One more question for Buck

The nice thing about riding in Buck Brannaman's clinic in Arizona is that a couple of weeks later, he is usually somewhere in Southern California.

On Saturday, April 7, I was up with the sun to head down to Del Mar in order to catch him before he is gone until 2013.

I tried to make arrangements to get someone to go with me, but people were busy with overbooked weekends and daily lives, so I relented to be OK with following my dreams solo. My experience won't be the same as another's anyway, so I was going for my own experience. At the bottom of the hill, I made one last call.

"Hi, you've reached Alisa. Leave a message and I will call you back."

"I will be passing by your house in about an hour. Call me if you want me to pick you up."

I drove to the sound of tires on the highway. Alone.

My phone rang when I was nearing Temecula. "If you're not too far out of the way, I will go with you." Alisa's sleepy voice said. I turned around.

We were back on the road in about 45 minutes so we were going to miss a bit of horsemanship. When we arrived at Clews Ranch, it was clear that there were lots of spectators. Cars were spilling out onto the road. We drove partway up a quarter-mile long driveway and turned around. Good thing we didn't bring the Ford or her Tundra. I squeezed by a trailhead and we walked up the driveway.

There were several hundred spectators around an arena that looked just about as overbooked as the New River clinic. It worked out OK in Arizona, but Del Mar seemed to be a troubled group as soon as we approached the arena. It was a blend of english and dressage saddles, trail and ranch saddles in the arena.

Alisa got a phone call that her mom's purse was stolen, so she immediately was on the phone trying to get things sorted out.

The class was in an awkward silence. They were apparently working on something from the ground...I assumed he was having them get their horses light by grabbing the slobber strap and picking up to see how soft you can get your horse to give and get back. But many people were standing along the rail. Some were in a dust cloud. Some were clearly doing their own thing.

"Oh my god, Suzanne?!" a voice called from inside the arena.

"Alex! Hi!" It was Alex, who leased Buddy from me when Travis and I moved to Big Bear. She leased him and rode him for 5-6 years until I brought him up the mountain. I haven't seen her since 2003.

Suzanne and Alex

We set up our chairs and Alisa was quietly making calls.

No sooner did Alisa hang up the phone and ask, "what are they doing?" did Buck call the class in for a talk.

And it became clear to me why he doesn't allow video taping at his clinics...because what happened could clearly have been taken out of context.

He gave the class a piece of his mind. He was disappointed that people didn't do their homework from the first day, which is why he never gave them additional homework. Without calling anyone out individually, among other disappointments: he was understandably upset that some people were hitting their horses to back them; he was angry that some had grabbed both reins from below the neck, collapsing bits up into the bars inside their horses mouths.

Buck was clearly upset. He never once directed the offenders to do such things.

A participant even argued with him about it.

How sad that many of these people were missing an amazing opportunity, but showed up to an arena and did their own thing instead.

How sad for some of those horses.

Over lunch break, Alisa's mom's purse was found in a gas station trash can, cash missing, but everything else seemingly intact. She decided to put her phone away for the cow working class.

Buck's opening statements were among the best topics he discusses. He spoke of riders being "contrarians" who will come up with an excuse as to why their horses might misbehave in any given circumstance, rather than getting their horses to want to be...with you...which in turn will make any obstacle or reason not to ride irrelevant.

He showcased Arc, his bridle horse's great cow cutting abilities. To me, watching him ride and knowing how he starts his horses without shortcuts is the most impressive part. He never puts a bad habit into them. He doesn't use a bit because he failed in the snaffle or hackamore. His horses have been promoted to wear a badge of honor. The bit is used as a signal, not as leverage. There is almost nothing more beautiful to me.

Buck and Arc

After the cow working, we stayed to watch the autographs and photo opportunities. We lingered and observed. We watched Shayne Jackson teaching how to tie a tail knot. And we waited for our chance.

I had one more question for Buck.

"I'm playing a bit of a waiting game with Drifter on my backup. At this stage, do I continue to wait or take a firm hold?"

His answer, as close as I can recall, was: "You've got pretty good lateral flexion on him. Get on the ground and take a hold of a slobber strap, get him soft and help him back. Really work at that. Make sure you get that release in there. You better be quick with your release. The timing will show him when he's right. That's real important."

Alisa, Buck, Suzanne

As Buck was leaving the arena, Alisa asked Buck how she can help Pinot with one of her problems, namely how she reacts to the flag. She will put it in her mouth and play with it, but she won't yield to it very well.

Buck told her that she still needs to respect it, which means Alisa is going to have to firm up. And she might have to firm up a lot to put some respect in there. On our drive home, she openly reflected on how Pinot's comfortable-but-disrespectful behavior overflows into other areas (riding, groundwork, other horses, other animals) and not just with the flag.

Very good observation. I am glad she went with me.

Taking it to the Arena...

So on Sunday, I dragged the Vaqueros arena and trailered Drifter over to try to make sense of the quiet groundwork that Buck insisted will help my backup.

I couldn't believe how quickly Drifter's response was getting after a few minutes. Resonating from Arizona was the theme of never stopping short of being successful, so I spent about 20 minutes...one side, then the other...releasing as quick as my peabrain could remind me to release.

Then I got on and worked tight serpentines in an all-out effort to avoid pulling Drifter through the turns. Release. Release. Release.

Sorry for the crude point of focus...self timer, self portrait

An enormous arena. Birds chirping in the crisp spring sun. Quiet arenawork. Amazing arenawork.

Who needs chicken soup for the soul?

I long trotted around the arena, picking up softness and settling into a nice transition to walk. Transitions up and down from the walk to trot. Getting them smooth...working toward seamless. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

As I was trotting out, I picked up a soft feel but didn't slow my body. We trotted with softness. I decided to try something. I moved to position 3 (on the back pockets of your jeans). Drifter crushed the dirt with his hind end in a tiny sliding stop.

I immediately rubbed his neck, dismounted, untacked and sat down in the dirt to "soak". Drifter departed to explore the arena, bucking and whinneying.

As the sun burnt my back where I couldn't reach with sunscreen, I watched him and smiled.

And then Drifter did the unexpected....

And he stayed here...

Was it a display of trust? Comfort? Contentment? All I know is it was not coincidence. Whatever it was, it astounded me.

How's that for an answer to my question?