Barossa Valley heaven

 

I cannot in all truth begin this with

‘there are no words’

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)

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That’s “US”                                                                                                  The Formal ……
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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)

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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.

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Not sure what exactly Piccolo’s trick was – but it raised a laugh!

 

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Ruby allowing Jan to show her trick
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Basheer’s trick is to cuddle – me

Trail Riding is something very special.

We ride together, we eat together, we share a house together.

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And we absorb together.

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We absorbed the beauty
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the conversation
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the space
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the solitude

The magnificence of the Barossa Valley.

The scale of the gum trees.

The tragedy of the drought.

The generosity of the horses.

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The views
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were breathtaking
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and sometimes took the
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horses breath away
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too with the steepness
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The trees
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were so amazing
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it felt as though each
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could tell us a
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a hundred and one stories
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about their lives…
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water so scarce, so muddy, the sheep get bogged and cannot get out
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almost 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;

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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.

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smiles…
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Private thoughts….
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shared moment…..
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trail riders….
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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

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That sun ….
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Or perhaps it was that wine….
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Either way ….
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spooning was the way to go

Or perhaps more drinking.

Then again, just lying in the sun :  just ‘being’

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Of course
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the views
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and food
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made for such
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joyful smiles
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and 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”

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and so we remained alert
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as we cantered through
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the 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.

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There was a very special night
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at St Hugo’s where
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we had scrubbed up and donned our bling…
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to learn about this estate, its history, it’s ups and downs
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all the while indulging …. but with class 🙂 🙂
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There was much to absorb
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and learn
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and put into practice
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with joy and smiles

The food was amazing,

the wine outstanding,

an evening not to be forgotten.

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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

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The pizza oven
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with everyone waiting
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The home……
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the food…..
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the company…..
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oh and the wine….
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Did I mention the
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food
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or the company
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and as for the chocolate dessert!!!!!
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Everyone was very mellow
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as we listened in awe
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to 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:

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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).

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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

 

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”

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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!       

 

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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.

 

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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!

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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.

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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.

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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.

 

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:

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Susanna and her
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and her Jaberwocky
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who 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.

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Moments captured

Jen & Jeremy of

Australian Horse Adventures 

are the most amazing hosts

and without any doubt,

made this an extraordinary adventure.

Thank you Both.

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Tassie Tigers…..

It would appear I begin every riding blog

with the imaginative but repetitive statement

there are no words

Which is odd,

for as anyone who knows me knows,

words ‘are my thing’ 🙄

I love the sound of them

(don’t we know! I hear you say )

although I will point out that loving the sound of them is different from loving the sound of my own voice using them 😂

I love how you can play with them;

saying one thing while meaning something completely different 🙃

I love the the way they dance, black and white, across a page

the way they ‘mean’ something – as if they were musical notes.

And yet, there are times when there

Really Are No Words.

When your heart is filled to bursting,

When your eyes are mesmerised by the beauty around you

When your body is filled with such a sense of well being and energy

When your soul is at peace

(and for a short time you can imagine

‘all is well with the world’)

Our Tassie Tiger Trail was just such a time.

Across the Ditch…..


A time when eight strangers came together to the most beautiful Tasmania.

All trusting that our faith would not be misplaced,

our money not wasted;

our souls fed with the joy of riding great horses;

our bellies fed with the best of the Apple Isle and

our minds filled with joyful memories.

It goes without saying that our faith was not at all misplaced.

This was a Wonderful adventure.

Day One: New Friends……
Learning to communicate……..
…..and trust one another

It may be worth clarifying how we ‘find our horse for the week.’ Well the truth is we don’t, they kind of find us. When you go on a trail you are ‘matched’ with a horse based on –

not sure what; 😉 weight, height and temperament.


And so my horse Basheer and the ‘blurb’ in his profile?

“Every family has a gifted child. Basheer is ours.

Suffering small horse syndrome this little steed is both insecure and courageous, bold and embarrassed.

His antics are mind boggling.

