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.
As if the battery cable had been cut.
Just stood there.
Ears back, motionless.
Squeeze, I heard from behind me,
as J instructed me,
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
How wonderful to have reached the ripe old age of ‘comfort’.
That age between old enough to no longer to care and not so old that you need to be cared for.
So when two friends I recently met invited me to join them with their girl friends on an annual weekend ride;
I didn’t analyse why; I didn’t second guess their motives; I didn’t worry about whether I would snore or not (I know I do); I didn’t stress about whether I was a good enough rider (I know I am not, I don’t even have my own horse);
I just thought how lucky I was to be included and said yes.
Of course that was 6 months ago and suddenly, here was the weekend away with strangers and I was to all intents and purposes, a stranger , perhaps even, a gate crasher !
Except, that’s the point.
Trail riders are not really strangers.
Within 10 minutes of meeting, with the common anticipation of 2 days riding together, we were bonded.
I knew nothing about them, not even, if the truth be told, their names (as my memory lets me down in that department), whether they had families, what they thought, what they did when not on horseback – nothing.
Except that they loved horses and riding and that is enough.
That is enough to enable 7 strangers to buckle up, and ride into the Howqua river with, yes, you guessed it –
Which for anyone who knows me, must surely be a first.
I LOVE words.
I love working out their origins, the way they look on paper; their shapes and rhythms. And I love the way they can have multiple meanings, depending on context, dependent on the company, the glint in an eye, the emphasis on a syllable, the quickness of response, the back and forth.
Words can bind or divide with such ease and speed they become almost the most powerful tool available to us mere mortals.
But I digress –
words, they confuse, confound and cause all sorts of meanderings.
Like our meander into Glenorchy Back Country, South Island, New Zealand.
And for those who don’t know where New Zealand is, the bottom of the planet, almost in the Pacific Ocean. I think God created the world from the top and as he moved down, his artistry became more and more breathtaking; his masterpiece complete at Glenorchy.
And that’s the point – this trip was SO amazing,
So breathtakingly beautiful.
So filled with laughter and energy and love and caring and support that
WORDS FAIL ME!!!!!
No really, they do.
From our first meeting for a drink, which ended up including a dinner, we knew we were in a special place, where like minded people understood the words spoken, the words unspoken, the meanings behind them.
People who immediately saw the laughter in an eye, or the nervous hesitation in the curve of a mouth.
We knew, without any hesitation that we were heading for a special 5 days and we were right.
Although perhaps heading wasn’t quite the right word, try meandering.
As some of us did on the way home via a fairy light boat or two (see blog All grown up? Really?) but to bed we went, finally.
Surprisingly, despite creaky heads for some, we were all up and ready to go as planned, bright and early referring to the day and time, not necessarily the people. See what I mean about words ?
And that was the beginning of a Real world:
no internet, no radio, no news, Facebook:
sometimes not even lights.
But again, words – there were lights, just not the ones we normally think of when using the word.
The sky was alive with lights, THOUSANDS of stars, breathtaking, moving, shimmering, glimmering, glowing, even flowing….. just endless stars that kept us spellbound.
A walk in the dark one night, clambering down the side of a cliff in total darkness trusting Bijmin our leader, lead us to more lights.
At first we thought they were stars, but they were not.
They were glow worms – THOUSANDS of them, hanging under a huge cave like boulder across the river, which in the dark was invisible to us, and creating a second heaven of starlight.
We gawked, silenced and humbled by the enormity and power of our universe and thought how easily we could have missed it except we dared to brave the dark and damp.
We rode around mountains, seeing glaciers, snow, water as blue as the sky, and then as transparent as glass so that you couldn’t be sure what was reflection and what was mountain.
We rode through forests.
With Beech trees as tall as cathedrals, moss and lichen dripping,
streams and waterfalls a constant surprise.
At times the forest was so silent we felt like the first and only people in the world.
At other times it was so full of bird sounds it made me laugh for joy.
The forests were filled with dreams.
Thoughts of dinosaurs, ogres, goblins, Bilbo, Gandalf, Frodo.
You name it, they were there.
Silent, watching us feeling them.
The waterfalls, the walks, the views –
We scrambled up and down, feeling, smelling, sensing the forest
We camped in cold, clear places and warm snug places.
We shared our meals with our beloved horses.
We brushed our teeth in public, and even had a bath with a view.
Making lunch was always such an adventure
Lunches a fun affair….
Brushing teeth was an adventure 🙂
so warm and welcoming
What remained after a horrific fire 😦
We lunched along river banks and on grass hills, we talked, we laughed, we giggled, we lay in the sun, we rode bare back, we swam our horses in glacial pools.
