White Horse Pilgrim

Split reins redux

The new bit that I had ordered arrived at the end of last week. Today I fitted it to Doru's old bridle complete with well-used long split reins, giving me two complete bridles. I used to ride with split reins nearly all the time back in Transylvania, a habit that I had picked up from Kelli.

Back here I reverted to one-piece webbing reins which offer a good grip in the rain. Then at the end of winter I didn't swap back to split reins, and thus I rode for a couple of years.

The bit is a gentle lozenge type, and a little wider than the other (though both, nominally, are 6" bits). As for the reins, they require a softer style, with a tiny contact practically provided by the weight of the reins themselves. I ride with both reins between the thumb and first finger of my left hand, and the last couple of feet of the right rein in the other hand in place of a stick. The occasional gentle flick of the tip of the right rein reminds Brena not to snatch at vegetation.

Brena went very well in the new bridle. She moved freely, lightly, as if happier with this style of riding. As for me, I was comfortable, relaxed and enjoying Brena's energy and willingness to be directed. It was reminiscent of the old days when riding was as natural as walking across the room.

Trailer details

Here's a shot of my trailer just before loading.

Inside is quite a collection of gear. There's a water container, muck bucket, water bucket, both trailer locks, two hay nets, feed bowl, mounting block and spare tyre. The blue plastic mounting block sits between the water container and the spare tyre, which is bolted to the front of the trailer. A pair of ropes allow me to cross-tie Brena, and these are fitted with karabiners for security.

That's a fair amount of gear. However the front of a two-horse trailer offers sufficient space provided that one doesn't have a horse that likes to reach forward with a foot and pull items back.

I have removed the centre partition as Brena likes to have plenty of space. This type of trailer is advertised as carrying two medium-sized horses and has a 1,300kg (about 3,000lb) capacity. However I would not like to try and squeeze in a pair of horses of Brena's size.

I have clipped on a lunge line at the back ready for use. I'll be loading alone and occasionally need this help. If Brena walks onto the ramp but doesn't want to enter then I can pass the line over her back and deftly flick it around her bottom. Then a light tug will bring her forward. Though often the simple act of picking up the line is enough to move her on.

I am a solitary traveller. It's not easy to find trail companions around here. Therefore I am set up for self-sufficiency. I need to be able to handle Brena alone, load and unload her unassisted, get on without any help, and so on. It's a little more complicated this way, but opens many more opportunities and is great for building confidence. Of course it helps a great deal to have a simple cooperative horse, and to have fun rides that make loading a step towards a pleasant day out for both of us.

More cavalry

A little more research found this rare film. This is the kind of unit that my former neighbour belonged to. It's a pleasure to look at the riding and to appreciate the horsemanship. I'd like to be so agile that I could run alongside a horse on the lunge and simply spring aboard.

Occasionally I did come across that kind of lively spirit around horses, most often amongst young peasant men. Romania is not a country that I would associate with horsemanship. That is not to say that the farm horses were neglected - far from it - however for the most part they were equine tractors. I didn't come across many horse lovers, just a lot of men who could work a horse competently on a farm or in the forest.

I'd like to think that a couple of my staff were almost naturals with horses. They rode fluently despite little formal instruction. Theirs was a confidence that the horses seemed to recognise and respect. I loved going out riding in the mountains with Cornel. Most often he could be trusted. Provided that no drinking den detrained him, he would get to the other end in good order, his horse too. How I miss those rides.

Now in the busy technological West I struggle to find that old fluency. I'm nearest to it when hitching a trailer, loading my horse and going out to ride. Yes, cavalrymen made good mechanised soldiers through their dash and initiative. Having become a skilled trail rider did much the same for me, teaching me to treat life as a matter of finding a dynamic equilibrium across rough ground. Yet I feel as if I'm getting towards the end of those lessons, as if their range has been exhausted. Now the ground is too strange, not exactly rough but simply confusing. Sometimes pointless too. Well, I guess that most probably I've learned how to learn. That's the next trick to pull from my bag.

Here's a picture of a German cavalryman in Africa before the First World War. There's more good simple equipment, though that rifle must have got in the way. Like my neightbour, nice equipment, pity about the cause.

Horsemen of the Apocalypse

I found this picture whilst delving into history. Most particularly I was looking into a part of the history of Eastern Europe where I used to live. One superficial thing that struck me about this picture is the way in which folded blankets are used between horses and saddles, just as I did at my riding centre and still do today. There is a lot to be said for a good army blanket. But that is by far the least important thing to draw from the picture.

