Starting Over

I've always said Drifter teaches me hard lessons. They've always been valuable lessons (don't use your cell phone when riding a green colt, don't try to pull your socks up inside your boot when sitting on a green colt, don't get too excited and push him too hard or too fast on your first day at the beach).

I am in the middle of learning a hard lesson with his half-brother.

Asking for flexion, unaware he was mentally checked out.

Launchpad!

When reins are too long, one-rein stops are hard to achieve,
especially when you get out of balance.
Buck says more weight needed to be in the left stirrup.

It's been about four months now since I came off Bravo. It was maybe ride 50 or so.

This horse shook me...but thankfully he didn't hurt me. Not physically, anyway.

I have met, and still know, many people who are dealing with overcoming fear. My fear might not be as paralyzing as someone else's, but it's still filled my head full of doubt. If I am to help others with their fear, I have to deal with my own.

I've gone back to groundwork but have been on him a few times since then, with varying results. Deep, ribbon candy serpentines (timing the rein with the feet) helped on one squirrely ride but, even after decent groundwork, I've often failed in merely successfully stepping into the stirrup without a brace in him...without the tension. He's bucked or bolted out from beneath me several times. In case you were wondering, no, I haven't been the most calm and confident for these interactions.

The only thing I can do is start over and go slow. 

I'm taking my time checking everything out: haltering, grooming, leading, groundwork and saddling. I've roped his feet. I've revisited Paul's videos, asked for Buck's advice (regarding positioning after his horse made a very similar attempt to get away), and asked for Steffi's help with groundwork. And today, I stepped into the stirrup and lifted myself on my left leg...knowing full well I wouldn't be swinging my right leg over his croup.

Whoosh!

He shot out from beneath me, but this time I was prepared and stepped out of the stirrup and disengaged his hindquarters.

Sigh.

Sigh. Bravo replied, and my frustration melted. Its interesting that in all of my lessons, I can't allow my students to be frustrated with their horses...so I can't be frustrated when handling my own.

I rubbed his neck and thanked him for stopping.

My toe went back into the stirrup. I leaned against him and tried to relax myself while waiting for the brace in his neck to soften. When it did, I lifted myself up, counted one second and stepped down to pet him for keeping four feet in the sand. I repeated this process on both sides, sometimes requiring a one-rein stop before putting my foot into the stirrup. And then, he softened, just a little. And I found a good place to end for the day.

Buck Brannaman's 2015 New River Clinic

Over EQUU8's spring break, I sought to further my horsemanship education by attending Buck Brannaman's clinic in New River, AZ...hosted by my teacher, Paul Dietz. This year, two EQUU8 volunteers (Sierra and Hailey) joined me. This was my sixth clinic in New River since 2009, and I believe it was one of the best. The weather was great, if just a tad hot. The participants seemed to really be trying hard to apply Buck's lessons to their horsemanship and Buck was in a good mood, seeming genuinely happy that the participants were present and listening.

Suz & Drifter, Sierra (Junior not pictured), Buck & Arc, Hailey (Quincy not pictured), Paul & Cinco

As with all of the clinics, in the first hour, we listened to Buck's stories. Buck talked about the young snaffle bit horse he was riding and got him working some serpentines and circles. The first few minutes Buck was on Big Swede, the horse scooted out sideways in a nearly identical maneuver that chucked me off the back of Bravo in January. I immediately took note of Buck's balance and how short his reins were. My reins were too long and I didn't have the balance point that Buck had. I tried in vain to one-rein stop to the right, but found the ground instead as Bravo exited left. Buck told me to keep my weight in the left stirrup. "You'll need that right leg to help the hindquarters around, so you don't want your weight there." He added that I need to keep my reins short and very wide, but with my hands forward so contact isn't on the bit unless I bend the horse...until I know the horse is in a better mindframe. Sounds simple enough. (I was thankful for the advice for my post-clinic ride on Bravo, because I needed it and stayed in the saddle.)

Among other lessons Buck focused on this year was "the reach", which was used over the course of the clinic to help my horse wait for me (rather than tossing his head) when working a cow. The 2-part exercise has two positions. Its benefits include teaching a horse to wait (not anticipate), and teaches the rider to be more aware of the feet and positioning.

