Horseback

[JimT]

Riding along half asleep, the shotgun blast going past my head brought me suddenly awake. My horse had jumped to the side and somehow I found my pistol in my hand, hammer back, pointing at two scared young boys. It seems they had not seen me riding up the wash, just in the place they had chosen to shoot some cans out of the air. The .45 pointed at them and the startled-but-choice comments I had made frightened them into running. I thought momentarily of chasing them down and lecturing them about backstops and such and then decided against it. They might think I was going to try to shoot them and who knows what would happen.

Of course, events such as this were part of the charm of riding the open range country. You just never knew what you might happen onto. Not only was it physically demanding at times, sometimes it was downright dangerous! That’s why I loved it. Riding the canyons and mountains, whether hunting or just out for leisure, you were transported to a time and place far from today’s crowded and "civilized" world. Once you were in the back country, it might as well be 1885, for you were on your own. If anything happened, it would be up to you to get yourself out of it. Thank the Lord I never had a serious accident, but the potential was always there.

Once, packing a Mule Deer out on my mare, we had to cross a high ridge up a steep hillside. On the way, the mare lost her footing and started to get excited. I tried to get her to turn uphill so the load would not overbalance her. Just as she started to turn, she lost her footing on the right rear, the load shifted, and she fell over on her side. The mountainside was so steep that she rolled on over, came up on her feet, then fell over and rolled over again, coming up on her feet and falling over sideways five times as she rolled down the canyon. All this time, I was praying and crying and hanging onto the lead rope as it drug me along with her. Later, I was to find my right thumb cut nearly to the bone from the rope, but at the time I was too excited to feel it.

The horse slid to a stop on a little bench at the edge of the canyon’s inner gorge, where it turned down even much more steeply. Fortunately, she was shook up enough by now to just lay there until I got everything unpacked off her. The Lord had answered my pleas, as miraculously she was not injured in any way. Neither was the load she was carrying! I walked her to a spot over the ridge, carried the deer and everything up to her and repacked and went on home without any further incident. I also went home with any seat in my pants and with a bloody hand, but happy to have come off that well. If she had gone off the little bench she’s stopped on, it was a good 400 yards to the bottom of the canyon, with nothing to stop the trip.

Time and again, when miles from the nearest road, I have paused just to hear the air blowing over the canyons and listen to my own heart beating. It’s a fact that there are sounds most people today have never heard, mainly because the world they live in is too noisy and cluttered and they cannot hear those sounds in that environment. At night, camping far out of sight and sound of civilization, the only sounds heard are the crackle of the flames, the rustle of the wind and the soft sounds of the horses feeding, maybe a critter or two far off talking to the moon. It’s at times like that you can hear the voice of God.

Traveling on horseback in the deep country many times you are allowed to observe game much easier than on foot. Unless the game has been hunted form horses a lot, they usually do not shy away so much. I have ridden up to within easy eye-shot of deer playing many times. The Coati-Mundi is a shy, reclusive creature found in the Southwest. Resembling a cross between an ant-eater and a raccoon, not too many people ever see one outside of a zoo, though I have ridden up on them quite a few times. I always wanted to shoot one so I could have its hide, but never was able to bring myself to do it.

Javelina seem to be afraid of horses, yet I have ridden within easy pistol shot of herds on a number of occasions. Usually, the herds pack up and leave in a hurry, though. One night, while riding in from a 12 or 15 hour trek, I came across something that was camped upon the trail. In the dark, the horse could see but I could not make out what it was. Urging the reluctant critter close, I got up within 10 feet or so and saw that it was a whole family of skunks. There were five or six little ones and several larger ones. I pulled the horse back and jerked the.454 Casull. The first shot blinded me in the darkness, but I held a little lower and shot immediately again. The second shot did the trick, blowing skunk parts everywhere. I believe I threw up enough rocks that they were killed by debris. Anyhow, I got three or four of the smelly rascals, and stunk up the trail real well for those who were following me.

Not all horses like to be around gunfire. Most of mine got used to it, but every once in a while we would have too many in the party going out and would have to borrow a horse or two so as to seat everyone. Coming in late one night, I was leading the string down to the corrals and decided to fire a shot the let Momma know we were home, and to get supper ready. I pulled my .45 and shot into the ground out to the side of my horse. I happened to glance back about that time. The guy behind me on a borrowed horse had his feet up above the horse’s ears as the nag went to bucking and jumping, startled at the sound. Of course, it gave all the rest of us quite a bit of merriment.

The last ride I took in the canyon country was with my lifelong friend Tom Peterson. We rode out early one morning before daylight and spent the entire day riding over the hills, up the canyons, and up the mountains. It was long after sundown when we came back to the home place. The circle we made was probably not more than 25 miles, but covered some of the most God-awful rough country as you will find anywhere. At that time, the land was in the middle of a seven year drought, so water was scarce. We rode for five hours from home to the first water hole. Game had left the county and it was burning up. But is was a dandy ride! It almost seemed as if we got to see and feel the spirit of those hardy souls who pioneered the country, something the modern "westerner" has no conception of as they speed along the interstate highways in their air-conditioned cars. It was a tough country. It took a tough breed to settle it. It’s too bad there’s not much room for them anymore.

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Mule Deer taken with Model 71 Winchester .348

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Packing out the buck taken with the .348

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My Quarter Horse "Shay's Gal"

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My daughter on her Blue Roan "Morning Star"

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In the middle of a long ride, letting the horses cool off, drink some water and nibble the grass

[Walt]

Nice story, Jim. Of course, you're right about most people having no clue about self sufficiency outdoors or to even to be quiet enough to hear the surroundings without a radio blaring or traffic roaring nearby.

