Riding for the Brand

Before we load the horses, we always tack them up instead of packing our saddles and headstalls along in the back of the truck. We have a stock trailer made for hauling cattle, so we don’t have a tack room built in. The horses are currently out in the big pasture behind our house, so someone’s gotta take the ATV out there and run them all into a smaller area where it makes it easier to catch one of them. Believe me, I’ve caught horses out in the big pasture, and unless you rope them, it’s a game.

“Missy” and “April” in the stock trailer during a range day.

We tack up and load the horses into the stock trailer. Our range is about an hour’s drive, or even two depending on the roads and where we want to unload the horses. Usually we unload them at Hat Creek Ranch, which is our ranch (700 acres; we’ve got a thousand in the valley) in the hills, and the reason that we got the range in the first place.

Dad on “Ginger” and “Gypsy” riding herd.

We ride out, and sometimes we have to ride for most of the day before we find any cows. There are a few days a year when we don’t find cows at all, and we just go on a rugged trail ride for the whole day. The cows are monitored to keep them off the creeks and other places we don’t want grazed. A lot of the day up there are just spent moving thirty head of cattle higher, or lower, and onto forest.

Moving cow-calf pairs on the forest land.

Dad will pay me for these days on the range, and if I remember to write it down, I make some pretty good money for riding. Most days up there are about five or six hours long, but sometimes you have a fluke. I remember when I was sick (oh, the irony) with a cold, we rode about twelve hours. Dad figured the mileage out, and that makes approximately forty miles that day. Then there have been a few days where you only ride two hours.

We stop for lunch about halfway through the day, and take a break by one of the range’s many springs and creeks. It isn’t green on the hills, of course, but there are a lot of draws that are filled with trees and brush, and a little water is running through them.

Stopping for a break in Big Hat Creek.

On a longer day, the cows will be moved, and we’ll be riding out at dusk. Sometimes it gets to the point where its dark all together. Hopefully we’re on a road heading back to truck, and not stuck on some mountain, but if that happens, the best thing to do is trust your horse. We walk when we get in rough country, but in the dark, the horse can see better than you anyway!

Driving back is either a time for conversation, or sitting there staring into space, too tired to open your mouth. A lot of times, it’s dark by then, and I wonder what people think, seeing those headlights coming off the hills!

We unsaddle the horses, and let them out, and then go up to the house to eat something, because by that hour, you’re hungry! My friend and I would joke that anything tastes good when you come off the range!

To start the year out, we had about fourteen horses. I think. Then, I found an orphan mustang colts in the hills, left behind after a round up. And we also found craigslist. So now we have twenty horses.

Since it’s winter in the Pahsimeroi and this valley makes snow look pretty good, I decided to take my camera out and snap some shots. Horses in the snow are fairly photogenic, so I tramped out to the remuda to get some photos.

This is Jassi, my sister’s old but very sweet Arabian mare. Sometime my sister will get on and ride this mare around with no headstall or saddle.

Bonny was a BLM mustang for the first part of her life, a pack horse for quite a few years, and finally a kids horse for some friends of ours. When we got a hold of her she was already old, but she logged many a patient hour with my sisters and I on her back, learning to ride. Now she takes the youngest kids in my family out on little rides around the ranch.

Jingle, one of two Belgian draft horses we have around.

The other half of the team, Belle. In spite of being blind in one eye, she pulls her own weight when it comes to a wagon.

My dad’s big mare Ginger had a rough start when she slipped off a trail on the range. After rolling ten or fifteen times down the side of a mountain (minus my dad, who managed to get off). She dislocated her front leg and was laid up for the winter. After a lot of prayer, we had a vet come out to look at her in the spring and he told us she was sound. She’s never taken a lame step since.

This little horse I got a few weeks ago from a breeder in Montana. She should grow up pretty athletic and really be able to cut a cow. I can’t wait to start her under saddle!

It would take me a while to get photos of all of ‘em, but I hope that you enjoy these few photos. Check back often for more news from Alderspring ranch!

A while ago, one of our friends got engaged. Since she was going to be married, she could no longer keep her two horses. They were both Arabians, although only the mare had official papers. The mare was seventeen and cute, with a coat that was long and soft even during the summer. She was also very “filled out.” The other horse was a gelding, about four. He was black with a light build and a beautiful head. We gave the owner $500 for each and took them home.