1. Ask your horse to bend his head around approximately 90-degrees (for this example, to the right). 

• When you reach for the horse's head, slide your hand down the right rein. Bring the rein out and around as your horse bends his head. Your elbow will end up at your side and your right hand in front of the saddle, to the right of the horn.
• Your horse shouldn't move his feet. If he does, wait and go back to step one.
• You want your horse's head and ears level. You want lateral and longitudinal flexion. If his head is uneven, he is unbalanced with too much weight on the outside shoulder. If the poll is too low, there is too much weight on the front end.
• You want to practice this (don't drill on it...get something good and then move on, but keep practicing) until you can "bet your life on it" with your horse light and willing to respond.

2. Ask your horse to reach his right foot out to the right.

• Bring your right elbow back and slide the rein and your hand to where your elbow was in position 1...about six inches away from your hip. 
• You will use the outside supporting left rein gently. A supporting leg can be developed when the horse is reaching properly.
• Your horse should take one step...a good reaching step to the right. Good timing would be for your horse to take the step as you are moving the rein out to position 2.
• You will release as the reaching foot lands. "Hook the rein to the foot...pick the foot up and move it, then set it down."
• If your horse moves forward after the first step, back him up, releasing when he's soft.

Sierra and Junior practicing "The Reach" from position 1...

The Reach position 2

Eventually, you will not need to bend the horse's head as much, but this is a start for developing proper flexion through a turn. I went back to step one with Drifter, teaching him to wait on me.

"You're gonna need this with that horse." Buck said to me, noting that Drifter was trying really hard to be in position on a cow, but he tossed his head and pushed through my reins to do it. I asked if I should move Drifter back to the snaffle bit, but Buck seemed to think I could get it done with where I'm at in the hackamore (bosal hackamore, to clarify). At the end of the four days, I had better awareness of positioning and much more focused horse when things got fast in cow working. Certainly room to grow, but it was much better. 

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

This year, Buck often mentioned "the rectangle" of real estate shared between you and your horse. His message is consistent with all participants from clinic to clinic (hearing the same messages when auditing Del Mar).

We had pretty good seats on a raised patio in Del Mar, sitting us right behind Buck's place in the cow-working rodear. He told participants when their horses were outside their rectangles. Sometimes the horse was ahead of the rider...sometimes they were behind.

I took a quiet moment to ask Buck a question about the rectangle.

"Is the rectancle nose to tail?"

"I'm not sure what you mean." Buck said.

"Is it the whole horse from nose to tail or is the rectangle the horse's four feet?" I tried to specify.

"It's the whole horse." He said. "When you get really good at this, you will be able to keep your horse within inches of your rectangle. Some people's rectangles are feet, or yards, or an entire arena."

My rectangle isn't as big as it used to be...but I remember needing an arena. Thank you for the reminder!

Next chance for continuing education will be Paul Dietz's clinic in July in Big Bear. Until then, I am going to practice reaching.

The Big Bang

I'm working on a report of the Buck Brannaman clinic in New River, but here's a short little story to share about EQUU8's trip to Arizona.

In years past, I've headed home right after the clinic. This year, Hailey and Sierra didn't need to be home Tuesday, so we decided to rest another night before heading home. This turned out to be a good decision.

On Monday, Junior cut his coronet band (the hairline above the hoof) pretty good while getting out of the trailer. He had also been dancing around in the trailer and scuffed his leg, so we were going to be extra cautious for the long haul home. I had picked up some ointment from Mike Bruce for doctoring Junior's coronet band and we wrapped him up for shipping. Soon, we were loaded and ready to head west. It was about 10:45am and the hottest morning of the trip. Hot air balloons peppered the skyline and we said our goodbyes before Paul and Maggie rolled out to go rope some cattle.

We drove to Surprise for fuel and I checked the trailer hitch, tires, and horses, while Sierra and Hailey made a Starbucks run before we made our way out Sun Valley Parkway toward Buckeye. We listened to music, talked about the clinic, teaching lessons, how to write lesson plans, and just general girl talk.