He is in your face, in your space and eager to be part of everything that is going on”

Jen & Jeremy our hosts for the week had never met me, but there were some smiles about whose profile they had captured 🙄

And so to ‘what was going on’

as we set out on our 5 day adventure.

to explore the hills

 

Melaleuca everywhere

A time to reflect

There were views to absorb, canters to enjoy, laughter to share.

words? really?
patience – always……
and faithful togetherness
The “crew” day 2
no longer strangers
with a little
help from
our friends 🙂

There was wildlife to see, snakes, eagles, sugar glider, wallabies, echidnas, platypus, black cockatoos.

New friends
Still a little prickly
and old friends who had worked out the prickly bits 🙂

And there was food – home made biscuits for morning tea,

delicious salmon at the salmon farm,

fresh raspberries at the raspberry farm,

roast lamb and all the veges at our B&B

and dinners out.

 

with a laugh whether …..

At the Raspberry farm…..

Or the Salmon Farm
One of many lovely words of advice from Theresa –


Our hostess at Bonney’s Inn

Served us
such great food
and fun
with ‘heaven on earth’ offered

in her lovely home….

(as well as her philosophy 😊)
This was Them: Roland & Theresa making Bonney’s Inn beautiful
Friendships created….

And for a week, we were suspended in time;

neither wives, nor women,

nor mothers, grandmothers,

fathers or husbands,

but friends

with no agendas, no concerns, no judgements.

Open to the sun, the sky, the feel of the horses and each other.

joy

Vulnerable and Invincible at the same time.

 

The tall and short of it……
The smile …..
The exhilaration
The conversation
which didn’t always need words
down time…..
even for Daisy
The colours ……
of the sky…..
as we meandered down
along the Meander River

We laughed till we cried.

And we cried till we could laugh again.

We encouraged and learnt from each other.

We talked into the night,

we shared;

thoughts, ideas, experiences

and even clothes

as for a time I felt like I was on school camp again

but this time able to enjoy it – secure in my age (and of course no rules!!!)

Me and my other friend
did I say we were crazy? No, we were just happy.
As was Sage
Learning….
to trust….

And just when we thought it could get no better,

A day on the beach.

And honestly, truely, believe me, unless you have done this,

you will not understand

THERE ARE NO WORDS……




 

Going nowhere…..

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.

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My Ruby and her rather showy saddle

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Banjo – just look at that 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.

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Banjo and Ruby

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 🙂

 

 

It’s all about ….

It’s all about the right horse, I was told by those who know best. And those who know best are, of course, those who ride all the time.
So why would I doubt them?
After all, they are regular riders who know horses well and are, I was told, the people one should ask for advice when embarking on a riding adventure.
Except, precisely Because they are riding fit and do so all the time, perhaps they are Not the people to ask?
What do I know? I set off to the gym confidently believing if I did the exercises (squats, sit ups etc) as prescribed, for a few months, I would be fine, as it all depended on having the right horse 😳
So there I was, with dire warnings from many friends about the madness of this adventure; the pain I was going to feel in unmentionable parts of my body, the risk I was taking, still ringing in my ears. My stomach slightly knotted as my brain tried to convince my body that those that Know, say I’ll be fine, it’s all about the right horse.
So I waited for Howard from African Horse Co to arrive at our meeting place, Farm 215. at the designated time of 10am having overlooked of course that the riding world runs to its own clock – dictated by where the horses wandered off to graze; how the old car felt that morning (riding in my limited – very limited experience seems synonymous with old cars – the cost of the one mode of transport dictating the cost of the other 😜), which saddle was where etc.
And then suddenly, after hanging around for an hour or so, there I was being handed ‘my horse’ – Luke
Far from sitting down and gently talking me through the week’s plan with words of encouragement ( the picture I had created in my head 😂) with a question/answer type session. Breyten advised; “Howard said hi”, and “up you get!” Which of course I couldn’t do without a step ladder 😂😂
Luke was a large animal – the largest of the three horses – and I was the smallest, or perhaps shortest is more accurate, rider. Somehow that didn’t seem quite fair 😩.
Since there was no ladder, I needed a leg up; and that was the case every time I wanted to mount him, for the entire week! Alas? I never did get to master the art of lifting one leg as high as my shoulder, putting it into the stirrup while balancing on the other and then swinging myself into the saddle, all on one elegant motion 😂
Nonetheless before I knew it I was on the back of a large horse and off down the road to, well I wasn’t quite sure where.
Reminding myself I needn’t worry – it’s all about the right horse.
And of course it is. All about the right horse.
And the legs, and the thighs, and the back and even the feet (6 hours in stirrups and you find parts of your foot you didn’t know existed 😳)
But it is about the horse. And Luke was the kindest, most gentle soul and within half an hour I knew he would not surprise me, well not much anyway. After all he did bolt when the bus greeted him, and we shot into the bushes when the bushbuck shot out of the bushes, but as bolts go, they were gentle ones, even for me, a beginner.
His back was broad and comfortable. His walk was steady if a bit slow. I asked him to trot and he did, not reluctantly nor in mad haste. It felt like he was indulging me: you want to trot, okay we can trot. Oh, you prefer a canter, no problem, I don’t mind cantering.

