Bones and Muscles

Do you recall those grand old days in health class, memorizing the name and location of every bone and muscle in the human body? If memory serves, there are approximately 2,334,349 (give or take) bones and about as many muscles. At least it seemed so at the time.

With 205 bones and 42 muscle groups, the horse presents no less a daunting challenge for veterinary students. More rote memorization through hours spent staring at dusty old drawings and sketches.

Unless, of course, someone develops a better approach. That someone would be British champion rider Gillian Higgins. Over a four hour period, through the application of some water based hypoallergenic paints, she presents the horse anatomy as never seen before:



For more info an pictures visit www.horsesinsideout.com

Veteran's Day Post

Much has been said in honor of all the veteran's on this day. By people who speak and write much more eloquently than I.

I have this to add:

Thank you to the American People for the privilege you gave me of serving my country.

Because Mocking the Citizens Usually Works

It seems that Barney Frank has found a way to convince the American people to get behind health care reform.

Or maybe not.

It never ceases to amaze me how elitist many politicians, at all levels of government, and regardless of political stripe, have become. They think they are smarter, more gifted, more talented. That they know what is best for us, because we are uneducated dolts.

When will people tire of this? How is it that these arrogant people keep getting re-elected? Do their constituents feel better when they are demeaned and compared to furniture?

"Not once did he quit or complain"

If the military mission in Afghanistan fails, it will be due to the politicians.

Because United States Armed Forces are filled with Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Marines who are like this man. A man who loved his country, and his comrades. Who served willingly.

Rest In Peace.

Of Raptors

The family BR spent late September/early October at the Central Washington Fair in Yakima, for the express purpose of letting the Ladies BR show their ponies. I snapped over 700 photos while we were there, and have been meaning to blog about the experience, but, well, I've been a bit delinquent in that endeavor. So I will strive to make amends, although the posts will appear in no particular order other than that which strikes me.

I have a general disdain for birds, viewing them, for the most part, as winged rodents. Not so the members of the raptor family. Eagles, Hawks, and Owls. I find them all very majestic animals, and will stop what I am doing to watch them in flight.

The fine folks at the Sardis Raptor Center were at the fair. They work to rehabilitate injured members of the raptor family. Human contact with the animals is kept to a minimum, and most are returned to the wild. However, due to nature of their injuries, some of these birds are unable to be released. These birds are used in their educational program.

I believe this is a Red Tailed Hawk:


Barred Owl:


Golden Eagle:


4 year old Bald Eagle:


12 year old Bald Eagle. If you look closely you can see that he is missing his left eye.


The folks at Sardis are all volunteers, and their operating capital entirely from grants and donations. I hold people who volunteer their time for animals in great esteem.

An Airmen Returns Home

Thanks to the efforts of the folks at BentProp, and the work of JPAC, a hero has returned home.

Rest easy, my friend.

We Keep Getting Dumber

It seems these days that the more high tech something is, the dumber it makes us. To wit:

Yuppie 911

It seems that wannabe Lewis and Clark's, whose previous outdoor experience is limited to walking the dog at the city park, are now setting out in their birkenstocks with a sack lunch, their blankie, and a personal locater beacon. Thus emboldened, our intrepid adventurers boldly go where no man has gone before. The reason being that the men who went before knew better than to attempt such folly. But, have no fear, once they find their sorry asses in a pickle, they need simply push the panic button. This done, they can sit back, munch their tofu sandwich and sip a snapple, secure in the knowledge that the designated rescue agency is thundering to the rescue, placing their own selves at risk, to save the stupid.

Not so very long ago, when folks found themselves in such a predicament, they were faced with two choices. Either use their gray matter and work through the problem, or die. I suspect that most. although not all, adventurers made it a point to be prepared. Now any old soft body can go traipsing through the woods, secure in the knowledge that someone will save them when they get a blister on their big toe.

Now, I will readily admit that I have a handheld GPS. I keep it in my saddlebag or backpack. I mark the trailhead before setting out. Then I turn it off, and stow it away. My navigation tools consist of a map, and a Mark I, Mod 0 compass. I have used the GPS on the trail once. Our whereabouts suspect, I used it to mark our Latitude and Longitude. However, had I not possessed map reading skills, this information wouldn't have been worth squat.

My treks are planned out. Supplies are checked and double checked. I always have water, a survival kit, and first aid kit. If a trail looks questionable, I study the terrain, compare it to the contour lines on the map, and am never too proud to say "I don't think so." A healthy fear of heights probably goes a long way toward preventing me from endangering my skin, also. On one trip, we rode in out of the wilderness a day earlier than planned due the fact that thunderstorms were rolling in. Discretion, and all that. Maybe I'm old school, since I believe in preparation, and knowing ones own limits.

I firmly believe that these gadgets, whilst designed with good intentions, are directly contributing to dilution of the gene pool. Along with the thousands of OSHA regulations in place, they keep those of limited common sense from perishing in the wilderness, or dying in an industrial accident, as they would have earlier in the last century. As a result, people not smart enough survive when left to their own devices, are now kept alive by regulations and gadgets, which permits them enough time on the planet to breed. This is usually done with someone possessing of an equally low IQ, thus creating the next generation of people who require that others take care of them.

It is to weep.

The Deer Must Be on Vacation

Perhaps in the Bahamas. Or Hawaii. Or just about anywhere other than Western Washington. Nary a deer was to be seen by our party this weekend, or by any of the others that we saw and spoke to along the way. Mother nature is working against us. For the most part, weekend weather was cool and dry, which leads deer to eat at night, and bed down during the day. Good for them, bad for us.

But, a bad day hunting is not a bad day at all. I simply enjoy the opportunity to get out of the house, and commune with nature in places that most people will never see. And I did shoot a few good pictures.



The last is of Unicorn Peak in the Tatoosh Range. Believe it or not, we were getting snowed on when I snapped the photo.

"I'm Alive"

Once upon a time, in my younger days, forty seemed ancient to me. Now that I'm 43, with 44 looming on the horizon, I've discovered that in fact, I'm younger in my forties than I was in my twenties.

