Tuesday, May 16, 2017
May 16 2017
I should have known my endurance ride weekend would be a bit off kilter, when I got to Ridecamp and I realized I forgot The Raven!!!!!!! Only the second time in over 7000 miles.
Connie's horse Finneas, Grandson of the Black Stallion, and don't you forget it, was my mount for the 55-miler in this desert canyon country. Only in this ride, Finneas forgot about the "Grandson" part, instead thinking he was the O Great One in the flesh himself.
Everything worked out well at the last ride, Eagle Canyon, when Finneas and I arrived in the morning an hour before the start. While he was still Blusterufagus at that ride, he never saw his pasture mates in Ridecamp, so he didn't know he had to defeat and lord it over them all (being Grandson of the Black Stallion and all.)
The original plan at this Owyhee River Challenge *was* for me to arrive in the morning again with Regina, but plans got scrambled and changed (hence I forgot The Raven in the chaos), and we trailered with neighbor Carol and August, arriving in Ridecamp Friday afternoon. Which meant Finneas cast his Grandson-of-the-Black-Stallion Stink-eye over his herd mates tied to the trailers all Friday afternoon and night, planning his winning strategy.
Therefore when I saddled and bridled Finneas for the start of the ride, and then led him away from everybody, to let them go start and get ahead of us, and to wait for a quiet bubble to go out, Finneas realized what was going down, and it hit him right when I climbed aboard. He was absolutely furious, and he went to hogging it.
Yes, bucking. Seriously, royally pissed-off-bucking. I think he was roaring and screaming too, but not sure. He was madder'n'a hornet in a swarm of bees in a bucket. Did I mention this horse is 18 years old now?
I stayed aboard, and I sent him charging down the 2-track road toward the river canyon (the opposite way from the start, but he didn't know that) getting his mad energy into motion. Finneas was raging, "I AM THE BLACK STALLION! (forgetting the "Grandson" part) I AM FAMOUS!" spewing smoke and fire and sparks and outrageous indignation, and, by God, he was winning this race, winning it by far since everybody else was way behind him.
After a good mighty powerful quarter mile I slowed him down then turned him around…. at which point he was totally confused. Yeah, he won this race, but where was everybody else to witness His Magnificence? Where were all the lowly slowpokes dragging in his majestic wake? When I pointed him back uphill toward camp, the explosion that had been such an utterly breathtaking performance fizzled, and we slowly trotted back up the hill, to and through an empty ridecamp and out onto the trail.
I thought I'd cleverly obtained a beautiful Bubble for ourselves; the only 2 we could see ahead of us in the distance were Karen B and Linda B. We did catch up to them after a mile or 2, and I steered Finneas in a very wide path around them, because he is so terribly obnoxious when he passes horses, climbing upward and galloping sideways and trying to get in firing range of his punk-ass rivals. Finneas haughtily passed them and trotted onward, steam-engine snorting and bulling along, when suddenly a horse-eating rock leaped out from behind a sagebrush to attack Finneas.
Zip, he leaped 10 feet to the left, zip, my saddle flipped 90* to the right, and zip, so did I. I couldn't stay on, so I fell off, looking up at His Mighteousness, Grandson of the Black Stallion, who stood there looking, I might say, somewhat embarrassed at his behavior, because really, the rock had not attacked him after all nor even moved nor even looked remotely scary. I got up, shoved the saddle back up where it belonged, snugged down the cinch (which was quite loose now, though it had been tight when I left the trailer), climbed aboard, gave Karen and Linda the thumbs up, and on we went, with Finneas a bit chagrined and better behaved.
All would have been well… except here came Errol and OMR Pristine. Normally they arrive early and ride fast up front, but that didn't happen today. They arrived this morning, started late, and caught up with me and Finneas. And because of that, and because Errol and I could not find a turn in the trail, and then Karen and Linda catching up to point us in the right direction, my nice Bubble busted, and the first loop kind of went back to hell for many more miles. Finneas isn't as awful when a horse passes him, but when he passes a horse, he is just naughty, and he can stay mad for miles. After a couple more miles of riding a snarly-gnarly blustery ball of fire, leap-frogging horses, and having to go through a gate or 2, I finally just got off Finneas and led him on foot for 10 minutes, to let everybody get way the heck in front of us. Then the final miles of the 20-mile first loop were much better now that we had our bubble back (Finneas thought he was back in front and winning again).
