Pack Trip: Day 2

Sunday morning dawned cool and clear. We turned the boys out for breakfast at 6am, and set the coffee to brewing. Breakfast consisted of eggs, taters, and sausage, none of which was freeze dried, I might add.

Morning sun over the ridge.

Breakfast of Champions

If you look real close at the center of the photo, you will see a Blacktail Deer.

After the animals had been given adequate time to graze, we saddled up for a short ride. I ponied Potter this time, which meant we were following Dempsey. Given his choice, Smokey will have his nose in the tail of the horse/mule in front of him. As it turned out, Dempsey does not particularly care for this habit. Which meant that on a couple of occasions Smokey and I got a clear view of a pair mule shoes. Fortunately, he wasn't firing for effect. Just the occasional warning shot.

Mt. Rainier, again. (You were warned)

This smaller peak is known as Little Tahoma.

We rode to a small meadow that was once the site of The Tin Shack, which was a hunting cabin. Due to the efforts of environmentalists and assorted other Dudley Do Rights, cabins are now strictly forbidden in the wilderness. The USFS has gone to great lengths to find all such structures, and burn them to the ground. Seems a shame to me.

Home in time for a long lunch and dinner.

Steak and baked potatoes cooking on the fire. I will never backpack again.

Beer in the fridge. Buck's favorite, Bud Light (NOT!!) The water flowing in these mountain creeks is bitter, make your hands hurt cold. Perfect for refrigerated items.

While cooking the steaks, I looked up to see this scene. All is well. Or is it?

A few minutes later, I looked up again, only the scene was much different. Smokey and the mules were gone! Sunny D was looking up between the trees you see in the above photo. Ever the master of understatement, I looked at Double C and said "the horses or headed up the hill. Is that a bad thing?" He looked at me, and, in an equally understated tone, said "yes".

I took off running across the meadow, all the while thinking "if I lose my horse, Mrs. BR is gonna kill me". Double C paused long enough to move the steaks off the fire (mustn't ruin dinner), and, as he later relayed to me, by the time he looked up, I was already out of sight.

I caught up to and passed Sunny D, who was still standing looking up the hill between those trees. I caught a glimpse of Potter's butt disappearing through the trees, so I kept going. Now, while the animals were hobbled, for seasoned backcountry stock, hobbles are but a minor inconvenience, which, at best, will only slow them down a touch.

I fully expected to find Dempsey the mule to be the ringleader of this outfit, as he had already proven to be quite mischievous. Imagine my surprise, upon breaking out of the trees, to find 'Ol Smokey Joe leading the charge. I'll be dipped...I called his name. He paused, and looked at me with an expression that left little doubt as to what he was thinking. "The hell with you cowboy, we're bustin' out of this joint". Fortunately for me, the hill he had chosen for the Great Escape was rather steep. After a few bounds I caught up to him, and pounced on the end of his lead rope.

Show over. By this time, Double C had joined the party. He gathered up the mules, and we towed the miscreants back down to the meadow.

The steak, baked potatoes, and beer made for a fine dinner.

I don't know, but I think he looks just a tad guilty.

Pack Trip: Day 1

Double C and I had the horses and mules packed into the trailer by 6am, and we were off to the Government Meadows horse camp, where we would be leaving the truck and trailer. The weather was perfect, not a cloud in the sky, with perfect temperature.

This was my first experience with pack animals, let alone mules. I could only imagine what adventure might lay ahead with the addition of these steeds.

As the saying goes "a picture speaks a thousand words, so I will let the photos tell the tale as we ventured into the Norse Peak Wilderness on the Pacific Crest Trail:

As you can see, I actually took this photo a week after we started, but I felt it to be a good starter for the story.

Smokey saddled up and ready go. He looks thrilled, doesn't he?

Dempsey (left) and Potter, the mules.

Double C and his saddle horse, Sunny D. Jessica will be glad to know that Sunny is an Off The Track Thoroughbred.

On the trail. The view ahead.

The view behind.

Watering the animals. I believe that this creek eventually becomes the South Fork of the Little Naches River.

