In the Otway National Park between Torquay and Anglesea.
And so I did .
Go with her.
It was a VERY early Startwith a Very rocky ferry trip
And it was. 🙃😍
Fun that is
Who? Me?The Yeeha Cowgals
There was great weather, most of the time.
Always an interesting beginning – meeting our ‘transport’. So much trust involved from both partners in this ‘gig’ and not much time to develop it.Before you know it, you are up and waiting, me on Misty this time – and Yes, you guessed it – a flea bitten grey – must have something to do with someone’s age I am beginning to think!!!!!!
There was also rain,wind and cold some of the time. 😉
Rain, wind and cold arrived on our way home – no one was in any mood to take photos and this one doesn’t really show how wet and miserable we both were!!!! Trust me…..
There was laughter, most of the time. 😉.
Not Actually squashed against the tree!Besties now and foreverSmiles before the rainstill smiling…. and hanging on!!
There was also a grumble or too some of the time. 😉.
There were great views, all of the time😍
Views…whichever …….way we ……lookedThe OtwayNational Park
And a welcome stop for a pub lunch😉
Well, I don’t know about the Camel, but I do know there was a thirsty Horse and an even more thirsty Rider!Well, there Really was food as well, but cowgals like their horses had to have a drink!!!!Well after all …..we had eaten…..so it was only fair…..we (seriously) let them eat too!
There was a horse stuck in water, for some of the time.
And a great sense of relief when she finally stood up again 😍
A planned human pit stop….. and an anxious wait for a horse swim stop to stopGreat relief when both were confirmed safe. And we could continue.
There were canters to die for and some who thought they would! 😉
Long lovely stretches to canterBikes one way…..Horses the other way…..as we ambled in to Anglesea ( Pete what did you do with Jacqui? I hope she is at the end of that rein!)
There was exhilaration and exhaustion.
For some it was hard to tell which was which !
There was tooth ache; bum ache, leg ache and ‘unmentionable’ ache. 😉
There were hot showers, Uber eats and ‘Thirsty Camel’ to lift our spirits
so that we could drop our bodies into warm beds. 😊
There were crack of dawn starts and lazy long lie ins. 😴
There were beach walks, energetic runs, coffees and breakfast. 😊
Salty Dog early morningah, such a treatand such beauty aswe used two legs instead of four!!
There were ferry and car rides and hugs goodbye.😘
There were new friends made, old histories shared, bold futures imagined and
joint memories made. 😊
And just like that the Yeeah cowgals weekend was over.
And we went back to our different worlds.
Thanks to a group of Yeeha Cowgirls
who despite a 40 year age difference made me feel young again !!! 😝
I do, and so it was that I was introduced to ‘the Duracks’ for all of $2.
I had never heard of this family. I had heard of the Kimberley’s, Kakadu and Arnheim land and had a vague idea that they were all ‘far up there’.
With the Sons in the Saddle, the Duracks and that land ‘far up there’ were brought together.
I read about hours and hours in the saddle, the mustering of cattle from almost one end of the continent to the other.
I read about their sleeping rough, eating even rougher, breaking bones, dying cattle, injured horses. I read about them having to swim rivers and through it all, cope with the extremes of climate with a wet wet season filled with mosquitoes and fevers.
“the day they got into the paddock it rained sixteen inches at Ascot. Parry’s Creek became a torrent, flooding the plains to a depth of about five feet and all the rivers were swims….. Next evening we were attacked by myriads of flying ants which crawl all over you and leave their wings behind. Anywhere there is a light is soon about two inches deep in wings. This is not exaggeration. It’s a fact..” (Sons of Durack, Roy Phillips letter to his mother 21 Jan 1912)
I read about the dry dry season when the grass would burn if you looked at it ‘the wrong way’
1904 “terrible bush fires devastated hundreds of square miles of country destroyed fences and yards and had all hands out fighting the flames for several weeks.”
I read such stories – they are fascinating and endless.
Constable Henry Parker disappeared suddenly. “last seen strolling down the Wyndham jetty to visit a friend on the S.S. New Guinea.” This was solved a few weeks later when Jacob Kuhl made the following deposition:
“Yesterday I caught an alligator in a trap I had set up on the gulf. I shot him and took him down to the jetty and skinned him. Then I opened him up and found some clothing like portions of a uniform…. and some human bones. I put them all into a bucket and took them to the Police Station……”
Poor Constable Parker.
