Lost River, Day 2: Slope-Side Shit Show
Nice, “flat” ridge top.
The day Juneau was delivered to my home some nine years ago, I broke my leg. It wasn’t a bad break, but it was my first experience with what I’ve come to call a Juneau Shit Show. It may not have been wise to ride him that first day. But waiting was no more an option than delaying Christmas presents until Easter. So, a few hours after he strolled off the semi, I was walking my beautiful new horse over to the mounting block and gently setting my left foot in the stirrup iron. Behind us, the barn cat pounced on something in the grass and Juneau bolted like he’d been shot in the ass. I tried to swing up, but instead came down hard on my right heel. I didn’t have time to think about the pain as I ran beside him until he slowed. Then I limped back to the mounting block. He stood like a champ and we went for a very slow ride in the woods. Until was until that night that I realized something was going on in my right leg that bourbon and elevation couldn’t fix. I went to the ortho the next day and came home on crutches.
Juneau Shit Shows have pulled into town a few times each year ever since. There was the one when I tried to adjust my baseball cap only to find myself hanging on for dear life while we careened through a forest. There was the one that had us galloping down the center line of a paved road because Kurt and Guillermo had surged behind us while we were cantering on the grass shoulder. These aren’t malicious temper tantrums. There’s no bucking or rearing. They are fear-fueled gallops AWWAAYYY from some unexpected motion from behind. I’m usually able to stay in the saddle until he calms, but they are hella scary.
Day 2 at Lost River found us climbing to Pine Ridge. This ascent wasn’t as rocky, but just as steep. I suspected we’d taken a wrong turn because the path had narrowed to 18 inches as it traversed a slope I’d hesitate to ski. I pulled the trail map from my pocket and Juneau was off for the races – full steam gallop along that goat path, loose rocks tumbling. I’m pretty sure people in the next county heard my “whoas” and Kurt admitted he felt sad considering that his next wife would probably not be as good a cook. I don’t know how, but I managed to turn Juneau to face up the slope and, after a few lunges, he stopped and stood trembling. Kurt rode up and told me I could ease up on the bit. I figured that was permission to breath and finally exhaled.
I’d like to say that’s where the crazy ended, but Juneau Shit Shows often come with encores. When we’d crested the ridge, we dismounted. Looking down, I realized Juneau had lost a back boot. So, I hiked down to find it. Kurt stayed on the ridge with the boys. Puffing after bushwhacking back to them, I proudly held up the boot and the map, which I’d also found on the slope below. That white flutter was enough to send Juneau off again, this time dragging my husband and Guillermo across the ridge. Thankfully, this encore performance was short-lived. Still, I felt like a double failure.
Anything I ask of this horse, he does – jump a hedge - check; walk across the timbers and rails of a train track - check; lead the way over a clangy metal bridge or through a dark tunnel under a road - check. But, all that forward focus doesn’t leave him much brain power to process stimuli coming from behind. You might say I need to train the spook out of him. And, you’d be right. I spent 20 minutes rubbing that map all over him and I don’t think a map will ever spook him again. But, horses aren’t machines. They have strengths and weaknesses, massive heart but also phobias. Juneau is a leader. He’ll move forward through anything. I just need to do a better job of letting him know I’ve got his back.