Note how the branches on the trees do not grow very long. This is how they survive at this altitude (5000ft) against the heavy winter snowfall.

Mt. Rainier

Meadows like this spring up out of the timber frequently. While we didn't see any elk, there was an abundance of sign.

Smokey is none too thrilled about posing for a picture. So much grass to be eaten.

Airplane Meadows, at the top of the Arch Rock Trail (#1187)

The reason Airplane Meadows is so named. I can find surprisingly little info on this crash site, beyond the fact that it occurred in 1939. All that remains is the radial engine, and some pieces of the frame.

I never tire of looking at Mt. Rainier, so you will have to bear with me.

End of the first day. The boys hobbled out and dining on the lush green grass.

The day was uneventful. We only encountered two groups of hikers. One was a couple out for a day hike, the other group about 8 backpackers headed for the cabin at Government Meadows. We exchanged pleasantries and trail info with both groups, and headed on our merry ways.

It didn't begin getting dark until after 9pm, at which point we put the horses and mules on the highline, and turned in ourselves.

We're Back

No time to write at the moment, so I'll just leave a little teaser for now.

The Great Adventure is About to Begin.

I'll be setting out on my nine day adventure at 0500 tomorrow.

The good news is that Smokey's abscess healed quicker than expected, and he didn't lose any of his conditioning. So he's back up to first string. Which is a big relief. While Bailey is a good horse, she is a bit of an unknown quantity with respect to a trip of this nature. I've never had her out on an overnight trip, let alone nine days.

Smokey, on the other hand, has spent his fair share of nights on the highline, cowbell chiming with his movements. He isn't phased by deer, elk, or bears. (Although he is deathly afraid of blue tarps).

I'm bringing along a small notebook so that I may record any adventures, and I promise to return with as many photos of the Norse Peak Wilderness as the memory card will hold.

Plans, Setbacks, and Backup Plans

I will soon be headed off to spend nine days traveling via saddle in the Norse Peak Wilderness. The first four and half days a friend and I will spend camping and fishing. For the latter half of the trip, we will head over to camp at Corral Pass for the purpose of participating in the annual work party with Pierce County Chapter of the Backcountry Horsemen of Washington. When not enjoying good food and good company, we will ride daily to Echo Lake and the Arch Rock Trail for bridge and trail repair.

To say that I have been looking forward to this would be a bit of an understatement.

Just as you and I could not get off the couch and then go hiking in the hills for days on end without some prior conditioning, neither can a horse be pulled out of the pasture for the same. Therefore, Smokey has been on a steady exercise program consisting of a great deal of trotting and loping to firm up muscle and restore aerobic capacity.

And then he pulls up lame two weeks ago. While much of the country is enjoying summer, the damp, cold, miserable weather has been hanging on her in the Pacific Northwest. This wet is the mortal enemy of Smokey's feet. He has an abscess in his left front hoof. While the hoof may heal prior to the start of the trip, the break from training means, quite simply, that he will not be ready to go by the scheduled start date.

While disappointing, all is not lost. I will be taking our ten year old mare Bailey. Until this year, she was DN3's show and all purpose horse. Bailey is burned out on the show ring, which is why we picked up Petey earlier this year.

Bailey is, to be honest, better suited for a long trip than Smokey is. We call her the "Energizer Bunny" because she rarely sweats or breathes hard no matter how hard she works. And, provided she isn't the lead horse, she enjoys the trail, as much as a horse enjoys anything beyond eating, sleeping, and pooping.

DN3 is helping me "learn" how to ride her. While riding Smokey involves legs and use of the bit, Bailey has different, more subtle cues, and all of them involve leg pressure and torso positions. So I'm having to learn not to use my hands. It isn't that she doesn't respond to pressure on the bit, it just isn't necessary. No point in complicating matters.

While she isn't a big flashy buckskin, she is still an excellent horse, and I'm still looking forward to the trip.

I Can't Think of a Title for this Post

I heard this song for the first time the other day. Now, I can't quite put my finger on the reason, but every time I hear this song, I can't help but think of Buck.

