I’ve written about a couple of horses that roughed me up a bit, but there were good ones too. This one, I consider the best.

The horse I called Monk was just 5 when I bought him. He was purchased for a granddaughter and proved to be too much for a girl too young. He was, in fact, little more than green broke. He was also a type of horse I came to often ride in shopping for horses—an arena horse; I don’t think the horse ever saw the world outside of one. He was a nice looking horse though, a sorrel about 15.2. He was actually registered with the APHA, but the only indication that he was a Paint was a couple of odd white marks on each hind leg below the hocks. He was, for all intents and purposes, a Quarter horse.

That first field season was a siege. Everything was new to him. Forget crossing water, just stepping in mud was an ordeal. Deadfall timber caused snorting and that side-to-side head sway that horses do when they’re trying to figure something out. Still, he was unsure more than frightened. He hadn’t learned to trust me yet, but he never sold out on me. He was strong-willed and resistant, but he never felt dangerous. In other words, I knew the time was well spent.

I have memories of water crossings that took well over an hour. Worse, I recall a day coming upon an area during spring run-off. Water was running everywhere, covering perhaps 100 yards of trail with two distinct channels of deeper water and a couple inches of water everywhere else. Making matters even better, this was a shady, sheltered, north-slope location and the mosquitos were thick. Not a good day. I’m not sure how many hours we spent there, but I was spent, sweaty, and muddy by the end of the day.

At this stage of training, in addition to a lariat, I also carried about 20’ of rope. That day, it became apparent that there was just too much water to ride him across; no matter how much time I spent teaching and cajoling. I ended up getting him across the long stretches of water by running 50’ of line out from his halter, looping the rope around a tree in front of him and stretching the rope back so that I was behind him, pulling him in the direction I wanted him to go, and whirling the free end to coax him forward—much like you might do when loading a difficult horse into a trailer by yourself.

Bit-by-bit, we worked our way across the channels and saturated ground. As we reached each tree I had the rope looped around, I ran it out to the next one ahead, and repeated the process all the way across the water. I mounted on the other side and tried to ride him back. Again, he resisted. Again, I rigged up my ropes and drove him back across the water. Finally, I mounted on the other side and turned him back to cross once again. I rode him to the drop-off into the water, he hesitated. I rode him back away about 100’ and touched his sides with my spurs and we rode forward at a jog trot. He stopped at the edge and backed up quickly. I spun him around and again moved back about 100’.

I carried a braided leather quirt—handmade gift of an old Utah rancher I knew years before. It was carried clipped to a brass snap-hook on the off side of my saddle. I unsnapped it and slipped the loop around my right wrist, touched his sides with my spurs and again, we jogged toward the water. As soon as I felt him hesitate, I flicked back with the quirt, popped him on the side of his rump and kept him moving forward. When he attempted to stop, I popped him again and we went off into the water. From this point on I just urged him forward, touching him lightly with my feet when I felt him hesitate. We crossed.

I turned around and rode him back the other way to cross the water again. This time, when he hesitated, I only popped my own chap leg with the quirt and he drove forward back across the water all the way to the other side. Enough, we headed back to the trailer.



That first field season was all about instruction, none as difficult as the one described above. The first picture shows him in a hackamore during the early stages of putting a handle on him. He became a good friend who liked to go out and work. He wasn’t much for following, much preferring to be out front, or at least side-by-side when riding with others. He always had a bit of “sting,” something I preferred in my horses. It made him less than foolproof for novice riders, but that suited me fine. It also meant he had more bottom to him, more courage and heart, covered ground well, and was not given to flightiness.

I was never able to completely break him of his habit of jumping over little cuts in the landscape--even the ones that were a bit wider and had gentle slope to the sides that he could easily walk down and up the other side. He would reach the near edge, gather himself a little and launch himself over. I was used to it and it didn’t really bother me, but a couple of others who began to ride him as I was preparing to leave for Wyoming complained about it. “Don’t ride ’im then,” was my less-than-empathetic response.



