The next morning starts as soon as the sun begins to rise. Dad, who is the one that does the bulk of the camp set-up, is usually the first one up. By the time the rest of us crawl out of the sleeping bags there is a roaring fire, and a big pot of coffee staying heated on it. Coffee is never stronger then when it is sitting on a rock next to the fire. After a hearty breakfast of bacon,eggs, hash browns and sausage gravy it’s time to saddle up the horses. This usually takes a good hour between saddling them up, and adjusting the kids’ stir-ups to fit their legs. Saddle bags are packed with waters, pops and snacks.
It usually takes dad a few minutes to get his ride Zach to settle down, before we can hit the trails. Dad’s horse, and I mean dads horse exclusively is an Arab Morgan. He has the large size of a Morgan and the speed of an Arab. Zach knows he is dads and dads alone, but still gets feisty whenever we are gearing up for a ride. It takes a few minutes of this huge horse dancing around, and testing dad on who is boss. Zach has all of us afraid to be near him at that moment. All of us except for dad. I think part of Dads love for Zach is due to the huge horses strong will.
Mabel Ann rides along side of Dad. She also has a horse that likes the lead, but usually Zach will win out. The kids, Robby and Janelle are always put on the most docile of horses. Janelle rides Rambo, the most obedient of the horses. Rambo is a paint, and holds his head high, as if he knows he is the chosen one for the kids. Robby gets to ride one of Mabel Ann’s horses that is thoroughly trained and obedient as well.
I usually always take the back end of the trail ride, with the two kids between Dad, Mabel Ann and myself, on Caper.. When I first purchased Caper, he was a beautiful muscular registered thoroughbred. I remember when I bought him, I had come out to take a look at a Tennessee Walker, when I looked over my shoulder and saw Caper prancing around a corral. Dad and I looked at each other, and then back at this beautiful copper colored giant. Caper is 17 hands high, with a shiny coat, and both of us fell in love with him. The Tennessee Walker was half the price of Caper, but at that moment, it didn’t matter. We wanted Caper in the pasture with the rest of dads horses. Got to hand it to my X, who took the news of the expensive Caper in stride.
By the time we were on this particular ride, Caper had changed quite a bit. Washington winters with all of its rain, can mean the horses may not hit the trails for a good 7 months out of the year. This year was one of those years. The previous year we had taken the horses to The Trails End, an indoor arena, to compete in barrel races and games. It was an informal get together at the Trails End, usually with beginners or two to three year riders. Time restraints and a new owner of the Trails End, had made winter riding impossible this year.
And Caper looked it. Once we bought him, Caper’s personality came shining thru. It took a few months for Dad to catch on that Caper was bullying and stealing the other horses breakfast and dinner. Caper put on a large amount of weight between the long winter, not being exercised sufficiently, and eating more then his share. Not dangerously overweight, but not the shining example of horse flesh I had originally purchased. His thoroughbred days on the racing track would have ended, had that been his purpose. Caper was now like a big lazy child, who didn’t want to do the long hikes into the mountains.
A few day rides had shown he like to drag his feet, making him and his huge self stumble often on the trails. My horse had psyched me out. Now when I rode him, part of me was always ready for all 17 hands of horse to go tumbling to the ground. I wasn’t necessarily fearful, just ready. This ride would have me fearful. I enjoy riding very much, but to the experienced equestrian, I would be seen as nothing more then a novice. Mabel Ann had never quite warmed up to me, and part of it I think was due to the fact, that she saw me as an amateur trying to play with the big kids. If those were her thoughts, she was 100% correct. But not being proficient, has never stopped me from enjoying trail rides completely.
Dad is such a charismatic fun person, who listened to people intently, and his gift for exhortation drew people to him. Mabel Ann had become like dads adopted daughter. I was daddy’s little girl from the beginning, so to an extent there was almost a sibling rivalry in attitude between us. Where riding was concerned, she won hands down. (bitch! I’m kidding, I’m kidding.) 
Well, sort of… Mabel Ann was an all around sweet, talented and kind cowgirl.
Mabel Ann was choosing the path this ride. (a fact I never quite forgot) I knew it would be one of the longer rides I had done, and it was. Caper, played his game in the beginning, dragging his feet and tripping over them. It irritated me, and had me a little on edge. But as we kept riding, I started to relax and enjoy the scenery. We started to climb a few steep hills, but the trees and the moss and the blue skies will always be remembered as the best high I’ve ever had.