Clean Run!

Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. Work has kept me busier than a one legged man in an ass kicking contest, and with a stint of good weather I've been honing my riding skills. Coupled with a general lack of fodder, I've been a bit absent. My apologies.

This past weekend our zone of the Washington State Horsemen hosted a two day gaming event. Good fun, and met many new people from around the state.

DN2 assembled this video compilation of my Saturday rides, and set it to one of my favorite songs.



Not every run was textbook, but as you can see, I remained in the saddle. Smokey ran his heart out, and I could not be happier with his performance.

A Taste of Dirt

I’ve heard it said that the size of a wreck is directly proportional to the number of people watching. Smokey set out to prove that theory in front of well over a hundred people at Meridian Riding Club on Sunday, with me serving as the token crash test dummy. The event was Keyhole, which consists of a chalk outline on the ground in the shape of a keyhole. The object is to cross the start/finish line, enter the keyhole at the narrow end, turn around in the circle, and ride back to the start/finish line.

Horses do not like to step on anything that, to them, provides unsure footing. See this post for more background. Chalk is one such surface that Smokey finds suspect. We often sail, quite literally, across the start/finish line. We’ve run keyhole before, however, without incident, so I wasn’t concerned.

Getting the green light, we started off at close to a run. Halfway down the course, noting that we were off to the right, I applied gentle leg pressure to nudge Smokey to the left. Closing in on the target, all was well. Then Smokey spotted the chalk outline, and in the bat of an eyelash, he dropped his head to look at this new found danger, and jumped to the right.

I didn’t.

In the next instant I was lying in the dirt on my back. Good and fine, with one exception. My left foot was caught in the stirrup. Referring back to the paragraph regarding unsure footing, it should be noted that humans also represent said footing. In the effort to avoid stepping on me, Smokey kept moving away. Except that I kept following. So he kept moving.

The functional purpose behind cowboy boots, so I’ve been told, is to allow you foot to slide out in just such an event. Paint me skeptical. As I was touring the arena, trying to wiggle my foot free, the only thought in my head was “why isn’t this damn boot coming off?”

Being rather occupied at the time, I was completely unaware of the fact that, over in the other lane, the horse had been spooked by the show Smokey and I were putting on. He set to rearing and bucking, sending the other rider into the dirt as well. Luckily she was unharmed.

Fortunately, Smokey was only trotting, not running. After what seemed an eternity, my boot broke free of the stirrup. Spitting out dirt, I leaped to my feet, and started walking over to Smokey. I heard shouts of “are you all right?” “Well, of course, why wouldn’t I be?” I thought. Then it occurred to me that things may have appeared different from a spectator’s point of view. I gave everyone the thumbs up.

Taking Smokey’s reins, I looked him in the eye and quietly asked “what was that all about?” His look seemed to say “I have no idea what you’re talking about”. Mounting back up, I was asked if I wanted a re-ride. Absolutely! We only trotted to the keyhole this time around, however. Once inside the key, we turned, and I kicked him into a run for the trip home.

We, of course, sailed over the finish line, giving everyone a good laugh.

Volcanic Beauty

A remarkable set of photos from the eruption of Eyjafjallajokull in Iceland.

Game On!

Sunday was the first Western Gaming Playday at Meridian Riding Club for this year. Smokey and I were, of course, in attendance.

While we held our own last year, with 15 people in the Super Senior Division at this event, and with placings only up to Fifth, I thought for certain we were going to get skunked. While this event is primarily about having fun, many of these folks ride like they mean it.

Well, I hate to brag, but...we brought home ribbons in five of the six events. Looking over my times from last year, I shaved as much as 3 seconds off some of my times. A friend commented to me "you've really stepped it up a notch." Having not practiced one iota all winter, I can't really claim to have worked on improving. So what changed? I had to think about that.

My conclusion is that the improvement is two-fold.

