Galavanting Globally

A Horse is Horse of Course of Course

Brace yourself for this shock...we are back at the farm in Whakahoro.  Or should I say, we're back home.  That's what it feels like at least.  We were sad that we didn't have a chance, between goat slaughtering and sheep wrestling, to go on a horse expedition last time we were at the farm.  So we jumped on the chance early this time.

The trek was led by our friend Chad, the horse man on the farm.  A past guest once told him that he reminded her of Woody from A Toy Story; tall, gangly cowboy with big bright eyes.  A description that Chad even resigns as fairly accurate.  He is easily one of the funniest people I have met on this trip.   Despising tan lines, he already has the beginnings of a permanent white tank top early in the summer.  So he asked us if we mind if he "Hollywoods" it that day.  Hollywooding is just his fancy way to say "slutty, shirtless horseback riding".  Hell, if I had his body I would have played Brokeback Mountain right along with him.

So when people ask me if I am an experienced rider, I always say yes.  This I've come to realize might be a little misleading as most of my "experience" is derived from the summer horse camp my parents made me attend when I was ten and the handful of times I've helped various friends move their horses.  There are a couple of minor details to note here.  First, I was in fact suspended from horse camp for punching a boy in the face (Whoa, whoa, whoa before you judge, he started it by pulling the horse lead out of my hand so fast it gave me a wicked rope burn.  That shit hurts.  I'm lucky I was even able to close my hand into a fist to clock his smarmy ass).  Second, I'm pretty sure I've been high all the other times I've help friends move their horses.  That's how they usually persuade us to help them in the first place.  I generally take the attitude that the horses sure as hell know how to navigate the forest better than I do, I'm just along for the ride.  

Nevertheless, I still tell people that I'm experienced.  It's not quite lying, but I don't really think it paints an accurate picture of my true equestrian abilities.  Because of my slightly inflated stated experience, I usually get paired with the asshole horse who should generally be reserved for the experienced horse whisperer.  I am more of a horse hollerer.  Crockett, my trusty steed for the day, had only ever been ridden by two other people prior to me; his trainer and a farm owner with 30 plus years of experience.  Oh bother, where's my joint?  Luckily I fancy myself a good bullshitter and can even trick a horse into submission with some mustered confidence.  He only tried to take my head off once.  Crockett and I are both tall and it was a low, swinging bridge, which horses are notoriously awkward on.  A forgivable mistake, even if I was yelling "whoa!" and pulling on the reigns with all the strength of an olympic weight lifter.  Fortunately my cat like reflexes and lower lumbar flexibility saved me this time.  After a few choice words, Crockett and I had a fabulous rest of the day.

The bush is even more beautiful than last time we were up here now that summer is in full swing.  Halfway through the hot summer ride we parked (parked?) our horses at a waterfall and took kayaks through the glowworm caves.  Before returning to our horses, Kelly, Chad and I stripped down to our skivvies (to quite the shock of the german tourist) and took a quick plunge in the frigid waterfall pool.  The subsequent saddle chafe from the wet drawers was inconsequential compared to the experience.  It was more enchanting than Disneyland and it seems unbelievable that I used to spend my Mondays in a cubicle.