My kids are pretty much convinced that I am the world’s biggest jinx.  My girls will make tremendous efforts to avoid any situation where I might say that something is ‘going to be okay.’  They are that sure that I have the capacity to make bad things happen. Clearly, I don’t accept that my opinion alone can turn elections, weather, and the outcome of key football games.  Still, I do kind of believe in fate.  For instance, I have a riding helmet.  If, while tacking up, I consider the helmet, I wear it.  Why? Because considering it and not wearing seems arrogant.  Similarly, when I’m skiing, if I find myself thinking ‘just one more run,’ I quit.

While I was prepping for this trip, when anyone asked me the plan, I’d tell them it was to get to Oregon, but ‘that God laughs at people with plans and horses.’  I’d worked out a number of contingencies for the unplanned – truck or trailer breakdowns, horse injuries, etc.  So, yesterday, when we crossed our final state line into Oregon, I was both relieved and sad.  We’d made it; well, kind of -- we still have 300 miles to cover in Oregon.  But it was coming to an end.  Soon, we’d not have Juneau and Guillermo as the organizing principle to each day.  There’d be work, and the house, and the farm, and my Mom, and my friends to come between me and my horses.

As we put miles between us and the Idaho line, the terrain began to change -- the rivers got bigger, the hills taller and the valleys greener.  Eastern Oregon is very arid, but there is a bit more timber in the creases.  Just before reaching Pendleton – yes, of the world-famous wool blankets and rodeo – we pulled into Emigrant Springs State Park.  This small park commemorates a final watering and provisioning stop for the pioneers as they finished their trip along the Oregon Trail.  Driving into it was a bit like diving into a refreshing pool on a hot day.  We were immediately swallowed by shade and engulfed by the smell of pines.  A ranger told us the usual extended network of trails were closed due to fire concerns but that we were welcome to ride along a right-of-way accessible from the park.

We wound along a short single-track trail. Ducking under pine boughs hung with moss like tufts of hair, we found the gate she’d described.  It opened to a 50-yard wide strip of grass and brush that runs up for miles with a dirt road at its center.  Cattle are allowed to graze the right-of-way so it is hemmed on both sides by barbed wire.  Now, folks love to use rusty barbed wire to make all sorts of cowboy décor, but any horseperson will tell you, barbed wire is the devil.  Cattle press against barbed wire and back away.  Horses move too quickly and don’t get that chance.  They get tangled in it, panic and rip themselves to shreds.  I ride rights-of-way at home, but usually not until I’ve reconnoitered them on foot to know where there may be barbed wire and cleared any that’s loose on the ground.

The boys were feeling good.  We were moving at a trot.  I had boots all around on Juneau.  Kurt had decided not to put boots on Guillermo and was taking his track a few feet to the right of the path where the footing was less rocky.  I was in the lead and pointed to some downed wire to my left. A second later, Kurt called out and I turned.  He was still in the saddle with Guillermo stopped.  A long string of wire was wrapped around G’s two hind legs making loose loops from hoof to hock.  Thankfully, G and Kurt are perfectly matched set of cool cucumbers; Juneau and I would have already had an explosion.  I got off June and held G while Kurt got down and lifted first one hind leg and then the other as he quietly untangled the wire. In the end, G didn’t have a mark on him.  Kurt’s hands got a bit ripped up.

Now, I made fun of the pole corral incident with G the day before at Bruneau Dunes, but actually that too had been a close call.  G could have been seriously hurt trying to get up from his side with a heavy wooden pole between his hind legs.  He’d escaped that with only a scratch and a bit of swelling.  Now, this wire incident could have been a real doozey. Two days, two events that could have left a horse seriously hurt, but didn’t.

That’s feeling pretty damn lucky.  I think we need to call it done right here and now.  I’ve asked Kurt to scrap the plan for our last ride today on Mt. Hood.  I just want to get my boys to their Oregon home safe and sound.