Riding Hazard Peak

We trotted east to an unknown destination. Paul prefaced the trail ride that he'd done part of it and there were some spots that "make you pucker". Drifter, tired from two beach rides south of Morro Bay, extended his trotting stride and headed up the fire road where we passed Paul and his mare Sunshine, then veered to the right to catch a single track trail that pointed us toward Hazard Peak. I took note of a bell box kept at the trail entrance for bikers to alert equestrians of their presence. The trail switchbacked in tight curves, lined with brush and moss-covered trees. We climbed higher and higher until the trail straightened out along a hillside.
Drifter noticed a doe across the ravine rustling through the brush. The terrain she traversed was as steep as the slope we were on, except hers was covered in dense vegetation. When we reached the end of the canyon, the trail made a sharp right and curved back to the West. We were looking down into the valley, where our campsite awaited for our return. Karin and Alex, Paul's student from Germany and her son, would be there in an hour...but something told me we wouldn't be back by then. The ocean horizon from our viewpoint marked the nearest identifiable location, yet it was a couple of miles away. The sun moseyed westward as we leg-yielded our horses toward the upslope. Paul told a joke about falling. I don't remember the joke, but the punchline is "Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhh...!"

There's plenty of room on this trail.

I kept trying to stabilize myself in the saddle, ensuring that I was balanced, feeling my seatbones evenly. I steadied myself and inhaled the warm, salty air. Vertigo can get me in situations like this. But I couldn't tell if I was more bothered by the dizzying effects of vertigo, or that I was climbing trails unlike anything I'd ever ridden (and fear from the experiences of others was on my mind).
Paul casually commented that he was afraid of heights. It wasn't until later that I realized he was telling the truth.
The trail to Hazard Peak isn't totally stressful. There are places that are a little tight, but there are places where the grade in the hillside leveled, and we could look around or take a picture. Paul told me there were picnic tables at the top. Whoever brought those up here was pretty ambitious, I thought.
The trail had curved to the south, where ahead of us, I could see it against the hill heading West yet again, toward the summit. A bike dropped into the horizon, heading East. We were on a rare spot in the trail where the ground had widened a bit.
"I think we should wait here." Paul said, noting we had an opportunity to step our horses off the trail. The biker safely passed us. I asked if Paul wanted to lead, since Drifter is a slow traveler and wasn't as fresh as Sunshine. He told me he liked being in the back, as his mare was being pushy and he had a better opportunity to work with her behind Drifter.
We carried on toward the summit, where we rode directly into the sun as it was heading toward the sea. The silhouette of picnic benches and a small fence sat atop the mountain at 1,076 feet above sealevel. An arrow pointed westward. 3.4 miles to Spooner Cove (which is still another couple of miles to camp). If we go back, we can make it before dark. Not sure if we can do that going forward.
"Christine and I made it here, and then returned the way we came." Paul said and we both commented on how we don't care for riding out-and-back trails. But neither of us liked our choice from here.
We could: a) go back the way we came; or b) go forward...on this.

What happens around that bend?

I took Drifter as close as I was comfortable to try to see around the northfacing trail of Hazard's summit. It didn't look pretty.
Paul sighed. "Well, we could go back. I don't know if I'll ever see the rest of the trail."
Think, Suzanne. At this point, I'm a little scared, but I am on the trail of a lifetime.
I walked Drifter a couple of steps closer. He showed no signs of concern about the slope or that he couldn't see where the trail went either.
We stepped out to where our only choice to abort the mission was to back up...which had gotten pretty darn reliable at Paul's 2014 clinic the week before coming to the beach. Have you ever backed a horse with lightness? If not, it's something to strive for with your horse.
"Oh, we're going?" Paul acted surprised, and rode Sunshine onto the trail loop off of Hazard Peak.
I walked Drifter across a small reinforced section of the trail, where it might be possible to do a 180-degree turn on the haunches. I wanted to take a selfie. Not smart (see blog on Complacency), so I promised myself I would only retrieve my phone at a location where I could safely turn around if needed. I approached the bend in the trail and looked back, shocked at what I saw.
Paul was standing on the upslope of the trail with his hands on the saddle fork and cantle. He smiled and laughed, "I can't get my knees to quit knocking."
A few steps ahead of me was a place where I could slide off Drifter's back. I wasn't sure how I felt about it, because Drifter was holding me together a little. When my feet hit the dirt, we discussed making good choices in tight situations so we walked our horses to where the trail opened up a bit. Fifty feet ahead of us, another biker dropped from the summit picnic area onto the trail where we were headed.
"Wait, let's watch him and see where the trail goes." Paul said.
The biker went toward the sun before the trail took him South in the bluish shadow of a ridgeline. We watched as he made a very slight descent about 1/4 mile before turning west where the shadow met sunlight on the landscape. Seeing that the biker made it, we decided to go forward.
We kept conversation light, laughing about places in the trail that would make anyone pucker...except maybe his dad, Gene.
As we curved left, heading on the trail in the ridgeline's shadow, things got quiet. This had already happened a few times on the ride, but this time was different. The trail was narrowing, where the slope left no shoulder on the trail...not even plants. There was no place to get down and walk. There was no backing up from here. My muscles began to tighten and my chest clenched a pounding heart as my left stirrup hovered over a steep valley floor located some 800 feet below us. While the hillside was covered with light vegetation, there was nothing to stop a fall. Not that a tree or a rock would be consoling. Breathing was no longer involuntary. It became my priority. I've been making some mistakes in my life that have had some pretty nasty consequences.
God, are you here? Help me believe that I can do this. I am here and I do not want to be afraid.
Time screeched to a halt. Drifter's head was low as he carried me, placing one little hoof in front of the other in a slow four-beat rhythm. I felt safe. I looked down at the valley below us and smiled. I am here. On this horse I made! With our teacher!! This is amazing!!!
And after a long stretch of silence, and a few more minutes before we reached the next chapter of the ride, Paul spoke up. "Sunshine just settled."
I shared with him that I had just relaxed a little bit there too.
"You need to balance yourself." He advised. "You are pushing your horse's ribcage exactly where you don't want to go."
My saddle was clearly leaning to the right. I carefully adjusted my seat. With as stressed as I had been feeling, we might as well have been riding our horses on a tightrope.
We quieted back down and rode to where the trail curved right, toward the setting sun and the view was spectacular.