First, and foremost, I have implicit trust in Smokey. I know that if I give him the right signals, he will respond as I want. He doesn't have a mean bone in his body, and while he spooks rather easily, and in a rather large manner, he won't buck, rear, bolt or do anything dangerous. But make no mistake, Smokey Joe is fast, and needs very little encouragement from his rider to take off like a rocket. I know that horses don't think or feel the way humans do, but I dare say he enjoys a good run.

Second, I have gained the confidence in my riding skills to safely sit perched atop a running horse. I think I have reached the point of being a good rider. Not a great one, nor do I think I will ever achieve that level, but good, yes.

It was a good day, and the weather was beautiful. I have the ribbons and sunburn to prove it.

Government at Work Part II

4H is not dead. Hanging on by a thread, perhaps, but not gone.

There was enough of an outcry that the County Council trimmed the cut down to $100,000, from the original proposal of $200,000. Personally, I think they could have found somewhere else to save the $100K. Starting with their own bloated salaries.

This still represents a significant slash to the budget for the Extension Office. But it will keep the afloat for the time being, and allow them to search out other sources of funding.

DN3 had the opportunity to attend the subject Council meeting. Her assessment: the Council members were "rude". Of the seven, only one of them paid attention to each and every public comment. This would be Joyce MacDonald, one of the few members who was on our side, and one of only two to reply to my email. DN3 said that the other members spent of the time talking, or looking a their I phones. Typical government, IMHO. We little people don't know what's best for us, that's why we have them.

Horse in Need

A shameless plea for a shameless plea.

I've mentioned Katie's Blog about Argus before. She has found herself fostering a 14 year old Thoroughbred with a fractured splint bone. Repairing the fracture requires $2000 for and a relatively simple surgery. If the money for the surgery can be raised, Katie will provide the board and care at her farm for his rehabilitation.

Small Town Traffic Jam

Sent by a friend. Click to get the full effect. There are two other vehicles on the road.

I Didn't Care for the New Layout That I Tried

Sometimes change for the sake of change is not a good thing...

Government At Work

As with most government agencies, the Pierce County Council is struggling with budget shortfalls. This one is to the tune of $5.5 million. They will be voting on the new budget tomorrow. Instead of searching for places to cut waste and excess, Councilman Roger Bush, has proposed cutting, among other things, $200,000 from the budget of Washington State University(WSU) Pierce County Extension (PCE) Office.

WSU is the university that governs the 4H program in Washington state. In order for any of the 39 counties to have a 4H program, they must have an extension office. The funds currently available to the PCE office amount to $275,000. It doesn't take a financial whiz to realize that lopping $200,000 from that budget will result in the closure of the PCE office. This closure would be effective immediately, and with it the disbandment of the Pierce County 4H program.

To target the budget and support of programs which provide meaningful activities for our youth is both irresponsible and short sighted.

There are hundreds, if not thousands of adults who volunteer numerous hours toward the conduct of these programs. Many of the youth who are approaching voting age have been members of 4H for much of their childhood. As a program dedicated towards teaching life skills, 4H, for some youth, represents the difference between energy that is channeled towards the good, as opposed to mischief. Does this Council want to be remembered as the group who brought about the demise of the program?

Of course all of this was presented with typical government "transparency". The notifications of this proposal were sent out late last Friday night. With a vote set for tomorrow. When doing something unpopular no point in letting the people have a say in the matter.

I'm feeling a bit disenchanted these days.

Happy Birthday, Smokey!

By some unwritten convention, all horses age on Jan. 1st of each year. As I understand it this is so the high falutin' folks in the many facets of the show world can move their prized show ponies into the next age bracket.

Whatever...

For backyard hacks like me, that sounds like a bunch of hooey.

21 years ago today, an American Quarter Horse mare named Alamoannie birthed a foal sired by the Thoroughbred named Master Jorge. This little bundle of joy would come to be known as Master Alamo Joe, barn name Smokey. He also goes by the aliases of Mojo, Meathead, Mr. Man, What The Hell Are You Doing?, and Whoa Dammit.

Seeing as a fella only turns 21 once in a lifetime, Smokey and I held a proper celebration.

He is Risen!

