Our first trailer was a beauty. After more than 25 years of owning horses together, we had finally been fortunate enough to buy a trailer for Bonnie to move horses to new horse trails, or to lead her own horse in the Courage therapeutic riding program, or to join the Washington County Mounted patrol for search and rescue. It was a fine trailer, complete with a tack room to haul all the accessories, food, and water necessary to operate remotely. By virtue of being a gooseneck trailer, the Hawk also had a space on which to place foam pads that could serve as a bed for those times we might want to stay overnight somewhere with the horses. Bonnie had been waiting a long time for that freedom, and she was happy.
For a short while, anyway. Two short years later, she latched on to a new Four Star trailer with living quarters, available from a dealer in Houston, Texas. Living quarters meant it had typical RV features like a bed, shower, toilet, microwave, refrigerator, sink, and cook top. Bonnie’s rationale for the upgrade was that when I retired, we could go horse camping together, marrying horse riding with the kind of comfortable exploring my parents or our friends the Hardy’s do all the time.
That was four years ago. This week, I had the chance to join her on one of those “camping” trips for the first time. Good thing, too, because I was beginning to think we had only bought the most expensive porta-potty in Washington County.
No, I haven’t done a LOT of riding since retiring. Not a lot in general, actually. To suggest that I’m a cowboy by virtue of my relationship with a cowgirl, or that I’m a competent horse rider through association would be overly generous. Perhaps more accurate would be to say that I can handle myself for a few hours in the saddle on a forgiving and mindful horse like Dundee. He takes care of me when I’m inattentive or unbalanced. Not to suggest he doesn’t have fun with me during the inattentive times or create some humorous balance issues, but I’ve never felt unsafe, and I’ve survived up to this point.
It had been a while since I’d done much real camping. My most recent experience in the last several years was with my motorcycling buddy Randy a few weeks ago, when I nearly froze to death in Superior National Forest. It was a crystal clear night, stars everywhere, Northern Lights streaking the sky, shivering in my newly acquired, very compact summer sleeping bag in a nylon tent on the first fall night when temperatures flirted with 32 degrees. Now THAT’s camping. We were in the middle of nowhere, in the elements, with only a match stick, some beef jerky, a flashlight, and whatever clothing would fit in our side saddle bags. So this week I was looking forward to a (warmer and more comfortable) repeat. albeit with a live-aboard cook this time.
Our destination was the Upper Sioux Agency state park near Granite Falls, at the confluence of the Yellow Medicine and Minnesota rivers. It has historical significance in that it once served the Sioux and other tribes of indians when they were forced onto a twenty mile wide reservation along the south side of the Minnesota River to clear the way for southern Minnesota and northern Iowa settlers. We arrived in the middle of the day after a nearly four hour drive. A ride on one of the trails along the river bottom for an hour and a half stretched things out and gave us a chance take a look around. After brushing and feeding and watering and grazing and tying the horses to their high lines, we started our “camping.” That evening, I showered, enjoyed a warm meal cooked on the stove, and crawled into a nice, very comfortable warm bed in our camper. Quite a different experience from the wilds of northern Minnesota. I wondered if this could really be called camping. The only common element with the experience weeks earlier was the campfire.
Back to the riding. As these pictures show, my wife and her horses have a lot of fun with me. In this picture, you can see the start of one of the horses favorite games, "Wishbone." That’s where I take the horses for a walk to graze in green grass, and one turns to the grass on the right and one turns for the grass on the left. Then they pull. Fortunately, Trace never drifts far from Dundee, so I’ve learned to hold on to Dundee and let Trace go. After Dundee and I proceed for a few feet, Trace realizes he’s the chump in the game, and returns to my grasp - only to do it all again in a few minutes.
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| My Normal View |
Trace is a gaited Rocky Mountain horse. That means he’s considerably faster than Dundee. A point he likes to demonstrate on the trail. That leaves me to constantly push Dundee into a trot to catch up. I think it’s deliberate on their part, because the trotting reduces my seat tolerance, potentially shortening the ride, they hope. Occasionally I like to trump Trace, as I did on this occasion, shortcutting a switchback, suddenly appearing in front of him. He was not happy, prancing and dancing against the reins as Bonnie laughed and held him back.
Another favorite game of Dundee’s is “Low Branch.” If I’m not strictly paying attention when we approach a tree with a branch about the height of my chest while on a horse, Dundee heads straight for it in an attempt to dislodge his rider. Of course it doesn’t (I’m too good for that…?), but it does induce some interesting gymnastics on my part. Fortunately, most of the time I’m on to him, and it gives me a chance to reaffirm who’s boss.
One of my darling wife’s favorite games is “You go ahead - it’s okay.” In this picture, we are in the river giving the horses a drink. When we approach any water, Bonnie says, “you go ahead - it’s okay.” That brings back vivid memories of that line delivered in Lake Elmo park as we approached an innocent creek, which she suggested we simply cross. It had a bit of a bank on both sides, so following instruction, Dundee and I stepped off the near bank into what seemed to be solid footing in the water. it wasn’t. Rather, it was a soft mud, which caused Dundee to go down on his knees and on to his side. It was fall, like now, and the water was plenty cold, and the two of us competed to see who could get up and out first. He won. That image replayed in my mind as we stood at the edge of the Yellow Medicine and she said, “You go ahead.” I didn’t fall for it. Bonnie and Trace went first, and I stayed out of the water on his back while Dundee drank.
We had three entirely relaxing, scenic rides through the park over three days. At the same time, we learned some history (the reservation is down to about 450 acres with about 60 resident indians and a casino). Following those three rides, my body felt better and less sore than it has in some time. No back ache, no sore joints, not even an aching rear. Maybe that’s why they call it therapeutic riding. I’m really looking forward to the next camping trip, though I need to come up with some new games.
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| My Favorite Riding Position |
A footnote: Bonnie informs me that this was not our FIRST camping trip in this trailer. Our first was a trip to the Black Hills in South Dakota. But that was so long ago, I had forgotten...
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