Outside of Quartzite, I decided to make another fuel stop before we hit California gas prices. We took a selfie in front of a giant highway-side American flag and got lunch and snack. I did a quick once over walk around the trailer.

Then it was off to California, where, for the first time ever, they checked our vet papers upon arrival in the state. We cruised outside of Blythe and headed up the slow westbound grade to Cheriaco Summit.

The trailer wobbled.

"Someone's dancing around back there." I said, slightly letting off the accelerator to try to stabilize the trailer.

Fleetwood Mac was playing through the iPod and then BANG!

"(Expletive!)" My heart pounded. "(Lots of expletives!) I hope a horse didn't go down in the trailer! Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod..."

I couldn't see anything in the mirrors so I turned on my hazards and coasted to the narrow shoulder in a painful minute-long deceleration. I didn't brake, but downshifted as the truck slowed. Before we rolled to a stop, Sierra jumped out the passenger side to assess the damage, yelling "It's a tire! It's a tire!"

Relieved, but my body shaking with adrenaline, I watched for traffic before exiting the cab.

The horses were alert, but calm. The trailer had seen better days. Ouch.

Still, it could have been much worse.

I quickly called Kathy to let her know what happened and we got to work. Hailey documented the process as Sierra and I got our hands dirty.

Thankfully, before we left for our trip, Travis reminded me to get the tire iron and some blocks. Kathy and Glenn had a ramp in the trailer tack room. We had everything we needed to get the tire changed, including a fluorescent yellow brush bucket to put behind the trailer to alert drivers of our precarious position on a very narrow shoulder.

No sooner did we get the new tire on and use Sierra's shoelace to tie a loose piece of metal to the trailer did the CHP show up.

"You ladies having fun?" He asked.

"We just got the tire changed." I answered.

"So you're good then?"

Uhhh. I guess. We're just girls. Just girls who survived a blowout, kept control of the trailer, changed a tire, and the horses are safe.

"Yeah. We're good."

GIRL POWER! 

Just another thing EQUU8 represents.

So now we just need to get this thing repaired. We might need some man power for that. :-)

One step at a time.

EQUU8 students have exceeded expectations the past couple of weeks. They cause me to think before I answer a question. They are making eye contact with me and the volunteers. They are laughing from that place deep down in your belly that generates a smile that cannot be made by your face alone. They keep me honest. And some of them, venturing their way toward independence, are exploring their own horsemanship...guided by EQUU8's philosophy.

Some of you may not know about our horsemanship philosophy. I've blogged about how it can change your life, and how sometimes you can get a little lost on your journey. No one is perfect.

Therapeutically, horses can give us limitless gifts and teach life lessons, if only we would pay attention. Others might receive self-confidence, balance, or self-awareness. Others may learn about respect, boundaries, or compassion. And then there are those who are given not just two working legs, but four.

Today, some great changes were revealed in kids who, when they started last fall, expressed discontent for even being around horses. Some hated the smell and the dirt. Some hated their classmates. Others were fearful. Today was lesson 6 and they all demonstrated that they had learned how to lead a horse, walk, stop, get a soft feel, turn left, turn right, and release. As a reward, they all  got to trot for the first time. And they all, sitting next to each other on the top bench of the bleachers, raised their hands when asked if they wanted to continue riding with EQUU8 when the school year was done.

One child today was frozen with fear of getting on a horse he hadn't ridden previously. He was afraid of heights and afraid of his horse taking one step. He was asked to breathe, pet his horse, think of a song, but nothing worked...he wanted down. So we counted to 10 and then dismounted him. We let him sit out for a moment and at the end of the lesson, he wanted to get back on, so he could experience what his classmates experienced...and he, too, trotted.

Just like humans, horses experience anxiety. They learn from from their experiences and (in my opinion) perform better for the release of pressure. We humans know that a lot of pressure can make us angry, irritated, or burn us out. If we are anxious, does pressure help us relax?

Yet pressure is often how people are taught to handle horses, and horses are often expected to be compliant regardless of being ridden by the inexperienced. If they don't perform,  they often face stud chains, harsh bits, spurs, or whips. They get blamed for their reactions to being pulled too hard or forced to do something they don't understand.