Back at Ridecamp for our first vet check, I remembered to both pulse down and vet in (there was no hurricane blowing to distract me, you see, like there was at Eagle), and I watched some suspicious clouds starting to build on the southern horizon. As I rode out of camp onto Loop 2 (a repeat of Loop 1), they were definitely heading my way.
"Eh, they're moving south," Robert the vet assured me, when in fact it was obviously the opposite, with Ridecamp being directly north in the path. Clearly, Robert was throwing out a bit of #fakenews, but I guess it's okay if it's done to make people feel better. I hear that's what politicians do, so the same must apply to thunderstorms, right?
The repeat 20 miles of Loop 2 was just plain pleasant, since the trail was quite easy to follow now, Finneas was winning (with 3 riders behind him and the rest out of sight and well in front of him) and easy and pleasant to ride. I got off and walked or ran down hills, and Finneas cruised along on the flats and uphills. I was Stink-Eyeing the thunderstorms out of my path, and the wildflowers were putting on their brightest colors for the event.
And then there was Loop 3.
14-mile loop 3 started out the same direction (which Finneas was not impressed with), before turning off on a shorter version of the first loops. All went fine until about mile 8ish. We'd gone through a gate, he'd had a nice pee, he'd been grabbing grass most of the loop, and I got off to lead him over an uneven trail over grass, since we'd be walking it anyway. I stopped at his favorite grass to let him get a bite… and he pawed twice.
I pulled him along and walked to the next good grass spot… and he pawed again, 3 times.
Oh, crap. My God, he can't be colicking.
I pulled him along again, trying to pretend nothing was happening, when he then pulled me over to a nice grass spot. I let him go there, presumably to eat… and he went straight down on his front knees, wanting to roll.
My horse is colicking, and I'm 6 miles from home. I yelled at Finneas and yanked him to his feet and marched him onward down the trail, trying not to panic. I did not have a map, so did not know where I was exactly… only a long way from camp with a horse who is possibly in trouble. Karen and Shyla and Andi were behind me and I kept hoping they'd hurry up already and catch me, to go for help.
I marched Finneas along, not giving him any slack in the lead rope, not letting him hesitate at all, and hoping to God I wasn't dealing with a Zayante crisis (this terrifying story is in my book), for about 2 miles before the girls finally caught up with me. When I told them my horse was colicking, and I stepped off the trail to let them by, praise be, Finneas reached down and took a bite of grass. Best thing that could have ever happened. If he wanted to eat, the crisis may have passed. The girls went on, Karen saying she'd have Robert the vet meet me at the pond, about another 3 miles down the trail.
I led Finneas onward… and he took bites of grass the entire way. What a huge relief. It must have been a gas colic episode, which can come on very quickly and be very painful, and which can go away just as quickly. I'd had some horrible visions about what I might have to deal with, as I dragged him down the trail alone. Even when a rainstorm came over us and soaked us, it was wonderful because there was no lightning, and Finneas continued to eat his way through it.
By the time we got to the pond, we'd dried off, Robert was there looking for us, and Finneas was indeed fine. Pulse was 56, excellent gut sounds in all quadrants, looking bright-eyed (his eye had never looked glassy with pain), and still eating grass. I led him on to the pond, where he had a good drink, and I just stayed off leading him the final mile back to camp, with him eating all the way. It was a good hike.
So in the end, it turned out to be a fine day over pretty trails, nobody hurt, nobody colicking, Finneas still winning (he got some applause when we arrived in camp, and greeting-ful whinnies from his herd mates) as the glorious Grandson of the Black Stallion. Quite the adventure, all without The Raven. Although I could have done without some of those adventurous episodes.
17 started the 55 with 14 finishing. Layne Simmons and Royal Immage finished first in 6:14, with second place Mike Cobbley and Talledega winning Best Condition.
23 started and finished the 25, with Jordan Lanning and the mule Out of Idaho finishing first in 3:10, and Simone Mauhl and Dudley's friend Boogey winning Best Condition.