And I've found a video that describes this condition to a tee:

Sundays are for Auto Repair

At least this Sunday was. Like Andy, I had some fixin' to do. A horrible, metal on metal sound was coming from the left front of The Beast. My earlier suspicion of a warped brake rotor was incorrect, which led me to believe that the problem lay either in the hub or the cv axle. Sigh...

The first challenge is getting the offending wheel off the ground. A six inch lift and 35 inch tires tend to complicate jacking the vehicle up and setting it on a jackstand.


But it can be done, and soon the tire was on the ground, revealing the shiny new brakes I installed last weekend. Rust sure does set in fast in these parts.


Enter complication number one. Just about every fastener on this truck is metric, and the spindle nut (center of the picture below) is extra large. Despite having a tool set which is the envy of all my friends (courtesy of my Dad, the retired diesel mechanic), it's a bit light in the large size metric department. Thus it was off to the parts store to purchase a 35mm socket.

With that dilemma solved, the spindle nut was removed, followed by the the caliper, caliper anchor, and rotor, revealing the hub.


The cause of the problem quickly revealed itself. There was a great deal of play in the hub. The photo below reveals a bearing race sticking out where it shouldn't be.

While this was the more expensive of the two possible problems, it was the one that is considerably easier to fix, by about 4 or 5 hours. Money well spent. After another trip to the parts store, I was ready to put the whole shooting match back together.

Out with the old, and in with the new.


I'm pleased to report that the grinding metal sound is no longer present, and The Beast has once again been restored to her former glory.

On a side note, one socket and one universal joint were broken in the process of these repairs. Thank goodness for lifetime tool replacement.

It Would Appear That The Cat Is A 2nd Amendment Supporter

I snapped this photo yesterday evening, after laying my rifle out to dry off:

Opening Day

Yesterday's hunt was rather fruitless, at least from the standpoint of harvesting a deer. Or even seeing one, for that matter. For starters, we're hunting the rather elusive Blacktail Deer. And it was just too warm and wet. When the temperatures are high they feed at night, and sleep during the day. And when mother nature provides a frog strangling rain like she did yesterday afternoon, they tend to hunker down for cover.

The shortage of deer does not cause the hunt to end in disappointment. For me, hunting in more about the opportunity to be out of the house, in some far off stretch of land that few people will ever see. Even when I take pictures, they never reflect the same grand views that my eyes take in. The season isn't over yet, so pray for cold weather with rainy nights, for to flush out the prey.

We did spot this bull elk on the drive home:



I apologize for the poor quality of the photos, but the old Nikon Coolpix was at the limit of its range. The question has arisen, why didn't we shoot him? 1) It's not elk season, therefore doing so would be poaching, and activity I will not engage in. 2) As can be seen by the structure in the background, this young fella is standing in someone's yard. Undoubtedly, the homeowners would not take to kindly to gunfire in the yard.

I'm certain that come elk season, this bull will be nowhere to be seen, having found a safe place to weather the storm.

Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated...

...much to the chagrin of some, I'm certain. It seems that I've been busier than a one legged man in an ass kicking contest, so blogging has been non-existent. Iam full of blog fodder (among other things), with plenty of tales and pictures of the Central Washington Fair and associated horse show. However, tomorrow is opening day of deer season in these parts, so I'll be taking my rifle out for a walk. I'll get to blogging come Sunday.

Until then, I leave you with this video, which confirms my belated switch to Ford (not to mention the fact that they didn't take any of my tax dollars):

One of Life's Enduring Mysteries

Living in a household where my better half and two out of three daughters are cowgirls, I sometimes find myself asking this question:

Cows, The Constitution, and The Ten Commandments

Via Email:

Think about this:


1. Cows

2. The Constitution

3. The Ten Commandments

------------------------------------------

COWS

Is it just me, or does anyone else find it amazing that during the mad cow epidemic our government could track a single cow, born in Canada almost three years ago, right to the stall where she slept in the state of Washington? And, they tracked her calves to their stalls. But they are unable to locate 11 million illegal aliens wandering around our country. Maybe we should give each of them a cow.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE CONSTITUTION

They keep talking about drafting a Constitution for Iraq ... why don't we just give them ours? It was written by a lot of really smart guys, it has worked for over 200 years, and we're not using it anymore.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE 10 COMMANDMENTS

The real reason that we can't have the Ten Commandments posted in a courthouse or Congress is this --you cannot post 'Thou Shalt Not Steal' 'Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery' and 'Thou Shalt Not Lie' in a building full of lawyers, judges and politicians .... it creates a hostile work environment.

Cowboys in the 21st Century

"Make mine fat free, sugar free, with soy milk, please."

Never a Dull Moment

At 0430 this morning, the family BR was awakened by the sound of crunching metal, followed by a car accelerating away. Well, all of us were awakened with the exception of DN3, but she slept through the Life Flight helicopter that landed in the street a few years back.

Quickly dressing, I grabbed a flashlight, and went outside to determine which car had fallen victim. I secretly hoped it was one of the neighbors vehicles, but these hopes were quickly dashed. It was one of ours. And of course, it couldn't have been the 1990 Honda with 220,000 miles on it. Nooooo...it had to be the cherry 1978 Ford F350. To wit:

We, of course, called the police. The offender had been kind enough to leave his passenger side mirror and numerous paint chips behind. This led us to ascertain that he had been driving an emerald green Ford. The mean and nasty side of me wishes that my F150 had been parked there instead. With it's 6 inch lift and 35 inch tires, the perps car may very well have become wedged underneath, making it harder to get away.

Living in a small town has it's advantages, and the offending vehicle turned up less than a half a mile away. From the intel we have, the operator an unlicensed teenager, and, yes, he was under the influence of alcohol. The Police placed the bracelet's on the lad, charged him with DUI, Hit & Run, and operating a motor vehicle without a license, and transported him to the klink.

