Maresville

Maresville

Pete says that people are most interested in reading about hardship. My theory is that this is so because hardship leads to further reflection. Like Bolting, Maresville IS about hardship. The fall that I write about took place in January 27, 2009

“I’m going to fall!” These words came to my mind as Raudhetta spun about like a dervish. I extended my arms in order to brace the fall, and then landed hard, on an ice patch. My left hip took the brunt of the impact. I lay dazed, and then looked over at Raudi who sighed, wandered over to the side of the trail, and nibbled at a branch. I staggered to my feet and limped over to her. My ball and socket joints felt like someone had yanked them apart.

I grabbed Raudi’s reins and stroked her neck. She pawed the ground, as if to say, “Let’s get on with the ride!” I regained my composure by breathing slowly. I’d only come off once before, so I wasn’t used to this. It was then early June. I was riding down a neighbor’s driveway when Raudi jumped sideways, unseating me. Raudi dislikes things being out of place; a neighbor’s having moved his tractor bucket bothered her. What was it this time? A mother moose and her calf stood at the wood’s edge. This must have been what caused her to lose her cool. The two ungulates, which were standing like statues, were intrigued by the sight of the woman in the dark-blue snowsuit and the chestnut mare.

“Go!” I yelled.

Raudi and I watched as the pair moved in a seemingly disjointed fashion back into the spruce grove. Tinni, my 19-year-old gelding would have run home. And Siggi, my five-year-old gelding, would have ambled off in search of food. I don’t know what Raudi would have done because I can’t yet read her a hundred percent of the time. I call this state of unpredictability being in maresville.

I purchased Raudi when she was eight-months old. I’d hoped to buy an older, trained Icelandic, but Pete (husband) said that such a horse, which would cost upwards of $6,000.00, was beyond our price. Besides, he argued, if I purchased Raudi, I’d be getting a clean slate since she was too young to yet have any bad habits.

Well-meaning Icelandic owners (there are 100 or so such individuals in the state of Alaska) advised me to wait, save my money, and purchase a gelding. What they saw as a drawback, I saw as benefit, that is, mares see their owners as being the ones in charge. I liked this idea, since no one had ever taken an order from me willingly. This, in fact, was why I quit teaching college writing. Students ignored me when I told them to get assignments in on time. However, my friends failed to tell me that mares can also be willful.

A case in point: I didn’t choose Raudi; rather, she choose me. On that day that we went horse shopping in Chugiak, I was sure of just one thing, and this was that I wanted an Icelandic horse. They’re known to be hardy, which makes them well-suited for Alaska’s long, cold, windy winters. This is a breed-related characteristic. In Iceland, severe climate conditions and little forage encouraged a short, stout body type, an extremely dense coat, a heavy mane and tail, shaggy fetlocks, and small, tough hooves. Plus, Icelandics have been used for centuries for long distance trekking, and this has made them extremely trail savvy. The latter complemented my long-range plan, which is in 2010 to ride from Montana to Mexico on the Continental Divide Bicycle Trail.

Pete and I stood by the paddock in which seven Icelandics raced about. The smallest of the lot left her dam and wandered over to me.

“What do you think?” I asked Pete.

“She’s the one,” he said.

Virginia Crawford, her breeder, told me that the filly’s name was Raudhetta fra Alaskastadir. She then further explained that the first part of an Icelandic horse’s name is based on physical or personality characteristics, and the second part is the name of the breeder’s farm.

“What’s the English translation?” I asked.

“Little Red Riding Hood from a Place in Alaska,” Virginia said.

The name seemed fitting—the horse was small, weighed at the most, 400 pounds, and had hooves the size of silver dollars. And she was sweet, very sweet. She nibbled at my boot laces and very gently took a piece of carrot out of my hand. But something else endeared her to me; this was that Raudi was one tough little horse. Two months previously, she’d gotten into a bag of bird seed and gorged herself. A veterinarian treated Raudi for toxic shock syndrome, and much to everyone’s surprise, she survived. We arranged for a prepurchase exam. I left Alaskastadir feeling on top of the world because I was on the verge of owning something I’d always wanted, an Icelandic horse.

A year later, I sort of acted upon the advice the of friends, who said that I ought to get an older gelding, by purchasing a younger one, Siggi Halastjarni fra Alaskastadir, or Ziggy Stardust from a Place in Alaska. Siggi, Raudi’s eight-month old half-brother, would provide much-needed companionship for Raudi and also be my pack horse. Then, a year later, I really acted upon the advice of friends, and purchased 16-year old Tinni fra Hellistandi or Coal from a Cold Place in Iceland. Pete agreed with me—it looked as though Raudi, now three, was going to be handful, and so if I, who had little riding experience, was to back her, I’d first need to spend time on a well-trained horse.

Tinni was a good match for me. I was, at age 49, a returning rider, meaning that I had not ridden in thirty years. Tinni was trail-wise and had done time at Rainbow Connection, an Anchorage-based therapeutic riding school. Plus, he was gait trained, which meant that this was one less thing that I’d have to worry about. Icelandics have, in addition to the three main gaits of walk, trot, and canter, two additional gaits, the pace, which is a two-beat lateral gait, and the tolt, which is a four-beat diagonal gait.

I grabbed a hold of the reins and Raudi’s mane, and attempted to put my foot in the stirrup. As I lifted my leg, a pain shot from my hip to the tip of my toes. The pain, as well as the bulky suit, made movement difficult. I use a mounting block at home because it’s less of a struggle to get on and easier on Raudi’s young back.