Monday, April 24, 2017
April 22 2017
by Merri Melde-Endurance.net
Sunshine and a "breeze" was sweet redemption for Layne Simmons' Eagle Canyon ride this year, after last year's dismal weather scuttled attendance in her first time as ride manager. We're lucky to be able to ride in this area, which is on private land and which has been closed off to most activity, due to people (mostly not horse people) trashing the area.
Where the rain/sleet/wind/mud/muck caused about half of those signed up last year to opt not to ride, this year, all the Ridecampers who showed up climbed aboard their steeds for Saturday's 25 and 50.
The Pickett Crick Invasion stormed the Eagle trails. Steph/Smokey, Carol/August, Connie/DWA Saruq, Sarah/Dezzie hauled up Friday afternoon. Regina kindly hauled Linda/Ted and me/Phinneas (Connie's horse) up eeeeearly Saturday morning. Which meant my alarm going off at 4 AM, saddling up Phinneas in the dark, loading him up, picking up Linda and Ted down the road, and Regina driving us to Ridecamp, arriving at 7 AM. Perfect getting-an-early-start training for a 100-mile ride! Which, no thanks, I have no aspirations to do.
Double last year's attendance hit the trails Saturday: 26 in the 50 miler at 8 AM and 18 in the 25 miler at 9 AM. Forecast was for plenty of sunshine and "wind," increasing throughout the day. They could have just gone ahead and called it a "hurricane" and said that it would start early. For the first loop of 25 miles there was a hurricane a'blowin' on top of those Eagle foothills. Nobody in Ridecamp noticed, at first, since last year's weather was on everybody's mind. It was sunny after all!
Phinneas, Grandson of the Black Stallion (as Connie will remind you) is 18 this year, and just tough as snot. He's a Blusterufagus, always full of himself, much more so if he's ridden in company. So I rode him solo, trying to stay far enough back of his crick herd mates that he wouldn't have anything to prove. So Phinneas and I battled Mother Nature's elements together.
The Eagle foothills were rife with spring grass, layers upon layers of green, with plenty of snow on the Bogus Basin ski hills to the west (the resort was actually open for skiing this weekend, due to another dumping of recent snow). Trails were fabulously marked, and ride manager Layne rode the 50 in front of the pack on the first loop, checking trail and adding ribbons or flagging where necessary. She even rode with a terrical painful bruise and stitches in her leg, a present from a rambunctious good-spring-feeling horse a week ago.
Eagle is not an easy ride. There are a *lot* of hills in this ride (though less than there used to be!), and *lots* of badger holes to dodge. A fit horse helps, and also one that pays attention to where he puts his feet (or listens well to you telling him where to put his feet).
And really, the wind was terrific on the hilltop trails. Almost flabbergasting at times. According to my calculations, and how I felt at the end of the ride, each mile ridden in the hurricane winds was equivalent to double miles. So my 50 on Phinneas felt like approximately 75 miles! On the first loop, which started out south of camp, and made its way east, then west, then south before returning northward to camp, had me buffeted from any and all sides by the gales. Since in one direction I was literally leaning at an angle into the wind so I could stay on my horse, I was worried I'd make Phinneas sore on that side of his back. But no worries, going the opposite direction, I was leaning the opposite way, so that evened out. I tried leaning down over his neck at times, and then I found the gusts were knocking him around too.
The wind started to drive me a little insane at times. And thank goodness this horse is TOUGH and doesn't get scared at big wind. Wind was roaring so hard and loud I couldn't hear myself talking to Phinneas. Wind was blowing so hard it blew snot out of my nose. And after it did that, the wind blew down my nose and throat and out my mouth. It's rumored two juniors blew off their horses, which is easy to believe! Anyway, it was just windy.
And I'm sure I had WIMR because of the wind (Wind Induced Mental Retardation). When Phinneas and I got into camp for our first vet check, we stopped at the wonderful tub o' slop (water and oats, apples and carrots, and maybe wheat bran), right by the vet line, and waited 5 minutes for Robert to vet us through. Then I realized I had not even checked in or gotten a pulse. I'd stood there so long that Finneas' pulse was 48. So I checked in before going back to vet.