And to clear the record, that alligator Must have been a crocodile as alligators are not, nor ever were found in Australia. They, the 4 legged swimming ones, and the Alligator Rivers were so named by Phillip Parker King, the first English navigator to enter the Gulf of Carpentaria. He had previously travelled in S America, knew the alligator and assumed these were them (doubt he even knew there was a crocodile) and in his wisdom he named the rivers the Alligator Rivers (South, East and West Alligator Rivers).
Well give him a break – can You spot the difference?
Alligator
Crocodile – or is it the other way round?
Despite the length and small print of this book, I have persevered precisely because the stories are to interesting.
And then suddenly I found myself ‘up there’ looking at a local map with all the names that had become familiar in the book.
I was going to ride through the very plains they had ridden through so long ago.
I do, however feel the need to acknowledge some minor, okay, perhaps not so minor, but rather fundamental differences between me and them. I knew where I was going. Correction.
Like them, I had no idea where I was going, but unlike them, my guides did know what lay ahead. Poor MP and his ‘mob’ – look what they missed out on. No roads, no phones, no google maps, no back up vehicles; just their wits and physical strength.
Regardless of these advantages, this was an adventure which was greatly enhanced by having read about those who went before me. (photos: Sons in the Saddle, Mary Durack)
It was also enhanced by all that I learnt on the tour to Kakadu and Arnhem land. So much gained in such a short time that I would love to share with you, but that feels almost like a different story there was so much.
The concept of justice, punishment and restoration, the knowledge of genetics thousands of years before we had even thought of it, and so it goes on.
history both modern andan idea of that ancientand ancienttrees that tell a thousand talesand the ‘new’ artagelessCockburn Range
Not really that surprising when you think I was in a land with rock faces 1.8 BILLION years old and a people who had lived, the same way, (until we arrived) for about 65 000 years.
But as usual, I digress.
Here we were in Kununurra the night before our ride. Some of us had met at Darwin airport hopping onto the only flight into Kununurra so by the time we landed, needless to say we were old friends.
Alcohol rules are strict in this part of the world so our first stop was at the bottle shop, driver’s licence in hand. This, it would appear was more important than money, because without it, money is useless as you could buy not even one can of beer.
Mind you, with it, you could buy only a few more cans than one; there is a strict limit on the volume of alcohol allowed per driver’s licence per day!
But gleefully, as you can see from the video, we had our ‘stash’ and
Mission accomplished.
Kununurra
A pretty little town, growing in leaps and bounds, situated in the middle of nowhere.
Well actually that is not true, it is on the Ord River which means there is heaps of water – and accounts for its growing agriculture development and tourist industry.
We explored that water, with a Fabulous dinner cruise on Lake Kununurra.
hard todecide whichview was morebreath-takingbut regardlessthe food andcompany was no lesswonderful
And then it was all over, our cruise came to an end and we were delivered back to our respective hotels, all weary and ready for bed. That is, until we looked at our watches, it was 6.45pm and Pitch Dark!!!!! There was some debate about how can we possibly go to bed so early versus, it is very dark and we are very tired. A very strange feeling.
But bed won over in the knowledge that an early start awaited us.
That early start as we awaited ‘them’
When we were collected by Laura and Chris of Hidden Trails ,
and driven to the start of our ride – Doon Doon Station.
The names of all these places intrigue me –
they conjure up images of another era and I love them.
Wished I could remember the names of our horses and perhaps more importantly the names of the riders on those horses.
This, you understand is particularly important since they would be my companions for the 6 days, and knowing what to call them, or more accurately, what they call themselves would be most helpful.
I practiced things like, green shirt, Jen, (she better not change her shirt); 2 girl friends, Deb and Naomi (hope they don’t have a fall out and separate); couple Paul & Fiona, ah, but there were 2 couples, so that complicates things….. you get what I mean.
I am proud to say that by day 6 I was pretty certain I had the correct name attached to the correct person. Not so with the horses.
Truth be told, I didn’t take my brain that far and didn’t even try.
Meeting our transportthrough this amazing terrain
I have been on trails where, even after 5 days I have had to ask someone which horse was mine.
They kind of all look similar, or at least to my novice eye.
Usually dark; generally with 4 legs, a head at one end, tail at the other, and of course two ears which tell one so much about where they are at right at that moment and the eyes. Those melt your soul eyes, but which can also blaze with a look that has kept me well away from them, waiting for someone better equiped than I to approach them.
My tiny Tinker…..
always easy to locate
I had a tiny horse, the smallest by far of the group, so easy to see if I looked between the legs of the rest of the mob.
A Brumby, the real deal.
Or perhaps not, because I have just researched the Brumby and it is described as “a free-roaming feral horse in Australia.” (wikipedia) but there was nothing feral about My Brumby.
