Sunday, February 20, 2011

A Taste of a Montana Winter



Sunday February 20 2011

Only a week-long taste, but it was delicious.

The Raven also thinks it's fabulous.


Lonesome meets The Raven


Rebel meets The Raven


I found bobcat tracks one day, very likely cougar tracks another day (we went back and checked, and I'm even more certain that's what it was). These are coyote tracks - you can see the symmetrical shape to the paw and the claws. They look big, but it was soft snow and they were a day or so old.


Soaking up the sun


Frisky and hungry


Another inviting path


The Clark Fork

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Jumpy



Thursday February 17 2011

All this talk about cougars, after my story on bobcat prints, and I'm looking over my shoulders.

Inches of snow fall overnight. I'm out walking in the new snow next day. Some flakes are still falling, but the temperature has risen to just above freezing. Some of the snow stacked on the needles of the pine trees occasionally slides to the ground with a sudden WHOMPF in the otherwise quiet forest. One lump lands beside me. I jump a foot in the air. Another lands behind me, WHOMMPHFF and I leap and whirl a 180 in the air, my heart thumping.


Silly, I say, it's just snow. There are no cougars out here. Haven't seen any tracks, the horses haven't been nervous. Well, sure, cougars are out here, but not right here. Surely.

Today I flounder through more fresh fluffy snow - hard packed inches of snow covered by ice covered by the new snow - graceless, noisy, incompetent. Vulnerable. My feet heavy and clumsy, grabbed by the snow with each step, sometimes sinking to my knees if I don't stay on a track.


I look over my shoulder, a lot. Not that it would help, if a cougar were close. I wouldn't see it stalking - unless it boldly walked behind me in my tracks; I wouldn't see it hiding through the trees where they grow close and the low branches drape the snow. And I'm so loud when I walk. My feet crunch, my clothing swishes, my collar creaks - which makes me jerk my head around, thinking it's something else behind me.

I'm not nervous; I don't feel anything amiss. I'm just looking around a lot. This is no different from the many other forests I've hiked through - often after dark, far away from human habitation.

And yet... there has been a lot of cougar discussion that has stuck in my head more than usual. Including the fact that you're more likely to be struck by lightning twice before being attacked by a cougar.

And, I see no cougar tracks around here... or are there?


What are these? I walked within 30 yards of this spot 3 days ago. Today I discover old tracks in the snow - big tracks. They have since softened and melted and expanded, and have been snowed in by inches of snow the last 24 hours, but there is unmistakably a track of something that has left big footprints. I can't match the stride without jumping from step to step.


Hmmm. It's not a deer; tracks are too small. Wouldn't be a bear; they should be hibernating now. Elk perhaps? Tracks still seem too small. But wait - that can't be an elk, it goes from heavy undergrowth trees, across an open spot to more heavy undergrowth trees. What else is that size with that big a stride... ??

Perhaps I'm stretching my imagination. I continue to enjoy the snow walk. But now I'm jumpy as a cat.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

The Great American Horse Race: Wild Terror on Horseback - Part II



Wednesday February 16 2011

(Part I is here.)

Wild horses in Nevada. Severe hail storms. White Lightning (not the weather kind). Humidity. Chiggers. Music around the campfire. Heat rash. Beautiful country. Lady Godiva. Sickness. Sillyness. Adventure.

And through it all, she rode.

They started in Frankfurt, New York, 91 optimistic riders on the Great American Horse Race - they were dubbed 'the 76'ers after the pioneers that preceded them 200 years before - bound for Sacramento, California, 3200 miles and 99 days away. Fanfare and a parade sent riders on their way on Memorial Day, May 31, 1976.

17-year-old Valorie Briggs was on the starting line, donning a bonnet that her great grandmother had made for her, and wearing jeans and boots - endurance attire back in those days. Her half Arabian half mustang Tiki wore his attire - an old McClellan saddle and long-shanked snaffle bit; they were leading their anglo Arabian partner Chuluck. Valorie's mother, Mary Lou Briggs, was also on the starting line on her horse Daniel (the Arabian stallion, Kimfaris, that she had hauled across the country had died suddenly before the race started, from a previously undiagnosed disease), though Mary Lou ended up dropping out after about a week.