After the second 14-mile loop, with the WIMR still rattling about in my head, I timed in and got Phinneas' pulse checked… then went to my trailer for the half hour hold. When 30 minutes was up, I mounted up, checked with the timers and headed out. Robert hollered at me before I rode out of camp; I turned around and rode up to him, and he asked, "Did I vet you through yet?" Oops! Totally forgot to vet my horse! It was the wind, I swear! That and getting up at 4 AM, which is not my best time of day.
Phinneas and I finished our last 11-mile loop, completing the ride next-to-last place in 9 hrs 11 minutes. We had a fun ride despite the wind, and big treat was the badger we saw on the last loop. Normally nocturnal creatures, we startled one outside of its den. It froze and hissed at us from 50 feet away… Phinneas had never seen one before and he was impressed with its ferocity.
Dean Hoalst and Pay Attention won the 50 in 6 hrs 9 minutes, and they got Best Condition. All but 1 rider finished the 50.
Joan Zachary and Chico finished the 25-miler in 3:40. Third place Siri Olson and EZ to B Perfect got Best Condition. 14 finished out of the 18 starters.
Wednesday, April 12, 2017
April 11 2017
By Merri Melde-Endurance.net
Well, yes, there was a little of the Worst of Times too, though looking back, it's with a sense of humor and a laugh and rather a bit of giddiness at knowing you really were a Real endurance rider the weekend of the 34th Antelope Island endurance ride.
In keeping with Mother Nature's curveball of a very unusual, extreme winter for most of us (at least in most of the Western half of the country), she wasn't done yet the weekend of the Antelope ride. It had everything, in the extreme: sun, wind, rain, sleet, hail, snow (not quite in ridecamp, but just above), thunder, lightning.
But: NO BUGS! The endurance riders and horses handled the weather, but the No-see-um bugs were too wimpy. Ride management had bug hats ready to hand out to riders, but they were not needed. (The day the No-see-ums adapt to radical weather, the globe is in trouble.)
Regina (doing stats for the ride) and I (photographer) arrived after 10 PM Friday night. We congratulated ourselves having driven through some rainstorms north of the ride, and arriving in ridecamp with no rain. Surely the forecasters were wrong and it would be a fabulously dry and sunny weekend! And then sometime in the night, the rain started. Rain, hard rain, sleety-rain, wind, more rain, more sleet, more wind.
You start to think… boy, I'm glad I'm not riding. I'm glad I don't have to saddle up in the wind and rain. (Getting up and saddling up in crappy weather is the worst… if the bad weather starts when you're already riding, that's much easier.) 33 riders DID, however, buck up, get up, saddle up, mount up, and head out under dreary skies and a cold, wet, blustery wind on Day 1 (11 on the 50-miler, 22 on the 25-miler). The sun played hide and seek with storm clouds as the morning passed, and the Great Salt Lake was churned up all muddy brown and alarming gray and slime green and stormy blue, making for dramatic scenery on this mountain island State Park.
Keely Kuhl aboard EA Victory Ddannce was first and got Best Condition on the 25. The 2 engineer-cowboys (they are engineers, who dress up as cowboys, and come enjoy this one ride every year) Scott and Todd Austin finished second and third.
Bill Hobbs aboard LS Sir Gibbs finished first with Leah Cain and OT Dyamonte Santo (you'll remember this pair as winning the 100-mile AERC Championship last September, and Bill as one of their crew members), conveniently and considerately right as the Big Storm was rolling in across the lake. I'd been carefully watching and tracking the 2 thunderstorms that just skirted us, but I knew this next one was going to hit, and it was going to be a doozy.
It started raining as those two did their final vet check, then all hail broke loose. As I hunkered down in a truck, the hail started falling, then pelting, then hurling while the wind got its hurricane on. Bonnie Swiatek, who'd finished turtle on the 25, was hanging onto a blanket strap of her blanket that had blown over her panicked horse Baracha's head, effectively blinding him while he was being buckshot by wicked hail. Tonya Stroud, who was in the office trailer, bounded out to help her, slipped on the hail and landed on her butt. Several other people jumped in to help Bonnie catch and calm Baracha, and that and another horse, with a group of people huddled heads down tightly together in the lee of the office trailer during the fury of the storm.
Others caught out on trail simply had to stop as their horses did the same - turned butts to wind and hail, and head down, waiting it out. Kathy Backus was aboard Raji near a bathroom when it hit; she jumped off and ducked inside and held the reins of her horse out the door… while her horse probably wondered why she she couldn't squeeze inside also.
