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Bolting: A Postscript
It took some time before I again had the confidence I had prior to my winter, 2009 fall, that is one in which Raudi bolted, and I came flying off. In October, 2009, I wrote the following update for the AIHA newsletter.
I wrote in the last AIHA Newsletter about Raudi’s having bolted and unseated me, an unfortunate experience that left me with a two cracked ribs, a bruised ego, and a sore lower back. I resumed riding Raudi in March, and this past summer attended many of the Icelandic horse-related spring and summer events. Come August, one remained, this was the annual trail ride at Fran Buntzen’s Mom’s place.
I’d planned on participating in the novice division of the Interior Horse Association Competitive Trail Ride, which was to be held on the same day but backed off when I pictured Raudi refusing to get into the trailer, balking at the river crossing, and running off at the vet check. I considered taking Tinni, but he told me that he was tad too old for this kind of nonsense. Another option came to mind. I could trailer Raudi to Fairbanks, do two short day rides at Susan Tilly’s place, and then on the third, do the longer group ride at Fran’s.
Raudi would have to ride in three separate trailers up and back, stay within the confines of Susan’s electric fence, behave while in the company of other horses, and keep her wits about her on strange trails. Could she do it? Raudi and I had participated in Bernie’s two-day trail trials clinic and had done several lengthy trail rides on the home front. I also took part in Mandy Pretty’s four-day Fairbanks Clinic, and Robin Marquiss’s two-day trail riding get-together. We were, by mid-summer, fairly good at reading and responding to one another’s subtle cues. But even after all this, I still had little confidence in my ability to deal with my horse when in new situations.
I’d made a commitment and had to honor it. I’d promised my friend Deb that I’d go north with her, and so she’d saved Raudi a space in her trailer, that is a space that would otherwise be occupied by another competitor. I was further motivated by the fact that if needed, knowledgeable horse people would give me an assist. Pete would help with first trailer transfer, and Deb Moore and Susan Tilly with the second. I’d also be among kindred spirits once I arrived in Fairbanks. All, including Susan, were used to idiosyncratic behavior of young Icelandic mares.
The dreaded day finally arrived. Pete and I loaded Raudi into our trailer, hauled her to Deb’s farm, and unloaded her. Deb wasn’t quite ready, so we put Raudi in the roundpen, and watched her show off for Deb’s Tennessee Walker Stallion, Bridges Pathfinder. She whirled about like a dervish, running, kicking, bucking and snorting. There was no problem getting her into Deb’s trailer. It was Deja vu all over again at the second transfer spot. The Little Red Rocket flew around yet another round pen, but when asked, bounded into Susan’s trailer. She quickly settled into her temporary digs at the Tilly place. Raudi took to Fluga, and the two spent considerable time down at the far end of the enclosure, talking about horsey stuff.
My two rides with Susan went just fine. The first day we rode on a nearby trail and on the second, we meandered up and down Hardluck Drive. Raudi had the usual bounce to her step, but listened as I did half halts and whoas. I never let on to Susan was that I didn’t want to ride at all. I kept picturing Raudi, scared by the unforeseen, spooking and taking off in the direction of Murphy Dome.
The evening before the ride we all got together for a barbecue. I didn’t let on to anyone, but I hoped that it would rain hard, and that the ride would be cancelled. Fran and Sarah had drawn up a detailed map that provided an extensive overview of the trail system. Sarah then mentioned that the ride would begin with our walking downhill, to the trailhead. Hearing this, my throat went dry. It would be hard to hang on to Raudi, who I presumed would want to break free and run off. She hadn’t done this in two years, but there was always the likelihood that she’d do it again. I told myself that once I got on Raudi, that things would be just fine. After all, Sarah and Fran had ridden the route repeatedly and made sure that it was horse-safe. Bridges? Firm footing? Flat terrain? Raudi and I had spent our summer dealing with mud bogs, soft footing, and slippery terrain.
The day of the Big Ride dawned sunny and clear. Susan and I agreed that we’d first load up Dukka, and then have Raudi follow. I stood with horse in hand, and waited as while Susan attempted to coax her gray mare into the trailer. Raudi, while antsy, made no attempt to flee, not even when two kids on bicycles went whizzing past. Could it be that she now was beginning to associate getting in trailers with going someplace fun? Maybe so. There was another slight delay, as Susan instead decided to take Fluga, who was more up for an outing. Raudi eagerly followed her new buddy up the ramp.
Raudi got visibly excited when we got to Fran’s, having never before been around so many of her own kind. We’d gone out a on a few rides with our local Tennessee Walker crowd but she was of the mind that the long Roman nosed horses were far too dour for her liking. This, ride, she said, was going to be a lot more fun. She danced about as I tied her to the trailer and as Teddy passed, swung her butt at him and swished her trail. Susan, who had some Calm Aid on hand, gave Raudi a squirt. Raudi licked her lips and pawed the ground. I ignored my horses’ request for more and she pitched a small fit. So much, I thought, for the herbal sedative.