They all almost dropped out. At Watkins Glen, New York - not a week into the Great American Horse Race - the organization ran out of money and the ride stalled. According to a document on the ride, "Although race founder Randy Scheiding put the purse in Escrow in Sacramento, there was no guarantee that the race would ever get that far."

Valorie remembers her dad helping form a riders' committee that started collecting money from riders - which wasn't part of the original deal - and pooling it together to pay the vets and vet students, pay for the ride help and support crews, and keep the ride going. "They were very seriously considered shutting the ride down," Valorie says. "But everybody had worked for a long time to get their horses ready, to get back there [to New York]; this was their dream. And so we formed a committee. They all put their heads together to figure out how we could keep this thing going." This wasn't something for a teenager to worry about anyway. For Valorie, she was on an adventure, riding her horses across the United States.

One dramatic aspect of the race that left a big impression on Valorie was Mother Nature.

"Places like Kansas, Missouri... they have hailstorms and rainstorms that are so bad, you can see 'em coming from miles away, a wall of black coming, and you know you'll have just a couple of minutes before it hits you. You'd put your poncho on, and pull it down so you could barely see out of the eye hole, and it would still drench you. Drenched. It would hit so hard it would almost knock you and the horses over.

"I remember thinking after I got home, that I had always thought it rained a lot in Oregon... and I realized that the weather in the West is much nicer than anywhere else!"

Valorie also remembers being pelted by lightning across the plains. "One rider got knocked off the horse by the lightning coming close by. I also remember crossing over this railroad track, and I heard the lightning strike the track somewhere down the way - you could hear it sizzle through the track, and I thought, what if you clipped a horseshoe on that railroad track when the lightning hit - you'd be fried!"

Then there was the White Lightning.

Valorie was too young to drink, and didn't like it anyway, but she recalled the moonshine's established place around the campfire. "A lot of times we were in a dry camp, no electricity, and invariably someone would set up a circle of chairs and a start a campfire. Someone would get out the whiskey, and they'd break one of those chemical lights (glowsticks), and drop it down in the whiskey, so you could find the whiskey jug."

"Not everybody drank," Mary Lou remembers, "but some drank quite a bit! Valorie is one that actually broke up a party one night. because she broke a light stick, and she drew a skeleton on her one horse's butt (Chuluck, the dark bay), and she ran him around the edge of the camp, so they only saw the skeleton, not the horse.

"It scared people - they'd all had enough to drink - they didn't know what that was! That ended the party right there! The White Lightin' - it was powerful stuff, I guess!"

Regularly at night - when the ride hadn't lasted till after dark and the riders and crews weren't so exhausted they went straight to bed and collapsed - people gathered around the campfire for entertainment. Valorie's sister Denise would get out her accordion, and she and Valorie would start singing (they later had a quite successful start to a singing career, as "Valli and Dee"). "Everybody would sing, and we'd play music, drink whiskey and talk."

Valorie recalls the time in camp when a 'follower-on' or groupie of the ride, pulled a stunt. "This girl borrowed a really nice buckskin horse from a cowboy. She peeled off her clothes, and rode as Lady Godiva through camp."

Mary Lou adds, "And she did it the day that the Mormon Bishops had come to the camp to see the horses. They made her leave. She was no longer allowed in camp."

There was the time a rainstorm left a camp chair soaked, and one by one, people sat down and accidentally got a wet butt. It became a game to see how many other people could be enticed to sitting down in the chair. "It was hilarious. I bet there were 30 people there with wet butts! It was silly, but you amused yourself with whatever was there," Valorie says.

