Trail Log: 5-28-2021

 

• Trail: Transfer Station - Old Dump - Halfway
• Miles: 6.2
• Riders: Self
• Horses: Jack
• Dogs: Hank

Notes: I intended to take both horses today but Drifter has decided to play hard to catch. I put Jack on the other side of the trailer out of view thinking that would help me catch the little bugger. It didn't. I guess you can't blame the guy. The last time he willingly let me catch him, we threw him down and adjusted his attitude - aka: gelded him. 

I'm too old to play games with a yearling full of piss and vinegar. If I have to play, I'm playing by my rules.  I put the halter down and picked up one of Blakes heel ropes. I'm no team roper, but if that inky black little hellion had horns, I would have had him on the first throw. I got two good swings in and let it fly as he buzzed by going 9-0. I swear he knew exactly how long that rope was. The loop flew over his ears as I let loose of the coils in my left hand. There was a good 10 feet between me and the tail end of the rope as it settled over his ears and dropped on top of his nose. Crap. He didn't break stride...flipped his nose in the air and left 35 feet of four strand poly fiber in the dirt. 

I'm retired. I can do this all day. I recoiled and kept him moving around the pasture. His circles got smaller and slower. I didn't want to swing and miss again. I waited until he ran himself into the covered lean-to. After catching his breath, he turned to dart back out. I didn't have room or time to swing overhand. I made a lucky back-handed swing that caught us both by surprise. I had no intentions of holding on to the rope...gloves or no gloves. I pulled just enough slack it wouldn't slip off and watched as a black blur of horseflesh found a couple more gears - the nylon rope flapping behind him. 

Playing hard to get soon lost it's appeal. I guess he figured out if he wanted the rope off - I was his best bet. I reeled him in, haltered him and tied him next to Jack. I brushed him down, gave him a cookie and returned him to the pasture to sulk while Jack and I headed out for our ride. 

I hauled down The Sag road and parked at the old dump. I remember coming here as a kid with my dad when it was still the actual dump site. To this day, I have a weird fondness for going to the dump. Back then - you could rummage through mountains of discarded trash looking for hidden treasures. Now, there are signs at most dumps: "NO SALVAGEING" - I don't get that. It's the ultimate in recycling and everyone is supposed to be all about recycling/repurposing, There's a lot I don't get about the world we live in today. Why should dump day be any different. 

The old landfill has been filled in for the most part. A few scraps of metal here and there with the addition of the usual human tendency for trashing their surroundings. While I did my best to ignore the litter around me, ignoring the overly friendly man coming out of his camp trailer proved more difficult.

He was fishing, or would be, at the Sag. He'd pulled in the previously night at 11:00 PM. He had horses at one time..or maybe he borrowed them. Riding alone in the wilderness was something he enjoyed. He relished the solitude and silence experiencing nature solo provided.  Really Dude...because you haven't stopped yapping since I unloaded my horses. I wasn't rude. I mostly nodded and agreed with an occasional half-ass attempt at a smile. He tried to approach Hank a couple of times. He has border collies - or had at one time. He wondered if Hank was like most border collies and bit everything that moved. I laughed and said not everything...he wasn't much of a cow dog. I refrained from telling him that Hank wouldn't bite anybody or anything. Still, Hank was more stand-off''ish with this person than I've seen.

Shortly after - another man arrived and set up a rifle target across the draw. I asked him which way he'd be shooting and told him I'd head out the other direction. He agreed that might be a good idea. I climbed aboard Jack and made a hasty retreat as the camper dudes attentions turned to the shooter guy. 

We rode to the top overlooking the valley. A beautiful view...pictures would not do it justice. Growing up here - I've never appreciated how pretty this valley is. We ran into 6 or 8 curious elk. Too curious for my liking. They ran straight toward us. The bull was especially bold. I don't know anything about elk - but if a moo cow was coming at me with head held high and blowing snot - I'd get the heck out of dodge. I waived my arms and whistled until he cut off down the draw out of sight. The rest of the herd regrouped and did the same. 

We started back after reaching the top. A group of ATV'ers were on their way up the steep climb. We passed at least 25 dirt bikes, side-by-sides and four wheelers. They must have rode in from town because other than yappy dudes camper, there wasn't another vehicle in sight. 

Shooter man and yappy dude's vehicles were gone when I reached my truck and trailer. I unsaddled, Jack jumped in the trailer and we made our way back to town. 

I've been working up an arena on my property here in Halfway. It's probably the rockiest patch of dirt this side of Craters of the Moon. Every pass with the disk, harrow or rock rake pulls up more rocks. Some of them the sized of three bowling balls. I think the only real solution is to have fill dirt hauled in. In the meantime, I've picked up every rock larger than a golf ball. 

I haven't shot since winter in Arizona. I decided to set up a course on my rocky, no fence, dusty arena and give it a go. Jack was flawless, I hit every balloon and so far, the only pain and suffering is in every muscle in my body from picking up rocks for two weeks. I've embraced the fact that this arena will never be ideal ground for hauling ass and sliding stops. I don't do that anyway! It's good enough for loping around working on things other than speed. In the infamous words of my grandpa Emmet: It's good enough for who it's for." 

Yet another arena rock. More like a boulder...ugh