But the storm passed, the sun came out (with more cold wind), and everybody finished the ride in both distances, showing just how tough and durable (and, perhaps, crazy), US endurance horses and riders are.
Mara Schima, one of Christoph Schork's interns from Germany, won Best Condition aboard GE RW Carl on the 50.
The wind was such a howling annoyance that awards/ride meeting/dinner were brief, since the wind tended to blow the melted cheese out of the spoon, or the baked potato off your plate. Not much visiting went on with the weather, and the whole of ridecamp curled up and went to bed before dark.
Ride manager Jeff Stuart had a slight panic attack when, after he'd gotten undressed and crawled in his trailer bed, he saw a weather forecast that was even more horrid than what we'd already had. He got up, got dressed, and sought out his assistant Shirley, then Regina, saying "What am I going to do? Do I go to plan B? Plan C? It's supposed to be four degrees in the morning! Should we cancel the ride??" Consensus was, wait and see in the morning. He got back to his trailer, undressed, crawled in bed, still stunned that the temperature could possibly drop so low and bitter. Winter should be over, for heaven's sake!
Then he started playing around with his phone, and realized it had switched itself to centigrade from Fahrenheit. It was going to be 4 degrees F, not C, in the morning. So he got back up, got dressed, went back out, informed Shirley and Regina of the phone's mischief (they had a good giggle).
Meanwhile during the night, another drizzly/sleety howling windy rain fell, and again I started to think, oh, poor horses, standing out in that cold wet mess. But… if you think about it, what else is your horse going to do in a storm? If he's like our horses at home (we don't have stalls or barn), he's going to stand with his butt to the wind/rain/sleet/assault, head down, and wait it out (or eat while he's waiting it out). We so often project our feelings onto our horses (they look so cold! they look miserable!) that we think they must be miserable too. But they're just horses. Horses just wait out weather and go about being horses. The horses in Ridecamp were simply waiting out the next storm, butts to wind/rain, heads down, most of them eating.
Just the same…. I was glad I wasn't riding in the morning that dawned quite cold and windy… and sunny… and wintery. Snow had fallen everywhere but ridecamp. Every mountain range in view was whited out. All the local ski areas must have been thrilled. Frary Peak on the island was whited out. Made for stunning scenery. Riders would be riding up into the snow today.
And 20 hardy riders headed out onto the trails (8 on the 50-miler, 12 on the 25-miler) - and it turned out to be a great riding day: sunny, cold wind, and, again, NO BUGS! That was the most popular comment of all the riders all weekend. Not that the weather was insane, but that We Had No Bugs! All but one rider finished - Kathy Backus turned around and took a rider option when her mare was a bit off during the first loop.
Jeff Stuart and JV Remington won first place and Best Condition on the 25. Christoph Schork and Starlit Way won first and Best Condition on the 50. Several newcomers rode their first ride, and forever after, they will probably never experience such extreme weather.
The Antelope Island endurance ride is known for its beautiful scenery, varied trails, and its buffalo herd. Most of the buffalo seemed to be hiding out elsewhere on the island (the "reds" are being born, so maybe the mama buffs are separated and secluded), though a couple dozen bulls were on display around ridecamp and along a few of the trails.
What the Antelope Island endurance ride is not known for is the extreme weather we experienced, but the hardy endurance riders and horses who attended this year made it a great success.
Monday, April 3, 2017
April 1 2017
It was the first endurance ride of the season for most of the riders, and many came with horses who were not dead fit and were still winter-hairy. 20 started the 50-miler, 19 started the 25-miler, and they all finished! No lamenesses, no metabolic issues - good, smart endurance riding out here in the Owyhee desert.
Several first timers and it's-been-a-whilers to the sport showed up to ride. A newbie (and new endurance addict) came from as far away as Seattle; and veteran Tennessee Lane, who's putting on the AERC National Championships this August in Colorado, popped in during the middle of a horse-delivering walkabout and galloped off with the 50-mile win and Best Condition on Bluff in 4:34.
