Category: Horse Adventures

Not to be confused with Weekend Getaway (click the link) but to be read alongside.

 

“Come with me” she said.

“It will be fun.

You can escape Melbourne ,

the weather looks good

and it is sooo close”

And so I did.

Go with her, that is,

to escape Melbourne and

because it is sooo close.

Off I went, to visit Jacqui,

who put Banjo in his float, while I put myself in my bathers.

A short drive took us to a secluded beach

where she  jumped nimbly onto

her horse’s back.

I emphasise the word nimbly.

Because I now had to mount Banjo;

without stirrups,

without a mounting block,

with no reins or a mane to pull on.

There was nothing nimble about my mounting.

There was a great deal of pushing and shoving to my mounting….

By Chris, from below and behind.

Chris who is not interested in horses, does not ride and

wasn’t really going to come to beach.

I will be forever grateful she did come along –

If she had not,

I would still be trying to get onto Banjo’s back……

Which in hindsight, may not have been such a bad idea 🙂 🙂 🙂

But mount him I did.

And for sometime we savoured the delights of bareback riding

with the water warm on our legs and the sun on our backs.

Until, who knows why, but ‘we’ thought it a good idea to trot in the water.

Because, of course, Banjo could see exactly where he was putting his feet….

Until he couldn’t see, but only feel,

as his feet sunk into a crater in the ocean bed

and his head went down…..

and guess what?

So did we,

go down that is.

Down onto the ocean bed – full of sand,

But definitely with less after we visited it,

as we took an awful lot of sand home with us, clinging our bathers 🙂

We have attempted to show snippets from a video Chris was taking of us – but the video is SO much more fun.

Happily, all’s well that ends well.

Banjo didn’t go far and he had a far more sedate swim with Chris and Jacqui.

That is of course, the Chris who  is not interested in horses, does not ride and

wasn’t really going to come to beach. 🙂

Back home we hosed down Banjo  the dogs, and  ourselves.

And then sat down to some serious drinking and laughter

as we watched that fall

over and over again.

 

“Come with me”, she said, “it will be fun.”

And so I did.

And it was.

Such Fun.

 

 

 

“Come with me” I said.

“It will be fun.

We will escape Melbourne, the weather looks good

and it is sooo close”

And so she did.

Come with me, that is,

to escape Melbourne and because it is close.

Well to be precise,

I went with her since she has a very flash ‘ute’ –

with heated seats and all.

Off we went on Friday,

two ‘gals’ on an adventure to visit the

Victorian High Country.

We stopped for drinks at Bonnie Doon – seen the movie The Castle?

If not, why not, a great film and if you have, you know why we stopped here.

Mansfield was our next stop.

It is a charming town, gateway from Melbourne to The High Country and always busy; with people –

riders like ourselves,

cyclists with their paraphernalia,

runners proving their worth to themselves, or someone else,

tourists browsing the shops,

locals doing their shopping and

everyone stopping at the many coffee shops.

 The hospitality of ‘country folk’ the world over, knows no bounds and so it was here too.

Nelda and Greg opened their absolutely beautiful home to us for the night.

and what a night it was……

Four women from completely different backgrounds

sat round the table and laughed and talked as only women can.

 

That we finished a bottle and a half of gin probably helped. 🙂 🙂

When we finally trundled off to bed wondering why we had lingered so long

when we had a full day of riding ahead of us –

we were tempted

not to,

ride that is, but just linger longer……..

ah the joys of ‘geselsskap’  (English words don’t cut it)

Saturday arrived bright and early, and so did we.

Arrive at Telephone Phone Box Junction to be precise, at 9am –

where we were met by old friends –

I had ridden with Christian and Laura before (

in case you are curious: Hidden Trails…… (click on the link….)

and quite a few ‘strangers’.

It is interesting how the dynamics of a group changes depending on the length of time one is going to be together.

In this case, only one night and so both the guides and guests seemed ‘more insular’ as though the energy required for introductions wasn’t  warranted for just 24 hours.

What can I say?

What I CAN say, though ,

is that there is something about growing up in this country,

and even more so if horses have always been your love,

and the story of The Man from Snowy River.

It carries an almost mystical attraction

so that to ride up to Craig’s Hut becomes

for many a sort of pilgrimage, or so  it seems to me.