Tinker – easy to remember thankfully, (from Tinkerbell I am guessing as she belongs to 6 year old Maddie who kindly let me ride her) was not feral at all but very well behaved.
Well mostly, but more about that later.
And so before we knew it we were in the saddle, and distracted from names by what was around us.
Breathtaking.
Grass so gold, so patterned, so extravagant…..Sky bluer than blue….Cockburn ranges defining the space
The scenery varies, the people change,
but the rhythm of a trail ride is essentially the same.
Hours in the saddle, exploring the landscape.
Sometimes single file, walking.
Sometimes alongside, talking.
Often in silent contemplation.
The sound of the horses and the creak of the saddle somehow perfect company.
A special light…A lost young bull tagging alongside for kilometresSilent contemplationand sharing the joy
We pause along the way,
to marvel at a view,
learn some history,
look at the intricacies of nature.
The Cockburn Ranges – amazing and sooooo oldA Boab and a history lessonAs we decipher the names and dates well into the 1800’sSo beautiful …..Wherever the sun is…….A Bower bird’s ‘Bower’
And we stop, in this case, to sleep out in the open.
In ‘swags’ (rolled up canvas beds).
Just the most comfy mobile home ever.
Find yourself a spot, unroll your swag and Bingo.
Home sweet Home.
An organised Home Sweet Home
My less organised Home Sweet Home
My socks and swag
Good morningMust I? Just a little longer…..
And that trail riding rhythm includes caring for the horses.
Love is, a girl and her Tinker
There’s unsaddling, brushing, washing, checking over, feeding and
of course, loving.
Without the latter, none of the former would every happen.
These horses are SO loved.
There’s ‘stuff’and patienceand so much work as the feed is preparedChewing the cudChewing the chick peasThe non stop work and love goes into the caring of theses horseswho seem to respond in kind.
Don’t think it is only the horses that are cared for.
Oh no, on these trail rides our food is delivered with equal care and love.
Whether it is lunch on the road, being met by the truck with a delicious meal, drinks, and smiles, or sumptuous dinners round the fire : we do not go hungry 🙂
a lunch stopwith table flowers and all …..and always more than we could eat – although we tried our bestas we told tales, shared laughs and learnt heapsThere were nights around the fireand skies to take your breathe away.
There was ‘girl’s time”
seriousand notalways smiling
There was ‘boy’s time’
with the talkingand the thinking (or was it the drinking?)A Moment Captured
We had time too, to soak our bodies.
In a wonderful billabong, minus the crocodiles, right beside our camp.
tranquilinviting
whether by our winged companionsour our bathing young beautiesthe cold was refreshingah, that smile……and the sun invited us to stay….and drink …..…. the special moment.
There was private time, each in their own heads, with their own thoughts.
we willnever know theirthoughts – as is appropriateBut clearly these are good onesMine was aweJen was concentratingand perhaps they were just thinking about the climb ahead….That private timethat is so peculiar to trail rideswhere we are together but apartand aloneor not.
There were fun times,
crazy as only people who have camped out together can be….
comfortable with one another
whateverwe didit made us smileWe rode throughan old branding yardwhere we found a ‘witch’riding a broom left there for her !
There is so much to see, from memorials to those gone before us,
To that which will be here long after we have gone.
Saddleback Ridge
a long and windy road….a climb I preferred to do with four legs than four wheels!
the tall and the short – but really the view…..No reason, except I love this photoAmazing views – the Pentecost ValleyOh and another amazing view – sunshades!ever patient friends
And endless other adventures.
Friends andbreakfastRope tying, rein plaitingdrinkingridingfishingsmiling…..
and then the madness and excitement of swimming with my Tinker – and being the first to get into the ‘croc infested river’ 🙂 🙂But I was safe….I had my personal body guardsand soTinker and I plungedin and swam in a bigcircle with Marnieclose by to help usfeel strongSUCH JOYAnd I was notalone in having fun!!!!
Goodness me, we did So much.
There were rivers to cross
Some where straight forwardsome such funsome took some negoitatingwith an occasional dip
with or without a rider. In my case, it was with me on her back, without any warning!!!! So one learns
And of course the ‘serious’ river crossings- no photos. Too busy keeping dry (I had a tiny horse remember) and staying on!
There were gorges to climb. In this case Emma Gorge
There were springs to swim in.
And suddenly, a helicopter ride and it ‘was all over’
No photographs or words can even closely match the wonderful memories of this amazing part of our country. The sights, the friends, the horses, all are such that
Well, there I was, on a BUS, almost bringing the average age down significantly – or that is how it felt!!!!!
