I had a perfect ride today. I was taught to avoid absolutes, but today’s ride genuinely was completely perfect. I hopped the barbed wire fence into the pasture and the sight of the volcano stopped me in my tracks. It’s a quarter mile walk down the road to the pasture where the horses graze (we rotate them between several) and once you’re within it there’s a clear view of the valley, and the snow-capped cone of Villarica rises beyond. Today, only the wispy grey smoke that signals the volcano’s inner life interrupted the sky’s blue. It was not only a cloudless day but a piercingly clear one as well, and it was as though I could see every fold and contour of the mountains in front and to the left of Villarica.
The pasture is speckled with large, leafy hardwoods which provide ample shade, and some low scrubby, leafy green bushes, which make excellent post-ride scratching tools for the horses. It is a pasture of mostly green low grass and clover, but huge swaths of long, beige grains stretch throughout and when the wind blows, the whole pasture ripples and waves. I walked with our two collies, Pontus and Ninuka and our terrier mutt, Daffy, who wrestled each other and circled the horses ineffectually. They have no herding skills. Together, we scared up two bandurias, or red-footed ibises, and a flock of tiuque, and they took off clumsily into the air, cawing as they rose.
It was from this idyllic beginning that the day continued perfectly. I caught the horses easily, fed them, saddled all nine in eighteen minutes flat, cleaned the area and even had time to collect fallen apples from a few trees before Mathias arrived back from Pucón in the van. He brought six young, enthusiastic riders, three Germans, two Swiss and an Australian, who handled their horses well and were thoroughly thrilled with every moment of the ride. We all rode in tank tops, paused for a juice break in a rocky sheep pasture, galloped across the black volcanic sand flat and stood on the shore of the Trancura river watching rafters pass by. As we galloped the last quarter mile to Antilco they beamed and whooped and hollered, and I tucked my reins under my thigh, then flung my arms out wide and let Moro run. We rode down the driveway with huge smiles split across our faces, and even though I’ve done that ride seventy some-odd times, I had as much fun as they did.
At one tranquil moment halfway through the ride, the Australian girl turned to me and said, “This job certainly gives you an awful lot of time to think, doesn’t it!” The answer is yes. There are long stretches when Moro just goes, on his own, free of my direction. He knows the way; he knows when to slow and wait and when to swing himself sideways against a gate so I can lock it shut. He is a mean, complicated horse and knowing him has given me my first true understanding of a love-hate relationship, but he is an excellent leader. So, sometimes I let him guide and leave myself to think and daydream. And I realized that all the free time alone with my thoughts is perhaps why today was such a perfect day.
Hidden within my apparently simple tasks, like “catching the horses,” there are infinite tiny steps I take, and hundreds of little tricks and rules I’ve learned and discovered that make it all go smoothly. This job stays interesting from day to day, not only because I meet new people every day, but also because I work with sixteen horses who are as different from one another as any random selection of sixteen people would be. And maybe it’s all that time to think that helps me learn about them better, understand how they cooperate, and put all the tiny puzzle pieces together to make the day run perfectly.
For example, when I went to catch the horses, I knew I’d need Moro, Pepe, Hidalgo, Treintayocho, Inca, Polca, Esperanza, Pehuen and Rebelde, so I stuffed two handfuls of oats into my pockets because Pepe has a tendency to run away. Pepe is a head shy horse who spooks easily, unless he’s with a mare named Regalona. The two horses are inseparable and Pepe follows her blindly, which makes catching Pepe and Regalona easy but proves difficult when you try separating them.
After I’d secured Pepe, I got Pehuen, Esperanza, Hidalgo and Inca, four horses who, in all the months I’ve known them, have never once retreated from a human with a rope in their hand. Pehuen is still young and foolish and sometimes comes running to see what treats you might have hidden behind the rope. Catching the first few easily is important because it keeps the rest of the horses calm. If one horse starts to run, the others may catch on to the idea and soon you’re in a vast pasture chasing horses and there’s no hope. With five horses already calmly tied to one another in a long chain, Moro, Hidalgo, and Rebelde came easily and I turned to face Treintayocho. It’s anyone’s guess from day to day whether she’ll shy away or let you throw a rope around her neck. Today I was lucky and she too decided to give me a day off from horse chasing.
Once a horse has a rope around its neck, it generally won’t run. To them, the rope is a stamp of defeat and even though they are still theoretically free, it doesn’t occur to them to try a last minute escape. Once the ropes are on, it comes down to the art of the line. Poets speak of the art of line in their quest to make each line of poetry perfectly composed and have integrity. My task is easier in that I simply need to tie the nine horses together in a chain in a sequence that will allow them to walk the quarter mile back to the barn fluidly. I put Moro up front because he walks faster than the rest and snarls the chain when he’s in back. Hidlago went in front of Treintayocho because she one of the few horses he won’t kick and because she hates being anywhere near the front.
Behind her came Pehuen, followed by Inca, followed by Pepe, followed at last by Polca because she’s a slow walker and a fighter. When she’s at the end of the line, her damage is minimal. I hid Esperanza toward the front because she and Pehuen are compulsive eaters and they encourage each other. It’s better to keep them separated. Rebelde is a well-behaved horse who can slip into most places in the line, but he keeps a fast pace and doesn’t aggravate Moro too much, so put him second today.
And, because today was a perfect day, the line I constructed worked wonderfully. All nine walked without hesitation, without stopping to eat or kick, and went smoothly all the way to Antilco. And with Moro in front, they continued down the road even when I retreated to the back of the line to close the gate. Every day it’s a new puzzle with new pieces; the addition of even one horse may mean a completely different strategy. The goal though, is always to get them walking and keep them walking. With even the shortest holdup they reach to eat, they step on their ropes, they get tangled, their personal space is threatened and soon they’re all kicking and headed in opposite directions. It comes down to the art of the line. The art of the line and flow. Because there is nothing so frustrating as trying to reason with a group of nine fighting horses who are tied to one another.
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