I saw a puff of mist. "Paul, there are whales out there!" I said. On an earlier trail ride, I had shared with him that a very good friend once gave me the worlds biggest birthday gift (a blue whale), when she took me to her office on a research vessel a few years ago, and taught me how to look for whales in a vast ocean. He passed me, and we both watched several puffs of water spraying in the setting sun. We were both distracted by the mist of the whales when our horses' heads shot up. No way they could see the whales, we laughed...until Sunshine launched to the right with Paul perfectly centered in his saddle. A biker was changing a tire on the other side of a bush to the left of the trail.
The topography was changing to more gradual slopes, although some of the ravines might have made us uncomfortable if we hadn't already ridden where we had just been. The worst appeared to be over. More rustling in the brush across the ravine caught Drifter's attention. I looked to my right to see a buck bounding through the thicket.
At this point, the ride was pretty surreal.
Paul informed me of the presence of a biker behind him. A few minutes later, we found a spot to move over so he could pass. He dropped down the trail ahead of us and it looked fun.

Paul and Sunshine

"Wanna trot?" Paul asked, taking the lead.
"Yep."
And we long trotted, our horses extending their legs on a softer trail that cut through waist high brush. Sunshine jumped down erosion-control logs leaving a wake of dust ahead of me and Drifter. I caught myself laughing out loud. Drifter was snorting, releasing tightened energy. We reached the sandy Cable Trail just after sunset, with a pink sky leaving shades of purple in the eucalyptus above us. We let our horses lope on the northbound trail, which we had ridden earlier in the day with Karin, and passed campsites on our way back to the horse camp.
We hopped on the Bloody Nose trail, this time riding it "backward" from our previous rides. We trotted up step-ups and down switchbacks, bending our horses and challenging their agility, as twilight blackened the canopy of the eucalyptus grove.
We don't know if "Hazard Peak" is a good enough name for what we rode and joked about leaving fingernail marks in our horncaps. And I don't know many people who would feel comfortable riding it. Except maybe Gene Dietz.
By the time we got on the last trail to camp, it was almost dark. We didn't talk much, but I noted how Sunshine looked relaxed as she extended her walk through the deep sand. Drifter was soaked with sweat but felt strong even still, with 2 days left for more beach riding and trails. He has a big heart. I'm looking forward to what kind of horse he will be as he ages, but I love where he is at right now.
The Dietz horses whinneyed as we approached camp. It was dark and the half moon was rising. Christine's exceptional food was ready for us when we unsaddled, and the melodies from Alex's ukelele rose with the smoke and the glow from the campfire.
We survived the Hazard Peak loop. There's no going back.
Thank you, Paul and Christine for an amazing experience at the Beach Clinic.

These are days that won't be forgotten.

In Transition

I have a dozen unfinished blog entries. But my plan is, starting late next month, to blog regularly...as my life will be heading down a different path.

