I had a view of the horses who within seconds were drenched. They stood quietly, with their heads down, their backs to the wind. I felt bad – I didn’t even have time to get their rain blankets on them. Fortunately, the rain wasn’t overly cold, and the storm blew over after twenty minutes or so.
The air smelled clear. The wind did pick up, making a dull roar that for some time did not die down.
I continued with my observations. To the side of the horse pen was a manure pile. The grass on the top was quite lush. To the right of the pile was a dirt road, red/brown in color. It wound to the left, out of sight.
The wood corral consists of ten pens, all of which have panel gates and chains. The horses like having their own pens and as well access to one another. It’s like they each have their own motel room. They don’t have to compete with one another for their rations. Past horses have chewed on the wooden rails, and ours are now doing the same. This bit of information is not going to be well received by those who built these corrals, the Snowy Range Back Country Horsemen and the Wyoming Mounted Search and Rescue Group.
As I’ve been writing this, an RV has rolled in to the area below us, this area being designated for camping. Those who inhabit it are in their own little box, so they are not as cognizant of the fact that I’m very aware of their presence. Culhane’s Law – the larger the RV, the less likely the inhabitants are to get out of their enclosure.
I feel smug, having figured out that the back portion of this trailer is pretty dang cozy during a rain storm.
This is a nice way to spend an afternoon. The morning did not go as well for me. I got up and pulled a tissue out of my cargo pants. My retainer then fell to the ground. Both Pete and I looked around for it for a quite a while but could not find it. I then decided to forego the use of these temporary devices for the rest of the summer because the semi-nomadic lifestyle just does not lend itself to this.
The day did improve. I decided to use a different saddle pad when riding Tyra and my legs felt even. Catch is as catch can.
Next: 164. 6/15/19: On the Way to Encampment, Wyoming