I've frequently ridden the lakebed this month, following the best winter in six years which has left the northern part of the lake still under a sludge of water. The south side of the lake is cracked like an arid desert, with the kind of footing on which you can let your horse stretch its legs far more than he could in an arena. The feeling of letting a horse loose brings back high school memories of racing my arab for uninhibited miles in the Murrieta Creek.
As opposed to the sandy wash of the dry creek, the lakebed can be a bit tricky, because the footing changes with the landscape. There are gopher holes in the areas with sage and meadowgrass, and there is some debris out there, so confidence in your ability to slow down is imperative. It can be a bit unnerving if your horse is in a dead bolt and you've got nothing by way of control at the end of the reins.
But before you go grabbing a bigger bit to leverage control over your horse, you might consider preparation before you go. Let's be fair, it should be fun for rider and horse.
It's a no brainer for me to take my numero uno to the lakebed. It's hard to explain with Drifter, but a silent mutual agreement has been formed. I can just about bet my life that those feet might as well be mine. There's just about nothing like having a horse you "made" on your own from the very first ride: you can't blame anyone but yourself for the bad things, but you can find a heck of a lot of peace in the good things. Trust is mirrored infinitely with Drifter. We've got each other covered.
So if your horse is light and responsive through all gaits in the arena, you shouldn't have any trouble in the great wide open. There's ample room to circle if you need to downshift, but you gotta bet on that too.
For those of you who haven't heard about my journey with Bravo, I've had a few falls. None of them were bucks (which he didn't do in the four rides before he came into my life). All of them were lateral launchpad escapes which left me so far out of balance, when my only choice was to hit the dirt. All of them were directly related to my decisions to climb on Bravo without proper preparation. Each fall left a stinging doubt...forcing me to question myself and take deep into my heart criticisms that aren't worthy of breaking it.
Stupid fear has lingered for years so I rode in fits and starts...but Bravo never asked for any of my baggage. He is quick and athletic, maybe even a bit insightful. He can move lightning quick and he's even more sensitive and touchy than Drifter, which in turn has given me some of the greatest gifts under saddle. At Paul's in December 2015. At the beach August 2016. Buck's 2017 clinic. Unforgettable presents.
Like today.
Drifter was the lucky guy to go on the past two days' trail rides. It was Bravo's turn, and I wanted to run far, fast, forever....
Yet the chicken within me already pecking away at all the reasons why I shouldn't. As soon as he was saddled, the wind kicked it up a notch.
Groundwork went well with the rope and the flag, so we rode over to Shay Meadow Ranch to check on our WTC transitions and ease the anxiety we both felt from Drifter's voice carrying across the valley (yes, it literally echoes). As Bravo's body quivered to respond to his brother's cries, I'd rub his neck, musing, "Drifter's bummed, Bravito!" Arenawork felt so darn good and it was far too tempting to head home.
Looking to the northeast at the brilliant white monolith peeking above the trees, I envisioned the accomplishment of reaching The Eye of the God. So we made our way across the ranch past a tractor, a giant scary tarp, and vocal horses, opened the gate and removed the barriers that held us within the safety of the property lines. It's wide open from here.
We carefully passed the fenceline toward the open lakebottom, where a few walk-trot transitions proved to be totally reliable. Bravo shifted gears into a lovely canter.
Sweet surrender.
There was no reason to stop at this point so we crossed Baldwin Lake Road and navigated through barking dogs, wind-whipped tarps, and dirt bikers on a Sunday ride to the trailhead. Comforting Bravo encouraged him to keep forging ahead until we reached the spectacular quartz rock.
It could have been too easy to stay there the rest of the afternoon, daydreaming that this day would be marked in history as the day Bravo helped me release self-limiting beliefs. But I've concluded that, too, will take as long as it takes.
After a few selfies and some deep breaths, we traced our steps back home.
