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A Horse Traveler’s Journal

Chungo Creek Outfitters

The One Hour Ride

We are on a mid day trip up the Wapiabi river. Greg and Cory, father and son respectively, have graciously allowed us to tag along a while on the trip. The weather is ideal and the setting perfect for some fine scenery video work. The two are patient with us as we stall and set up for just the right locations. I'm riding Magnum and Will is on Duke. The drive down the winding bumpy road to get here was worth it. The powerful yellow colour of the leaves reflecting pure mountain sunshine is amazing. If I were to pinch myself every time realized how fortunate I was to be here on this day, I'd run out of surface area pretty quick. The trail twists and turns quietly left to right and the packhorses follow the rhythm of Cory's lead horse. The water rushes past us as our horses cross the clear mountain water. Magnum is looking down, trying to understand the flowing prism at his feet. It's all relatively new to him. I watch the packhorses. Their eyes are forward and they are calmly watching the horses ahead of them as they walk through the stream. The packhorses seem at peace here. So do Cory and Greg, patient and relaxed. In spite of the long ride that lies ahead for Cory who will be travelling on with the two packhorses for another four hours after we leave him… right about now. We bid farewell to Cory and stop creekside for a few minutes to talk. I'm thinking I wouldn't mind just carrying on up the creek with Cory as we discuss the beauty, the weather and the distances the guys ride over a year. Then Greg begins to unravel a story of wild horses.

"Just last week…" he begins, "we were up in camp with a group…we were camped near a band of wild horses." As he speaks, the water continues to rush behind him, Will's video camera is locked on him as the story unfolds. It seems there was an old mare, obviously ready to die. She heads off and she finds the most beautiful valley around. The stallion follows. The mare stays in this piece of heaven for three full days. Patiently waiting and quietly biding her time. The stallion too seems aware of a change coming. He stays by her side, abandoning his herd for the time being, he too waits. Finally, at the end of the third day, the mare dies. The stallion seems to realize it is over, yet he stays. He stays by her side for another full day. Respects paid, the wild stallion finally moves back to his band of mares.

There is an awkward silence as he finishes. Will and I look past each other then the other way, not sure what to say. We feel like outsiders getting a glimpse into another man's private world. The moment passes and before long we're back on our horses heading home.

Back at the Outfitter's camp, I’m told of a one-hour ride. It's a trail I can ride from camp and easily return before supper. I mount up once again. As we, Magnum and I, head down the steep rocky trail that angles down to the creek, the late afternoon sun shines warmly on us. I can't help but replay the wild horse story in my mind. It has been the kind of day I hope to dream of through the winter months ahead. I think of Cory, following a trail through the mountains with his packhorses, probably still riding. I again think of my own good fortune and I laugh out loud with Magnum as he charges hard up the opposing bank and on to the one-hour ride.

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