Who would have though – 3 day explore – Kakadu & Arnhem land.
BUT, despite my doubts this 3 day trip into Kakadu and the tip of Arnhem land was better than anticipated.
A very early start from Darwin took me into Kakadu. On a great road past great places like the Humpty Doo Hotel.
Don’t ask – the name could be from one of so many origins, but I like the derivative from the cattle station Umpity Doo. Slim Dusty clearly was intrigued too (Humpty Doo Waltz) And it was quite a lively spot as the following quote indicates:
“But it’s not just the proud men and women of the Territory who can sink a Darwin stubby, or two.
If you were around Humpty Doo in the 1980s, you might have come across Norman, the 600 kilogram Brahmin bull who could knock off a Darwin stubby in 47 seconds, and then wash it down with six tinnies and a meat pie.” Rae Allen 2008
Can you imagine that happening today?
We passed miles and miles of mango trees – all neatly groomed into ‘squares’ to facilitate easier harvesting. 40% of Australia’s mangoes come from this area which relies very heavily on backpacker workers and provide 4.8 mill trays annually
The name Kakadu may come from Gaagudju, the name of an Aboriginal language spoken in the park. Or it may come from the Indonesia (kakatuwah)/Dutch (kaketoe)/German (kakadu) word. Any or all anglicised into cockatoo. You decide.
Regardless, Aboriginal people have continuously inhabited this area for more than 65000 years – before the last ice age! Which interestingly enough is not as long as the crocodile has been there – try 200 million years – ‘unchanged’ – hows that for a fact. But more about crocodiles later.
The park is located within the Alligators Region of the Northern Territory. It covers an area of 19,804 km2, apparently the same size as Slovenia and half the size of Switzerland. Half of Kakadu is Aboriginal land and the other half is under claim by them. It is a UNESCO Heritage site and leased to Parks Australia by the Aboriginal people.
Why Alligator Rivers when there is not an alligator anywhere in Australia? Well blame the explorer Phillip King (first English navigator who entered the Gulf of Carpentaria) who has seen alligators in South America and assumed these were they – not having any idea that crocodiles even existed. He wrote
“ On our course up and down the river, we encountered several very large alligators and some were noticed sleeping on the mud. This was the first time we had seen these animals, excepting that at Goulburn Island, and , as they appeared to be very numerous and large, it was not thought safe to stop all night up the River“.
Alligator
Crocodile – or is it the other way round?
warnings everywherelow tide river crossingSunday afternoon entertainment – waiting for?
Kakadu is vast with according to the indigenous people 6 seasons.
Yup, 6. Forget spring, summer, autumn and winter. Try:
Yekke (cooler (May-June) when the drying winds and flowering woolybutt tell the locals to patchwork burn the woodlands to encourage new growth.
Bangkerreng (April) harvest time when the floodwaters recede and skies are clear. Plants are fruiting and animals caring for young
Kudjewk (December – March) monsoon rains with spear grass over 2 metres high and high heat and humidity
spear grass
Wurrkeng (June – August) early dry season, floodplains dry out; magpie geese fat and heavy after abundant food crowd the billabongs.
Kurrung (August – October) hot and dry means good hunting of file snakes and long necked turtles
That long necked turtle
A Jabiru with file snake
30 000 year old painting of a turtle
Kunumeleng (October – December) pre-monsoon sees streams running, waterbirds everywhere and barramundi move to estuaries to breed.
So much more interesting and meaningful if you live in that part of the world than just 4.
The bird life is amazingNot an alligator, but perhaps a saltie?or a freshie? You get both crocodiles here
Okay so with 6 seasons, why not for symmetry’s sake, 6 landforms here too.
Promise, I won’t go into detail;
Stone Country: Savanna Woodlands: Monsoon Vine Forests: Southern Hills & Ridges: Tidal flats: Mangroves & Coastline and finally Floodplains, Rivers and Billabongs.
I did not get to see all 6 landforms, but what I did see what beautiful, enormous and inviting to return.
walkways to amazing ancient rock art
history both modern and ancient
trees that tell a thousand tales
river crossings….wetlands – looks like grassland but you couldn’t walk on it – wade perhaps, but unlikelybreathtaking
the Brolga – Australia’s largest waterbirdAmazing rock structuresand of course the teasRiver cruises to get anan idea of the scale of the countryeven the trees seemed ancient
sandstone almost as old as timelooking against that flawless skythe walk was so worth the viewbrooding or was it smiling?