At EQUU8, we strive to pay attention to the needs of the horse...as much as the needs of the rider. And that requires training. Lots and lots of training. But I'm notsomuch talking about training the horses...it's the riders, instructors, and volunteers who need training.

I'm going back to Buck's clinic this year and I'm taking two prospective EQUU8 instructors with me.

EQUU8 is teaching me so much. And over 80 miles of white dashes on the highway can't replenish depleted energy and raw emotion at the end of a day.

As for tonight, how do I feel about EQUU8? It's beautiful. Imperfect, but beautiful.

Eek-What?

EQUU8 Horsemanship and Therapeutic Riding was listed on the screens above the council chamber. This is a strangely familiar dream, except this time I was alone.

A couple of hours earlier, lessons were finished and EQUU8’s reliable volunteers Elena and Sarah had loaded saddles and helmets into the bed of my truck. I don’t know if they realize how grateful I am that they do that for me. Each of the volunteers who surround EQUU8 are appreciated for the hours they spend mucking manure, leading horses, sidewalking with riders, and advocating for this young organization.

I tried to pay attention to the other applicants, and nervously texted Alisa and Travis each time my heart begins to pound in anticipation of public speaking without a horse.

“And now for our next grant applicant." The committee chair announced. "Eh-cue-wait...eek-what? 

“Equate!” I smiled.

“I’m sorry I just didn’t know how to pronounce….”

“That’s OK. It’s EQUU8 Horsemanship and Therapeutic Riding. And I can tell you why that's our name.” I began once I reached the podium. After introducing myself to the committee and other applicants, I nervously stammered my way through a five-minute story of EQUU8's short history and what we’ve accomplished in the past year, what we hope to continue to provide, and what we would use the grant funds for. I glanced around the room and tried to observe responses. There were a few smiles and nods, a few astute stares, and a few blank stares. A light on the podium changed from green to yellow to red as my five minutes ran out. The committee asked questions, but I was certain only one question had been knocked out of the park (yes, we're insured). A few faces appeared skeptical as I told them how we planned to use funds. I tried to be concise, but caught myself expressing too much passion for a number-crunching grant committee.

However, I was still optimistic and felt somewhat stronger about the presentation tonight versus my first attempt at applying for a similar grant last October, but had no expectations. I know it can be difficult to receive a grant.

This was last October...practicing accepting rejection at a different city council. 

After all the presentations were completed, we waited for the votes to be tallied. A woman from another charity, who was seated directly in front of me, kindly turned around and we connected. She expressed how animals have helped her and hoped that we would get a grant recommendation by the committee. She showed me a picture of her schnauzer. And she held my hand and thanked EQUU8 for what it's doing for the people we serve.

About a half hour later, the committee returned with their results, displaying it for all in the room to see. I scanned down the list and found EQUU8 with a recommendation for funding! But they were over budget. The committee bantered back and forth, with one committee member speaking up on our behalf...but it wasn't long before EQUU8 was knocked off the list for funding. I don't think I was the only one in the room who was disappointed that the committee decided to fund the city's own $10k application for a pilot program that included beautification projects in area parks. 

Eek...what?! Landscaping is more valuable than helping others find healing through horses?

I handed out flyers for our fundraiser (March 21 at Wiens Family Cellars in Temecula) and tried to stop the tears from welling in my eyes. I just believe in this. I feel it. I know it. It's hard to fight feeling as though others see no value in what EQUU8 is doing. 

The city council has to vote on this one. We are eligible. I'm not ready to give up just yet.

Carter's story

12-8-14

I saw a unicorn stopping traffic on the way to EQUU8 Murrieta today.

You thought I was crazy, didn't you...

I had a sneaking suspicion that the unicorn was just foreshadowing that something rare and magical was going to happen.

27 weeks ago, I met a six-year old angel wrapped in the body of a child.

