Trail log: 9-26-2024

 

Me and Drifter

• Trail: WYE Campground - Tamarack - WRT SE
• Miles: 4.5
• Riders: Self - Lou Ann
• Horses: Drifter - Rainy
• Dogs: Groot

Notes: Our last morning to ride. We intended to ride Drifter and Lou's young horse River. River was feeling pretty spunky with all the commotion going on. It was a stacked decked from the get-go: 1. He'd been in the pen for two days. 2: It was a cold morning 3. The wind was blowing 4: He wasn't at all impressed with the 2 spotted mules running free in the field next to the trail 5: Leaving his buddy back at camp. 

Lou could have gotten through it, but it was clear it wasn't going to be a calm or enjoyable ride. We decided to head back and get our more solid horses out. Lou saddled Rainy and I pulled Jack out of the pen to find him gimping on his left hind. He probably stepped on a rock while running down the RR bed of rock that is the WRT. Maybe he pulled something - but there wasn't any swelling so most likely a bruised heel. Regardless, he wasn't going anywhere. I left him with River and kept Drifter saddled. Driff was good as gold and was actually less spooky of the commotion than Jack. The Tamarack Mill is a BUSY operation. It's across 95 from the WRT but it's still super noise with giant sprinklers - fork lifts - logging trucks - you name it. Jack couldn't get passed it fast enough. Drifter could not have cared less. He barely acknowledged it - dropped his head and off we went. 

We planned to keep the ride short. We took off up a steep trail heading east until it sort of faded out at the top. We side-hilled cross country until we met up with another old logging road that took us back down the to WRT and back to camp. 

It was great seeing Lou again. We hope to plan more adventures next summer when I'm back in the country. 

Lou and Rainy

PS: I fed Jack a little butte and as of this morning he seems sound and happy. 

Trail Log: 10-7-2020

 

• Trail: WRT - Galloway to Concrete
• Miles: 9.41
• Max MPH: 24.9
• Riders: Self
• Horses: Jack 
• Dogs: Hank

Notes: I practiced off J'Lo in the morning and hauled Jack to the WRT after a quick stop at Bi-Mart for dog food and primers. I see primers are hard to come by again. Go figure. :( 

October is my favorite month. So far it has not disappointed. Beautiful weather and the trail was teeming with water foul, game birds and coyote. I also ran into the guy who takes care of 85 miles of the trail. He was spraying for leafy spurge. I asked him about the trestle bridge that was washed out  past Council. He said they are going to have it replaced, but had to raise 160K dollars. It's a big project that has to be engineered. Between donations, fund raisers and grants...it sounds like they have the money. 

It was nice not having to pony. I let Jack run on the stretches where the ground isn't too gravely or littered with badger holes. He clocked out at a nice 24.9 MPH...which apparently is just under the maximum speed required to catch a pheasant in your teeth. We're buzzing along, minding our own business, when a flock of pheasant blow up in front of us. One of them dang near whacked me in the face. 1/10th mph faster and I'd have been picking feathers out of my grill! As it was, all I felt was a few tail feathers brush my cheek. It's a good thing, too...I don't have my bird stamp yet! Jack never broke stride. 

Trail Log: 11-24-2018

• Trail: Weiser River Trail - Presley to 2nd. Gate
• Miles: 8.5
• Riders: Self
• Horses: Jack
• Dogs: Shade and Hank

Notes: Taking advantage of the beautiful weather while it lasts. As soon as the sun peaked out after 24 hours of rain, wind and power outages - I saddled up Jack and threw him in the trailer. I normally have a destination in mind before pulling out of the driveway. If not before leaving the driveway, at least by the time I reach County 70. Do I go left, or do I go right? I went straight with the intentions of heading toward Steck Park. The puddles left by the last 24 hours of rain changed my mind. As wet as things were in the flats, it was bound to be slicker than snot in the clay foothills. I turned right on Indian Head toward the WRT.

This time of year is prefect weather for my dog Shade. She trotted along exploring rock formations in pursuit of the not-so-elusive rock-chuck inhabitants. It does my heart good to see her dart in and out of the river like a dog half her age.

I decided not to pony J'Lo. I'd ride her before the weekend was over. It felt good plodding down the trail, just me, Jack and the dogs. After a few days of riding a 13 hand little mare, Jack felt like a giant. I could barely get on. Seriously. I swear he wasn't that tall the last time I got on. Maybe I've shrunk? I hear as a person ages their body shrinks...except for their nose and ears. If that's true, I'm in deep dodo.

Jack has a fairly smooth, long-strided lope. Something didn't feel right. I struggled to keep my butt in the saddle. I could easily pass for a jockey, knees bent, body hunched over my steeds withers. Jack isn't one you want to give the wrong signals. A nice, leisurely lope can rapidly turn into race down the homestretch. I dismounted, snapped a couple of pictures and prepared to climb back in the saddle. I looked up at the ominous stirrup looming at what seemed like yards over my head. I was going to need climbing gear to ascend this mountain. I flipped the stirrup leathers over. Who the heck has been riding in my saddle? Whoever it was is about the size of a yard gnome. I dropped the stirrups a good 4 inches. Much better. I wasn't shrinking just yet, thank god. It's still a ways to hoist your leg but it's  doable. A couple good hops and I'm back in the saddle looking less like a yard gnome perched on an elephant.