There are some that believe it is brooding, because for millennia this land had been called ‘the sick country’ by the indigenous with rock art showing people with misshapen limbs and ‘swollen’ joints.
That Mineor perhaps ‘scar’ is a better description
It turns out, it was in truth ‘ a sick country’ if you spent too much time there. Radiation from the uranium beneath the ground (which causes swollen joints) was found and hence confirmed their label. And with that came the Ranger Uranium Mine – and you may recall the protests. At the time, one of the largest uranium mines in the world. It is now closing down, incurring losses for several reasons. The 2011 Fukushima disaster and related market slump and the waste management costs. The mine is being shut down with rehabilitation costs expected to be $800million!!!!!
And that is not taking into account the town of Jabiru which was a thriving small town supplying the mine and is now almost deserted. Apart perhaps from the hotel – the famous Croc Hotel built as a 250-metre long, 30-metre wide giant crocodile.
It will be interesting to see the restoration when complete.
From the air….a sense ofthe scale ofthe landand waterways
And ALWAYS worth a visit – this amazing part of our country.
Names like Kakadu, Arnhem Land, Jabiluka, the Kimberley
have been just that, names, to me,
tucked away in Melbourne.
Names slightly mystical in feel, often emotive in use and always, definitely remote.
Which in a sense they are of course, ‘tucked away’ in the far north eastern tip of this vast continent with me, in the deep south so to speak.
3 573 km apart according to google maps.
So when a spot was offered me on a horse trail through The Kimberley’s, well you can see why I had no choice. 😉😉🐴🐴
Interestingly, anything that involves local travel, is quite expensive and a trip up north dents the bank balance almost more than if I was going off shore. So I felt obliged to ‘do more than just the ride’ and of course dent that balance even more!
But so worth it – every cent.
Darwin, the capital of the Northern Territory is closer to Timor than it is to Melbourne and it feels that way too. In so many ways.
A million miles from Melbourne (okay I know, 3 573 km to be exact) but you get my meaning!
The climate which thankfully is less oppressive than I had anticipated creates ‘a look’ that is distinctive: shorts, sandals of varying descriptions or none at all.
Casual, slightly dishevelled, wind blown, sun swept, almost Californian but without the ‘bling’. Not that there isn’t bling in Darwin, some of the jewellery shops show quite a bit, but the general feel is more frontier town than high end holiday space. A deliberate facade I felt.
Based on The Esplanade, I wandered around the city and took an evening cruise in the harbour.
There was So much to see and learn.
Such as, NASA had a Darwin airport runway which was particularly long, earmarked as a potential shuttle landing spot if ‘things went awry’ internationally and they didn’t want to or could not land in the USA. History shows it wasn’t used – but a good trivia question.
That Runway
The Aviation Museum has 1 of the only 2 B52 bombers still on show. (lent to us by USAAF)
Amy Johnson was the first female pilot to fly alone from Britain to Australia. She flew from Croydon, south of London on May 5th 1930 and crash landed in Darwin, 18 000km and 21 days later. (crash landing after flying safely for such a distance – another blog awaits !)
Amy Johnson and her Gypsy Moth just before taking off for Australia
Darwin was given the name by a British expedition arriving in 1839 in honour of Charles Darwin who had sailed with them on a prior expedition.
It has a small resident population (101 000?) but fills up during the winter with tourists passing through to a staggering 1.38 million spending over $1.5 bill.
It has a crazy climate of almost only 2 seasons, hot and hot and humid when the rains come between December and March. The hottest month is November, just before the onset of the main rain season when the heat index can rise above 45 °C (113 °F).
It is one of the most lightning-prone areas in Australia. On 31 January 2002 an early-morning squall line produced over 5,000 cloud-to-ground lightning strikes within a 60-kilometre (37 mi) radius of Darwin alone – about three times the amount of lightning that Perth, Western Australia, experiences on average in an entire year!
Darwin has been destroyed and rebuilt 4 times in modern history (who knows how many times before ‘the white man’ arrived).
In 1897 a cyclone destroyed Darwin (estimated cost UK pounds 150 000 in 1897 terms)
2) In 1937 another cyclone with estimated costs of UK pounds 100 000.
3) In 1942 Darwin was bombed by the Japanese and the military was taken completely by surprise. Most of the ships in the harbour were anchored near each other, making them an easy target for air attack and it would appear no plans had been prepared for how the ships should respond to an air raid.
Interestingly more aircraft were used and more bombs dropped on Darwin than on Pearl Harbour.