The April Fools ride also saw the return of the Church kids after a several-year hiatus from riding. Former Junior Abrie was now the sponsor for 3 of her Junior siblings, and the youngest one on the smallest pony won the 25-mile ride, pulsing down first in 3:10. Best Condition went to Simone Mauhl and Dudley's friend Boogey.
The weather was PERFECT, which we all deserved, since we all suffered through a terrible hurricane/typhoon/rain/sleet/snow/windstorm on Thursday and Friday (and Sunday was not particularly lovely with the rejuvenated cold wind). Saturday was 60* and sunny, with only the slightest breeze. Trails were in perfect condition, with lots of grass on trail and flowers just beginning to emerge.
a long inviting trail
Since Junior Sarah couldn't ride, her aunt Connie sponsored me on Sarah's horse Dezzie.
Connie showing off
Connie falling off
I found my sheriff's deputy badge out on trail!!!! Dudley and I lost it in the November Halloweenies ride, when he and I were the sheriff's deputies. I stopped and picked it up out of the sand, put it on, and Dezzie and I were sheriff's deputies for the ride! For about 30 seconds… at which time I noticed it had fallen off my vest again. I guess Dudley and I will have to pick it up again in our November ride…
There's a newly named trail somewhere out here. Not saying exactly where, or who of the three of us it's named after, but this new spot is called Pee-In-Your-Pants-Point-Because-Your-Horse-Got-Its-Foot-Hung-Up-In-The-Reins-While-You-Were-Squatting-In-Mid-Stream
The Church kids are back to riding after a couple of years respite! Abrie is old enough now that she's sponsoring her own siblings!
Lots of grass on the desert to provide snacks for our hard working hungry steeds
Lots of human snacks when you ride with Connie… she's handing me Gummi Bears here!
The Raven had a great time on Dezzie!
The Pickett Crick Ramblers played some fine music afterwards, both Friday and Saturday nights. Abrie Church, who masterly plays both the piano and fiddle, and who had never touched a mandolin in her life, borrowed a mandolin and jumped right in and started playing with us. Sure, mandolin and fiddle are tuned to the same strings, but - still! We were all astonished and delighted she made us sound so good! A younger brother banged on the drums, then dad stepped in and really meshed us all together. We were rather impressed with ourselves… we sound a lot better than we did 2 years ago!
Tuesday, March 28, 2017
Tuesday March 28 2017
It's not often you witness an honest to goodness miracle. But one happened yesterday, on the very Owyhee Trails you will be riding on the April Fools (Tough Sucker) ride on April 1.
Weeks ago, a very new calf was laying in a sagebrush right beside a trail we ride on. Mama cow was nearby. We all exchanged glances, cow, calf, humans, horses. And the calf laid there, and mama cow grazed, and we rode on.
A few days later, said calf was dead, sprawled out in a ditch across the trail, gone to cow heaven. Mama cow was gone. The little carcass spooked Jose. He knew very well that baby calf had been alive the last time he rode by. He stopped and sniffed the carcass, and I assured him the calf was in cow heaven.
The next time we rode by there was only half a dead calf. Jose eyeballed it suspiciously because it had previously been whole, and it had moved a bit, but yes, it was the same baby-calf-in-cow-heaven.
Then yesterday as we approached that spot, Jose was again on the lookout out for the dead half-calf on his right. We all were looking for it - me and Jose, Steph and Smokey... but it had disappeared…... when suddenly on the left out of the sagebrush rose a whole live calf, spooking all 4 of us into the next county - WHOA!
Not only was the dead half-calf on the right gone, but He is Risen, out of the sagebrush on the left, come back to life all alive and well and in one whole piece, and I could swear that Risen Calf had a halo floating above his head!
There could be no other explanation - it being somewhat close to Easter and all - than an Owyhee miracle!
Because Jose is so smart, and he thinks about things, he could not process this. How on earth can half a dead calf on one side turn back into a whole live calf on the other side??? As we moved on, Jose kept stopping to turn around and look back and ponder things in his heart.
Henceforth this spot is christened as Baby Jesus Calf Corner, to mark this miraculous miracle.
We might put up a sign for the April Fools ride, to show the exact spot of this true Owyhee miracle. Or you might see deep hoof prints gouged in the sand where the horses spooked. Or we might not put up a sign because we don't want to make this a pilgrimage spot. It's really our secret Owyhee miracle.