Returning from my first ever swim, bareback…..
We cantered, we jumped, we fell (or at least I did – twice in the first hour of our ride!!!!) we laughed again and shared- stories, drinks, food, fears, loves, joys, life with a capital L
We felt like children on a school camp, in the moment, thrilling to the joy of being alive, overwhelmed by the beauty of our surroundings, humbled by the generosity of spirit shown by our horses, stripped to our essence camping together and always laughing and playing.
Our little group, from worlds as far apart as Tuscon Arizona, New Hampshire, South Africa, Nebraska, California, Sydney, Noosa, Melbourne were united, bonded forever by this experience.
Bonded by a thread as smooth as silk and as solid as chainmail.
Linked through our connection to our horses.
Joined by an experience that cannot be put into words and that cannot be replicated, nor understood except by those of us who were so fortunate to have experienced these remarkable animals, so patient, so responsive, so willing, so kind, so powerful in a country of such extravagant beauty.
Photos are thanks to ‘the crew’ – I can claim No credit for them – very grateful team
Okay, so I’lll admit there was a time when I indulged in a few holiday romances, but that was many years ago.
Now I am older and wiser and a whole lot more cautious.
After all, the broken heart following such affairs is deterrent enough for me not to venture into those waters again.
So I approached this relationship with grown up attitudes. We would be together for 5 days, we would enjoy the time we had together and go our separate ways with no strings attached, no expectations and therefore, no pain. Nothing could be simpler.
And so it was that we danced around each other, assessing how far we could push ourselves and each other.
We tested which buttons would produce a joy of such magnitude I cannot begin to describe it, and which buttons were clearly going to be a no-no with me left deflated and hanging on the ground, foolish and stunned by the speed of the whole chain of events!!!!
Still I persevered, thinking the whole thing would be so worth it for 5 days. And I believe he did as well as he stuck by me – faithfully and quietly. Never looking elsewhere, always waiting for me to join him.
But he was not boring; not submissive, quick to challenge me and turn a ho hum moment into an adventure. There were times when he was confronting, prodding and dare I say it, even went so far as to goad me into losing my ‘cool’.
It was at moments like these that the encouragement and support of my girl friends kept me ‘in the game’ so to speak and made it all worthwhile.
And then it was all over and I had to leave.
I had been preparing myself for this moment from day one, but still, it was SO much harder than I had expected it to be.
A long kiss, and I walked away.
But no, not too far.
I came back for another cuddle and a whisper and he gave me a kind, soft, lingering nuzzle which left me oh so warm and fuzzy.
I was ready to leave him.
It was after all, just a holiday romance.
I stalked him the day after I left to find that he was happy, content, eating well and showing little sign of distress.
Was I relieved?
Just a little.
But hurt too, did it really mean so little to him,
this holiday romance?
At home again with a slow heart I did the washing, hung it up to dry
and there it was!!!!!!!!
He had not just walked away casually without a backward glance.
He had left me a locket of his beautiful hair.
Well perhaps not quite a locket.
Rather a whole lot of auburn, russet short hairs.
But still a secret parting gift to remember our precious time together,
those stolen moments when we swam unhindered,
bare backed, not even socks or shoes;
in a delicious spine tingling icy glacial pool with no one around
They were there, clinging to my leggings – the leggings I wore on that special ‘bare back’ day.
Even After the washing machine had done it’s work.
Clearly, I had meant something to him, since he wove them so firmly into the cloth of my, was going to say soul,
but really just my pants and jackets.
Still, a gift from him to me.
So Just Perhaps, this wasn’t merely a holiday romance,
but a whole lot more.
The Big question now is,
do I live with ‘him’ around me for a little longer,
or do I use the band aid approach to purge all memory
Now that we had mastered the art of cattle mustering
(in 2 easy lessons you understand 🙂 )
We moved on to ‘greener’ pastures.
In the bus, with horses in tow, we left our beautiful Mount and drove through Gympie, where once again we made a pit stop, this time, not at the bottle shop, but rather at the ‘bandaid’ shop (aka pharmacy) to attend some rather painful nether parts which one of us had acquired which offered as much mirth to the group as it offered pain to that region. 🙂
Task accomplished we stopped at the Best pie shop Ever.
Truely you can take my word for that.
And the chips were not half bad either.
near Widgee was our home for the next few days,
with such cute tents awaiting us and more lovely views.
The team here were Unbelievable
I really need to give a shout out to Rod, Ash, Jake and the rest of the crew.