My speculation is that mom & dad were fast asleep when junior slipped out of the house to go party. I'm sure the cat was let out of the bag when the cops woke them up first thing this morning. I'm disappointed that they haven't made any effort to contact us yet, but I'll give them the benefit of the doubt, as they've probably had their hands full today. Although their neighbors were getting a bit suspicious when did two drive by's today, admiring the Ford Explorer that has much of the paint missing on the driver's side.

I'll be paying them a visit tomorrow.

Cattle Call

Today is the opening day of the Puyallup State Fair. As part of the first day's festivities, there is a parade through downtown Puyallup (pronounced: pew-al-up), which includes, among other things, a cattle drive.

Seems that a few head felt the need to stop at a convenience store for an icee.

The horse in the store bears a striking resemblance to Smokey. I wonder if he is moonlighting?

UPDATE: There's video!!

Cellular Phone vs. Tractor

DN2 tried to pit her cell phone against the tractor.

Sigh...I guess it's a good thing that it's time for the every two year upgrade with Verizon.

Again??

WARNING: Laura, you may not want to click on the link. More sad news.

10 Thoroughbreds were seized in Snohomish County. Adding insult to injury, a horse had been removed from the property in July. Why the hell didn't animal control take all of the horses at that time? That certainly would have prevented a bad situation from becoming worse.

2.3 acres is not enough room for 10 horses. Two, maybe three horses, yes, but not ten.

Those of us who choose to keep domesticated animals, from gerbils to horses, have a deep responsibility to those same animals for their care and well being. Through millenia of domestication, they have lost the ability to fend for themselves. They count upon us for food, water, veterinary care, and their very well being. Along the same vein as having children, this responsibility cannot be taken lightly.

While it is often easy to attribute these cases to people who have fallen on hard times, this seems to rarely be the actual case. Most reasoning, thinking people can recognize when they are in over their heads. Seeking help before the problem gets out of hand is the best course. A horse rescue would much rather take healthy horses, as these are more readily adoptable than sick, malnourished animals which must first be rehabilitated.

Too often, the people who create these situations do not think, or accept, that something is wrong, They believe in their own minds that they are providing the best possible care. I believe that animal hoarding is a mental illness. With that said, it does not excuse this behavior.

I also feel that, in many cases, animal control is equally culpable. Too often, they have been called repeatedly, but claim "there is nothing we can do." Really? How about pushing for tougher laws, to start with. Give yourselves some teeth. Here in Pierce County, WA, if animal control is called to a farm for malnourished horses, they will first check to see if feed is on the property. If they find a nice stack of hay, then they will leave, because food is available. I'm sure Smokey would agree that the hay is of no use if it's not being FED TO THE HORSES.

I implore all of you, care for your animals, and if you are unable to, get help. And just as you would do if you suspected child abuse, if you believe that animals are being abused or neglected, please report it.

Injustice

Yet another reason that I have a general disdain for my fellow man.

The article states that the dogs had been a continual problem. As is to be expected, reporting the problem to the proper authorities was to no avail. Personally, I would have allowed the problem to happen once. Upon the second occurrence, the offending dogs would have been roundly dispatched with a scattergun.

No two ways about it, the owners of the dogs are at fault. I have little (read: NO) sympathy for anyone who causes or permits violence upon women, children, or animals. I believe the punishment should fit the crime. In other words, the owners of these dogs should be locked in a cage with a pack of wild dogs, and let nature takes it's course.

Of course, at best they will probably get a slap on the wrist, and maybe a little community service.

Shameless Plug

In the midst of the daily assault of bad news that we continually face, it is easy for us to lose sight of the fact that there are still good people in the world. Average folks who perform good deeds not for the sake of recognition, but for the sake of the deed itself.

Periodically, I stumble across stories of these people, and realize how small and insignificant I am. How little I truly do to make the world a better place.

In my blog list, you will see a blog titled "From Hell to Heaven: Saving Argus". This blog is written by a lady named Katie, and chronicles the rescue and rehabilitation of a Thoroughbred Horse who spent the first 16 years of his life locked in a 12 x 16 pen. It is a gripping, emotional, and very well written blog. While the tale is about a horse, if you look beyond, it is revealing about us humans. The kindness, and yes, the cruelty, that we are capable of.

I encourage you to read the blog, with two recommendations:

1. Read the story in chronological order. The first post is in December, 2007.
2. Keep a box of tissue handy.

The Roll

There is something about soft, dusty, dry dirt, that most horses simply cannot resist.

They must roll...


The time spent rolling is directly proportional to how clean they are.

Just for the record, if dry dirt isn't available, wet squishy mud has been found to be a great substitute.

Appropos of Something, I Suppose...

I'm late to the party where country music is concerned. When I was younger I assumed it was all along the vein of "my dog died" or my "girl ran off". Chalk it up to youth.

My father once told me that when I get old, I will listen to country music. I must be old, since I have started to listen to KBEC & KJUG on the computer. They play that old timey country. I've discovered that I enjoy it.

As for the newer stuff, I do like some of it, but as an old mule jockey told me, most of it is "rock 'n roll with a twang".

"There is something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man." ~Winston Churchill

Or, in this case, the inside of a child.

Protesting, Arizona Style

I found this video via Drudge yesterday. I won't debate whether it was staged or not. That's not the point of this post.

I'm a firm believer in the Second Amendment. I have a few firearms myself. I do not personally see the need for assault rifles, but if that's what trips your trigger, have at it. But that's not the point of this post, either.

Seems it's perfectly legal to publicly pack an assault rifle around in Arizona. Still not the point.

The point is the great amusement I took in watching these two reporters trying to get their minds around the whole thing. They were shocked!, shocked, I tell you., and are desperately trying to come to grips with it. The one states that he had never seen an AR-15 before. I would venture a guess he's never seen any firearm before.

I'm still laughing.

On a side note: Those two are wearing nice ties...I wonder if they sell any men's clothes where they got them.

Separating the Wheat from the Chaff

Because of crap like this, I tend to take a dim view of "art". In my opinion, most "artists" are anything but. Most of them strike me as pathetic waifs with no useful skills to offer society. "Starving artists" are starving because their works are unappealing. Of course, cities like Seattle will undoubtedly spend other peoples tax dollars on these ocular horrors, since state law requires that 1% of the money spent on public works projects be given toward art.

