Happy trails

Hey, Bunny here,

So everybody knows by now about our vacation up in the Canadian Rockies. What everybody might not know, is that I, Bunny, had a birthday en route. So Dad, being the Best Dad in the Whole World promised he would try to get me up on a horse sometime that day (Because he knows I'm a horse fanatic). Unfortunately it was a long day of traveling through the foothills of Montana, and by the time we reached the little town that was our stop for the night a massive dust storm was rolling in. We barely had time to get inside the Pizza Hut (which was seriously one of the most modern buildings in town) before visibility was nil.

Several days later, after we had crawled along a mountainside in Glacier National Park, passed through customs into Canada (a truly harrowing experience for Bird and I, the others thought it was easy), and rolled through the glories of Banff, Dad declared we would rest for one day in the town of Hinton. We had nothing planned for the day except a trip to the laundry-mat.

Suddenly Dad sprung a surprise on me. He had located a ranch, Entrance Ranch, about five miles away that gave trail rides lasting from one to five hours. We decided on two hours, as being not too long, but long enough to see some real scenery and have a good long ride. Unfortunately we forgot to tell the other riders, Dashman, Bonny, and Cousin A, that the ride was going to be longer than half an hour. The ride was scheduled for after lunch and at the appointed time we drove off to the ranch.

Now I've been on trail rides before where the guides treat you like dimwits who can hardly tell one end of the horse from the other. You are herded carefully behind chain link fence and told to wait while extremely bored stable hands lead your worn out pony (who by now could walk the trail backwards and blindfolded) to the mounting block. They practically hold your hand as you mount, then hang onto the lead rope as the others mount. When you pick up the reins they stare at you in amazement and say, "How did you know to do that? Have you ridden before?"

This place was not like those places. A quiet, friendly old Canadian cowboy let us walk right into the barn where the horses stood in four large open stalls big enough to hold two horses. He asked us about our riding experience. We explained that Dashman and I had been taking riding lessons for a few years and Cousin A and Bonny had been on a few trail rides before. As we talked a sleek grey barn cat padded out of the tack room and began to weave among us, begging for someone to pet her. I complied and Dad struggled for several minutes to get a good picture of her.

Me and my Appaloosa "Rocky"

Beginning with Bonny the cowboy began pairing us up with horses, placing her with Buttermilk, a stocky palomino mare I was sure had some draft blood in her. He described her as a good walker, but also a little pushy. Dashman was given Alpine, a stately black horse who was tall enough to accommodate Dashman's long legs. Cousin A mounted Cisco, a flashy red chestnut who had led on the trails long enough to be a steady ride. I believe I got the jackpot, though with Rocky, a scrubby little Appaloosa the cowboy told me could be a little poky. As Dad settled the final issues with liability papers with the cowboy I tried to offer Bonny some advice on the correct position to sit in, how to steer and to always, always keep her heels down. Cousin A later told me that she heard some of what I was saying and wished she could have gotten some advice too, as she felt totally clueless.

The trail started out winding slowly through the woods, the guide first on his horse Prince, then Cousin A on Cisco, Bonny and Buttermilk, Dashman and Alpine, and finally Me and Rocky. Now if you've ever been on a trail ride you know that they usually have two guides, one in front and one in back. I considered it an honor that the guide trusted my riding ability to place me in back. The first hour was fairly uneventful as we walked slowly down the trail that had been walked in so many times it was worn down almost a foot below the rest of the ground. Pine trees towered on either side of us and the forest floor was thickly layered with almost neon green moss.

Anyone who has mastered the faster gaits of horseback riding (ie. trotting, cantering...) knows that just walking along at a steady plod can get really old really fast. I was lucky with my 'poky pony'. Sure he would lag behind a little bit, widening the gap between him and Alpine, but only so that he had the opportunity to trot to catch up. If there were two ways around a certain tree or boulder, Rocky would be sure to take the path the others had not. I couldn't help being delighted that the little horse thought just like I did.