A former neighbour told me a little about cavalry engagements during the Second World War, in his case fighting with the Romanian army supporting the Wehrmacht against the Soviet Union. The Eastern Front was a callous brutal business from which few men or horses returned. The Romanian army, so I was told, was so short of resources that the men of his unit needed to provide their own horses. My cavalry veteran informant got as far as the River Don by Summer 1942, over half way from his European home to the Caspian Sea deep in Asia. There at the Don Elbow he was injured sufficiently severely to be invalided out of the army. And that is why he lived. His fellows went on to Stalingrad, from which few returned.

Supposedly a book was written about the Romanian cavalry on the Eastern front, titled (I believe) Horsemen of the Apocalypse. I haven't succeeded in getting hold of a copy.

Most of my trail rides carried me across relics of that war. There were shell craters on the mountains, defensive trenches decaying on high ground, bunkers crumbling in the forest, and the wreckage of bridges blown up in 1944. There were more sights than memories, at least more physical remains than stories that anyone wanted to own up to. From 1945 to 1989 those stories were taboo, and by then much had been forgotten. But one thing was clear enough: there was no glory in any of it. There was none of the swank of Western peacetime cavalry in an aggressive invasion. The stories that I heard were, for the most part, the tales of men who rode out to settle scores both national and ethnic. The accounts of bored, frustrated men seeking adventure. In doing so they brought new defeat upon their people, though that wasn't the way their path seemed to lead in the beginning.

I am sorry for them, deluded as they were (and some still are, to judge by things that were said to me - which is one reason why for a while I fell a little out of sympathy with Romania). However I am more sorry for the horses that those men dragged into that bloody conflict. They at least were innocent.

More rubbish tack

Here's another shocking example of poorly-made tack that failed - fortunately not whilst attached to my saddle. It's a girth sold by a large retailer with an international export business. The rider found this when going to loosen the girth after a ride.

What I find interesting about this is that the item has been made to appear like a webbing girth. But it's not. It's thin cloth enclosing a non-structural fill of hard plastic foam. All that was holding that saddle in place was a fragile tube of cloth.

My guess is that this item was been made by a textile firm with no idea of the stresses that a horse puts upon tack. Sheer ignorance that equates to negligence because it put someone at risk.

This is not a great photo, however it shows a further metal fitting - a crupper 'D' - that broke under load. No unreasonable load was imposed. The horse was ridden downhill by a fairly well balanced rider.

The common thread, I believe, is cheap import from China. Badly made goods, produced by people with no idea of the design parameters, imported by agents who do not care, and sold by shops who shirk their responsibilities.

Goods produced by the slaves of a communist state, imported by collaborators, and sold by those who turn a blind eye - to people who have little choice given that the market has been flooded by this crap.Well I wish that we had a choice.

Rope coiling

Here is a sequence of photos showing how I coil a lead rope to carry it clipped to a saddle - as promised to Laura at Equestrian Ink. This type of coiled rope won't come undone unless botched very badly. It's also quick and easy to undo.

First start by turning over a short length of rope near to the hook. The length of overlap depends upon the overall length and thickness of the rope, and is best determined by a bit of trial and error.

Then coil the tail of the rope around the loop, tightly enough that it won't slip loose, starting by the hook.

Here is the rope completely coiled with just a short tail left over showing that the loop is the right length.

Now pass the tail through the small loop remaining at the end, and pull tight. If necessary pull the coils together down towards the tail.

Now it's ready to go. (Not necessarily with those particular horses which are not mine.) I used ropes coiled like that guiding groups along something like fifteen thousand trail miles without one coming loose. My staff and I coiled all those ropes. We were very good at it after all those years and miles!

Hitch details

Since the details of the hitch that I use have generated some interest, here are photos of the ball on the truck and the hitch on the trailer.

The truck hitch is brand new. I added the red tape as a visual marker for backing up using the mirror. Normally when not in use the ball is covered by a rubber cap.

The trailer hitch is older but generally typical of European equipment. When the ball is engaged, the short handle on the top of the hitch unit drops down and locks. Raising this allows the ball to disengage. 

The trailer unit incorporates an automatic brake which works nicely now that it has been regulated. I've been advised to take the trailer out empty once in a while, find a quiet bit of road, and brake sharply in order to keep the brakes from seizing up.

Reversing mirror

Here is the reversing mirror that I have just fitted to my trailer.