There were Johannas the Count from Austria, and his friend Walter from Germany, riding Icelandic ponies, and the time they needed to clip their hairy Icelandics because they were getting too hot. They happened to clip the ponies in a bathroom in a state park, because that was the only place they could plug in the clippers.

Mary Lou laughs recalling the incident with the state park rangers. "They told the riders, 'You can't clip those horses in here! You gotta get them out!' Johannas and Walter spoke no English - the rangers were talking gibberish to these guys - and they were just clipping away, and by the time the rangers got it through to their heads what they were saying, all 4 of the horses were clipped. There was hair everywhere in the bathroom!"

There were rest days along the trail... sort of. In some towns, locals would be invited to come out and see the Great American Horse Race riders and horses. Sometimes the riders saddled up and put on a little show. Jumps were set up once, to show what the Connemara pony could do. "Verle Norton [another competitor] and I were sitting there on our mounts, and he was actually making fun of the Connemaras, and said he was going to go jump with his mule. So we just took off together and raced over the jumps. I thought Tiki had much better form than the mule!"

In some towns, Mary Lou remembers the schools would be let out and the kids would be lining the streets as the riders went by. "People were excited about the race. The riders had fans! They'd be yelling, 'Valorie! Tiki!'" They'd bring out drinks and apples for the riders and horses."

But the Great American Horse Race wasn't all fun and games.

There were times when Valorie remembers it was no fun at all. "It was gruelling. If you were sick you still had to ride... I was really susceptible to heat rash. I can remember finding a creek; I'd find a flat rock and lay under water with only my head out. I was miserable."

Then there was the time she fell asleep in the sun too long. "When we were in Colorado, we had a day off, and i laid by the lake soaking up sun. I was in my swimming suit and got sunburned really bad, my whole back and the backs of my legs. I remember trying to get on and ride the next day with a really bad sunburn, sitting in the saddle in my jeans... that was painful, and i was really sore for several days. Yea, that was a bad move!"

There were chiggers. There was humidity. "Back east, Pennsylvania somewhere, there were a few days of humidity. Both Tiki and I were sick. He had hives, I had hives... I don't do well with humidity. And that was the only thing that bothered Tiki the whole trip. His pulse would be down in the vet checks, but sometimes we couldn't get his respiration low."

Keeping the horses comfortable and healthy was the priority of everybody in the ride. All the worming and vaccinations had been taken care of at home in Oregon well before the race. During the race, the Briggs had (at the time) a rather innovative setup in camp for their horses - an electric fence that they ran off the generator of the truck. While many horses in the race spent their nights tied to their trailers or high lined every night, Valorie's horses were able to stretch out and lay down whenever they wanted.

Every night their legs were bandaged. When the ride passed through Kentucky, they met an old Standardbred groom who gave them a secret formula liniment to put on the legs. "Everything was in it - tuttles, witchhazel, alcohol..." It could be rubbed on the legs or put in a bucket for soaking. It felt good to sore human joints, also.

Shoeing was a hot topic. Valorie's shoer had worked for a year on her horse's shoes before figuring out what would be the best way to do a ride across the country. "I wound up with a leather pad, with silicone underneath to keep anything from getting under there, and then a 'half round shoe' with borium on it." The shoe was shaped and gotten ready, then borium was run all around the toe and on the heels and welded on. "It's harder than steel, so your shoes don't wear through the borium. Tiki never wore out his shoes. We probably shod him every 4 weeks."

A half Orlov stallion had been entered in the race, but the owner didn't know about borium. The horse constantly wore right through his shoes, and was being re-shod every 5 days, to where eventually he had no hoof to nail to. He didn't last long in the race.

Nothing about the trail was intimidating for Valorie. But then, with all the crazy things she did on horseback growing up, she didn't scare easily. "Every day was an adventure in that the trails were always different; there were some that were pretty, some that were easy and some that were a little rougher, but none of the trails were bad enough that you thought 'Wow, i wouldn't want to have to ride that trail again!' "

She got bucked off only once but she had a good excuse. She'd ridden Tiki the first half of the day, and switched to Chuluck the second half of the day. She usually kept both horses saddled, and led the extra one with a rope and halter. Instead of leading Tiki by hand on this day, she'd put a jerk knot in the lead rope, attached to the back of her McClellan, where she could just jerk it loose if she needed to untie him.