Two weeks ago, my friend Al called and asked if I could take her horse Jack for a month. She had tried to sell him, but the sale fell through and she just didn’t have the time or resources to deal with the problems he had. She bought him about 8 months ago, he was supposedly a dead-broke “beginner” horse, but she had some trouble letting friends ride him. Then when she invited a friend, who is a capable rider, to take him cattle sorting with her, Jack had a major meltdown. Al knew he had issues with being buddy sour, but when the cows came out, he was uncontrollable. They left him tied to the trailer to throw a fit while Al sorted on her horse.

Al decided to give Jack one last chance. Either get a tuneup so he is worth keeping, or get tuned up enough to sell.

I’d ridden Jack twice before…at the Murrieta Equestrian Center and again to shoot a video of him to post for sale. In that short amount of riding time, I discovered he moves off your legs pretty responsively, he can do a 360 degree turn on his hindquarters, and has a slow lumbering lope that feels like he is counter cantering or cross firing. But that afternoon, I was warned that his arena manners were limited to the arena, and if they had left with their horses, he would have another dangerous meltdown.

Jack

 So Saturday, June 22, she trailered him up and I decided to take him sorting that night. Siri joined me with Bandit and we arrived early to ride a bit before sorting started. Jack was very alert to the cattle while tied to the trailer, but his warm up was enjoyable. Since I was unsure how he’d react to the cattle, I informed all the sorters that evening that I couldn’t help gather the cows to move them to the sorting pens. I am glad I remained cautious.

He balled up like a gymkhana horse ready to race speed poles, coiling back and sideways, refusing to bend. I teetered on a thread of popping him up with the reins, working a block and release, and just tried to keep his feet moving in some direction other than up. Once the cows were on their way to the pen, he freed up and cautiously followed, but felt pretty unstable. We watched a few riders sort, then I asked Siri to support me and Jack and we rode into the sorting pens.

Jack flattens his ears when he gets focused on a cow. Pardon the mule ears.

The goal was just to get Jack to get the feeling of moving the cattle. He was uncertain, but Siri and Bandit rode alongside us and helped encourage him to move forward. We used our two minutes to transfer the herd from the east pen to the west pen. We repeated this several turns, and when we exited the pens, Jack was pretty attached to Bandit and went back into gymkhana mode when Siri rode across the arena. I worked at bending him in serpentines until he would relax somewhat and give him a release. The fourth time in the pens, Jack sorted a cow…then another…then another, while Siri and Bandit blocked the gate. The fifth time, we were sorting as a team, switching of as gate and sort horse and Jack seemed to get the hang of it.

Good boy!

I suggested to Siri that we make Jack a winner and not separate him from Bandit that evening. Dealing with the buddy-sourness could be done later. We loaded up and headed home. I suggested to Siri that it would reduce stress for Bandit, who was going to his new home at Siri’s house that night, if we unloaded them, and let them settle, then load Bandit again to take him to her house. Siri unloaded Bandit and began to head to the barn. Jack was looking over the divider of the trailer and when I went to untie him he impatiently  raced backwards to exit the trailer to be with Bandit. When he hit the end of the leadrope, he went into fight mode, thrashing with his hind feet out of the trailer. I watched silently and fearfully as he fought the pressure on the halter as he thrashed between the closed left door and the right wall of the trailer, thankful that the left door was closed to provide me with a safe place to stand without being beheaded.

As soon as it started it was over and Jack stepped back into the trailer for me to help him. I worked the tightly wound slipknot loose and backed him out of the trailer. Travis told me his hind legs were underneath the trailer at one point.

Noted. He is reeeeeally buddy sour.

So Sunday, I decided I needed to face that problem. One that I have had experience working through personally on Jake (my homework assignment coming home from Buck's 2009 clinic was how to completely rid your horse of buddy sourness), but was able to witness Buck work his young horse Gidget through it in 2011. It was a perfect display of patience and it worked.

So Sunday, I asked Jack to leave my arena, which is attached to my corrals housing Jake and Drifter. As they called, his anxiety increased and he wanted to turn back. I let him return to the arena where I worked him at the trot and lope, letting him choose to stay or leave. When he decided to leave, I let him walk quietly. When he wanted to return, I picked up the pace and let him be near Jake and Drifter as long as he was moving and busy. I made a couple of passes around my house, where he could not see Jake and Drifter, but could hear them. And we repeated the process of stay or leave, Jack's choice, but staying was going to be more difficult. After about a half hour of this, he decided we could walk off the property on the far side of my house, where he could hear my horses, but was ok with leaving. We rode down the street and returned after about 10 minutes and before he could change his mind and get upset.

Jack's choice was eventually to head down the road. (I know I said I would quit taking pictures while riding...oops)

I let him soak on his success on Monday, but got him back out on Tuesday to try again. This time, he only wanted to return once and then was ready to go for a ride. We went out on the lakebed and walked, trotted, and lumberingly loped.