I let the gelding take a few weeks to settle in before training began. Although I had some previous experience with horses, those had been tolerant of my mistakes. This horse was different; he would take no nonsense. I can’t remember exactly what facet of training I began with, but I recall teaching him to lead. I didn’t know much about training a horse and I thought that the best thing for conveying that I wanted him to move his feet was trying to pull his neck off with the lead rope. That didn’t work. At all.

I went in to my mom, discouraged and upset. She told me that horses responded to pressure and release, and that if I wanted to teach the horse to lead, I had to pull on the rope with a firm steady pull until he took a step. Then I was to release the pressure I exerted on the rope and in this way he would learn that whenever he took a step, I would stop pulling on the lead rope. I taught him to lead using this method, and finally, he followed behind me without any pressure at all.

Many triumphs (and failures) followed this breakthrough. Through trial and error, I taught him to accept a saddle with all of its strange weight and hanging leather. He allowed me to handle his feet and tie him up without too much trouble. I even named him. Eventually, I realized that Sable was ready to ride, but I was too scared to get into the saddle. I had heard of horses that bucked when first ridden.

We had a friend over and were saddling our other horses and preparing to ride, I put my saddle on my gelding. Sable stood for the saddling, and, since I had worked previously on a little weight in the stirrups, I faced him toward a fence and mounted him. My sister was nearby and she led him around with me sitting proudly in my new saddle (I had bought it not long before) on my new saddle horse.

As soon as I had taken the first short ride, I dismounted and ran up to the house to tell my parents. I was so proud. There was only one thing that dampened my spirits a little. The next day we were leaving for a two week trip to my grandparents’ house.

When I returned from the trip I found a strange horse waiting for me. This horse looked like my little gelding, but he was pushy on the end of a lead rope and spooked. He was nothing like the horse I had left behind. I don’t know if I cried, but now that I think about it, I am pretty sure that I must have. I had a miserable day with him.

I began to look for a way to improve my horse.

I heard about round-penning techniques and one day, I tried them. I worked the him in a corral, running him around and around. I watched for the signs of submission, like licking his lips or dropping his head until it hovered a few inches above the dust. I waited. Eventually, and to my great relief, I saw the things I wanted to see. I turned my back to him and let him stop. Soon, I had him coming to me when my back was turned, and soon after, he was following me around the corral.

Since this was my first horse that I had trained, I didn’t understand the gravity of working with him nearly every day. I worked with him when I felt like it. Because of this short-coming, I made slow progress. Whatever things that I taught him one session were soon forgotten.

One day, long after I rode him the first time, I got up the courage to put a foot in the stirrup once again. He shifted his weight to stay under me, but other than that, he stayed where he was, held by my dad. I mounted him all of the way, throwing my leg across his back. Then Dad led him around with me on him. We repeated this procedure fairly often, but still not every day.

Then disaster struck.

Sable suddenly got it into his head that he didn’t want me on his back. He would jump away when I tried to mount, and began to crow-hop a little. I decided that it was time for a do-over. I began to educate him with the saddle over again.

About this time, although I don’t know what possessed me, I began to shop around for another horse. I wanted a Quarter Horse, big enough for jobs that required more than endurance. A local rancher raised some very nice stock, so Dad and I went down there to see what he had. He had a young filly, three years old. She was built solid as a rock, with near perfect conformation. She was shy of people, having never been around them much. We brought her home. I nearly had my heart set on a Palomino, but she was a bay. I didn’t like her at first; my initial plan was to sell her after I had her broke and finished. I don’t think that will work out now…she really grew on me.

Dad and I had agreed that I would work with the horse at least five days a week. He helped me build a corral in our barn for working the critters, since it was winter and cold, and I started. Since the filly wasn’t broke to lead (you could hardly touch her), I would lead Sable in and the filly would follow along. Then, quickly, I would take the Sable out and tie him outside the barn where the other horse couldn’t see him.

It went very well. Really, there isn’t much left to this story, since this is where I am right now. I am beginning to like working with them almost every day, and they have already made amazing progress. Sable is becoming more and more comfortable with the saddle, and the filly is trusting me enough to let me touch her.