He might be 12 or 13 in the second picture. I was out riding with the president of the big pool allotment I managed. He and I remain friends and he snapped this last picture of Monk and I. “Everybody ought to have one good horse and one good dog,” was a wish that someone forgotten shared with me once. I didn’t own Monk, but he was mine.

Lovely write-up. Monk sounds like a good 'un.

You seem to feel about him, the way I feel about Karma. Karma is an appendix (quarter horse and thoroughbred mix). He has his dings, dents, little quirks and oddities. But if you work with him, all things are possible. I haven't gotten him through real water yet, however. That one we are still working on. He looks very askance at our lake, certain that dragons live there. Karma could use a bit more quarter horse in his blood.

I got Karma later in his life when he already had a bunch of bad experiences in his head. An old New Zealand rancher told me that horses have a book in their head. There are good pages and bad pages. When he is on a bad page, the trick is go get him to turn it to a good page, and go on. Since I have taken this approach with Karma, we have been much more successful, and more of a team.

He has an easy life, just trail rides and the occasional cross rail, but I enjoy him immensely.

Thanks again for the great stories.

maybe you can tell me if I understand this correctly.

if a horse will be ridden for a single person for most of its life ,
a saddle should be made for that horse that fits it to his specific dimensions, and

while the saddle guy is at it , he can also make that same saddle fit the riders dimensions as well

to complement both the rider and the horse


but there are also saddles made that fit a variety of horses with a generic seat for many riders

Bendable, I guess I would amend your question slightly. If that horse is the only horse you are going to ride, then you could have a saddle built for him—and you. Generally though, you can have a saddle built that will fit a lot of different horses and be perfect for you.

A few weeks ago I wrote about a QH that I owned. As I said in the story, he was really the only horse I can recall my saddle not fitting well. He had very low withers, so there was little for the saddle to get purchase on at the gullet. His back was broad and the bars of my saddle were better suited to a narrower horse. On THAT horse my saddle tended to want to roll.

There are two dimensions important to fitting a horse: the gullet height, or how well it fits a high withered (or low withered) horse; the bars, which is the “frame” of the saddle that actually sits on its back. There really aren’t that many different configurations for the bars. Most common is “semi-quarter horse,” and that’s what the bars on my saddle are. Probably a good place to start.

As far as fitting you. Seat length is probably most important. The other consideration is preference in seat construction. “Do you want to sit in it, or on it?” my saddlemaker asked?

“In it,” was my reply.

I also hate to be spread wide when sitting in a saddle, it’s uncomfortable for me in a couple ways, so I had the ground seat kept narrow where my legs would pass.

If I remember right the gullet height of my saddle is 9”, but I’m not sure.

Let me know if I misinterpreted your question.

you got me, right on , thanks

Good stories.
Never owned a horse but have ridden many.

I used to go riding a lot when I was in high school.
I had a favorite horse I rode at the riding place.

I wanted to buy him and keep him in a stall at the fairgrounds.
We agreed on a price, but a week before I was to pick him up, he swallowed a nail and died.

He was only 4.

the fourth time was the last time , for me .

the stables had a three mile loop that went through a river bottom area.

when I was 14 , they gave me a horse that was wonderful !

until the 1.5 mile mark, then it was every western movie chase scene that I had ever seen.

we made that last 1.5 miles in what seemed like seconds, whoa, was not in his vocabulary.

I waited 25 minutes for the other four in the group

Yeah, a lot of the riding stables horse would try to run you knees into trees.

Did it to me so much I have knee pain a lot now.

I pulled ones head into a tree when he tried

do it and he got a bloody nose. Never tried it with me again..

Great story. Very often the best horse is not necessarily perfect, in fact often it's just the opposite. It's all about the connection and the communication...and the trust and respect.