Happy Easter, everyone!

There's Something in a Name

Often, the name of a place provides key information about said locale.

Case in point. When a friend and I were planning a pack trip a few years back, the names of two places in the region we would be traveling caught our eye. Dead Horse Creek and Big Mosquito Valley. For reasons which should be obvious to the casual observer, we immediately eliminated both of them from the list of possible destinations or paths of travel.

Now, I'm not always the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I'm fairly certain that I would never build or purchase a home at a place named Washaway Beach.

It would appear, however, that some people do not think the way I do.

Horses Can Fly!

If you don't believe me, then go here, and see for yourself.

Interesting that the only video I could find was on the Telegraph. Thanks to my Brit friends!

Work Party!

On Saturday, members from three local chapters of the Backcountry Horsemen of Washington met at the Mt. Baldy trailhead for a work party to clear trails. DN1 commented that the words "work" and "party" should never be used in the same sentence. That's what we called them in the Navy, so it doesn't seem all that strange to me.

Challenge #1 was getting Smokey in the trailer. If there aren't other horses already in the trailer he tends to be a bit, shall we say "leery", about getting in the trailer (read: hell no, he won't go). Combine that with the fact that he hasn't traveled since September, and, well, I'm sure you get the picture. So there were were, me in the trailer, and the horse five feet behind, feet firmly planted, head and neck and stretched flat as I'm pulling on the lead rope. Irresistible force, immovable object, and all that.

Salvation arrived in the form of DN2, who happened by on her rounds for the morning horse feedings. After a couple gentle whacks on the rump, he capitulated and climbed into the trailer. Door shut, and off we go.

Upon arrival, horses were saddled, tools loaded on the pack mules, work briefing and off to work. I was assigned with the crew that was headed out to clear the Jack Daniels trail. With a name like that it must be a good trail. In our group was was a retired U.S. Army Colonel who had been a Ranger. Bill was riding one of his mules and ponying two others that were loaded with tools. Every so often, the mules would manage to get themselves into some predicament or the other. One one occasion, a brush cutter snagged on a tree limb, and was yanked out of the box of the #3 mule. This spooked the #2 mule, who took off running, pushing the saddle mule ahead. Off they disappeared into the woods, while mule #3, whose lead had broken free, stopped to munch on ferns. After few minutes, Bill and the other two mules re-appeared. Things were fixed, and off we went.

Bill is absolutely unflappable. Each time a problem would occur, he just let the commotion die down before doing or saying anything. Then he would sort things out, and off he would go. I've heard that mules have to treated calmly, as they never forget, and you only get one chance to make a mistake.

The weather was co-operative, if you call sporadic rain and hail, with occasional sun breaks co-operative. We managed to cover quite a bit of ground, clearing a great deal of debris and overgrowth. Poor old Smokey was pretty whooped up on by the time we headed back to the trail head. He was walking pretty slow, and I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to carry him back.

A campfire, chicken and dumplings, and hot coffee were ready at the parking area when we got back. But not until horses were untacked, watered, and fed. The rule is that horses are tended to first, people second. The animals work hard for us, and they have earned that.

Strangely enough, I didn't have any trouble getting Smokey into the trailer for the trip home. I'm sure he slept good.

I Folded Like a Cheap Stroller

I am now on Facebook...

Edit: Mauser Girl pointed out that I omitted a key piece of information.

http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000868751798

Yee Haw!!

This evening being clear, cool, and dry, I decided that Smokey needed some exercise, so off to the arena we went.

Well, 'ol boy is apparently feeling his oats. Each time I kicked him up into a lope, he wanted to run. Since no one else was in the arena, I did what any cowboy would do...I indulged him, and round and round we sailed, the horse choosing the speed, while I chose when to turn. It was one of those times when everything between horse and rider just clicks. My mind cleared of everything, enjoying a catharsis that I can't quite explain. A far cry from four years ago, when I was as green as a rider could get, and sometimes wondering if perhaps I had picked the wrong hobby.