Here we arrived, greenhorns every one of us, and with their welcome, and patience, we actually understood this camp drafting competition and learnt more or less:
(some of us much less, or perhaps I should one of us, much less – you can guess who that was. The others much more 🙂 )
Our amazing crew
Now for those of you who have no idea what campdrafting is, (I was one of those until a few months’ ago). Allow me to elucidate briefly.
In the days of large scale cattle mustering there was always the banter about who had the best horse, who rode the best, who could ‘tame a beast’ the best etc. And so a sport was created. I believe exclusive to Australia, called campdrafting.
In this, the competitor is in a ‘camp’ with several ‘beasts’ (aka cows) and on his horse he selects one and ‘dominates’ it by isolating it from the others and heading it towards the front end of the camp where there is a gate into a large arena. When the competitor is ready, he calls ‘gate’ and the gate is opened, the cow races out, as does the rider who then attempts to ‘steer’ the ‘beast’ around two pegs in a figure 8 and through another set of pegs (the gate) – all within 45 seconds.
Sounds easy? Well yes, when you see an expert, you hold your breath but they do make it look easy. None of us were experts!!!!!!! So just like us, you now understand what we are to do. I will attach below 2 videos, an expert (our lovely Helen) and a wanna me – yours truely for comparison purposes on condition no one laughs please.
And so our days were spent being taught to chose our ‘beast’; dominate our ‘beast’; turn our horses on a dime; stay in the ‘arc of vision’ of the cow –
not too far behind because all the ‘beast’ will hear is the sound of you chasing and it will go forward – Fast.
not too close or you will clip it and you and/or your horse and ‘the beast’ will go down – Hard.
so a bit like Goldilocks, just right.
Finally we move from the practice runs to the Real Arena – where we had surprise after surprise as our ‘beasts’ roared through the gate and straight across the arena to the opening at the other end, before any of us knew what had happened.
Our horses on the other end knew exactly what to expect and bounded across the arena at fast gallops chasing the cows. Our first rider, who shall remain nameless let out a yell of surprise, you can probably guess and found herself at the other end of the arena before the word was completely out of her mouth such was the speed of her trusty steed!!!!
Thankfully our next attempts were less ‘startling’
Slowly, with the amazing patience and coaching from Jake, Ash & Rod, we all started to improve – of course some did so a lot more than ‘others’ (you can guess who those ‘others’ are – and if in any doubt, refer to the score sheet from our final day competition)
It was all such fun.
Until it wasn’t
Sadly one of the team fell – at the far end of the arena and we watched, helpless, as she bounced and lay still. A sober reminder that this is, still, a risky sport. Thankfully, with a nurse in the team, an ambulance from Gympie and a little bit of luck on her side, her injuries were not life threatening although serious. *
It was a quiet evening for the rest of us – with conversations muted; all aware of how easily it could have been any of us; how quickly things can go from normal to tragic; how fortunate we each were that it wasn’t us (and how awful to think that at the same time)
Then another day dawned
We were back for our last day of campdrafting –
This was a very serious competition
with much shouting and encouragement from the sidelines
as each of us attempted to win the coveted trophy.
Here is a video of our lovely Helen showing “how it is done”.
Here for prosperity is a video of yours truely, showing how a greenhorn does it…. or rather doesn’t
On the day, I am SO pleased to say that our favourite John, won.
Never was a team more pleased for a winner.
and in case you thought it was all chasing beasts, there was also ‘washing them’
And suddenly – it was all over, we rushed back onto the bus for the trip back to airport where we all went our separate ways with Great Memories.
The adverts were amazing, mustering cattle, camp drafting, (suitable for all riding levels, even beginners (that’s still me!!!!)) stunning views – Southern Queensland, mid winter, escape from Melbourne cold, improve my riding skills – who could refuse. So before I knew it, I was a paid up ‘member’ of the June intake of camp draft novices. thanks to globetrotting.com.au
A flight into Queensland, for those who are wondering where I was going (as was I), the attached map will give a rough idea. We all met at Maroochydore airport; Maroochydore is, apparently derived from ‘murukutchi-dha’ in the language of the Brisbane River Aboriginal people, and it literally means ‘the place of the red bills’ (i.e. the black swans).
There were 11 of us, mostly groups although John was a brave solitary traveller, actually doubly brave as he was also the only male – he became our Knight in Shiny Armour on his white steed and I knew Margaret from our ride in Margaret River last year. Introductions duly made, we left in a bus for Gympie. (The name probably derived from an aboriginal word for the local stinging shrub).