Well said, Bama. There was another horse that I bought when I was in Rifle, Colorado. I really liked him too and if I was going way into the back country by myself, I rode him—at least until Monk and I really bonded, because he was totally reliable. I should post a picture of him. The ranchers really liked him and were always trying to buy him He was seal brown in color and looked black for much of the year. I was so blessed at that time, having two horses that I really liked. This one was called Cole. Monk was better for two reasons: Cole didn’t have that “sting” I talked about—he was a little too gentle. Cole also didn’t walk as fast as Monk. It could be a long day pedaling if you had far to go.

what is the ride/walk rate for horses?
6 miles riding and 2 miles afoot?

I don’t understand the question

I would guess that a horse with a rider would have some amount of endurance limits.

So I am wondering how far the horse has to carry a person ,prior to getting any kind of a break?

Say on a three hundred mile trip?

or does a body just ride'em till they get tired of riding?

Bendable, that really is one of those, “How long is a piece of string?” questions. So many variables.

There are endurance riding events with multiple check stations, staffed by veterinarians who monitor heart rate and respiration of the horse. The horse and rider train for weeks before these events. Just like any athlete, equine athletes must be conditioned before any kind of competitive event.

Otherwise, “how long before they need a break?” depends on their general condition, the weight and athleticism of the rider and the terrain. In the spring, my horses would be soft from low activity during the winter. It takes quite awhile to build their condition back up (mine too). When you take any horse into the mountains and climb to higher elevation their lungs get to burning just like yours do if you hike with a pack and make a steep climb.

If you hear and feel them start huffing, you just stop, let them catch their breath and lower their heart rate. Continue up the mountain until they again show signs of over exertion, stop and repeat as necessary. Horses aren’t motorcycles. Think about them and, in my experience, they begin to look out for you too.

We have a local guy here, Eustace Conway, that road a horse from NC to CA.

is there any truth to that old "heels down ,toes up" rumor?

 
Tom, what happened to Monk when you retired? Does he stay with you, or get turned over to the Forest Service. I ask because my wife's K-9, though purchased by her department, lived with us after he retired.
 

quote:

Originally posted by bendable:
is there any truth to that old "heels down ,toes up" rumor?

That’s not a rumor, that’s part of proper riding position. Sit up straight. Sit on your pelvic bones, not your pockets. From the side your body position should look somewhat like you’re sitting in a chair; no matter how long a stirrup you ride, your feet are never under your pelvis.

Where your foot sits in the stirrup depends on the type of stirrup you use and personal preference. I rode in oxbows—even those pictures above with taps, oxbows. Therefore, I rode deep to the heel. Typically, I would recommend placing your foot in the stirrup such that the ball of the foot rests on the tread.

Why heels down? The horse may have a good whoa on him. He may see the devil and suddenly dart right or left. Dropping your heels does more than make it less likely that you’ll hang in a stirrup should you fall, it also puts your body in position to stay balanced when the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or a sea of troubles comes your way.

Don’t have your heels down when he suddenly decides not to go through there? Dashboarded. Don’t have them down when he darts right? You go off, passing by the left side of his neck.

This message has been edited. Last edited by: TMats,

quote:

Originally posted by henryaz:
 
Tom, what happened to Monk when you retired? Does he stay with you, or get turned over to the Forest Service. I ask because my wife's K-9, though purchased by her department, lived with us after he retired.
 

Monk stayed behind when I got my ranger job in Wyoming. The ranger in Rifle offered to make a trade for him; straight across for a good mule. I didn’t know the people up there and couldn’t see my first action upon arriving asking for a good, well-broke mule to trade for a horse I wanted to bring. I imagine he’s still alive now, it hasn’t been that long. I should see if both Monk and Cole are still around and go see them.

TMats: Appreciate your stories and insight. I had a trusty quarter horse as well. Not many aside from me could ride him. He definitely had that sting. Thanks for bringing back the memories!