Interesting snippet I read:
At 9.35 am Father McGrath of the Sacred Heart mission on Bathurst Island, who was also an Australian coastwatcher, sent a message using a pedal radio to the Amalgamated Wireless Postal Radio Station at Darwin that a large number of aircraft were flying overhead and proceeding southward. The message was then relayed to the Royal Australian Air Force Operations at 9.37 am.No general alarm was given until about 10 am as the RAAF officers there wrongly judged that the aircraft which had been sighted were the ten USAAF P-40s, which were returning to Darwin at the time after reports of bad weather forced them to abort a flight to Java via Kupang, West Timor. As a result, the air raid sirens at Darwin were not sounded before the raid.”
4) Cyclone Tracey devastated Darwin in 1974, killing 71 people, and causing A$837 million in damage (1974 dollars).
And then there is the harbour. And a lovely dinner cruise with strangers who were friends by the end of the evening.
And so a quick visit to an interesting town ended.
But little did I know What an adventure awaited me.
which is usually how I feel about my amazing horse riding adventures.
There Were words.
Plenty of them.
Well, for starters, there were 8 women,
thrown together by the love of horses and adventure.
And in case that was not enough of a conversation starter,
there was the countryside, the horses, the food and the amazing wines.
Allow me to introduce our ‘Barossa Belles’ by way of these photos.
(the word descriptions will follow)
That’s “US” The Formal ……and the far more ‘real’ us
And it turns out all the ladies loved words.
And we didn’t stop using them the entire trip.
Trail riding is something very special.
There is the ‘getting to know’ your horse.
We are each allocated a horse, based on, well observation during our first lunch together I think.
And with Jen & Jeremy’s uncanny skill, they matched us all perfectly.
No one at any time thought about changing horses.
And I, happily, had my old friend Basheer again –
goodness I had forgotten how much I loved him.
Tassie Tigers….. (a very good description of the love of my life is in this link)
And so it was that we and our horses were ‘a pair’,
We had more or less worked out ‘the basics’.
Every trainer has different ways of ‘communicating’ with their horses and so,
apart from knowing which is the front and back ends
(I have more or less mastered That one now 🙂
there remains the small but important things like,
‘go’, or perhaps more importantly ‘don’t go’.
Which I can assure you differs from horse to horse.
Not sure what exactly Piccolo’s trick was – but it raised a laugh!
Ruby allowing Jan to show her trickBasheer’s trick is to cuddle – me
Trail Riding is something very special.
We ride together, we eat together, we share a house together.
And we absorb together.
We absorbed the beautythe conversationthe spacethe solitude
The magnificence of the Barossa Valley.
The scale of the gum trees.
The tragedy of the drought.
The generosity of the horses.
The viewswere breathtakingand sometimes took thehorses breath awaytoo with the steepnessThe treeswere so amazingit felt as though eachcould tell us aa hundred and one storiesabout their lives…water so scarce, so muddy, the sheep get bogged and cannot get outalmost the only water we saw on the ride
Sometimes we ride in single file.
Sometimes alongside someone.
Sometimes we talk.
Sometimes we don’t.
There are times when it’s all in my head,
the surprise that I am actually riding a horse;
the enormity of the space around me;
A lunch time stop.
the sounds of riders talking to others somewhere in front, or behind,
-a soft murmur of words,
unintelligible but creating a sense of well being.
Reminding me as I write this,
of the murmur of parents voices when,
as a child one falls asleep safe in the their sound.
smiles…Private thoughts….shared moment…..trail riders….finding our way
Trail riding is something very special.
Because it is not all about riding.
There is ‘down time’ – when we sit and chat,
when we sit and eat
when we sit and share:
our stories, our lives,
our adventures, hurts and joys
when we sit and laugh and even be foolish
That sun ….Or perhaps it was that wine….Either way ….spooning was the way to go
Or perhaps more drinking.
Then again, just lying in the sun : just ‘being’
Of coursethe viewsand foodmade for suchjoyful smilesand conversations
Our home from home
Our making ourselves “at home”
Trail riding is very special.
You can cover so much ground and it is often so relaxing
but at the same time you can never really relax
as these amazing animals can spook at their own shadow,
or yours, or even a butterfly, or for no reason at all.
And it behoves one to always “be alert, so as not to be alarmed”
and so we remained alertas we cantered throughthe most amazing forest
Of course your understand we are not cantering in these photos 🙂 🙂 🙂
We are absorbing the smell of the pine trees,
the hushed sound of the hooves on the soft turf,
the call of the Currawongs disturbed by our presence
for the duration of this particular ride, there really were no words,
we were in awe of the place.