Riding into a town at the end of the day, she came to a stoplight where a man was directing the way to camp. "We were on a paved street at a 4-way intersection, and when we stopped, there were cars behind me, cars going different directions. Tiki walked up to Chuluck and put his head down to smell something on the pavement, Chuluck stepped sideways and got his hind leg over the rope, and soon as he did that, Tiki raised his head, and the rope ran right up the crack of his butt, and Chuluck started bucking in the middle of this intersection - with Tiki still attached to him. I was thinking, Number One, he's going to kick Tiki in the head and kill him, and I'm out of the race, and Number Two, he's going to throw me on this pavement and I'm going to die!

"We always rode with a 'Mountain Tie', where you can get down and jerk your cinch loose on your saddle. It's saved my life more than once. Somehow, from the saddle, while Chuluck was bucking, I reached down and yanked my jerk knot loose, and the entire saddle came off. And as soon as it came off, there was no reason for Chuluck to buck, and he stopped and stood there, and Tiki was standing tied to the saddle laying in the middle of the street."

Mary Lou said, "People said they'd never seen anybody unsaddle a horse while on top of it!" Of course it was just one of the things Valorie had learned when growing up.

One thousand miles down the trail, the Great American Horse Race arrived in Hannibal, Missouri to rest a few days and participate in Fourth of July celebrations. At the time, Valorie was in 5th place, and her photo was one of six that graced an article about the race in Sports Illustrated.

But just four hundred miles later, with over half the race completed, in Red Cloud, Nebraska, Valorie decided to scratch Chuluck. He was starting to consistently come up with a sore shoulder. That pretty much ended any chances of her winning the race, since trailering a horse doubled the riders' ride time for the day. While that was a disappointment, Valorie still had the goal of riding across the rest of the country with her little half mustang.

And they did it. Tiki carried Valorie the 1400 miles, across the flat plains, into Wyoming and Utah ("beautiful country!"), across Nevada and into the Sierra Nevada mountains. Their route took them over part of the Tevis trail, and ended on September 5, Labor Day, in Sacramento, California.


It was 59-year-old Virl 'the Mule Man' Norton from California who claimed first prize with his two mules, Lord Fauntleroy and Lady Eloise. Out of 54 finishers, Valorie Briggs finished 14th. Her horse Tiki looked like he'd just been out for a few days' ride: he'd gained weight over the summer and his coat was dappled out.

Though Valorie hadn't won, the enormity of her accomplishment struck her then, and still resonates strongly in her today. "We did something that nobody had ever done before - ride across the United States, something we'd have the rest of our lives. I can say, I rode my horse from New York to California! It really was an adventure."

With the inevitable question of, Would she do it again, Valorie gets a faraway look in her eyes. "I could still do it today. There's a lot of things i can't do at my age (52) that I could do as a teenager, and I might be a little more tired at the end of the day... but i could still do it.

"And actually, I'm a far better and more knowledgeable horseman now than I was when I was a farm kid in Oregon. I could ride then, but now I have years and years of knowing horses. If I knew then what I know about horses now, I would have won the ride."

Valorie breaks into a smile. "I'd go find me the right horse, and they'd have to beat me. It wouldn't be a Gimme!"

If she does ever try it again, don't bet against her.


*Photos from Valorie's scrapbooks*
Top: Valorie riding Chuluck and ponying Tiki
Bottom: Valorie riding Chuluck and ponying Tiki, riding alongside the eventual winner, Virl Norton and his 2 mules

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Save a Logger, Eat an Owl



Tuesday February 15 2011

Outside, the 3/4 moon is bright, reflecting off the snow burying the meadow. The surrounding woods are darker than black, hiding whatever wishes to be hidden. It's so still I can hear the horses munching on hay 50 yards away on the other side of the barn. Not a hint of a breeze moves the pine needles. I've got the three little dogs outside (one on a long leash). We are looking, listening to the sounds of the mountain forest at night.