Carter is a participant who has such a peaceful presence about him that he attracts volunteers who show up just because of him. He is quiet, but trusting. He has taken a liking to the activity of riding horses, but he also enjoys silly human noises, plastic keys to chew on, electronic noisemakers, and animatronic stuffed animals. His pupils are encompassed by indigo starbursts floating in arctic blue irises. Initially, we focused on getting Carter balanced on the horse and improving his trunk strength and posture, but it wasn't long before making eye contact with him became an objective of his lessons...with the goal being that Carter will communicate.

When the eye contact started coming, it was time to show him how to ask the horse to move.

"Carter, walk on." I'd say while demonstrating the hand signal (in the therapeutic riding world) for asking a horse to move forward. Since he started riding in April, Carter often would ignore our requests instead choosing the distractions of noisemakers or generally seeming unfazed. It will come, I thought. I don't know when, but I believe Carter will communicate with us.

Carter's mother beams when she shares stories about her son. Her assistance and support—and bag full of pacifying and stimulating toys—has helped far more than she will ever know.

So with Carter, the focus became to teach him to equate communicating with getting the horse to move. His lessons have always consisted of making eye contact, modeling communication, and also stops and starts and serpentines (which help him physically to build core strength). He always had the option to listen or reach for noisemakers during his lesson to keep his attention. But each week, we continued to pepper his experience with three steps. "Carter" (make eye contact). Hand signal (communicate). "Walk on" (result of communication) as the horse is led to move forward. Week after week. Lesson after lesson.

For three 9-week sessions, the goal has been communication, while the objectives have been to make eye contact, to encourage good posture through the horse's movement, and to attempt communication.

About 11 weeks ago, I thought I saw Carter motion his hands in a way that I felt was an attempt at the sign for "walk on". But it was once upon a time and I haven't seen it since.

Last week, Carter's eye contact was stunning. We reveled in longer stops with less distractions...and we were all amazed when the day came that Carter began to pet Smokey's mane...stroking her long black hair repeatedly and refusing to replace the hair in his hand with a toy. In his first 9 weeks, he somewhat balked at touching horsehair. He began to tolerate longer periods of time riding the horse while not being stimulated in other ways. He's not super fond of the noodle curtain (it's a bit too overbearing). He likes the friendly faces around him. He doesn't love it when we grab his wrists and demonstrate to him how to use his hands to ask the horse to walk.

"Carter (pause), walk on." (Volunteers move his hands.)

My horsemanship mentors have repeatedly reminded me over the years regarding young horses: it takes as long as it takes. Such is the case with these children and their therapeutic riding.

So last week, something changed during one of our stops. Carter rocked in the saddle as if to ask for movement.

He wants to ride! Excitement!

Today was the last day of Carter's third session, and he sat in a 10" children's western saddle above us, propped atop Smokey's back. At the beginning of his lesson, he rocked his small body as if to say "Let's ride!"

I reminded the volunteers what we are looking for with Carter. The tasks have not changed in all the weeks we have enjoyed with Carter. Eye contact, hand signal, lead the horse.

And as I called Carter's name, the eye contact followed. "Do you want to walk on?" I asked. He smiled and nodded, rocking gently in the saddle.

"Carter." I said, signing the cue to walk on.

He tolerated when volunteers Christa and Neal grabbed his hands, then smiled as Smokey carried his tiny body into the sunset. He squinted until he rode into the shade of the hay barn where I knew he would have the ability to look at me.

"Whoa," I said and attempted to communicate again. "Carter (pause), walk on (sign)."

This time, Carter smiled as he stretched his right hand down toward Neal and curled his hand in the subtlest cue to walk on.

I reminded myself to let Carter enjoy the moment and refrained from asking for one more try, as Smokey weaved around the cones, allowing Carter to enjoy what he'd been asking for the whole lesson.

His smile is pure, unrefined joy.

The green noisemaker his mother handed to me at the beginning of the lesson was pulled from my pocket long after they had gone home.

We never used it during his lesson today.

***

If you would like to sponsor lessons for a child like Carter, please donate to EQUU8, PO Box 703, Big Bear City, CA 92314 or click the Donate/PayPal link on equu8.org. EQUU8 is a 501(c)(3) non profit corporation.

For some people, the path to healing is found through horses.

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.