Rat flats and some friendly conversation

Ahead of me the guide, Cousin A and Bonny were engaged in a friendly conversation about the scenery, the horses and what we were doing in Canada. As we passed Rat Flats, a sunken lake that had once been home to hundreds of muskrats, the guide told us that we could trot if we wanted to. I spoke up to ask if we could. Trotting is another one of those things the trail rides at home just don't do. After a few more minutes we climbed back into the thick trees and I figured the fun part of the ride was over, just more plodding until we got back to the barn. I was so wrong.

We were in the Canadian Rockies, okay? So this big mountain looms up in front of us. I thought, 'Oh boy! We get to climb the mountain!' I mean the trail we were on led right up the side of the mountain, straight ahead of us! What did our guide do? He turned. Away. Parallel, not up. Grrrr. We plodded on. Suddenly the guide turned again. This time, we went up. WAY UP! I am not kidding, the trail was almost vertical. I was almost laying on Rocky's neck. Not quite, because the logical part of my brain was saying, 'support your weight, lean forward and rise into a two-point position so that your weight flows down through your heels and doesn't sit on his back.' The rest of my brain was going, 'WHEEEEE! I'M GOING UP A MOUNTAIN ON A HORSE!' As we climbed, we passed the trail I had originally wanted to climb. Let's just say this, if the path we were on was slanted like this - / - the other path was slanted like this- | - yeah, I'm not kidding.

So we finally got to the top and leveled out. A nice straight stretch lay before us and so we got to trot again. On top of a mountain. Cool, huh? After about ten minutes, the trail just suddenly disappeared. Into thin air. And believe me, the air up there was pretty thin. It just walked to the edge of a cliff, and stopped. Sky, trees, and heck of a big drop. What did the guide do? He turned sharply to the the side, and began to climb down a steep slope. To the side of the big drop. Whew.

The view from the ridge.

We were told that the worst was over. The rest of the ride was an undulating trail that took us steadily, but not so abruptly, back up the side of the mountain. At one point we broke through the verge of trees and walked along the edge of a cliff overlooking a spreading vista of the towering neighboring mountains thickly populated with lush pines, the coiling grey snake of the highway and between the mountains the aqua blue river shimmering in the sunlight. We left the cliff and begin a series of u-shaped dips. The horses would pause at the top of each while the horse before climbed out, then they plunged into the dip, going at a fast trot to gain enough momentum to get out again. We started to get tired and Dashman and Bonny's saddles kept sliding to one side. The guide showed them how to readjust, then we continued on our last leg of the ride.

At last we came out of the woods and walked slowly but steadily up the last hill to where the barn was waiting. We ducked our heads as the horses each walked inside and into a separate stall. We dismounted and tied the horses to the feed bins where fresh hay was awaiting them. I asked the guide if I could take off Rocky's saddle and bridle, to which he agreed. The others followed my example and the guide showed us where to hang up the tack. Bonny and I grabbed some brushes lying on shelves outside the stalls and began grooming our horses. The guide told us that we could stay and groom as long as we liked, but to leave the horses in their stalls. Dashman paid him and he left us to cuddle with our mounts. Bonny and I wanted to stay for a while, but Cousin A and Dashman, surprised at having spent two hours on horses and beginning to feel it, opt to leave after taking a couple pictures.

Trail Ponies

Reluctant to leave, I hugged my big cuddly, spotted pony one last time, then hugged the other four horses for good measure. At last we all piled into the car and headed back to Hinton. All of us are saddle-sore and weary, all of us have new stories to tell (how Buttermilk kicked Alpine when he got just a little too close, how Cisco kept trying to take the lead and would get too close to the edge of the cliff, Bonny's discussion with the guide about if Rat Flats should really be called 'Musk Lake' instead or just plain 'Canada'.) and all of us are a little happier for the time we spent.

So if any of you readers happen to go to Hinton, and if you stop by the Entrance Ranch for a trail ride, and you just happen to be mounted on a scrubby little appaloosa named Rocky, give him a big hug from me.

Happy Trails!