And then from far down the canyon I realize there is a rhythm to the soft sounds I'm hearing. It's an owl - a barred owl!

I always think of spotted owls when I'm in the forest. Years ago I did spotted owl surveys, tromping around in the Pacific Northwest forests at night, searching for them, recording their steadily declining numbers. Out of habit (and hope, always hope) I look for them in every forest I'm in; I look for them here in this corner of Montana, even though the habitat doesn't suit the spotted owl. Around here, this is a logged forest, second- and third-growth trees where trees are still standing. No old growth forest that the spotted owl needs.

That barred owls would be here never occured to me only because it's been so long that I've heard one.

In 1990 the Northern subspecies of the spotted owl - which lives in old growth forests in the Northwest, from British Columbia to northern California - was listed as an endangered species. Because of that, logging in the Pacific Northwest on federal lands was all but stopped and was reduced by almost 90% by 2000. Jobs were lost, though the logging industry had already been in decline since World War II. Automation of the industry had already been stealing jobs for decades. Machines replaced the men that used the shovels and pulaskis to build roads, the men that used the saws and axes to cut and fall and load trees, and the men that drove horses to transport the logs. Machines replaced people in the sawmills. Society, and corporations, hail automation as progress. In the logging industry (as in any industry), it meant job losses. Perhaps the spotted owl was to blame solely for logging woes; perhaps it was a scapegoat.

Spotted owls were allegedly eaten at barbeques. You can still come across the "Save a Logger, Eat an Owl" bumper stickers on old vehicles. You still don't walk into a bar in one of those old Northwest logging towns and start chirping away about the environmental benefits of conserving the cute fluffy, endangered spotted owls you have left in your neck of the woods.

Then there's the barred owl. A little larger than the spotted owl, more aggressive, and not needing strictly old growth forest to live in, it's another reason the spotted owl is in trouble. They are cousins in the bird world; both are of the same genus, Strix, and rarely, they interbreed, resulting in a sparred owl. (I located one of these once on my owl job.) Barred owls moved from the eastern US to the west over the 20th century. In many historic spotted owl nesting sites in the Pacific Northwest, the barred owl has taken over.

Now, this night I hear a female barred owl down the canyon. I answer its call. In five minutes, she has flown further up-canyon in my direction. I am thrilled to hear her. She continues to hoot her 8-note call, and in another five minutes, she is closer, hooting from only a quarter mile away.

I am mesmerized by the call, by the fact she is answering my call. She's probably looking for a mate; it's that time of season. I have heard many barred owls, but I have never actually seen one, even though they have been close enough I could have hit them with a rock. I've jumped out of my skin and nearly had a heart attack before, when one has flown in silently in the dark and suddenly screeched an unearthly howl right above me. But I've never laid eyes on one.

I call once more, and suddenly, zeroing straight in on my call, she flies directly at me, 30 feet above me into the nearest tree. Oh my God!

It's so startling, she scares the leashed dog, who starts barking; and the second little dog takes off barking directly at her! Oh, crap!

I come to my senses and quickly reel the leashed dog in and grab her and throw her in the house. (I've already thrown the littlest dog-morsel inside.) Meanwhile the barred owl now starts hooting her territorial call in the tree above, loudly, insistently.

I'm hissing at the remaining barking little dog to get back here before the owl takes her, but oh, no, she's going to get that owl. I don't want the owl to get scared away, but I don't want to provide her a meal, either. It's chaos in the once-quiet forest: thundering hoots, piercing yips, and angry hissing human voice.

The owl is agitated by the noisy brazen barking meal-on-legs, and flies 15 yards away to another tree. Fierce Little Dog takes off after her, completely ignoring me. AHHH!