[Eddie Southgate]

I gave up riding the last time (3rd) I broke my back because I couldn't find a horse short enough for me to crawl on or plump enough to wear the full Quarter saddle I owned . Gave my last two horses to some local kids .

[oldebear1950]

When I was in high school, about 20 miles outside of Bakersfield, CA, was an incident in the desert outside Mohavia, CA, where a woman and her three kids drove out into the desert, the car broke down.
The car was found about 3 hours later. The family unfortunately was found about 4 days later, deceased of course, and they had wandered in the opposite direction from the road.
The county sheriff had asked for volunteers, and about 10 of us on horseback looked for the 4 days.
A high school friend of mine found them.
It was such a big thing, that in one of his books Louis La'mour mentioned that incident, to show just how unforgiving that desert country could be. Both in the past and even today.

[oldebear1950]

When I was young, we lived in both Hobbs and Farmington New Mexico. We also lived in Oklahoma, Texas, and the area around Bakersfield, CA. We spent time around the high desert area of California, near the back gate of Edwards
Air Force Base, China Lake Naval Air Station, Barstow, Tehatchapi, Victorville, and grew up on all the stories you hear in the southwest.
Back in the mid to late 1960s California was a different place. You could ride horseback in those areas, even armed, and no one said much. Most of the time you could ride for days and not see anyone.
Camp out at night just about anywhere, and all you would run into was snakes, skunks, coyotes , and once in a while a mountain lion.
Just of those who don't know horses do not care for mountain lions or snakes

[JimT]

I had an old cowboy friend who was telling me about how much his horse did not like mountain lions. He said he saw one and decided to rope it. He kicked his horse into a gallop, built a loop and just as he threw it the horse saw the lion and turned around. He said his horse turned around so fast he roped his horses butt.

[oldebear1950]

I was stationed twice in Kodiak , Alaska when I was younger , was 20 years in the US COAST GUARD.
Was 3 ranchers up there told me horses don't care for bears either. He had one almost run away on him one time.

[wvfarrier]

I have spent the vast majority of my life either on or under a horse.

[oldebear1950]

I have to admit when I was young spent a lot of my free time on the back of a horse.
When I was stationed at the USCG COMMUNICATION STATION POINT REYES, CA, rented horses so much the stable use to let me guide tourists, I got paid and rode for free, Best of all times. Was all in my off time

[JimT]

I have spent the vast majority of my life either on or under a horse.

When I was a young man I hung out with an old cowboy and he taught me how to shoe horses. Shoeing my own horses helped me a lot and I ended up working with him. We shod horses for some of the ranches for a couple years. Learned a little on how to shoe rank horses and always enjoyed times with the hands. Heard some great stories, some of which I think may have been true. Back in those days for trimming the feet and shoeing we got a whole $10.00 a horse.

[Griff]

Late November, 1970, my new bride & I were honeymooning at the Colorado River (CA/AZ border) and decided that a trail ride in the AZ desert sounded wonderful. During high school she'd been an "exercise girl" at a training stable in SoCal. I'd been a part time cowboy on a ranch during my high school weekends (but mostly rode fence in an old flat fendered jeep repairing barbed wired and replacing posts... about 30 minutes into our ride, we were crossing our third dry wash after leaving the rental stable, the four of us heard the unmistakable rattle of a diamond back warning to NOT disturb his sunning on the mostly flat rocks. I was in the lead... and didn't even have time to locate where the rattle was coming from when my horse decided to reverse course. At the time I swore that horse simply turned himself inside out in doing so and how I stayed aboard was a near miracle! It was at least 100 yards before that horse slowed and began yielding his head. By that time I'd unlimbered my Blackhawk, but nowhere near my desired target. And my wife convinced me it wasn't worth going back to look. The first of many horseback adventures. But, my favorite were always associated with my volunteering for our County's mounted posse.

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But that was many years in the future... In early 1974 I learned of a planned wagon train to leave CA in 1976 to arrive in DC for July 4th 1976... I contacted the organizers about joining, having no money, still in college, it seemed hopeless, until the guy mentioned a need for a farrier. He still needed one, and would be willing to sponsor one with wagon & gear if he could accompany them for the entire trip. So, that summer found me enrolled at La Puente Adult High School's Farrier program. Unfortunately, the wagon train fizzled in the planning phase, but my education served me well while I finished college on a "nite school" basis! I roamed all over Orange County, CA in a bright yellow 4WD p/u with racks of shoes, anvil, tools and a coal forge. I got pulled over more than once for "excessive smoke" when the coal in the box hadn't quite gone out when I left a stable or horse owner's home. At the time there was a rental/boarding stable down on the beach south of Laguna Beach and I worked there and @ Disneyland in Anaheim for a while before entering the Sheriff's Academy and landing a real job, according to my wife!

[oldebear1950]

I keep telling friends here in south Alabama that in the 1950s and 1960s California was a different kind of place than it is today.
I grad from high school in 1969, and during high school, every time I got a dime I was out riding horses.
I was never part of a Sherrif's posse, but in those days a lot of the counties would ask for volunteers to look for people on horseback.

[Grizz]

Horses and horse culture are a great legacy of history. Jim, i've read the story of the 'rolling mare' several times and i still can't quite picture it. What a horse! And how much she trusted you, what a relationship! It is a great story of goodness and mercy.

[JimT]

Horses and horse culture are a great legacy of history. Jim, i've read the story of the 'rolling mare' several times and i still can't quite picture it. What a horse! And how much she trusted you, what a relationship! It is a great story of goodness and mercy.

Thank you. I miss those days and am grateful to have had them. There isn't anything like having strong horse under you who you trust and who trusts you.