Adventure in the Mountains
On September 14th, I left Langley with a fully loaded truck and trailer, and headed out on the road. With me were Margaret Ratzlaff and her pony Renner’s Reliable Rusty, as well as my Welsh Cob, Carrick Bryn Cymro. Our destination was Tappen, B.C. where we were to enter our first Competitive Trail Ride. We had spent a few weeks conditioning our ponies, planning what to bring getting more excited as time drew near.
Upon arriving at the campsite, we set up paddocks for our ponies and made them comfortable. Our friends, Joanne and Elisa were also there and we set up camp beside them. We had dinner and then went to the competitors meeting. Our start time was 7:55a.m. the next morning. We had 5 hours and 15 minutes to complete the 17-mile ride; on marked trails consisting of a variety of terrain. There were flat trails through the woods, steep hills, some rocky terrain and water crossings and a small amount of roadwork. We took our ponies to the vet check, then set about to get ready to go to bed. Our ponies and the other two horses were contentedly eating their hay, each in their own electric fenced paddock. It was about 10:00 p.m., very dark out and really quite cold. All of a sudden Cymro and Rusty spooked big time. All too quickly they were loose. In an instant I had a leadrope and a grain bucket in my hand. They ran behind the trailer where there was no light. Despite our quick reactions, coaxing calls and shaking grain buckets, they took off into the cold, dark night. They were gone. Two hours of searching in the dark revealed nothing. We finally said “They’re herd animals, they’ll come back to see the other two horses in the morning for sure. There’s nothing else we can do now.” We all headed to bed. Margaret and I slept in our clothes, thinking that when they come back we will quickly jump up and be prepared to catch them. Morning comes. Everyone in the camp knows our horses are missing. All the riders with cell phones are given my number incase they find them on their ride. So Margaret and I spend the day walking the trails, driving the roads and passable trails, speaking to every person we see, leaving notes at all houses where no one is home, making phone calls to the police, the conservation officer, radio stations, S.P.C.A. and a variety of other places. The day was long and hot. The search was fruitless. We were heartbroken to say the least. That night there was a potluck dinner and the awards were presented. Joanne won first place in the lightweight division! Margaret and I won the ‘hard-ship’ award. How sad it was. We never did get to compete in the Competitive Ride we had trained for and now our ponies were gone. Another sleepless night passed.
Sunday morning arrived with a cloudy sky and intermittent sprinkles. We said goodbye to our friends, as they had to get back to their homes for work and other responsibilities. A group of about 8 ‘Backcountry Horsemen’ arrived, tacked up and organized search parties. We were so grateful that these wonderful people were here. On horseback, they could cover the places we could not drive to, they could travel to the places only horses would go and could cover a lot more ground than our feet could take us. Within 2 hours my phone rang. We were in my truck, way up a mountain on a logging trail. I answered the phone but could hear nothing. The reception in this area was unreliable at best. Seeing that the number came from the 2-5-0 area code, our hearts pounded with the hope that the ponies had been found. Driving down the mountain, it was impossible to control our thoughts and feelings. We raced down the trail until we got phone reception. I quickly called the number that had called me. It was Rose, the campground supervisor. She said” They got a pony! They found one!” Immediately my heart jumped with excitement. At the same time, it sank into my stomach. One?? They found only one??? “Which one?” I asked. “The brown one” she said. I hung up and we sped off to the campground. I told Margaret that they found one pony. She asked which one. By now the tears were flowing. “A BROWN one.” I said. Which one is that??? I said that I really didn’t want to know right now. We raced into the campground looking around. No pony could be found. We asked the fella there - Which pony did they find and WHERE is it??? He handed Margaret a horse blanket – it was Rusty’s. My heart dropped. They had found Rusty walking down a trail. His halter and blanket still on, no apparent injuries. He was led back to the camp, put into a fenced horse corral and his blanket removed. Instantly he whirled around ducked under the rope gate and took off full tilt, into the forest. He went back to find Cymro! He couldn’t leave his buddy all alone! The riders chased him down the trails, letting him keep his distance and go where he wanted. The hoped he would lead them to Cymro. Eventually, Rusty slowed down and stopped. He could not find his buddy. He was exhausted. They led him back to camp and to Margaret. The day wore on. We speculated what would have made them go separate ways. We knew they had spent the first night together, as we had found a meadow with traces of both of them. Margaret set out on Rusty, who was perfectly sound with no blemishes. She gave him his head, letting him go where he wanted, hoping he would find Cymro. A bucket of grain was placed near a creek and all old hoof marks were erased. I took my truck and headed up the mountain trails again. Night fell, the riders went home and we tucked Rusty in for the night. Unable to fight the thoughts in my head, I pictured Cymro in a ravine, leg broken and cougars approaching. It was unbearable. Sitting at the picnic table, contemplating another long, cold night we were surprised to see an angel approach. It was Rose, the campground supervisor, arriving with a warm, spaghetti dinner. Oh, how tasty it was! After two nights with no sleep, and two long and stressful days, that warm meal was a blessing.