I run in the house and grab dog food in a can and run back outside and shake it. Thank goodness Fierce Little Dog is also a Fierce Little Hog, because she comes running back for food, and I grab her and chuck her in the house.

I run back outside and listen to this barred owl who continues her territorial call. For half an hour, I stand motionless and silent in the snow under the moonlight, listening to this booming melodic call of this beautiful wild creature as it echoes around the meadow and back down the canyon. I apologize for disturbing her... but forgive me - I'm selfishly glad I did.

And since there probably isn't a spotted owl for miles around anyway due to lack of habitat - I am thrilled with the encounter.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Ann Hall and HCC Zara RR: Catch Me If You Can



Monday February 14 2011

What's surprising about Californian Ann Hall and HCC Zara RR topping the 2010 Meydan FEI Endurance Open Combination World Ranking is not that they accomplished it. What's surprising is that Zara almost never made a riding horse at all.

It was Ann and Hal Hall's son Quinn who came up with the idea of buying another HCC mare while they still could. The Hyannis Cattle Company of Nebraska had produced some outstanding endurance lines in the 1960's through the 1980's, but the ranch is no more; and that breeding had been very good to the Halls over the years in the sport of endurance.

Kosciusko, a pure Polish Arabian (a son of Witez II) was one of the first premier stallions of the Hyannis Cattle Company in the 1960's. He was the sire of El Karbaj, winner of the Tevis Cup with Hal Hall in 1974 and 1977, and the Haggin Cup in 1972 and 1978; he was the grandsire of HCC Zarlusko (by Koszar), 5-time Tevis Cup finisher with Hal Hall including a win in 1990; and he was the grandsire of Bogus Thunder (by Koszar), 5-time Tevis Cup finisher with Ann and Hal - four of them in the top ten, and the Haggin Cup winner in 2002. HCC Zara RR's maternal grandsire is Koszar (by Kosciusko).

While searching online, Quinn found a 5-year-old mare in Colorado with the perfect HCC pedigree.


Hal bought the mare and gave her to Ann... but they didn't see the mare for half a year. HCC Zara RR had exceptional breeding. But the thing about HCC horses is: "HCC can stand for Hard to Catch Critter!" Ann says. Ann called the owner in Colorado. "I asked him, 'Is she going to load in the trailer?' He said 'Um... I'll get back to you.'

The mare was indeed hard to catch. It was about six months before the man called and said that Zara would get in the trailer now. He loaded her up with her gelding half-brother, Thunder Cloud - whom the Halls bought as an endurance prospect also - and shipped them to California.

"When Zara arrived, I thought 'What was Hal thinking!?' They'd bought her on her pedigree. But she just didn't look like an endurance horse."

Plus, they couldn't catch her. Ann had to leave her wearing a halter with a lead rope attached to have any hope of catching her. Much of her training consisted solely of being caught, and just standing at the tie rack. Over time Zara gradually increased the time she could stand tied by herself. "There was some internal nervousness in her," Ann recalls, and she just couldn't be rushed.

And what with their training of Tevis horses (the primary endurance focus of the Hall family every year), Ann couldn't concentrate solely on working with Zara. The result of that was Zara was still pretty much unbroke as a 7-year-old. Hal finally told Ann that she either needed to train and ride her, or breed her, or lease her, or sell her.

So in the summer of 2008, Ann and her son Quinn worked with 7-year-old Zara diligently. And finally, "One day, you could just see her go around the turn. Quinn did such good ground training with her, schooled her so well, that when we sent her off to trainer Mark Schurman, in January, he got on her back the next day; and she did her first endurance ride 8 weeks after that."


Zara completed 6 of 7 rides her first season, 2009, including the Eastern High Sierra Classic 50 miler, in her fourth ride, carrying Hal for the first time. In fact, the morning of the ride was the first time Hal had ever sat on her. "At the vet check at 25 miles, Hal looked worse then he does after he finishes Tevis!" Ann recalls. "He couldn't slow her down! His knuckles were sore from bracing his hands against the pommel of the saddle."