I don't know how long we raced around, but I finally decided to bring him down to a walk, as I don't want him to overexert himself, nor do I want to spend an hour trying to dry out a sweaty horse.

On another note, I've been accused of being a bit indulgent with regards to our dogs. I can't imagine why.

Goats, Blankets, and Flying Pigs

I'm quite certain that at this moment in time, somewhere in the world, there is bacon on the hoof in flight. Why do I say this? My Father has a Facebook account. This is the man who didn't own a computer until a few months ago.

That leaves me as the final hold out in our family. I obstinately refuse to join Facebook. I ask you, gentle readers, am I being stubborn, or do these social networking things allow us to put too much of ourselves out there for all to see?

I took today off work, because I could. The weather was clear, albeit it a bit cool. Smokey and Bailey were paid a visit from the farrier to have their hooves trimmed and shoes replaced. Smokey's soles are a bit soft, which is common for him this time of year, so we opted to keep the pads on until next time. Neither of them had much hoof growth since last visit. This is not unexpected, as much of their nourishment through the winter months goes toward coat growth and staying warm.

With the warm days and cold nights, we remove horse blankets in the morning, and replace them at night. Most of the horses are non-plussed by this event. Note that I say most. With Dozer, our 8 year old Paint gelding, blanketing is an event I refer to as "Blanket Rodeo". As you approach with the blanket, he tenses up and gets this wild look in his eyes. On about half the occasions, the young punk will wait until you are within arms reach, and then bolt, bucking and running across his paddock. Thus one has to march off after him. He got past me twice tonight before I was able to use my best cutting moves to force him into a corner, and applied said blanket. I know I should get a halter and lead rope for this, but it just seems ludicrous for it to be such an ordeal.

"What??? I have my blanket on. See?"

On a final note, for Laura over at Fetch My Flying Monkeys, I snapped a couple photos that I know she will appreciate.

Inspiration from Buck

Buck prefer's David Lindley's version, but I'm more of an Alan Jackson man myself.

Rehabilitation Does Not Work

I guess it's my day to be pissed off. First the story about the Iwo Jima veterans, and now this.

I have three daughters, so this story hits close to home. I cannot comprehend how it is that our society continues to believe that these deviants can be "rehabilitated". Time and again, we hear stories of convicted sex offenders committing the same crime after being released from prison. I firmly believe that crimes of this nature should be accompanied by a mandatory death sentence. One appeal, no prison time. Castrate them, and then hang them. Publicly. Clean up the gene pool, and make society just a little safer.

I guarantee this. Had this sick bastard hurt one of my girls, and survived long enough to make it to prison, his ass would have disappeared forever the day he got out of the big house.

How Soon We Forget...

Why is it the U.S. Military can't help these Marine Corps Veterans?

These men willingly gave up the best years of their lives for the service of their country. They endured horror that few, if any, of us can possibly imagine. Fighting a fanatical, relentless enemy, death was all around them on that lonely island in 1945. Yet they perservered, as Marines always have, and always will, until the island was firmly in American hands. If you have never read about the battle for Iwo Jima, you owe it to yourself to rectify the situation. One casualty figure states that 22,000 American serviceman died or were wounded on the island. Over 23,000 Japanese soldiers perished in the epic struggle. Those casualty figures far outweigh those of D-Day, the invasion of France.

The debt our nation owes to these men can never be repaid. The least we can do is provide them transport to a place where so many of their friends still remain.

UPDATE: Looks like we pulled through for these guys.

Gordon Has Moved!

Many of you are familiar with frequent commenter and blog bud Gordon, a provider of insightful commentary, political and otherwise, over at A Political Glimpse From Ireland. The domain for APGFI has expired, and since Gordon was not the owner, he has been forced to ply his wares elsewhere. He can now be found at:

Tequila & Javelinas

Make sure you update your links and stop by to say hello.

Bummer!!

It's a crying shame that I'm too old for the Border Patrol, because this would be my sort of gig.

Horses, guns, and a paycheck. Does it get any better than that?

Olympic Courage

When we think of bravery, courage, and strength, many of us will think immediately of the military, police, and firefighters.