Via Gordon, I was given a glimpse of a true artist at work. I'm sure many of you have already viewed it, but it was nonetheless awe inspiring.

The artist is Ukrainian, and she is telling the story of the Ukraine being overrun by the Germans in World War II. The effect on the audience is profound.

Despite Hollywood's best efforts, true talent will always shine though.

Rules of the Road

1. No matter how close you tailgate me, I refuse to drive faster than the car in front of me. And remember, I'm commuting in a 20 year old car, and have a herniated disk in my c-spine. I have nothing to lose, and your money to gain.

2. If you drive one of these, it is never acceptable to drive 60mph in the fast lane. The thing was engineered to drive on the Autobahn for crying out loud.

3. If you are driving a Subaru or have Oregon license plates, please stay in the slow lane. It is best for all involved parties. Despite what you may believe, you are not the Washington State Pace Car.

4. If you are driving a Subaru with Oregon plates...please stay in Oregon. We have enough crappy drivers already.

5. No, the 50mph sign does not mean for you to drive 40mph.

6. If the policeman has a car pulled over, it really is not necessary for everyone to slow to 10mph under the speed limit. He's out of service folks.

7. If you are a young, healthy adult in the crosswalk, pick up the pace. I'm behind on my quota.

8. If I'm towing my horse trailer, DO NOT tailgate me. Rest assured that the horseflesh in the trailer is worth more to me than your sorry ass. Should you run into my trailer, your best course of action is to die instantly.

County Fair

Last weekend was County Fair, which, for us, serves as the culmination of the 4H year. One is provided a different perspective when working "behind the scenes" at these events. The sheer number of volunteer hours that go into operating one of these shows is staggering. Getting people to volunteer is a continuing problem, and, typically, 10% of us do 90% of the work. While it grates on my nerves at times to see the usual supsects sitting on their duffs, you won't hear me complain. I truly enjoy working these shows, and, having proven myself a reliable volunteer, I get the better jobs, as will be seen later.

The days started early, with horses being fed at 6am. Once the horses had eaten, activity picked up in earnest. Horses were cleaned of whatever substance they had rolled in during the night, and thoroughly groomed, so as to look their best. The more spirited horses were lunged or ridden in the practice arena to take the edge off. With DN2 & DN3 showing horses in Western and English performance, Mrs. BR stayed busy helping with hair, makeup and show clothes, while I worked to prep the arena for the days events. This involved dragging the arena, erecting the barricades, chalking, as well as setting up trail, jumping, and dressage courses.

Mother Nature was on our side, with the skies overcast with temperatures in the upper 60's and lower 70's. Perfect show weather.

This years judges were unusually tough. Results, across the board, were not up to the standards that had been experienced throughout the show season. This resulted in no small amount of controversy, but in the end, judging is subjective, and the placings were fairly consistent from class to class.

This is DN2's last season. She and the other graduating Seniors were presented with their Belt Buckles (rather fancy ones, I might add), and formally recognized during Senior Recognition. She is also an alternate for the State Team. She went to State Fair last year, so, having "been there, done that", she isn't too disappointed. Due to cuts in the State Fair, the number of riders permitted this year is smaller, by half. And we will be taking them to the Central Washington Fair, in October, which, if given the choice, is the fair they would rather attend.

Western Equitation Class awaiting placings:


The best looking riders out there:


And, lest you think only the kids get to have fun at the fair, here is yours truly keeping the road apple pile at bay:


I knew playing with those Tonka trucks when I was a kid would eventually pay off.

Sunday afternoon, everyone gathered for the Awards Ceremony. With several of the presenters being a tad long winded, this event began to get a little long in the tooth, but after two hours, mercifully it came to and end. Which led to the mad dash to clear the barns. Decorations were taken down, stalls cleaned, tack packed up, and horses trailered. Finally, barn checks completed, vowing never to eat fair food again, we headed for home.

I think it was Wednesday before we fully recovered...

Sailors, Rest Your Oars...

Nine years ago today, the Russian Submarine Kursk sank, ultimately with the loss of all hands. The fortunate members of the crew died immediately. A small handful were not so fortunate, and survived for some period afterward, until they succumbed to the cold and lack of oxygen.

The loss of the Kursk is no worse, and no less so, than the many submarines lost either in wartime, or due to accident. For me, personally, this event was poignant in that it occurred during my time on active duty. It served as a reminder of the peril that we Dolphin wearers placed ourselves in each time we went to sea.

Submariners, regardless of nationality, share a bond forged in the dangers inherent to our chosen profession. The loss of our brothers, even our former enemies, strikes us in a way that words cannot express.

Take a moment to remember these brave souls.

H/T Joel

Horsepower

I've long thought Israeli's to be a tough breed.

Apparently, so are their horses.

What the...? Who the...?

What the hell is wrong with people?

I like my horses, but not this much.

I think it would have been justifiable homicide, and one less virus in the gene pool.

Ms. Kenley is my kind of dame. Knows her way around a shotgun and all.

Saving the Wild Horses

Admittedly, I'm biased on this topic, but I must say that for once, I approve of a plan that is working it's way throught Congress.

After the untold quanities of money that have been thrown down blackholes that provide no benefit beyond filling re-election coffers, I find it almost laughable to hear politicians suddently worried about "Taxpayer Drain". I hate to state the obvious for our challenged politicians, but that horse has already escaped the barn. Pun intended.

Not only does this help the wild horses, but it also preserves untamed land, keeping it free from further unchecked growth. Granted, much of the land is probably in the boonies where it won't be developed in the first place, but still...

I approve.

Work Party

As a member of the Backcountry Horseman of Washington (BCHW), I had the privilege of spending last weekend participating in a work party to repair a section of the Pacific Crest Trail. The goals of the weekend were to build two bridges, replace another that had collapsed, and redirect a section of the PCT that had been washed out for years.