There was a very special nightat St Hugo’s wherewe had scrubbed up and donned our bling…to learn about this estate, its history, it’s ups and downsall the while indulging …. but with class 🙂 🙂There was much to absorband learnand put into practicewith joy and smiles
The food was amazing,
the wine outstanding,
an evening not to be forgotten.
And if bling isn’t your thing,
you eat at the Farmer’s Market.
Where the food is offered with as much love and care
And your back pocket will thank you
As we did them, for a wonderful breakfast.
Not to be outdone,
a night at Grand Cru Estate
where 5th generation winemaker,
Peter Seppelt entertained us
with his home made pizzas,
Seppelt wines,
warm fires and hilarious jokes.
Or are All jokes hilarious if the food and wine is good?
Perhaps
The pizza ovenwith everyone waitingThe home……the food…..the company…..oh and the wine….Did I mention thefoodor the companyand as for the chocolate dessert!!!!!Everyone was very mellowas we listened in aweto Susannah’s poetry recital
I said there were words,
heaps of them and
amazingly our resident poet produced the most wonderful limericks of
us and our horses.
So good I am sure you would like me to share:
Lee and Basheer
A remarkable woman named Lee
Could never pass by a good tree
“Take a photo!” she’d cry
Bounding happily by
On Basheer (who I’m sure would agree).
Jan and the matriarch Ruby
Striding out at the front of the pack
Unerringly finding the track
With the wind in their hair
A formidable pair
Boss girl Ruby, with Jan on her back
Tricky Vicky and her agile Moo
And tricky Vicky with her agile Moo:
A competent rider is Vicky
Whose jodhpurs were (luckily) sticky
Moo went down on her knees
But as calm as you please
She rode on and smiled “That wasn’t tricky”
JANE and her equally striking Gem:
Now Jane has been riding a while
And it shows in her posture and style
With her Gem of a horse
She conquered the course
And all with a beautiful smile!
JUDY who bred miniature donkeys on Piccolo
For Judy, a donkey’s the go!
And she thought she’d prefer to go slow
Then she cantered the hill
And she’s praising him still
Her wonderful steed, Piccolo.
Linda and Colt 45
This pair were so bright and alive
Gentle Linda and Colt 45
When we started to trot
Little Colty got hot
And his jogging turned into a jive!
HELEN and Opal who clashed with a gate – no damage done 🙂
Opal had Helen’s trust from the start
The calm pretty mare won her heart
Until an old gate
Intervened in their fate
And caused them, just briefly, to part.
The views, the light, the skies, the horses, the food, the people.
I almost said ‘no words’
But that would be untrue for as you can see
we had lots of words
and a final fling from Susannah
which I shall keep for the final lines of this blog.
We rode through vineyards, gold and crunchy in the autumn sun,
the creak of the saddle and crunch of their feet in the leaves the only sounds.
And just because we could,
a visit to Maggie Beer’s Farm
and a cookery demonstration.
The Name
labelled in case you didn’t know
The volunteer roped
into helping at the
cookery demonstration
‘recovering’ after
And just like that, a week of unadulterated joy was over.
And we went our separate ways,
Joined forever by memories to treasure
forever.
And summed up by Susannah in a poem she just ‘whipped up’ for us – quoted below:
Susanna and herand her Jaberwockywho helped with the words
AUSTRALIAN HORSE ADVENTURES
There’s a stirring in the vineyards and a whisper in the leaves
And the magpies joyful carolling is heard
For Australian Horse Adventures have arrived back in SA
With their happy, willing, home-bred Arab herd
The beginner and the nervous, and the confident, the brave
The older, “Can I do it?” come to ride
There’s a horse to suit all riders, there’s a mount to keep you safe
And a saddle that will cushion every stride
There’s pretty little Opal, Ruby – Queen of all the herd
And sweet and grey is photogenic Moo
There’s Tikka, little Colty, and Bashir and stately Gem
And Jabberwocky – just to name a few
The team behind the horses? Smiling Jeremy and Jen!
There’s nothing that’s too hard or can’t be done
Every rider’s warmly welcomed, feels like family from the start
And they know that wine just magnifies the fun!
And their passion is their horses, they are proud of all the herd
Their barefoot, bitless, fit and healthy crew
They can tell you endless stories of adventures on the trails
And the tricks their clever equine mob can do
And Phil from up on Tower Hill comes down to lend a hand
To start your day with bacon, eggs and toast
And he boils the lunchtime billy and his pumpkin soup’s the best
(sorry Jeremy, it just rhymes!)
He’s the humming kitchen fairy with the most!