Often, however, it shows through in other forms.

A Good Sunday

Global Warming has finally arrived in the Pacific Northwest. About damn time, in my opinion. Daily highs have been approaching 60F. We're talk shirtsleeve weather. We've been removing the horse blankets during the day, letting the horses get some fresh air, and some quality rolling in the dirt/mud. The lack of cloud cover means it's been dipping below freezing at night, so the blankets go back on in the evening.

I was all set to ride Smokey in the arena this afternoon, but when I arrived there were already some folks riding. Two of them are people with whom I will not ride, for reasons related both to my personal safety and sanity. Not one to waste beautiful riding weather, I opted to head out and ride along the Puyallup River. This, of course, can be a hit or miss affair with Smokey. Since we were alone, I was removing him from his herd mates, and since home is "back that way", there is always the chance that he will spend most of the trip walking as slowly as possible, and repeatedly trying to turn around.

I was pleasantly surprised. We set out without trouble, and with only minimal application of spurs. There were quite a few people families out walking along and playing in the river today. The small kids are always excited to see a horse, with shouts of "look at the horsey", and "wow, he's big!". One lady's poodle was going bonkers barking at us, but fortunately, Smokey is dog broken, and was rather non-plussed about it.

At some point, Smokey finally decided we had gone far enough. It began to feel like I was riding a snake, as we he started weaving from one side of the trail to the other. Occasionally, he would try to fake me out with a long sweeping turn, but to no avail. Once he was back on an even keel, I let him turn around.

Now, he's fully aware that we are headed home. And is determined to make the trip as fast as possible, to minimize the risk of any chance encounters with lions, tigers, or bears. Seeing as the woods are full of them. So he starts to trot. I hate trotting. It's like riding a jackhammer, and my 44 year old spine does not appreciate it. So I slowly pull back on the bit to ease him down. He slows down, but only until I release pressure on the bit. So we repeat the process until the message sinks into his pea brain that we are going to walk home.

It was good ride, and the capper for today was watching the USA men's hockey team beat Canada, 5-3!

The Art of Gaining Political Traction

Or, in this case, how not to do it.

I feel that the person who made that statement is an asshat. Allow me to explain.

I'll be the first to admit that Patty "the mom in tennis shoes" Murray, like her counterpart Maria Cantwell, is at best, an ineffective Senator, and at worst, little more than a tool of her political party. But, Washington being the decidedly "blue" state that it is, her political career is in no danger of immediate jeopardy.

Of course, had someone from, oh, let's say code pink, said this same thing about Senator (insert Republican here), the folks on the left would have found it to be quite the knee slapper, and the lamestream media would have given little, if any, press. Nothing to see here, move along folks.

However, since this came from the right, folks on the left will feign outrage and demand apologies, while the media fans the flames, because they have proven unable to recognize an exaggeration when presented.

We could, of course, engage ourselves in much wailing and gnashing of teeth, bemoaning how wrong and unfair it all is. Or, we could accept the fact that life isn't fair, and operate within the parameters we are faced with. If you choose to thrust yourself upon the public stage, the thinking, reasoning adult should be able to accept that what you say and do comes under public scrutiny (a fact which seems to allude many folks in Hollywood). Through an ill thought out, albeit passionate, statement, the speaker gave the left and the media fodder, and they will, predictably make much hay over nothing. The result being that attention has been taken away from the real statement and purpose, making this particular rally appear to be little more than a circus.

Let's get our act together, people!

Small Town Experiment Fail

I can't imagine that anyone actually thought this would work.

In a town that small, it's a safe bet that everyone knows everyone, and most are related at least by six degrees. Invariably, anyone who relocates there is going to viewed suspiciously at best, and treated like the outsiders they truly are. Likely few, if any, of the resident's made any meaningful effort to fit in.

I also suspect that the Tristani's didn't go out of their way to fit in. A Lexus, gold chains, and a Rolex are not the order of the day. Might as well drive around with a boom-boom-thump radio in your car while your at it.