The United States has thousands of miles of trails in the wilderness. Winter, and the never ending onslaught of nature, take their toll on these trails. Once upon a time, the United States Forest Service used summer work crews to perform trail maintenance in the wilderness. A victim of ever shrinking budgets, they have, for the most part, been forced to discontinue their efforts. Much of this work has now fallen on the shoulders of volunteers. The Pierce County Chapter of the BCHW, of which I am a member, has teamed up with the Tahoma and Enumclaw chapters, and the Pacific Crest Trail Association (PCTA) to adopt a 35 mile section of the PCT, between Crystal Mountain and Government Meadows. Bear in mind that much of this section of trail can only be reached on foot or horseback. While the USFS has little budget for this work, they do provide tools, and through grants received by the PCTA, hay and water for the horses, as well as food for the workers was supplied. What is needed is labor.

We were operating from the Government Meadows Horse Camp. This accessed via National Forest Development Road 70. For the first ten miles it is a paved, windy road. After that, it becomes a dirt, windy, logging road. When traveling a dirt road, towing a horse trailer, and you reach sign that indicates a 12% grade, you will crease the seat a bit. And although I was traveling 10-15mph at best, I was throwing up quite the cloud of dust. This is the view from the drivers window on the way up.

I'm sure that by this time, Smokey was certain that he had died and gone to hell.

I arrived early Friday afternoon. People had been arriving and working since late Wednesday. After checking in, I saddled up, and headed out on the trail to one of the designate work sites. Shortly I began to pass riders who were heading back to camp. Talking with them, I learned that work had stopped for the day, and most were headed back. I decided to continue riding, to see the trail and enjoy the solitude. Soon, I reached the first section of trail that had been rerouted. It was a nice series of switchbacks that led up to the place at which the trail crosses the 7080 Road. At this point, it was still necessary to ride about 100yds up the road to pick the trail back up. Turning back onto the trail, Smokey and I headed another mile or so down the trail, before turning back.

This is a view of Blowout Mountain from the trail:


Returning to the 7080 Road, I soon realized that I had not paid as much attention to the location of the trail as would have been wise, since the new signs had not yet been posted. I wasn't lost, just geographically misplaced. We went up and down the road a few times before I finally spotted the freshly turned dirt between two small trees. Picking the trail back up, we rode back to camp.

Saturday morning, we ate breakfast at 7:30. This was followed by a riders meeting, and work assignments. Lunches were picked up, horses saddled, tools loaded on the pack horses, and then the teams would set out for work. I was on a team of six that would be posting new signs, assisting with the final section of trail that was being rerouted, and then helping to complete the bridge that was being replaced. An active group to say the least.

On the trail:

Smokey and his new found friend tied up at the trail work site:

Where are those darn horses hiding?


While chainsaws and weedwackers were available to clear the brush, the work of trailbreaking fell to basic hand tools, such as shovels and pulaski's. After our stint on the trail, it was time for our group to return to Government Meadows to assist with the bridge. Government Meadows lies along the Naches Trail. This was a trail that used by wagon trains back in the day.

Government Meadow:

Signs at the Government Meadow Cabin:





From what little I can find, Mike Urich was a trail worker back in the first half of the twentieth century.

Upon arriving, the task of gravel hauling became our primary focus. This involved shoveling gravel from the bed of a pickup into wheel barrows and then hauling it 100yds to the bridge.

This provided one of the highlights of the day: The Pickup Ride. To get more gravel we had to drive about a mile downhill on a dirt road to where a dump truck had deposited the rock pile. Now, this "road" might be considered a road to jeepers, but to those of us riding in the back of the 25 year old F350, it was anything but. And the driver seemed to have forgotten that there were six of us in the bed. More than one of us was nearly bounced clear of the pickup. The cackling laughter coming from the cab of the truck didn't exactly help, either.

Arriving bruised, but intact, we shoveled a huge pile of gravel into the pickup, then traveled uphill with the load. For some reason, I had a mental image of the tailgate fallling up, and being washed out in a cascade of rocks and dirt.

Back at the worksite, we shoveled the gravel out, then back for more. The second and third trips were a little less chaotic. It may be related to the threats that were levied at the driver, but I could be wrong.

The bridge complete, we headed back to camp. After watering and feeding the horses, we settled in to await dinner.

We were fed like royalty at this event. Chicken Friday night, steak on Saturday, with no shortage of food. A huge breakfast each morning, and an ample sack lunch for the trail. The evening entertainment was anothe of the highlights, courtesy of Denny, a colorful old mulerider, who is a talented guitarist and singer. His repartoire consisted of country songs, none newer than 30 years old. In his words, modern country music is "rock and roll with a twang".

Sunday consisted of some minor trail work, and the major endeavor of breaking camp. I rolled out around noon, dirty, hot, sweaty, and tired, but with an overwhelming feeling of satisfaction at having played a small part in something that is bigger than me.

Some hikers happened upon one of the work crews, and stopped to help them work for awhile. This is IMPORTANT. I will discuss why in my next post. As my picture of the cabin at Government Meadows fell victim to my shoddy photography skills, I was searching online when I came across this post by one of the hikers involved.

How cool is that?

It's HOT!!!

Personally, I think the whole Global Warming/Climate Change thing is a bunch of hype and hooey perpetuated by a narcissistic, hypocritical politician.

With that said, it's hot here in my part of Western Washington. 100F right now. Now, I know it's probably hotter where folks such as Buck are, but at least it's a dry heat in his neck of the woods. And I don't say that tongue in cheek. I've been in Yuma, AZ when it's 115F, and it was more tolerable than the weather we've been having the last two days.

We had a bit of a scare with one of the horses last night. When I went to get DN3's mare, Bailey, to bring her up for the farrier, I immediately noted that she hadn't touched her hay, and was standing listlessly in her shelter. Bailey is normally a voracious eater, wasting no time devouring her flakes of hay. In the barn, we noted that her breathing was fast and shallow. Taking her temperature, it came out at 103F. Normal temperature for our equine friends is 99.8F to 101.3F.