The beautiful lakebed, with miles of area to lope.

Wednesday, I decided to try cows again with Jack and trailered him alone to the arena. He cried in the trailer as we left the house, but he wasn't too bothered when we got to the arena. Still alert at seeing cattle, he let me saddle him and warm up with little trouble. The big difference from his previous sorting night was that he was totally ready to work cows, and did not act like gymkhana horse. He sorted great, got some great blocks, and really seemed to enjoy the job.

Yes, I understand I am a pig farmer for riding him like this.

I anticipate I need to spend a few more sessions on his buddy sourness until that is resolved, but this 15 year old horse can learn a few new tricks.

Anniversary Ride...

In other news, Travis joined me on a horseback ride to celebrate our 16th wedding anniversary. Drifter was a squirrel when we first headed out, but settled once across the lakebed and we rode up to The Eye Of God, which is a quartz rock formation that stands out in the arid forest with its bright white crystals. Travis seemed to enjoy trotting Jake and figuring out whether Jake was trying to pull one over on him by pretending to be exhausted.

We were out for about 3 hours (Travis will add an hour to that estimate) and I planned on washing them off, when he came out and asked how to bathe Jake.

"Just point the hose at him," I said.

I can't tell if they bonded over this experience, but it was worth it! For me, anyway.

Four More Rides of Growth

Last weekend I rode Drifter on Saturday and Sunday. This weekend I did the same. His "marathon" is in seven weeks, so it would be in our best interest to build some endurance.

Last Saturday was his second trail ride and 14th ever ride. Jenn and I were cutting it close, as when we arrived, Kathy and Sis were on their horses. I barely got any groundwork done and hopped on so we could head over to Monica's to get her and Bullet. While at Monica's, Drifter needed some work. It was a new place with new smells and monsters.

He doesn't normally look like this.

But once we all rode out, the rest of the ride was pretty uneventful. He really only had a few spooks and, even though his spooks are big, they're fairly easy to rein in and he comes right back to reality when reassured.

Jenn & Jake

Jake wanted to move to Newport Beach with Jenn.

On Sunday, Drifter was so tired, he was basically a grandma-safe horse. Nothing alarmed him. Not even Kathy's six-month old puppy bounding through the sagebrush and darting around the trail.

OK, so this was also taken on Saturday, but he looked like this all day Sunday.

Yesterday, I threw down 11 miles in the morning (and finally felt great about running again) and immediately hooked up the trailer to go for a ride. Kathy on Chic, Lisa on Oakey the mule, and I on Drifter rode over to Monica's to pick up Bullet, to be ponied, while Monica rode Toy.

The ride was great. We climbed a pretty steep hill, rode along a fire road, dropped down into the National Forest, and looped back toward home. All went well until we came upon a couple who were wenching a tractor onto a flatbed trailer. They were parked across the road on which we were riding, so we had to ride around them and onto their property.

The couple kindly brought to our attention that there was a cable laying across the dirt driveway that we had to ride across. The mule and Kathy's two horses crossed it fine.

As Monica and Toy walked over the cable, Toy's back toe dragged across the cable. This, of course, startled him and as he lunged forward causing the cable to fly up, flipping a connected metal "No Trespassing" sign into the air.

Toy spun.

Drifter spun with full force and intent to head to Nevada.

Although startled, I impulsively reached to stop him with one rein, as has been ingrained in my brain as the emergency brake to save all wrecks.

But in the midst of a terrified horse tornado, out of the corner of my eye, I saw impending doom.

A barbed wire fence directly in the path of our escape route. I envisioned the two of us entangled in that deathtrap...and a one-rein stop at that moment would have sent his hindquarters and my midsection straight into it. Tachycardia raged in my chest as adrenaline surged through my body and I veered Drifter slightly away from the property line in order to finally engage the one-rein stop.

As the dust cleared, I looked down, envisioning entrails strewn across the hillside, but was relieved that there was no blood. We lived to see another ride.

[Google horse barbed wire injuries...I dare you.]

I dismounted and walked Drifter across the cable. He cautiously crossed, but trusted my lead. My core was shaking so violently (I was cold before the spook, and I felt frozen afterwards) that I continued to walk down the road a while before getting back on.

Today, I've laid low. Worked on a colt starting DVD for Paul and helped Travis put up more fence. When Travis left to watch the Super Bowl, I went to the safety of my backyard arena and quietly worked with Drifter, inspired by the video I am editing.

So, today, ride 17 in seven months, I asked Drifter to canter for the first time. He seemed as apprehensive as I was about going there, but then we both relaxed and let it happen.

This was a nice speed

A little fast, but controlled. He's still a bit of an overachiever.