I can understand the motivations of the parties involved. Most of us want to live and raise our families in a place where we feel safe. If one is looking to relocate to a more rural surrounding, it isn't necessary to move to the middle of nowhere in a place as inhospitable as North Dakota. Think about it, there is a reason that small towns like Hazelton are dying, as people are forced to move on for better opportunity's. That's not a criticism of small towns, in North Dakota or elsewhere. It is just a stark reality of our times.

Things You Don't See Every Day

At least not in Washington during the month of February

My Horse is a Fraud

I haven't ridden with any consistency since before Christmas. To be more correct, I've only thrown my leg over the horse twice since his leg healed. The first instance ended after five minutes due to Mrs. BR's horse colicking. In an act of self preservation, I terminated the second ride after ten minutes due to an overload of fools riding in the arena at the same time.

Some horses can sit in the pasture for months on end, and then be ridden as though they been working daily for that entire time. Smokey is not one of those horses. And lest I forget, he spared little time in reminding me.

A wall is being built at one end of the arena, to serve as a wind break. As a result, there are 2x6's, ladders, tools, some cones, etc. at that end of the arena. As soon as we approached the work area, Smokey just about jumped out of his skin. He whirled, and would have headed for the hills, except that with a pull on the rein, and well placed spur, I turned him around to stare at the horse eating demons. He would turn his head as if to leave, and I would gently pull it back. Once he had settled down, I forced him to take one step toward the work materials. This went on for about five minutes, until we were standing next the pile of lumber, and he was idling sniffing it. Then we moved over and stood next to the ladder, until the same result was achieved. The rest of the day's ride was uneventful.

Rumor has it that a horse was eaten by the pile of building materials last night. Or so it would seem, judging by Smokey's reaction today. We were trotting towards the pile, when, in the blink of an eye, he whirled and started in the other direction. Again, rein and spur pointed him in the direction I wanted to travel. Again, he whirled. This repeated itself as we spiraled ever farther from the object of his fear. Having had entirely enough of this, I pointed him at the pile, and dug in. He took off towards it, until realizing it was still there, he slid to a stop and began power backing.

At this point, I nearly fell out of the saddle, I was laughing so hard. I found the whole thing to be terribly amusing.

We finally worked thought it. although not without much snorting and blowing. Or so I thought.

Some time later, we were riding past the pile, when he spooked sideways, again headed for the hills. I straightened him out. When this again repeated itself, I decided enough was enough. This horse is being an imbecile, and it's going to end right now.

With Mrs. BR providing helpful cues, I rode the hell out of him near the construction area. Tight circles, figure eights, and rollbacks. Once he was sweating and breathing hard, and paying attention to me, and not his fears, I walked him over to the pile and let him stand. Not a peep. The goal of this is for him to associate the "scary place" with the ability to rest. Thus, instead of something to fear, it becomes a safe haven.

Believe it or not, I call this a good ride. An opportunity to school the horse, and to test my riding abilities. I must have a good seat, because when Smokey spooks, it's BIG, and comes without warning. I could very well end up in the dirt.

Why do I say he's a fraud? While riding yesterday, one of the resident goats broke his moorings and wandered into the arena. I rode right up to the goat, and Smokey just sniffed him. No fear. We have encountered bears, deer, and elk in the wild. Not a flinch.

But construction material? Run for your life!!

Bookends?

Petey (left) and Ellie this morning:

Petey's New Shoes

Good hoof care is one of the basic needs for our horses. As the saying goes, "no hoof, no horse".

As I mentioned in the previous post, Petey's feet were in need of some quality care. Said care came in the form a visit from our farrier, Jake, last night.

He found signs of an old abscess in one of his front hooves, and one of the back hooves is rolling under slightly on the inside. Jake feels that this can be corrected over the next few trimmings, and shouldn't present any problems.

Before trimming:


Post trimming, and sporting shiny new shoes:


As I was observing the work last night, it dawned on me how rather amazing it is that these half ton animals stand perched atop four rather spindly legs. Honestly, there legs are smaller around than a human leg.