Betting that it was the heat that was getting to her, we gave her some electrolyte paste, and 2 grams of bute. This was followed by hosing her down for about 15 minutes with cold water. By this time she had noticeably perked up. DN3 let her graze on some grass for awhile, then hosed her off for another 15 minutes.

By 8:30 her respiratory rate had returned to normal, and her appetite had returned. Returning to her paddock, she drank some water, then attacked her hay as though she hadn't been fed in weeks. By this morning, her temperature had returned to normal. As a precaution, DN3 has been hosing her down periodically with cold water.

With temperatures expected to remain near 100F most of the week, this will continue for a few days, just to be safe.

Random Photo

Mrs. BR wanted me to post this photo:


Sunday was the monthly gaming day at Meridian Riding Club. Smokey and I are resting between events. The odd thing is that he sat there with his nose resting on my hat for a good five minutes. And his big ol' noggin is rather heavy.

On a positive note, Smokey has been in the ribbons for the last two outings, with steadily improving times. And I've figured out how to sit a run without getting my ass beat by the saddle. Riding a horse at a dead run has to be one of the biggest adrenalin rushes I've ever experienced.

Elbe Hills Poker Ride

Each summer, the Pierce County Sheriff's Posse sponsors three Poker Ride at the Elbe Hills Horse Camp, in order to raise funds for their sponsorship of the Special Olympics. Not only is it a great cause, but it's a makes for a darn nice trail ride. On Saturday, the family BR, plus a few friends, attended the first ride of the season. The weather was beautiful, the horses well behaved, and the company good. It was a great ride.

One of the great things, for me at least, about living in Washington is the beautiful country we have. Top on the list is Mt. Rainier. Elbe lies on on Highway 7, along the rode to Mt. Rainier National Park. One of the most fabulous views of the mountain, IMHO, is found along a series of switchback trails that we were on yesterday.

My camera isn't fancy, and my photographic skills are not of Ann's quality, but, without further adieu, I give you a few of the pictures I took yesterday.




In regards to the light blogging of late, it's summertime, the weather is beautiful, and when faced with the choice between blogging or riding the horse...well, the horse will win out everytime.

I'd Have Never Made a Good Teacher

Honestly, I don't know how Chris does it.

It's not just because I generally don't care for other people's children. No, not at all. It's because I would find the endless grading of papers maddening. I'm talking men in white coats bringing me the shirt with extra long sleeves maddening.

I'm in the process of judging record books for the 4H Horse Department. I've been at it for three hours. Four hours last night. Looking at the same thing over and over, ad nauseum. My brain is numb, my eyes going cross.

Gee, only two more boxes to go....

Like I said, I don't know how Chris and his fellow teachers do it. They have my undying respect.

Random Musings

I spent most of yesterday afternoon watching the Military Channel. The programming consisted of a series of shows, narrated by Charles Kuralt, profiling the history of the Revolutionary War. It was very well produced, making use of re-enactors for many scenes, and IMHO, time well spent.

When I was 8, my father was transferred to Norfolk, Virginia. This was the age that I began to develop my fascination for history, particularly American history. One of the great things about living in Virginia was the presence of Colonial history. We were constantly exposed to this history, particularly the Revolutionary War, in school.

While watching the show, I began to wonder how many people in our country today truly understand what Independence Day celebrates. Do they understand the principles upon which this country was founded? Or, is it just a day to light fireworks and drink beer?

In my case, it was both, with the emphasis on the former.

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Mrs. BR and I went grocery shopping this afternoon at the local WinCo. Today's theme: Trailer Park meets South of the Border.

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Rode the horse yesterday and today. I seem to have made some cognitave breakthrough in my riding ability. It's difficult for me to put my finger on what has changed, but others have noticed and commented on it. In simple terms, it feels that Smokey is responding quicker, and my cues are more subtle. Less use of the reins and bit, more use of light pressure with the spurs. In short, I'm pushing against that barrier that lies between being a horse and rider, and working as one. I know that sounds a bit corny, but that's the best explanation I can find. If you watch the video of Stacy Westfall (two posts ago) you can get a glimpse of what I'm referring to.

Happy Birthday, America!

On July 4th, 1776, our Founding Fathers signed the Declaration of Independence.

233 years later, our Republic still stands, warts and all. Happy Birthday!

Breakthroughs

As it turns out, there is much more to riding a horse than merely sitting in the saddle looking good. Which is fortunate, or I’d be doomed from the outset.

Convincing a horse to do what you want, when you want it, involves “cues”. These cues are generally transmitted via the hands, thru the reins and bit, or by leg pressure applied with the calves, heels, or spurs for those of that wear them. The better trained the horse, and the better the rider, the more subtle these cues are. Take this video of Stacy Westfall, for example (it’s a bit long, but please watch):



That’s right; she’s riding bareback, with no headstall. That is a combination of an amazing horse and an amazing rider.

One of the challenges, for me at least, to owning an older horse, is deducing how he was trained, and what his cues are. I have most of them down, although Smokey’s modus operandi is to pretend that he has “forgotten”, particularly when we haven’t worked on something in awhile. He’s not a pushbutton horse. If I don’t cue exactly right, he frequently gives some bizarre response that isn’t even close to what I’m trying to get. This means I’m doing it WRONG. It’s always the rider, never the horse.

For some time I’ve been trying to master the side pass. Side passing means walking sideways. This is not natural for a horse. Watch them in the pasture. You will never see them side passing. Getting Smokey to side pass has been a huge struggle. I usually end up moving his shoulders or his hips, but never both at the same time. The harder I try, the worse it looks.

Wednesday night, after working on collection on turning off leg pressure, we were standing in the middle of the arena, relaxing. Almost subconsciously, I shifted my weight to the left, and gently pushed my left spur into his ribs. He side passed perfectly! Thinking that perhaps I entered the Twilight Zone, I repeated the cues. Again, he side passed. I repeated it again in the other direction.

I frequently relearn the lesson that trying too hard does not always render the desired results. Sometimes you just need to relax and let it come naturally.