I have now been lucky enough to ride there 4 times,

on on each occasion with different people

and each time I sensed they had a link to the place that I did not feel.

I am sure because I came to this place, horses and the story relatively recently.

For me, it is the ride, the mountains, the trees, the birds, the magnificence of the vistas.   Breathtaking.

I was ‘moved up the ladder’ so to speak and my horse this time, ‘Billy’ was ‘more forward’ (for my non horsey friends – quicker, eager, needs more skill!)  and allowed to ride with the front group.

A huge step up for this wanna be rider you must understand –

kind of like wearing my ‘big pants’ now.

So off I went with the ‘real riders’  through rivers, up hills and across dales,

(although I think I may have the wrong country – dales? Australia?)

 

We all know about mountain weather, and how unpredictable it can be.

We also know that is has been over 35’C for weeks and weeks and weeks and the weather forecast showed a narrow band of rain, about 30% showers.
Nothing too alarming, but just to be sure we all strapped a ‘dry as a bone jacket’ onto our saddle and confidently set off for a day of pleasure.

And pleasure it was for the first hour or so,

and then, it would appear,

we rode straight into the tiny blue band we had seen on the weather app –

that small 30% chance of rain?

Well, we found it –

and suddenly the temperature dropped to about 9’C,

the wind arrived

and the rain bucketed down.

There we were, astride our horses, committed and gradually getting colder and colder

and wetter and wetter.

I was fortunate I had gloves, which although so wet I could squeeze handfuls of water from them, they kept my hands protected from the wind.

The others were less fortunate and I noticed hands being clenched in pain against the cold.

Finally we arrived  at our lunch spot – the sight of a fire and hot food.

We were more fortunate than our poor horses who were not fed, but rather tied up to weather the storm as best they could.

And of course we had our famous ‘dry as a bone’ jackets, which were in fact not dry at all and most of us were wet to our bones, but who am I to argue with an iconic name?

Finally, the rain eased and we tried to bridle our horses again.

My poor Billy was so cold he could not keep his head still and it was with great difficulty and much coaxing that he was finally all set to go.

I could feel his body shaking with cold as I mounted; it was a really awful feeling.   Thankfully he warmed up quite quickly once we started down towards our camp.

And it wasn’t long before everyone felt a little better;

the rain had stopped, the wind felt less brutal and the temperature was

a little higher as we went lower.

We left our horses at Razorback Camp, unsaddled, blanketed and fed.

Some of us meet ‘the locals’, shared their fire and drinks until it was our turn to be taken to our camp, ‘unsaddled’ of our wet gear, blanketed in warm clothes and fed a deliciously hot meal.

 

And so to Sunday.

Which thankfully started bright and sunny.

Nonetheless I was not going to be caught wrong footed again, so when we were warned that it would be cold and windy ‘on the summit’ and we should dress warmly,  I took them at their word and did.

For the first time ever, I wore two pairs of pants, thermals and riding pants, and because it would be cold, I wore TWO thermal tops, yes I know, overkill?   But hey, you weren’t with me yesterday !!!!!  My cotton shirt, my down vest and again because I knew what Cold meant now, my down puffer jacket And my purple Aldi rain jacket.  Not to forget my thermal neck warmer and the ‘dry as a bone’ jacket strapped to my saddle, just in case.

I explained to Billy and asked his forgiveness for having to carry this

Michelin woman

because the look he gave me clearly said, “and now?”

And now……..

Of course.

Sun and warmth and despite the predictions, not a breathe of wind.

In fact a perfect day.

Unless you are kitted out like a Michelin woman –

which of course I was as you can see by the shape 🙂

For about the first hour or so both Billy and I ‘steamed’ as the sun warmed us.

In Billy’s case the steam was literal and quite funny to watch.

In my case, not quite literal and certainly less comical.

He and the other horses stopped steaming.
I was less fortunate and for the rest of the day  remained insulated in my private steam bath, unable to take anything off as there was nowhere to tie anything else on.

I did after all still have my ‘dry as a bone’  jacket, which interestingly was still very wet and heavy from yesterday, strapped to my saddle.