We made out way down to the trailhead. Our posse consisted of Mary Gleason (Skvetta) Erin Gleason (Burkni) Fran Buntzen (Drifa), Sarah Buntzen (Esten) Jessica Kelsh (Teddi), Theresa Harmon (Prinz). I held the reins tightly, as my equine ping pong ball bopped down the trail. At the base, I noted that both she and I had broken into a light sweat. Someone held onto her, and I climbed up on the mounting block, and gently lowered myself onto her back. I fumbled for my stirrup and Raudi took off at a too-fast clip. Seconds later she realized that the other horses were behind us. My dear mare then spun about, lifted her head high and put it into fifth gear. I pulled her around, and half-jumped, half-fell off. “I’ve had enough,” I said to my new dog Jenna, who too late, I discovered had no trail manners. She followed at my heels, barking loudly. I started walking horse and dog back up in the direction of the trailer.
Susan, following on Fluga, asked me what I was going to do. I told her that I was going back to the Buntzen’s place. It wasn’t so much what Susan said (the words now escape me) but the calm way in which she spoke which prompted me to get back on my horse. Raudi, had gotten along well with Fluga, and so I acted upon what I thought was the safest option, which was to ride behind her. Raudi also liked this idea; she followed behind the seasoned trail horse. Midway through the ride, Sarah came off Esten. There were then several stops and starts, as group members first tended to Sarah and then swapped mounts. Raudi was antsy, but thankfully, made no attempt to leave the group. We all made it back to Fran’s in one piece and I inwardly celebrated, that is until I remembered that the Big Adventure was just three quarters of the way over.
I now knew that Raudi would willingly hop in all three trailers. However, the second pick-up point was scheduled to take place at the Gold Hill Liquor parking lot, which is adjacent to the Parks Highway. This is a high traffic area. My fears were heightened because twenty years before, my beloved dog Digger had, at this very spot, been killed by a passing truck.
Deb was late, and so Susan and I sat for some time, listening to Raudi bang around in the trailer. Susan and I passed time, by making jokes. We agreed, all we needed was a sign for Raudi, one that read “Will Work for Food.” I’d then take her into the store and buy her some salmon jerky and me a pint of whiskey. Still, the big What If -- Raudi’s getting free and running out into the center of the highway crossed my mind. I couldn’t deal if Raudi was killed, not at this stage of my life.
Deb then appeared, and we three acted quickly. She opened one trailer, and I opened the other. Susan, wearing her leather gloves, grabbed Raudi, who backed out into the parking lot. She stood calmly, and waited as Deb opened her trailer. Raudi saw her Tennessee Walker friend Bandit, said hello, and joined him. Once Raudi was secured, I thanked Susan, and got in Deb’s pickup. I then heard it, a familiar voice.
“Hey you!”
“Hey you what?”
“Listen up.”
“I’m listening, I’m listening.” This, my inner voice was speaking. Most of the time I think I’m lucky, having a confidant who assists me in solving life’s vexing problems. But sometimes, I think I’m unlucky, having a stern taskmistress, who tells me in no uncertain terms that I’d better get my act together. This was again one of those times.
“You need to stop being an idiot and deal,” she screeched.
“Deal?”
“Yeah, deal.”
“How?”
“Stop going around in circles. Look, The way you’re talking is reflective of this.”
I shut my mouth and listened, as Inner Voice did a recap of the past few days. I’d been a burden on friends, who didn’t enjoy dealing with someone who was chronically tense. Furthermore, I’d stressed my horse out by always presuming that she was going to do something dumb. I denied that I had a problem, by reminding Inn Voice that Icelandics, being low to the ground and having a strong center of gravity, are prone to bolting.
“Look,” she said, “You raised her and so she can now read you like a book. The title is “Owner as Blithering Idiot.” You’re making her anxious.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. There’s no need for it. You’ve done a really good job training her, and she’s eager to rise the occasion. But she can’t because you’re refusing to take charge.”
“Well, what do I do?”
Inner Voice suggested that I rely more heavily on the tools in my cognitive toolbox, meaning replace my fear-related with more positive visual images. In addition, I should, in moments of duress, rely more heavily on my three-part breath, which I’d learned in yoga class. “And sing,” she said, “You know, any one of Raudi’s 50 Greatest Hits will do.”
“But I sing all the time to her.”
“No you don’t. I haven’t heard you sing You are my Sunshine since before you fell off.” “Oh.”
This then was the moment in which Raudi and became lifelong riding partners. This would not have happened had we not ventured to Fairbanks because Inner Voice would have remained quiet. In order for her to speak, I had to be receptive to her claims. And in order to be receptive to her claims, I had to put myself in a position where I’d be overly anxious.
I’m happy to say that Raudi and I have since been shinnying up the learning curve and enjoying being at the proverbial high heights. The late-August Gudmar Petursson clinic was reflective of my change in attitude. Gudmar, in a pre-clinic talk on topline, reiterated that one of the most special things about Icelandic horses is that they “offer” tolt, meaning that they go into this gait when they feel like they’re in balance. It was as noted Icelandic horse trainer Steiner Sigurbjornsson once said, that “It’s not about making the horse do something: it’s about the horse wanting to do something.”
Raudi had been wanting to tolt, but had not yet
felt ready to do so. She complied as we went through the requisite suppleing
exercises. Then the moment came in which Gudmar asked us to move to the
rail. She sprang into tolt and the feeling was akin to riding on air.
Tears of joy came to my eyes, not because of the wind and cold because
I knew that she was now my forever horse. I ignored the spectators, and
began singing my version of “You are my Sunshine.”
Arctic Arrow Solstice Gathering
Bolting