I realize now that although I thought I was teaching the horses, they really were giving back all that they took. I have learned a lot just working with them both. I enjoy working with my two horses, and I am thankful to God and my parents for giving me so much help with them both.

Anyway, look for more posts and pictures on this blog soon. I haven’t totally figured the software out yet, hence the lack of photos. I hope to have some up soon!

 This is the story of my beloved horse, April.

I will tell the tale as I remember it.

I was eight years old when our neighbor’s son came to sell us two horses:  Shippie and April. I think it was even my eighth birthday, and I had just received a horse blanket.

Dad tried her out first. Then he let me try her. My older sister got Shippie and I got Ape (our nickname for April).

One day, some time later, I was riding April on a cattle drive. Along came our neighbor,and she asked me, “Do you think that you can handle her?” I was not sure what she meant, but I replied, “Yes.”

I found out later, what our neighbor meant.

It was a wintry day, and dad needed us to follow on horse back and trail the cows while he led them in the feed-truck. April started acting up, and bucking. ( I was only quite little then, and I may have just thought that it was bucking, but dad told me she was.) Dad took off her bridle and saddle. I got in the feed truck. I remember watching her run around the feed truck stealing bits of hay, and wondering if I would ever ride her again.

I was afraid, but I felt a bit guilty for not riding her, and it made me feel like a coward. Dad told me to carry a stick and remind her I was boss when she started acting up by giving her a little smack on her withers. We would pray before the ride, that April, “would be good today.” I never fell off, but I was still scared, and when we would go on rides, I would ask everyone who was riding, “You guys, can we please walk?” because I was afraid to go fast.

Not long after, a new ranch-hand came to our ranch. He rode April and loved her.

That young man rode April on the range all summer, sometimes 30 miles or more, and got most of the fight out of her. At his wedding, later, the guests had to write poems to make the bride and groom kiss (rather than tinkling glasses). Dad wrote an epic poem. It talked about the other “girl” that the young man had met at our ranch.

April was better, or maybe I was just older. One day I joked to My older sister, “As I grow up, and can handle more horse, April gives me more challenge.” Also, we joke that April has a large, “personal space.” Sometimes she kicks and bites other horses that get too close. This sometimes comes in useful when chasing cows: Moving too slow? Snap! She’ll bite the rump of the straggler.

I still ride her, and she is one of the main range horses on our ranch. She can go all day over rough country. She can still be a brat, but something over rules that: my love for her.

 On the ranch, we own two Suffolk Punch draft horses, by the names of Red and Snap. Basically, they are our volunteer fence-knocking down crew. This, because of immense size and weight (they could cut back a little), is easy for them, and more than one of our vehicles have marks from one of those horses itching. If you could see our Chevrolet Suburban from the front, you would know what I mean.

The real reason that we bought them is so they could pull our hay wagon with a few tons of alfalfa on it. The problem with this seemingly perfect and rustic idea is that those trouble-makers have nothing to keep them occupied… okay, constructively occupied during the summer. We are somewhat lacking in the need of plowed fields.

So getting them up and working in the winter is not only a chore, but a real rodeo. The first few minutes under harness each year are fast minutes. And I don’t mean because it was so fun, time flew. The earth shakes when they run like that. And whoever is crazy (or brave?) enough to be driving them better have a way of holding onto the reins and the hay wagon itself.

Actually, the worst part of that first run around the pasture is not the speed. The initial hitching up has got to be the most dangerous part of the whole extravaganza. When you go to hitch up a horse, you have to stand between the horses and the wagon. If you have the horses partially hitched, and something spooks them, the wagon is going to be coming right after them pretty fast. If you don’t get out of there in a hurry, you don’t get out. A guy who was working for us almost got run over doing that.

We haven’t used them this year because we have no way of getting the hay on our wagon. Our backhoe needs some welding. Anyway, the hay wagon is mounted on a few barrels instead of wheels. Don’t ask what happened to the wheels; I have no idea. Their harness is still hanging in the tack room, though, complete with enormous collars that we went to great lengths to get for them. Their necks are not large; they are gigantic.

Right now, we are just using our boring old truck and trailer, but most of us on the ranch are eager to get the team going. I just don’t want to be the one to hitch them up. I have no inclination whatsoever to get in between a ton of horse multiplied by two and a hay wagon.