Dodging rain showers, Gin led me on a short ride on the slopes below Pole Mountain. She gave me a sensible old Quarter Horse to ride, which I was grateful for. The ground was steep and broken in places, and I've ridden only one horse for the past four years or so. I've got used to Brena's ways, and another horse will seem a bit strange in comparison. This mare knew her job, carefully negotiating rough ground, gullies and fallen trees. She didn't rush down slopes, which I regard as a test of a trail horse's balance and training.
Gin gave me good advice, namely to give the mare a loose rein, which I did. She didn't need a rider to kick and pull. That set me to thinking: how gentle are my hands? As soon as I got back home, I made an inventory of what I did with my hands. The result was encouraging. I do ride with a loose rein except for the occasional moments when I need to ask for a change in direction. The only thing I have to watch is descending slopes when Brena steps out: an unconscious part of me wants to check her. Consciously I know that she isn't about to rush off. Obeying that knowledge is an act of faith.
We moved slowly in the thin air. This isn't a place to rush. Besides, the view is great at a walk. Or stationary. I looked ahead and wondered how one could ascend to the ridge: purely a theoretical question. The sort that fascinates me. It's hard, Gin told me. Yes, the way looked hard, a pedestrian scramble up some rough-looking place. Not a trip for a horse. Probably not an excursion for me unless I get fitter. Gin is wiry and tough, and she gets out of breath up here. There's a moral: I need to lose a bit of weight and get fitter. More water, less food, more exercise. Brena will approve. My heart and lungs will be happier too.
Such beautiful country- what a great vacation for you.
Posted by: Shirley | October 01, 2014 at 04:22 AM