down when Spice comes back into camp for lunch at 10:30, then starts his screaming when she goes back out on her 2nd 30-mile loop. I take Raffiq on several walks through camp, stopping each time at a soft sandy spot to roll.
Gretchen and Spice complete their ride at 4:30. We grab a ride dinner, load up the horses, and are back home in 2 hours.
Great way to pass a weekend!
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Happy Bird-Day!
Tuesday October 17 2006
Yea, sure it’s my birthday this month, but what’s important is – it’s Happy Bird-Day month! Every day is Happy Bird-Day! Birds out the wazoo!
Two weeks ago while out working we saw a golden eagle being chased and harassed by two ravens. The two ravens took turns dive bombing the eagle, and when they got a good peck on him, the eagle squeaked. We could hear him and the squawking ravens even when they were out of sight. I won’t even mention the multitude of red-tailed hawks about the last two weeks, hunting, flying over and checking us out, sitting in meadows, and along one hilltop, 6 hovering motionless concurrently in the updrafts along a hilltop. Northern harriers all over the valley pastures. Three possible goshawks yesterday. Last week we went out to try to rescue an injured eagle. We found no eagle, but obviously acquired many eagle karma points.
Yesterday, we saw 3 golden eagles. One was alone; two immatures were flying together, high above a ridge, up, down, back and forth, close together, further apart, going different directions, coming back together, hanging in the updrafts. It was like they were on a date. Once they came together and tried to grasp talons and spin (I witnessed this once – stunning – a National Geographic moment) but they didn’t get a good grip. This is a method of courtship between eagles. It’s not courting season, so this could have been practice courting between a couple, or siblings from the same nest practicing. We watched them for 5 minutes till they disappeared from our view.
Today we saw 3 more immature golden eagles (different area). One alone, later another one – joined by a second one. They flew around together, apart, together, going higher and higher, thousands of feet up till they were a speck even in my binoculars.
All these eagles pretty much make up for the lack of bear sightings this year! What’s next?!
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