It's a simple wing mirror screwed to a metal bracket. The bracket is bonded onto the aluminium trailer siding using industrial adhesive tape.

Viewed from the driver's seat of the truck, the mirror seems rather small. Therefore I marked the truck hitch bracket with a piece of reflective tape as a guide. However a better method became clear - leave the big red hitch lock on place (it's huge and easy to see even in a small mirror ) and reverse up to within a few inches. Then take the lock off and gently back up the last bit using the red tape as a marker. Meanwhile here is the view (much bigger than the driver sees) of the hitch connected.

First trip with new truck

At risk of causing further truck envy - here is the ensemble that I took out this afternoon. Brena was inside the trailer already when I took the photo.

I felt so much safer towing with the new truck. It has 50% more power than the old truck and double the torque. This means being able to accelerate readily beyond 40mph up a moderate hill where we used to crawl at 25mph unable to go any faster. I can also join the main highway (much like an Interstate) at the end of the entry lane at 60mph rather than struggling to reach 40mph whilst trying to merge with fast traffic. Besides, the whole towing dynamic is smoother and more stable.

The trailer has just been overhauled. The brakes are adjusted, the electrical socket that plugs into the truck replaced, everything checked, and all the bearings greased. It runs more quietly, and I feel happier knowing that it has been checked thoroughly. I have noticed that the hitch sits more firmly too: presumably the ball on the old truck was well worn.

Overall, I am much more content through having a rig that is fit for purpose, and not just "making do".

The day was bright but cool and breezy. It being late October, I was grateful for the clear dry weather.

Harvesting is long completed, ploughing done too, and the winter crops where sown are beginning to sprout. New growth has mitigated the bare aridity of early autumn. After years spent in a place where the ground was frozen solid from November to March, winter growth is a joyful surprise. The mud can be a nuisance, however snow and ice posed other and greater challenges.

But there is no mud yet, just dry soil and the not-inconsiderable remains of summer foliage. Having not been out for two weeks, Brena made it her mission to eat as much as possible. After all that practice as a riding holiday horse, she can get her head down very quickly indeed. The warning sign, usually, is a slight turn of her head to the left. Why to the left I am not sure: perhaps an adaptation to riding on the left side of the road? However we're riding on wide traffic-free trails here.

On the final strech we cantered up a grassy lane, Brena extending herself enthusiastically. Through a gap in the hedge I noticed a herd of young thoroughbreds grazing. They were too interested in the grass to race us, and I was grateful. Youngsters in the racing yards around here do seem pleasantly mellow in their fine great lush pastures, just as Brena is happy in her humbler but sufficient field.

Sudden sun and a new saddle

Bright warm weather has enveloped this island. For days on end we have been treated to clear skies and unseasonal heat. Nights are starry and dark, for there is but the slightest sliver of a moon.

Brena gained a new saddle today. At least it's new to her. This is my spare saddle, which used to be used on the old grey gelding Pintea. I made the change on the advice of a visiting saddler. Brena has quite a straight back, and this saddle has a slightly flatter tree that gives a closer fit. The old saddle served well owing to rather soft stuffing that provided for an acceptable fit. There were no obvious signs of ill fitting, however I did think that the stuffing had become very soft. However the spare saddle fits better.

It feels good to ride in too - comfortable, secure and providing a firm link between Brena and I.

New saddle or not, it was a bad hair day for Brena. The balmy breeze caught her forelock and carried back over her ears like water rushing over a stone in a shallow stream.

We started as early as possible considering that I could not finish work too early. Nevertheless the sun was low at 6pm, near-horizontal and golden upon the ridge. Southward we began, down into a shallow valley filling with a sea of shadow. Our ride became a race against time, the fate of autumn evening excursions. I wished to cross the one road with enough light to be safe, for we have to go a little way along that thoroughfare between villages too. Fortunately we encountered not a single vehicle, just two cyclists and they had stopped to talk.

The silent trail back up to the ride we took partly at canter, Brena keen to accelerate. Still she starts off by dropping her head, a balancing manoeuvre that feels confusingly like the rounding of back before a buck. Then with me standing in the stirrups and giving her a loose rein she sorts herself out and flies.

The newly harrowed bare chalky fields spread milky in the twilight, as if all were softly moonlit. Yet barely a sliver of moon showed above darkening trees.

As for the trees, this was not only Brena's first ride in a new saddle but our first of the year kicking crisp fallen Beech leaves and crunching them underfoot.