Nonetheless we had a magnificent day of riding to the summit of Mount Stirling, to Craig’s hut and back down to Telephone Box Junction –

A glorious end to an interesting two days of riding.

 

 

 

Thanks for coming for me, Jacqui.

It Was fun.

We Did escape Melbourne

The weather Was good (some of the time)

and it was sooo close……

…… to perfection, we may have to do it again

Feb 2019

As anyone who knows me knows, I am learning to ride.

A horse, that is.

A bicycle in my youth was challenging but a horse in my ‘mature’ years is altogether a different kettle of fish .

Okay, so metaphors are mixed – apologies to my English teacher.

After a few trails, I am starting to feel like a rider and full of confidence I joyfully accepted an invitation to ride with J, (whom I met on a ride in New Zealand) this weekend.  She and I shared much on that trip – a tent, mulled wine (All grown up? Really?), much cider and even more laughter.   We also shared hours in the saddle as we rode through Glenorchy back country (Glenorchy Back Country ; No Words.

 

 

Flattered and looking forward to our time together I set off to Tooradin to ride and ‘catch up’ with my amazing, funny, strong friend.   She just also happens to be an excellent rider and knows horses inside out so to speak.

And there they were, all saddled up and waiting for us,

Beautiful Banjo, J’s horse with a saddle that stepped straight out of the movies

(mind you, he looked as though he did too)

and Ruby, my horse for the morning, with an equally impressive saddle.

It was a Glorious day, full of spring blossoms, sunshine and fields of beautiful grasses designed to give one itchy eyes and runny noses 🙂 🙂 🙂

Ruby’s lovely, I am told.

She will look after you.

She is very easy – her ‘buttons’ are good.

So full confidence I mounted, and followed J on her stunning Banjo.

Needless to say, I did not check on any of these idiosyncrasies before I set off, (after all I am a rider now, so I would work it out 🙂 🙂 🙂 )

(For my non riding friends, horses have a strict ‘hierarchy’ with for whatever reason, some horse deciding they are the ‘Lord of the Manor’ and need to lead, or for equally unfathomable reasons, they have their favourite ‘friend’ and ‘foe’   Furthermore, in a lessons scenario you are in an arena with a ‘teacher’ and a school horse who knows his job is to ‘go round and round’    On a trail you are with a group of horses who always do this and follow each other faithfully. )

You ‘get’ the picture.

 

And so I was blissfully unaware of the fact that my Ruby didn’t like ‘any horses’ or that her buttons, while good, were carefully coded and not at all ‘obvious’  as I set off with my excellent riding partner J.

 Ruby set off at a gentle walk without too much coaxing.   In fact we even broke into a sprightly trot without too much trouble.   Her ears were always back and she wasn’t as happy as I was on the lovely old race track we were using.   She wanted nothing to do with Banjo which made for a trail kind of ride, me in front J behind 🙂 🙂

But we had fun, trotting neatly round the track, once, then twice and then…. at the furtherest end of the track Ruby stopped.

Just stopped.

 As if the battery cable had been cut.

Just stood there.

 Ears back, motionless.

Squeeze, I heard from behind me,

as J instructed me,

your calves,

squeeze, release, squeeze release.

And so I did, squeezed, released, squeezed released,

till I was covered in sweat and my squeezed and released calves

had no more squeeze in them.

Still Ruby stood impassive.

I tried everything, standing up, sitting down, pulling forward, squeezing backwards, talking, coaxing, yelling – all to no avail.

We were going nowhere.

Did I say I was a rider?

I think I did – but perhaps I am not.

And it would have been so funny, and actually was,

except that Banjo wanted to pass and my dearest patient J did too.

Instead she stayed faithfully with me, reminding me to “squeeze, release”

It was hot, I was sweaty and just as I thought, “well I better dismount and start walking home”-

Ruby starting trotting as if butter wouldn’t melt……….

with no explanation at all.

And back to the stables we went.

Which was when I was told the tricks to find her ‘buttons’   to get her to go somewhere instead of nowhere.

And so we left the stables…..

My ever gracious J fed me lamb and salads, watered me with ciders,

shared her life with me again and sent me home ….

content that I may still learn to ride and actually

go somewhere instead of

standing still and going nowhere.

Perhaps next time 🙂