Janelle and Robby were fantastic riders, having both spent the previous winter learning gaming in the indoor arena at The Trails End. They knew how to ride and direct their horses well, and had a confidence, that can only be attributed to the fact that they were kids, and had no fear. We had been riding for a few hours when we rounded a bend that was so narrow, it could only be ridden single file. Being the last in the trail, I didn’t spot the steep cliff we would be riding along side until it was too late.
One of my many fears has since childhood has been heights. More specifically, cliffs. And here I was, on the tallest horse of the group, riding along a steep cliff. I promptly froze, and then panicked. Panicked in the sense of a full out and out anxiety attack. I pulled Caper to a complete stop, and screamed! “DAD! I can’t do this!!! This is too steep!!! We need to turn around!” The rest of the group came to a complete stop. I almost had him convinced, except for the fact that there was no where to turn around. I looked down the cliff, panicked some more and screamed NOOO!!! I CAN’T DO THIS!!!” I NEED TO GET OFF OF THIS HORSE NOW! Dad tried the gentle approach, “Teri, there is no where to turn around. We are almost thru it.” I immediately started to cry, saying “I can’t move!! I can’t do this!”
His next attempt was psychology, or manipulation. “Teri, the kids are watching you! You don’t want to scare Janelle and Robby do you?” My reply was to sob, and say “I don’t care! I’m scared!” I tried to climb down, but there was no room to step down. Just a cliff and the side of the mountain on the other side. And now I panicked over being trapped, just sobbing and repeating, “I can’t do this!!!” Leaving dad with his only other way to approach me, “Damn it Teri!!! We have to go forward! Knock this shit off!! Do you want to spook the horse and both of you end up going over!!! (It really wasn’t a question) Which only served to remind me of what a lazy klutz my horse was too. I sobbed some more, just a little quieter now. “Teri, we have to keep moving. NOW!!”
Still sobbing, I urged Caper on with a nudge and “clck clck” (That sound doesn’t type well.) The whole time holding my breath, trying not to look down, praying.Consciously counting the times Caper had already tripped on flat ground, petrified of the results if he chose to trip now. We were off of the cliff within 10 minutes, but for me it seemed like 10 hours. I still remember the look on the kids faces. Calm, unafraid and getting bored with my theatrics. I couldn’t see Mabel Ann’s face, and that probably was a good thing. Ten more minutes and we were back on a dusty wider flat dirt road, with no rocks for my klutzy horse to trip on. I sighed and exhaled slowly, ready to fall asleep from the adrenaline pump and fear.
I relaxed enough to loosen poor Capers reins a bit, allowing him to slow to his lazy pace. We fell about 40 feet behind the other horses, but at the moment I didn’t care. Neither did Caper, who at the next second, tripped and went all the way down on his side. As he headed to the ground, I pushed off of him and ended up in a heap in the dust right along side of him. Fortunately his legs were pointed away from me. He hopped up, and I sat in the dirt and cried like a baby. Now covered in dirt from head to toe, I realized my fellow riders had not stopped, or looked back. All I could think about was, what if he had tripped on that cliff. This thought kept me near hysteria for the rest of the ride back to camp.
What little pride I had left after coming off the cliff, now was laying in the dirt where my trusty steed (sarcasm) and I had fallen. When we got closer to camp, dad looked back to see my dirt and tear stained face. I’m sure I lost some of his respect that day in the mountains. But at that moment, I couldn’t have cared less. I don’t remember doing a helluva lot of riding after this trip onto Hell Mountain. I got back on Caper that trip, but not for long. The rule being, when you fall, get right back on. From then on out, I was very cautious of committing to a trail ride, especially if Mabel Ann was picking the path.
Robby remains an excellent rider, a complete natural whether trotting, walking in the hills or racing his grandfather. To my knowledge he has never beat him in a race, but he looks damn good while trying. Having sold Caper and moving to Arizona, I’m pretty sure my riding days are over. But the peaceful feeling of a slow walk throw the mountains on the back of a horse stays with me. As does the ride thru Hell, that ultimately ended in my disgrace.
Close it Up
Cowgirl Down & Disgraced II
