A highlight of this trip is our early January
stay at a horseback safari lodge in Limpopo Province in the far northeast. Other than one slow-paced ride in Texas
Canyon outside of Tucson, neither of us has been on a horse in over three years. While we've made that clear in our
profile information to the safari lodge owners, we both thought it wise to have at
least one 'go' at a 'real' ride before arriving in Limpopo. We find our way to 'Horse Around', a highly recommended stable, and arrange for a long ride the following day through the surrounding Witzenberg Mountains.
Bright and early, we're all kitted-out - half chaps, riding
pants, helmets, and gloves - and choosing our mounts with John, the owner/wrangler. I choose Don Pedro, a stocky gelding with an Appaloosa sire, and Tim gets Sergeant, a retired polo pony. John, a delightfully friendly and very chatty fellow - and
lifetime horseman - is quick to point out that our 'seat' is all wrong for
English trail riding. 'You're all John Wayne!'
Fortunately, our long-ago lessons in a proper hunt seat are
still in muscle memory, and in no time we're sitting properly, holding the reins
with two hands, and are pronounced ready to ride.
John's assistant, Terence, checking stirrup length.
Over hill and dale, through the mountains, past miles of
vineyards, and things are going pretty well. We're able to do a posting trot, even a couple of canters, and other than a wrenching heartache for my beloved Cricket - who I rode with for 10 years and somewhere around 3,000 miles - I'm slowly adjusting to Don Pedro.
Two hours in, and we stop for a water and snack break.
Back in the saddle, headed toward home and then, quicker than I can type these
words, it all turned to a dog's dinner!
We're cantering across the top of a vineyard, and Sergeant suddenly decides he's going to pass Don Pedro. Tim's best efforts at control are in vain. Don Pedro lurches left, then right, ('that horse is not going to get ahead of me!') and just to make his point throws in a buck, and before I can even register what's happening, I'm sailing through the air, watching the ground approach with
alarming speed.
I've fallen off before but never while at a canter and never
onto drought-hardened ground embedded with rocks. Tim, watching in horror, characterized it as a 'textbook-perfect landing.' To say I was protected might seem fantastic to some, but
others reading this will smile and nod knowingly. Other than dirty duds and boots, I was unhurt. In fact, I
got back in the saddle and rode the remaining two miles back to the corral. (no photo of this event!)
But I was sore - very sore. Shot off an email to the Limpopo safari owners asking for the calmest,
gentlest horse in their herd!!