When we were galloping and I could hear Sparky galloping up behind me, I prepared for Luke to increase his pace. He didn’t, he stayed reliably steady. A ‘man’ beating to his own drum.
He never embarrassed me by moving when I was trying to mount or dismount him, something I was most grateful for 😃 He waited kindly, nuzzled me when I stood close, shared my sandwiches and even, dare I say it looked pleased to see me each morning.
And at the end of 5 glorious days of riding I agreed that it’s all about the right horse.
Perhaps Howard was right when he said. “If you had to chose a husband, you would want one like Luke.   Reliable, stable, predictable, trustworthy, safe”
Did hear a small voice somewhere whisper “and boring”.

I could not be sure.

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No Regrets

As if on cue.

As if to remind me how special.

As if to highlight what was.

The clouds have settled, the rain is streaming down, the shutters rattling and I can see absolutely nothing from my windows.

The lights are on, the chimney whistling, my hair washed (and smelling of roses and geraniums the bottle tells me), a hot coffee getting cold alongside me as I sit on my bed contemplating the amazing five days I have just had.

It all began with Kate Pilcher and her http://www.globetrotting.com.au. Or perhaps with something even older, a primeval horse-man thing stirring within and disturbed again by her.

Either way, at 63, with no more than ten horse rides on my life, I bite the bait 😂😂😂

And swallowed hook, line and sinker.

I did some sit ups (clearly not enough) some squats (clearly enough), borrowed riding gear, found some Dutch courage, a sense of humour, and have lived to tell the tale.

Every day we breathe has the potential to be an adventure, at home with the dog or across a continent with a horse and new friends.

So crazy as the idea was, and against sound advice and my own ‘adult voice’ I took the plunge

No regrets :

I have seen the sky filled with light from a million stars;

I have seen the moon appear like a silver sliver over the mountains;

I have felt the thrill of half a tonne of animal galloping beneath me on a beach, alone, with only the gulls, waves, sand, sun and a solitary seal as witness;

I have felt the pain of a body used;

I have marvelled at the skill and strength of those gone before whose only means of transport was horse;

I have witnessed beauty that no iPhone can do justice to.

As I savour the solitude of Farm 215 and Bruce’s amazing food for the last time, I give thanks, I know I have been fortunate





Day 4: An easy walk 😜??

Today we went for a ride of a different sort.


A white contraption; I would like to say it was a car, except that it lacked most of what we today consider normal in a car, namely windows that open and close when we chose; similarly with the four doors, a boot that has a handle to open it with and side mirrors that one can see in.

But I complain not : it had four wheels instead of legs, a steering wheel instead of a bridle and an engine that was filled by a kindly petrol attendant and not by us carrying bales of hay!!!!

(And I later learned 400 000 km on the clock – hey who’s complaining 😂🚑🚗)
Oh did I mention that unlike Luke who could be persuaded to reverse (admittedly it took some real persuasion) on the odd occasion, our white contraption could under no circumstances be persuaded to reverse😳
Leaving Luke, Patches and Sparky in the care of others we, or at least I dragged my weary body into that contraption 😂


We drove to Danger Point just in time to see the fog rolling in. We chatted to the lighthouse manager, and read the story again of the Birkenhead which I vaguely remembered from schøol.