I’ll be the guy on the horse that is walking sideways around the arena.

Yet Another Reminder Why I'm Proud to be an American

I just finished watching Somali Pirate Takedown The Real Story on the Discovery Channel.

The Navy did a superb job. The right people made the right decisions at the right time. But they are trained professionals. This is what they do.

IMHO, the true heroes of this story are the crew of the Maersk Alabama. Civilians, not trained, or armed, for interdiction on the high seas, they refused to let the pirates take their ship. They fought back. And won.

The Art of Cinching Up a Saddle, Part The Last

Smokey's last "episode" came shortly after the incident at the saddle shop. I was not present, so I am relaying this story second hand.

Mrs. BR, DN2, and DN3 were going on a trail ride. One of them was going to use Smokey. As the other horses are easy to saddle up, and they did not routinely ride Smokey, it slipped their minds to take care. The cinch was tightened in one fell swoop. And, of course, the horse rears up and flops over. However, there was one key difference. The previous times, I had been holding his lead rope. This time he was tied to a fence railing. He landed with his head and neck stretched out, suffocating himself on his halter. His eyes rolled back in his head. Mrs. BR told me the thought passed through her head to just let him kill himself and put an end to this nonsense.

Realizing, of course, that I might not take too kindly to such things, she undid the quick release knot on the rope, thus thwarting Smokey's effort to travel over the Rainbow Bridge.

It has been close to three years since he has overreacted to being cinched up. I've learned to tighten the cinch incrementally. He will put up a token protest, dancing around a bit, but I just ignore it, and it quickly stops.

The question arises: Why would a horse behave so while being cinched up? There is no way to be certain of course, but I suspect one of two possibilities.

1. A previous owner frequently cinched him up too tight, causing him to be in pain.

2. This behavior scared a previous owner, who would, instead of ignoring it, unsaddle him and put him back in the pasture. This would have taught him that behaving badly resulted in what for him was a reward.

I tend to lean towards the latter option. Through the grapevine I've heard that he had an owner who was scared of him. This behavior certainly scared members of my family.

One of the things I've learned in my limited experience is that most horses have their quirks. Some quirks can be trained out of them, but with others, we have to decide if we are willing to live with them. If the quirk is dangerous, such as bucking or rearing, it's time for a different horse. Otherwise we just cope with, and for the most part, ignore, the habit. Smokey has learned that bad behavior will not be rewarded, and that I am not going to go away. I have learned to tolerate the little things that really just don't matter.

Horses are capable of teaching us a great deal about ourselves, if we are smart enough to pay attention.

Titles

Some people get a little too wrapped up in their titles.

Demanding that someone refer to you by a certain title is small minded at best, and arrogant at worst. When I was a Senior Chief and Master Chief in the World's Greatest Navy, I never once admonished any sailor who omitted "Senior" or "Master" and simply referred to me as "Chief". Being called Chief was sign of respect enough. I'm certain that more than a few sailors had other titles which were reserved for use when I wasn't around. Heck, I'd be disappointed if they didn't, since that would mean I probably wasn't doing my job.

In the military, the use of the words "ma'am" or "sir" are used as signs of respect when addressing an officer. If Ms. Boxer would take a moment to step past her arrogant ignorance, she would realize that being addressed as "ma'am" by the good General was a larger sign of respect than being addressed by a title simply bestowed upon her by the voters of her district.

Government Broadcasting Company

This gives me an uneasy feeling.

Perhaps I'm reading too much into it, but it somehow feels like the beginnings of state run media. Something we would expect to occur in Venezuela, not the United States.

"ABCNEWS prides itself on covering all sides of important issues and asking direct questions of all newsmakers -- of all political persuasions -- even when others have taken a more partisan approach and even in the face of criticism from extremes on both ends of the political spectrum. ABCNEWS is looking for the most thoughtful and diverse voices on this issue.

"ABCNEWS alone will select those who will be in the audience asking questions of the president. Like any programs we broadcast, ABC News will have complete editorial control. To suggest otherwise is quite unfair to both our journalists and our audience."

I nearly choked on my beer when I read that. Bullshit!

If the man wants to give a speech, then why not give one, and encourage it to be aired on all the major stations. Why cozy up to ABC, at the exclusion of others? And, will ABC permit any rebuttal speeches? Somehow I doubt it.

ABC will no longer be able to feign an air of impartiality. Of course, those of us who have been paying attention have long ago realized where the loyalty of the main stream media lies. What worries me the most is a gnawing fear that the average citizen will not take notice of this impropriety. Too many people choose to be ignorant, stupid, or uniformed. Those who speak up against it are quickly shouted down.

If this proves to be an isolated occurence, then I will have gotten my knickers in a twist over nothing. I hope I am wrong, truly I do.

The Rise and Fall of Civilization

This story was linked on Drudge late last week.

“The government, looking at expanding a pioneering scheme in Flint, one of the poorest US cities, which involves razing entire districts and returning the land to nature.”

Slowly, quietly, seemingly unknown to the population at large, once great cities in the United States are dying. I was taken aback by the names on the list. Detroit, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Baltimore, Memphis. Buck and others have blogged about the decline of Detroit, but I had little idea that the problem extended so far. My initial reaction is one of sadness. I try to imagine the plight of the people forced to walk away from their homes, losing their investment, and perhaps their dreams, moving to someplace unknown in search of better opportunity.

However, upon stepping back and casting an analytical eye toward this, one realizes that this is simply part of the cycle of civilization. Cities have sprouted, thrived, and withered into history for centuries. Carthage. Spartus. Troy. Thebes. Once, thriving metropolises which are now relegated to names in the history books. Why should we be any different? Because we are modern? More civilized?

I could bloviate, ad nauseum, regarding the reason these cities have declined. Politics, race, business, you name it. The reasons are what they are, and ruminating about them now will not change the facts.

Regarding the razing the abandoned portions of these cities. I'm sure some will rail against the thought of tax dollars being used for this reason. I for one am in favor of it. We need to clean up after ourselves. Return these areas back to nature. The die has been cast as far as the Stimulus Package goes. We cannot put that tiger back in it's cage. The effort to raze the abandoned sections of these towns will at least create some jobs for those who are still holding on.