Instead of pawing, like some horses do when they're nervous, Zara paws when she's mad. She'll strike out with a front leg waist-high, and slam it down to the ground. "She was doing that at the trot because she wanted to pass horses!" Eventually by the second loop she'd calmed down somewhat, and Hal and Zara ended up finishing 4th and winning Best Condition.

Zara's first season also included a completion in the AERC National Championship 50 with Hal - her first FEI 1-star ride.

In 2010, Ann's goals were not to race, but to get through the FEI qualification system, and finish all their rides in the West. She thought they'd try for the list of FEI combination horse and rider: "I looked at what it would take to accomplish it and made up a schedule. The goal of top FEI combo coincided nicely with Hal's and my desire to support the FEI competitions on the west coast and support the ride managers that take on the extra work and financial risk."

They accomplished exactly that, completing the CEI** Git R Done 75 miler, the Sun City CEI* 50 miler, and two CEI*** 100-milers - the Git R Done (finishing in 6th place), and the Patriot's Day at Lake Almanor (in 4th place), and the Desert Gold CEI** 75 miler (in 3rd place).


Nine for nine in 2010, and sitting atop the World pair Ranking (HCC Zara RR also ranked 9th on the Meydan Open Horse World Ranking), the little mare still does not look like an endurance horse. "But she overcomes her looks. That's the most exciting thing about endurance - a horse breaks preconceived boundaries of the rider."

Bogus Thunder was always Ann's Perfect Horse. "He makes my heart smile. Having Bogus in the barn has been a wonderful experience and I am so grateful for the opportunity to have been able to ride him, and for me he has been the perfect horse. I know endurance riders dread having to bring along a horse to replace that special horse and I was no exception. When I looked at Zara, I just did not expect that I would like riding her so much.

"It used to take 4 people to catch her; now she's a pocket horse. She's so much fun! I love riding her. She's very strong and very determined. I find myself giggling sometimes while riding her."

Zara likes to go, though with experience, she's more amicable to being paced. And Ann's still not in a rush. "I love bringing a horse along and developing them. Making a good horse takes so much time! Last year I didn't want to find her reserve, so I rode conservatively. My goal this year, 2011, is to have fun. Maybe I'll try a little speed in training, and see how she does. But at any speed, I look forward to seeing how Zara does. It's going to be fun!"

'Toons: Where Oh Where

Sunday February 13 2011





Saturday, February 12, 2011

Cat!



Saturday February 12 2011

I wander up a hill in this Montana forest, savoring the winter snow.


The snow is heavy and wet, dragging at my feet. Deer tracks litter the snow, telling the story of a busy forest over a highway that's hidden in the summer. Without snow, the forest always looks empty. It's not.

I clumsily slop and slosh and half slide along deer highways and down a snow covered logging road - until I stop dead in my own tracks.

Cat tracks!


Small, but unmistakably (I'm hoping - I'm pretty sure) cat tracks.

Has to be a bobcat. The tracks cross this logging road and go straight up the hill.


The cat is long gone, but of course I have to follow. Up I scramble, slipping, falling, slithering, panting, grabbing onto roots and brush to keep from sliding back down; ridiculously, maddeningly graceless as I follow pawprints of an undoubtedly graceful, efficient, effortless cat.



I can't read snow as well as dirt, but with the softened, sunken print in this softened, gently melting snow, I'd say the tracks came from the night before. The cat was on a mission, tracks undeviating, heading straight up the mountainside. On a southern facing slope with sparse trees, the snow disappears, and with it, the tracks and any hint that anything passed this way.


I slide back down the hill (actually sit on my coat and slide down) and follow the tracks where they came from. Still a straight line - across the road back into the forest, over the snow-covered little creek (water flowing beneath, snow thick enough that I don't fall in), until the tracks finally fade in ice.


The snow will melt, the tracks will disappear.

But the cat will still be here... somewhere.