If there is no sign, and if you happen to feel a kind of miraculous magic in the air or a tingling down in your bones when you ride by Baby Jesus Calf Corner, you will know where you are.
Wednesday, March 22, 2017
Monday March 19 2017
The first day of spring, and the flowers are busting out of the desert hillsides, starting with the yellow bells. The kestrels are mating. The Ravens are building nests. The creeks tumbling down from the Owyhees are overflowing banks and driveways. Even the buffalo gnats have already made an unwelcomed appearance. The horses are starting to shed, sharing their hairy layers with your fleece jackets.
And horses are in love.
Young endurance mare Smokey (who is fixed, by the way), stands in the corner of our pasture, not caring about her herd-mates (who are unimpressed, saying, "Not this again,"), not caring about anything but her beloved Paco on the far side of the neighbor's pasture. She stands alone and moons and whinnies and hollers for The Most Beautiful Horse in the World.
Stately, mature, older, sway-backed Paco, The Most Beautiful Horse in the World, stands alone in his pasture (ignoring his gray-haired old lady companion), and, unable to eat or drink or do anything but be in love, he moons and whinnies and cries and bellers like a fraught schoolboy to his beloved Smokey.
All is right with the world when love is in the air once again in a new Owyhee spring.
Tuesday, March 14, 2017
Tuesday March 14 2017
These pestiferous little buggars are cute and cuddly, I'll grant you that. One website fondly describes pack rats as "sleek, soft-furred animals with big, bright, bulging black eyes." And in another place and time (like maybe a long time ago in another galaxy far, far away), one might think they'd make good pets.
But in this place in time, they are magnificent pests. They multiply like, well, rats, move in everywhere you don't want them, and you just can't get rid of them. The packrat lives in your barns and cars, under your porches and your house, in your house if he can find a way in it. They steal things for their nests and they chew through wiring in your cars. They live in between hay bales and under shower stalls in barns; and wherever they decide to build their nests, they use them for toilets. If they were toilet trainable, they might be acceptable creatures, but they are not and they are not. They just stink.
Not to mention your things tend to disappear. Not for nothing are they called pack rats. A nest in the barn under the shower stalls has, at different times, contained (from what I can get a glimpse of through a crack in the wall) the yellow trail marking ribbons (not the red ones or blue ones, and not the skinny ones, but the double wide yellow ones), a shaving razor. Probably pieces of a broken coffee mug which I know one of them broke. I found a Halloween rubber bat, about 3 inches by 5 inches, on the way to the nest. This year on the way to the nest I found: pliers, a broken/cut electric 3 pronged plug, and a horse thermometer. (!!!!!)
A couple years ago, Connie lost her cell phone one day. I thought I heard it beeping around the silver bullet bus once. A few days later John later opened the battery drawer, found a packrat nest stuffed in there and reached in to clean it out - and scooped out Connie's cell phone. No word yet on any suspicious charges on her phone bill.
One redeeming feature - if you can call it that - of the pack rat, is their "midden", a debris and waste pile. Pack rat urine is viscous, and once the sugars crystalize, the remaining fluid, known as amberat, eventually hardens and cements the material together. This can preserve the materials in the midden for tens of thousands of years. Scientists carbon date middens and analyze them to determine what vegetation was growing at the time they were created, and with this information, climate change over thousands of years can be determined (Take that, say the pack rats, you climate change deniers! We pack rats have known all along!) The unredeeming feature of the midden is it stinks and it's nasty and it can grow to be huge, either in canyon walls, in barns, under shower stalls, you name it.
Other than that, and the bit of cuteness, when they're living under your roofs, they have no other redeeming qualities.
The 2017 pack rat war has begun. Sorry, dear little pack rats, you have all (once again) been entered into the Packrat Forced Relocation Program (I just can't bring myself to kill them - so I relocate them).
Some of you relocated pack rats are being spray painted neon colors as you leave, since I heard from someone they have been documented to travel as much as 5 miles back to where they came from!
So all of you pack rats pack some of your things, and BUH-bye.
(The score so far is, I caught and relocated 3, I caught 2 and they escaped the trap, Regina's dogs caught and killed one, cats caught and killed one. No spray-painted ones have been re-trapped.)