And it simply makes sense. If the city is physically smaller, it will reduce the stress on basic services, such as fire, police, and sanitation. Give these areas a shot at survival.

Now, if only we could convince them to raze Seattle.

PSA

Heh!

The Art of Cinching up a Saddle, Part II

After the event described in the previous post, the problem settled down to a mild annoyance. I learned to tighten the cinch in increments, and he learned not to flip himself over. He would squirm and shuffle around as I snugged up the cinch, but in comparison to his circus act, I was willing to live with this. One benefit of the dancing around is that I soon learned to keep track of where his feet were in relation to mine. A cowboy boot will lose to a #2 horseshoe every time. It also tends to result in the nearby air turning a shade of blue as I express my displeasure.

Many beginning horse people go through a stage that I simply refer to as the “will I ever find a decent saddle that fits my horse, is comfortable for my butt, and that I can afford” phase. We are usually destitute from buying the horse, so purchasing top of the line tack is generally not in the cards. Craigslist and the Auction become our friends.

The first saddle I purchased was a cheap POS. So bad in fact, that I threw it in the trash after a month, as my conscience would not let me sell it to anyone. The second saddle was better. It was comfortable to ride in, and it fit Smokey well enough, if only for a little while.

Smokey had seen little riding for the two years prior. As I started riding him and feeding him better, he began to bulk up. By spring, saddle the second was becoming too tight on his withers.
Fed up with this nonsense, I loaded Smokey in the trailer, and off to the tack store we went.

My favorite tack shop is owned by a Texan named Mike. This man can sell you your own shirt if you aren’t paying attention. But, he’s an honest fellow, and he won’t steer you wrong, because he wants you to come back and spend more money at his place of business, as well as sending all your friends.

Mike sized Smokey up, and then headed into the store. He carried out three saddles, and alternately set them on Smokey’s back. The two that provided the best fit were both Crates saddles. Mike began cinching up the one that was currently on the horse.

“Be careful Mike, he’s a bit cinchy.”

In hindsight maybe I should have kept my mouth shut. It could very well be that I invoked a self fulfilling prophecy

As you’ve probably guessed, Smokey was now standing high on his back legs. I remember contemplating how much it was going to cost to get my new, broken saddle repaired. I also wondered if he would throw himself down, in a repeat of the first experience.

Not one to disappoint, Smokey toppled over like a tree, landing on his right side again. “I guess I’ll buy that one” was the prevalent thought in my mind.

As the horse got up, wearing the same dopey, embarrassed look as the previous time, Mike turned to me and asked, “what was that?”

“I warned you.”

Now that Smokey was back on his feet, I looked the saddle over while Mike checked the fit. I was relieved to see that it had suffered no damage. Mike declared it to be a good fit, and proving himself the salesmen he is, managed to up sell me on a saddle pad, and cinch. With my wallet lighter to the tune of $1200, I loaded the horse and saddle, and set off for home.



I still have the saddle. Heck, I still have the horse, too. Smooth talking salesman or no, Mike knows his saddles. It fits Smokey as though it were custom made for him, and is incredibly comfortable for me. It has never once slipped, even on those rare occasions where the cinch was not quite as snug as it should have been. I loaned it to a friend once, and she promptly went out and bought two of them.

The tale does not end here, however…

The Art of Cinching up a Saddle

I purchased Smokey in November of 2005, when he was 16, and I was 39, and as green as the grass where horses are concerned. The only thing I knew was that he looked amazing, and that I must have him for my very own.

In short order, Smokey and I were off to our first riding lesson. I'm at the age now where if I don't know how to do something, I will readily admit it. False bravado will at best make you look stupid, or at worst result in serious injury or death, at least where a 16HH, 1100 lb horse is concerned. Having no desire to become a statistic, I set out to learn the basics.

One of the first things was to get old boy saddled up. While I held the lead rope, the trainer placed the saddle blanket and saddle on his back, showing me proper placement. Following this, she ran the latigo through the cinch, and pulled the cinch up tight.

It's rather amazing how tall a horse can get when standing on it's back two legs. Why do I mention this, you ask? Why simple, dear reader, because Smokey had reared up instantly, and I was looking up at his head which was by now somewhere in the rafters.

With the realization that my arms were getting longer, and vaguely aware of someone shouting "let go of the lead rope", I dropped the rope, and backed away from my registered American Quarter Giraffe, pondering how this act was going to play out.

Not one to disappoint an audience, Smokey set out to really show us. Like a tree being felled, he threw himself down on his right side.

As the dust settled, the trainer asked me, "did you buy this horse?"

"Yes."

"That's too bad." I remember being pissed at this comment. Could she not see that this was the most beautiful horse in the world, and he was simply having a moment?

Don't let anyone ever tell you that a horse can't look sheepish and embarrassed. For that was exactly the look in Smokey's eyes after he got back up and walked over to stand by me. This was the only display of bad behavior that evening. The rest of the lesson went well.

At some point, the trainer commented, "he likes you". I took great satisfaction in that.

To be continued...

Gaming Day, Part Deux...

Towards the end of Gaming Day, there are "team" events. One of the more, uh, interesting (dangerous?) events is known as Hangman.

Hangman consist of two riders, one horse, and a tire suspended in the air. The goal is to ride over to the tire, where the passenger grabs the tire and hangs from it, while the horse and rider run down to a barrel, around it, and then back to pick up the "hangman".

In the interest of understatement, let us just say that many of the horses are none to keen about getting close enough to the hangman. Hilarity can, and usually does, ensue. Oh, did I mention that the tire is filled with cold water, just to liven things up for the lucky soul hanging below.

DN2 and her boyfriend decided they wanted to try Hangman. They practiced riding double, just to make sure Dozer would tolerate it.

But, as many of us know, sometimes the real thing turns out a bit differently:



Beyond some bumps and scrapes, and bit of embarrassment, no one was hurt.