And the countryside is stunning, ancient red gums, high bare hills
Where the breezes cool you after every climb
You can canter shady forest paths or trot between the vines
The only part you’ll hate is passing time.
And the food! The wine! (The laughter!) A gastronomist’s delight!
Each day a chance to taste Barossa’s best
The experience of meeting those who grow this produce too
Just makes this ride a cut above the rest.
And heading home – such sadness, the Barossa ride is done
But memories and photos tell the tale
Of a landscape of great beauty seen between a horse’s ears
And the best of times and friends made on the trail.
The oldest Shiraz vines in the world since those in France were destroyed by disease.
Not sure what exactly Piccolo’s trick was – but it raised a laugh!
It was enough of a hill to offer views, but not so much of a hill that it was daunting
so despite a whole day in the saddle,
3 of us raced off to see what we could see.
And no sooner had we begun to clamber up the rocks
Than we heard the strangest sounds and looked back to see these kids
(little goats, not children, although we saw them too)
come running towards us as though their lives depending on reaching us.
The ‘Hill”They clambered up the rocks likeproverbial mountain goatsbleating all the time and leaving us wonderingwhat was going to happen when they reached us already at the top.
And what happened is that they stopped,
looked at us, looked around and
then scampered down with equal haste.
Rushing back to ‘mumma’
Leaving us very bemused and feeling quite ungainly as
we clambered down the same rocks they had jumped and leapt down.
The ‘Hill” with us clambering down – not quite like the goats 🙂
Through a conversation with ‘Da Mohammed’ my ‘go to’ on this trip
I believe I worked out the following:
The adult goats are taken by the shepherd to find feed while the
youngsters remain at the Bedouin camp.
For some mysterious reason, they (the youngsters)
thought we were their mothers
and they came running across
bleating to greet us and I presume seeking milk.
Imagine their disappointment!!!!
As the women from the camp came to call them and take them back ‘home’
It was such a fun interlude and surprise and
no sooner had we arrived back in camp than another group went up
to see the setting of the sun.
Without the goats this time.
view fromthe toplooking at our campand at the cameraMiles of not very much…Lovely Jo, whom I thank for all these photos – waving as she reminds us – life is good…
And just like that, the horses and riders worked together.
The first day was,
for everyone, a surprise,
requiring much energy, patience and self control.
But here, on day two,
it felt as though we all knew what was required
and were confident we could survive
and even enjoy the seven day ride.
It is true they were long days in the saddle.
It is true it was hot.
It is true we had tiny tents and no ablution facilities.
And it is also true that I loved every moment.
Long hours in the saddle
with a hot sun most of the day
and thankfully a cooling in the evening
our very tiny ‘homes’
Someone made these barriers – miles and miles of them.
The long stretches of silence as I absorbed the vastness around me
The companionable times I rode alongside someone and we shared our thoughts
The kindness of “D”‘ Mohammed, the guide who ‘adopted’ me
The responsiveness of my amazing horse, Zeina,
her kindness, generosity, strength and endurance.
My flea bitten gray – Zeina and I. The sweetest soul in the Sahara…
the guide “Da” Mohammed who took such care of me “Da” old lady (da apparently meaning ‘old/wise’ 🙂
My flea bitten gray – Zeina and I. The sweetest soul in the Sahara…
Perhaps these photos will illustrate where words cannot,
what was a most remarkable experience.
We passed a Bedouin Family. I did not go in, but some did.The miles and miles of ‘nothing’ – with it’s own kind of beautyAnd so much room to gallop, canter and have funThe only ‘fresh’ water on the tripIt was hot and dustyand sometimes it felt like a looooong dayOnce we rode under a ‘shield’ of shade for about 5 minutes – I remember it was heaven and I thought of the cowboy movies where they always found shade. 🙂 Perhaps the heat had made me hallucinate – who knows, but I clearly remember thinking about cowboy movies!!!!!Biblical in its symbolism – like so much of this trippulling up water bucket by bucket
to give to our horses
no words,just vistasof a landboth harshand beautifulwhichever way Ilooked
Feeding our horses was a daily ritualrequired everyone’s help – even the little travellers who joined us and gave us so much joyas well as giving our lovely horses food
Some played while others watched…..
and the men hauled waterbucket by bucket at the wells along the way (there were not many of them I might add – those horses were remarkable)
‘Da Mohammed’ Whose kindness gave me courage. Whenever I looked around, there he was, keeping pace, watching out for me – and it wasn’t just me he cared for He loved the horses passionately and was always working. – I shall forever remember him with fondness