What, I wondered what would Miki or Julie Collins do? The twins live in Lake Minichumia, a place north of Denali National Park. For over twenty years they’ve used Icelandic horses for a variety of bush-related purposes, including long distance overland travel. Their exploits have been recounted in their book entitled Riding the Wild Side of Denali. It contains innumerable stories and photos of the pair, who have no qualms about crossing rivers on their shaggy maned steeds, most of whom have been mares.

Would Raudi and I ever cross rivers? Right then, I doubted it. I chastised myself, and then reminded myself just how far Raudi and I had come in the past four years. Walk, whoa, back, over, wait, and stand – it took me all this time to teach my beloved blank slate these important life lessons. Even the day of her arrival at a local boarding stable (the place I kept her while we were putting the finishing touches on our barn) was not without incident. We unloaded her from the trailer, and Virginia handed me her lead. The filly pushed her shoulder into my space, twisted her head to the side, yanked the rope out of my hand, and ran about, bucking, kicking, and squealing.

This was a scene that replayed itself dozens of times over the next two years. I then realized I had two options. I could either sell her, or get help. By now, Raudi and I were fairly attached to one another; that is, when she was off-lead. The president of the Alaska Icelandic Horse Association, Susan Tilly, hearing of my dilemma, suggested that I attend the Icelandic Horse Farm’s Young Horse Training Clinic. I learned a great deal during my two-week stay in British Columbia. Owner Robyn Hood explained that my situation was not unusual. Icelandic horses are strong, and have a low center of gravity, which makes lead training difficult.

She subsequently showed me several leading positions, and how to use a body wrap, wand, and zephyr lead. (The latter is a soft line that goes through the nose piece of the halter and attaches on far side.) The most important thing of all was that I went home feeling more confident about my abilities as a young horse trainer. This level of confidence increased exponentially, as Raudi responded favorably to my commands. Two weeks later, we were going for walks in our neighborhood. I waited until Raudi was four before doing much more with her, because Icelandics are slow to mature, both physically and mentally. (The up side of this is that they can live well into their forties.) I taught her to accept the saddle and bridle, and to stand still when I tightened the girth. Then there was that unforgettable summer day in which I rode her for the first time. I tacked her up, and had Pete lead us around the pen. Raudi took ten steps, looked back at me, and then decided that she’d had enough. She yanked the lead out of Pete’s hand, bucked hard, and raced back to her hay. I immediately got off, remarking to Pete that the best thing about owning an Icelandic was that the ground was fairly close. I next removed the hay, and again got back on.

This time, we were made a complete circuit around the pen. The next day, we did two circuits, and the following day, three. When on the fourth day, Pete unhooked the lead, Raudi and I walked on our own, around the perimeter of the enclosure. I told him when I got off that this, having really ridden Raudi, was more momentous than anything I’d ever done before, including having successfully defended my dissertation.

I walked Raudi a ways down trail, all the while looking for a stump or snow mound. We were, I estimated, five-or-so miles from home. I could go the distance by foot, but was not inclined to go this route. It was December 20th, the second-to-the shortest day of the year in Alaska. It was now about 2 p.m. and we had just two hours of daylight left. I hadn’t thought to bring my headlight, and it was snowing lightly, which meant that the sky was going to be overcast. It would be easy to get lost on the trails in our area, the state-owned Matanuska Moose Range. I wouldn’t have been so concerned had I been riding Tinni. I’d been lost twice before. I’d simply given him his head and he trotted home. I wasn’t sure that Raudi would take the lead, on this, an unfamiliar trail.

Raudi had, in our five years together, often taken it upon herself to do other, less desirable things. Shortly after I started riding her, she bolted in the direction of our two horse straight load trailer, with me on her back. Pete, who came running, asked if I had told her to climb in. My one word response was no. The next question he asked was, How are you going to get out? As I sat thinking about my predicament, she backed out. Ahh, but there was hope. I recalled the time a few weeks before, in which I’d slipped coming off her, put my foot through the stirrup, and fell onto the ground. “Stand!” I yelled. I could, as I lay there, see her thinking about her options, one of which was to head for home, and the other, which was to hold still. She remained calm, and I was able to pull my foot out of the stirrup. This, I knew, was her call, and she’d done the right thing. Yes, we were making progress.

I came across a stump, and positioned Raudi next to it. She, who really wanted to be on the move, sidled to one side as I again attempted to get up on her. I went to default mode, and tossed a handful of grain on the freshly fallen snow. Raudi lowered her head and I pulled myself up onto her broad back. Robyn Hood, had again, indirectly saved the day. She’d told me that a horse relaxes when its head is down because blood then flows in that direction. This, plus chewing, activates the parasympathetic nervous system, which is a calming mechanism.

Once I was in the saddle, I sat thinking about this, my wonderful mare. I love Siggi and Tinni, and would never part with either. Both are reliable animals, who have been incredibly easy to work with. Raudi has been harder to deal with because I’ve had to earn her trust. Once again, she posed the question that she’s indirectly asked me innumerable times. It was, can you be a reliable lead mare? I said yes, by turning Raudi around, and pointing her in the direction of home. She responded by moving out at a fast trot. Right then it occurred to me that, like it or not, we are joined at the heart.

Alys
Pete
Raudi
Form and Function
Gerjun's Decision
Bolting
Chafa Chafa
Clicker Training
Trailer Training
Lessons 1
Lessons 2
Lessons 3
Lessons 4
Maresville
Minus Eight
Snow Day
Siggi
Tinni
Bootleg
Rainbow
Jenna
Goats
Chickens