Monday arrived. Our angel arrived again with hot coffee. We walked up the trail to the grain bucket. My heart was hopeful. Cymro HAD to have smelled the grain and gone to eat it. He HAS to be near. Calling his name the entire weekend had resulted in no returned whinnies. Walking up the trails, I continued to call his name. We heard nothing. We reached the bucket and I eagerly approached it. The grain was all still there. Untouched. The rain had soaked it. There were no hoof prints. This was killing me. How much longer can I do this? Where is he? No trace of Cymro had been seen since the first night in the meadow. We walked the trails again. We called. We listened. We gave it our all. Finally, we went back to camp to collect our thoughts and see what our next plan of action would be. Margaret went down to the lake with Rusty. I stood in the campground. Looking into the forest, where I had last seen Cymro, three days ago. Wishing, hoping, praying he would appear. Then suddenly, there he was. My magnificent, glorious, beautiful Welsh Cob. He was stunning. He was trotting; no…he was floating…out of the forest. He trotted towards me. Head up, ears pricked, big extended trot. I yelled to Margaret. I grabbed the grain bucket. I ran to meet him. I called to him. Cymro did not look at me. He did not slow down. He trotted right up to Rusty who was beside himself with excitement. They met. They touched noses. They sniffed each other. They were together. They were pleased. These two geldings had survived the most bizarre three days of their lives. They had done it together. Being separated from each other had been as heart wrenching to them as losing them had been to us. They were back. They were safe. They were home. Once Cymro knew Rusty was all right, his attention turned to me. Aside from a few scratches, a swollen knee and one strap missing from his blanket, he was okay. He was thirsty and he was hungry. The connection between these two geldings, that previously hardly knew each other, was something I will never forget. First and foremost, they wanted to be together and they wanted each other to be safe. Rusty had broken free to go find his friend. Cymro had eyes for no one until he knew his buddy was safe.
It truly was an incredible experience. (But not one I ever hope to repeat!)
Here is a picture of Rusty and Cymro on our adverturous weekend:
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Below is an article I wrote for the B.C. Welsh newsletter many ponies ago...
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News from the World of Health
SPECIAL REPORT
Report of a new and serious sickness has just come to my attention. This is a very serious and chronic illness. The name of it is W.A.S. This acronym stands for Welsh
Acquiring Syndrome. Acute symptoms of this illness are:
1) uncontrollable purchasing of Welsh Ponies
2) dwindling bank account balance due to high feed, hay and vet bills;
3) overwhelming love for darling pony creatures;
4) the desire to build on to the barn to even out the ratio of stalls to equine;
5) uncharacteristic vocalizations from the stricken one’s spouse or friends in the form of “But you already have ___ ponies!“(insert number from 4-20 here) and “You decide...its me or the ponies.”
This condition is very grave indeed. Once a person is diagnosed with W.A.S., there really is no hope for recovery, and the condition will grow progressively worse. There is no known cure for Welsh Acquiring Syndrome; one can only hope to be surrounded by others with the same condition or caring and understanding people, who will support (financially or otherwise) the sick person, while the rest of the world looks on in utter disbelief, as well as relief that they themselves are not ill. It has proven to be contagious, and can be caught by just being in the presence of a stricken individual. Many people are more susceptible to this condition as they already carry the offending genes in their DNA, which, once exposed to warm, fuzzy Welsh Ponies or even another person already infected, the genes react and a full blown case will surface.
If you happen to be affected by this sickness, whether you know someone with it, or you, yourself is indisposed, help may be found by calling:
1-800-Lord-help-me-I-just-brought-home-another-pony.
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Below is another article I wrote for the B.C. Welsh newsletter...
Hello from
One day last week, I came home after work and walked into the house. Before I could even get my shoes off, I heard my husband, who was upstairs, say to me “Don’t you think you over-fed your horses?” I thought for a moment, remembered that I hadn’t, in fact, fed my horses anything that day (there was still enough grass). I said, “What do you mean?” He says “A Whole Bale?” WHAT?? I turn around, run out the door and out to the barn. OH MY GOSH! It was bedlam! There was a party going on – and I wasn’t invited! The day before I had 240 bales of yummy, green grass hay delivered. My normally empty hay room was now stacked floor to ceiling with hay. There was just a small area left to keep my wheelbarrow and buckets and stuff. Well, this small area was now taken up with my wheelbarrow, buckets, stuff and PONIES! Penny and Colby were in there, sampling bale after bale. There was hay all over the place. Cymro and Mackenzie had somehow managed to pull the last 115-pound bale of Timothy Mix out of the hay room into the paddock. They were thoroughly enjoying ripping it to shreds. I don’t know how they got that particular bale outside. I can only imagine the determination they must have had to get it accomplished. And Peanut. Little Peanut. Poor little Peanut who is the low man on the totem pole. He is politely standing in off to the side, doing nothing wrong, and seems to be saying to the other ponies, “You’ll be soooorrrryyyy!” As soon as the ponies see me, they look up, mouths full of hay and say ….PARTY!” So, I kicked them out, cleaned up the mess and tried to work out how they got in there in the first place. (I did figure it out – I had forgotten to hook the second safety latch on in the morning. Yes, it was my fault – not the ponies). Later, I asked my husband if he seriously thought that is how I would feed my ponies – by throwing a whole, unopened bale of hay out into the paddock. He says “Sure, why not?” Hmmmm – do we really live in the same house? All I can do is shake my head and laugh. Good thing I don’t leave him in charge of my animals when I go away!
Hope you all had a great summer!
Sandy Kwiczak