A British military ship, one of first iron hulled ships, arriving in eastern cape for 1852 Xhosa wars ran aground here. It was a perfectly calm night when it struck an uncharted rock miles off shore.   In 20 minutes the ship sank. All women and children were saved, all soldiers and sailors were lost.  It is unknown how many horses died, 5 made it to shore.

193 survivors, 432 soldiers and sailors drowned.

There are 46 lighthouses round the South African coast, every one with a different signal. Danger Point’s signal is three flashes, 40 second pauses, three flashes. This continues from sunset to sundown every day. Still today in the age of technology !

Our lighthouse man also told us that last year they saw 60 pairs of whales compared to the year before when they saw 200. “Ek weet nie, dis hierie (sic) climate storie”

(I don’t know it’s this climate story)

Our contraption then took us to Gansbaai where we parked at the beginning of what was listed as an easy beach walk to De Kelder.

Parked is perhaps an over optimistic description of what we did, keeping in mind we had to be able to drive off again without using reverse.

We left her boldly pointing forwards, windows open, all our riding gear and ‘stuff’ inside challenging the world to come to her and help themselves 😂😂😂

What to do- we could not put our lives on hold because our car was unlockable. So we left, trusting that our riding gear which now almost had a life of its own, so full of sweat, salt and dirt as it was would lose appeal to any passer by and they would miss the rest of the luggage hidden under a blanket😊

Or better still not even give her a second glance as she looked as though nothing of value to anyone could exist in such a rusted contraption!!!
Benchmarks, life is all about knowing the benchmarks (see my blog – the Ik 😂) so when we read

I quote :

Start: Gansbaai harbour

Finish: Klipgat caves, De Kelders

Duration: 7 km, around 4 hours

Fitness: easy, children can do this trail

Unquote

I was confident.   In my head an easy seven km beach walk suits a plump person in sandals. Well I am old and perhaps not slim but not as plump as I was thinking of when I mentioned a plump person and I certainly was not wearing sandals.

Rather I was wearing very sensible walking shoes.


We did not find this an easy walk 😳. It was a walk, following green painted signs, rocks, bricks, up and down a narrow path until we finally arrived at our target destination, de Kelders.

We sat on the deck watching the fog come in and blanket the coastline.


Wisdom prevailed and we walked back to Gansbaai along the main road.

I know, I know, not very romantic. But I have had enough adventures for one week and as good a story (perhaps even a romantic one) disappearing into the sea cause we missed the green markers in the fog, may have been, we decided to disappoint 😜


A very late lunch in Gansbaai made up for the trudge back.


And of course our white steed was still waiting, as intact as she had been when we left her. Ready to take us back to our Klein Paradijs (little paradise) for the night

A drive past Pearly Beach in the cloudy evening was rewarded by watching a family fishing together – a past time as old as time itself


And a visit to the shop local shop where I could have bought anything my heart desired, from food, clothes, furniture, books, and if I had wondered into the back rooms, perhaps even a husband 😂😂😂

I settled for an Easter egg for Julia


Ps trivia question :

1. Why Gansbaai ( as opposed to some other baai)?

2. Why is baleen whale called southern right whale?
PPS trivia answer;

1. Resident Egyptian geese found there when settlers first arrived – cannot find out what happened to them 😢

2. Was called the right whale by early whalers because it was slow enough for them to catch with their boats: couldn’t dive deeply: light enough to float once killed and had high yields of oil and baleen.

No Clothes

There is something very liberating about having no clothes.

Every morning we put on the same things.

And when we return from our rides, shower and change, it is into the same tracksuit pants and top every evening .

I intend to get into my pyjamas each night and instead crawl into bed just as I am, tracksuit and all.

My breeches, chaps, socks, (there was a clean pair; still drying in a truck somewhere I’m thinking) helmet and jacket now stand in the corner, almost by themselves, so coated are they in sweat, salt, sand, and above all memories.
Waiting for me to put them on again : safe, smelly, secure and with no choice.
It is very liberating to have no clothes 😄