That Very Important
Two hours on the bus, including a most important bottle shop stop, saw us arrive at the base of Mount Gomboorian, our home for the next 3 days. After a brief introduction to our horses, how they are trained, which saddles we would use etc. we were loaded into vehicles for the ‘ascent’ up the Mountain. I think these two photos sum up the exhilaration of the angle of ascent ! Some of us felt the need for head protection as we bumped and bounced and tried to hang on!!!!
Words again do not do justice to the views, across to Fraser Island, Noosa and back inland ‘forever’. Perhaps these will help you.
Our tents were more than comfortable …….
and the food always appetising – Sean our trusty chef excelled at every meal.
But it was our horses that really ‘sold’ us.
I had T Rex – small (hence the name) and young with a distinctly ‘mulish’ look about him. Be that as it may, for the first time I could reach the saddle of my horse without standing on a Huge log or rock or mounting block. He was not, at least to a novice eye (i.e. my eye) a good looking horse and I was asked more than once if I was on a donkey!!!! That question though was always from a ‘non horsey person’.
Never, however be fooled by looks – I am sure your mother told you that once. This little hang dog mule of mine had the spunk of a champion camp draft horse and when you asked him to go, he could move like a bullet. So the donkey statement never came from anyone who saw him actually move 🙂
Our first day was spent out riding through countryside, getting to know our horses, their quirks, their likes, and dislikes (more about that later). T Rex likes eating and since his face is level with the bush most of the time, he spent a great deal of time chewing and I spent a great deal of time stopping him. I did, in the end, convince him to stop – win for me.
Where are we?
By now you will know that I am curious about how places get their names and we rode through some Weethefeekaarwe Bush. This Weethefeekaarwe Bush consisted of grass and scrub taller tha us on horseback so that we could hear one another but not always see one another. The name rolled off Andrew’s tongue with such ease and emphasis on odd syllabi it took me a while to work out – he had no idea where we were or what it was called – I will leave you to work out the name for yourself 🙂
Weethefeekaarwe Bush – none of us knew where the . we were 🙂
Lunch at the Silky Oak was a treat.
Made extra special by a drink in the pub like nowhere else in the world!!!
After drinks and food we collected our transport parked outside waiting patiently and ambled home through such lovely countryside.
Night Time Visitor
But it wasn’t all riding, we had a lovely visitor one evening, only 15 years old and by the light of the moon and headlights of a vehicle, she gave us a whip cracking demonstration. For posterity sake, I have included it even though it is not a first class video. The show was. And I had a ‘crack’ at it – It is a lot easier to hit oneself and cry out than it is to hit the ground and make the whip cry!!!!!
There is something very peaceful about ‘mustering’ cattle.
That is, until something goes wrong.
Now you do realise we are all novices, some of us even novice riders, never mind jackaroos. So we were not mustering 2 000 cattle 100 miles; rather about 70 cows, a few miles. Still, it Was mustering. Instructions were given, we were allocated our places and so began the task of gathering them all together so we could get them out of the gate and onto the road.
We ‘plodded’ along with cars patiently waiting behind and in front of us – this is the country after all – or should I say thank goodness as they did not seem to be at all agitated despite having to wait for an awfully long time while we herded the cattle from A to B.
And just when you think all is going well, a cow finds a hole in the fence and runs through, which means all the others follow. And there they are, in a field with another herd of cows. Which means we have to sort the two herds out and then take ours back on the road.
That deserves a whole blog – suffice to say, we did a lot of watching while the experts (being the Rainbow Beach Ride team) did the work of separating the two herds. And the rest of us? Stood and watched and munched on fruit we had brought with us.
Once the herds were separated (thankfully there was an old dip pen we could use to do this; we had to begin again. Herding them into a group to continue to point B. Back on track and thinking again we had this all under control, a dog ran out of an open gate (what farmer leaves a gate open – I ask with tears in my eyes). This was no kelpie used to sheep and cattle, but a mean spirited dog that ran wild amongst the cows – dispersing them again this way and that. And I must tell you, when 70 peaceful cattle suddenly swing around and face little you on your horse and you are not sure what is going to happen, your stomach tightens and you concentrate on your breathing. I heard a few choice words around me and hoped our talk about forming a wall was being adhered to by the others or I would be alone in the melee. To be truthful I cannot remember how we turned the around, but settle them we did. With the young owner of the dog apparently oblivious to the chaos he had just created.
And on we went. Of course there are no photographs – we were far too busy 🙂
There was a lunch at a lovely homestead where we chatted about the happenings of the morning and I have no doubt the horses had their own conversations – if only I could understand their language!!!!!
