Trail Horse - Ha!

Trail Horses Gone Wild

By Janet Huntington



I have to extend an apology to every nervous trail rider I have used my, ”Just get out there and ride, you’ll be fine,” tone with. Please understand I get it now. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you were being a sissy.

It was, however, because I was resting on the laurels of the trails I covered as a much younger rider. At 14, 20, even 30-years-old I had no problem taking off at a gallop across Garden of the Gods Park without a thought, a saddle or a riding buddy. I had complete confidence in myself and my horse.

By the time I hit my 40’s I was solidly entrenched in riding in the arena. My job was to give lessons and train performance horses. I no longer had time for trail rides. I completely believed a well trained horse could be expected to head out on the trail and behave himself, even if he had never been on one.

Every once in a while I would be asked to take a clients horse out, which I did, but it wasn’t much more than a stroll out in the fields.
Since my retirement I have the opportunity to trail ride again. I’ve jumped on it and found I like getting out as much as I ever did as a kid. I also realized out what’s broke in the arena ain’t necessarily broke on the trail. The term “arena baby” has taken on a whole new meaning for me.

The first horse I rode out on the trail was a sharp little bay gelding I had trained for reined cowhorse. He had a nice little handle on him and a pleasant temperament.

Our first ride out ended up with us falling off the trail and sliding down a gully. Turned out he didn’t know to follow the trail, he was just holding his line like we were doing a run-down. My hand was quiet, so he went straight. Even if it meant we did an endo over the side of the trail. He had learned to stay straight as long as my hand stayed in the middle, so he did exactly that.

I can just imagine him thinking, “OK now, why don’t you tell me to turn here, this isn’t going to be pretty, AHHHH!”

By the end of the summer he was going out in groups and alone and handling himself well.

This year I’ve been taking out my favorite horse, a yellow mare who has shoved all of her common sense out of her head, in order to make room for her cow sense. At least that’s my theory.

She is really cool on a cow. She is focused and serious when she’s coming out of the herd or heading down the fence. She seems to like the show ring. I hate to anthropomorphize my girl, but she really lights up when she has people tell her she’s pretty. She’s kind of a show off.

Her trail training has been going in fits and starts. She takes the “arena baby” name to new heights when she’s out on the trail. So far she has learned to deal with water, mud, horse-eating rocks and wild turkeys.

At first she would take big wild leaps in response to startling things on the trail. We sailed over many a creek and jumped sideways at more than one piece of heavy equipment.

Now she keeps her spooks limited to a little jump and a bug-eyed stare. For the most part she’s been a pretty good horse.

So I decided we needed to start riding out alone. I want to be able to head for the trail whenever I have a spare minute and not have to worry about whether my riding buddies cancel on me or not.

I started out by taking her for a short 15 minute walk after we had a good workout in the arena. She was a little boogery, for the most part she handled it.

This past week the lure of the trail was just too much for me. So I took my little yellow mare and headed out.

As soon as she realized we were hitting the trail she started to holler. She started to jig and shake her head. She stopped and tried to do her twirly, I –think-I might-buck-you-off, thing. She flipped her tail over her back like a husky and froze solid.

It’s good we were alone, I was really embarrassed.

Since my little horse is still ridden in a ½ inch hackamore (bosel) I have to stay light and feely, even if she’s not doing the same. I needed to think of something to do to get her mind on me, rather than all the spooks and haunts. I started to half-pass.

This is a pretty regular thing I’ll do to a jigging or distracted horse. They usually figure out pretty quick it’s much easier to be quiet than to crab walk .
My mare tried to have an opinion about it, but when I got after her and explained I needed her feet just so and her ribs around my leg like this, she finally started to work.

My plan was to keep her working, first one way and then the other, until she decided to walk. Guess what?

We half-passed for about 3 or 4 miles.

I came home with a foamy horse. She did come in at the walk though. Then we worked in the arena for awhile.

I wasn’t feeling particularly sympathetic.

We’re going to be doing this a lot more. I’m tempted to head out early one morning and head down the Santa Fe Trail until she acts like a grownup. Then we’ll walk back. I’m a little afraid we’ll end up at the Air Force Academy.

To my mind, if she’s broke enough to calmly hit the trail, even if it’s just the two of us, then she should be cool as a cucumber when we finally get back to the show ring.

If we live through the breaking process. It never fails, every time I think I know something it turns out I know nothing at all.