The cows were sprayed by some while others ‘played’ with their horses and the next day saw us mustering them back to A.
You would think we had this under our belt by now, wouldn’t you – I mean what could go wrong? We knew where the hole in the fence was. We knew where the ugly dog lived.
And then the surprise.
An open gate saw some horses run up to us. No problem, the cows are used to horses so they don’t spook. Shetland ponies, though, are quite a different proposition. Two little ponies followed the horses, proud as punch they looked as they trotted up to us. They could almost pass under some of our horses bellies, but that didn’t matter, Rosie next to me baulked and bolted into the ‘gutter’ which mean my lovely T Rex felt the need to follow. All I remember is ‘hang on with your legs’ – my thighs have never worked so hard, my reins less so, but we all stayed on our feet so to speak and while we recovered, the rest of the team stopped the cows from running all over the place – Again!!!!!!
And that was us mustering……
Done and Dusted – experts, clearly.
So time to move on to greater challenges.
P.S. Photos kindly taken by Rainbow Beach Rides, “Jackaroo team”, myself, and Globetrotting.com.au
For those who don’t ‘have the bug’ this blog may be a bore. I know most of my friends think I am a little crazy and there is no doubt that my father would have something to say about the absurdity of a 60+ woman starting to ride horses when it hasn’t been part of her life up to now.
But then of course, one of the marks of a madman (or woman) is that they march to their own drum and don’t ‘toe the line’. So here I am, riding, more or less efficiently and thoroughly enjoying every moment.
It was AMAZING – so to my non riding friends who think I am crazy, I apologise, but blog I must and to my crazy friends, well you will get the madness 🙂 🙂 🙂
16 of us met up in Mansfield for dinner the evening before our Big Ride. 5 of us ‘were single’ and knew no one prior to that dinner, the others were couples/friends. Again riding brought together people from all corners of our country, our neighbours (New Zealand) and across the Pacific, from the USA. By the end of day 1, we were one big happy family gathered around a huge fire, sharing stories, drinks, laughter, memories, food and the marvel of our surrounds.
For 6 days we traversed the High Country as it is generally known. From Mount Stirling, Craig’s Hut, Lovicks Hut, Mt Mandala, miles and miles and miles.
This country is stunning, the gum trees like ghosts with so many stories to tell, curled and misshapen from heavy snow, miles and miles of rolling hills as far as the eye can see where almost no man has been, reminding me of British Columbia, steep edges with the Howqua river below. The Low Country with forests, koalas, birds, insects, flowers and so many river crossings we lost count.
There is no doubt that It’s all about …. (yup, you got it – a link 🙂 )the horse and once again I won the jackpot with Audrey. Yup, as in Hepburn, although she was neither slim, nor elegant but very large and quite heavy. But a lady nonetheless with an appetite that defies description – she tried to eat at every opportunity and for a day or so it was a battle of wills between her and I as to who was going to get their way. We compromised a great deal!!!!
But these horses are remarkable, faithful, strong, willing and so so kind. All of us were constantly grateful for their stamina and sure-footedness as we climbed up and down the MOST awesome hills (some would say mountains!) – and while it is difficult to take photographs and ride at the same time, we do have some and I will let them ‘do the talking’.
We wandered through the terrain used for the film “The Man from Snowy River” based on a poem by Banjo Patterson and relived a moment or two.
With a kiss at the ‘kissing tree’ as we called it, where Craig and Jessie from the movie are believed to have ‘spent time together’.
This kiss marked 44 years of marriage – a celebration worth most definitely a kiss!
And as each day took us up to the top of the world, or down to a beautiful valley, we drew closer through our shared experience and gratitude to the Hidden Trails crew who worked tirelessly to make this one of the most remarkable weeks of our lives.
Whether it was the amazing food, or the incredible work involved in caring for our horses, feeding, shoeing, washing, saddling, unsaddling, corralling, the transferring of our camps, the attention when one of us didn’t feel well, and most importantly, keeping our drinks colds!!!!! It was a trip of a lifetime.
And of course for every up, there is a down – debates constantly about which is more challenging!!!!!
Having been well cared for; fed. watered and doctored.
There were days of glorious views, river crossings, trees so tall I felt I was in a cathedral of some kind, birds calling, skies so blue and fresh, faint sounds of riders behind or front, the glorious silence of riding companionably, along with your thoughts, the creaking of the saddle and sound of their feet on the ground somehow at one with the earth. Old huts, with stories to each, a koala in a tree. Hidden trails indeed.
and in case you have not had enough : some more images and even a stunning video thanks to Rachel Meek of our epic climb to Mt Magdala!!!