Yeah yeah I know I said I was going to cut the links to all the posts to my blog  except for the  Thankful Thursdays etc.  But after asking a few people their opinion, I have decided to leave them.  Plus when I check out the visitors on my stats page most are coming to view those very pages. Ones like Sunday Historathon – 1800′s, maybe I should continue it?, and create a Saddle series, and continue the Cowboy life.  I have a piece from someone I met on Twitter that I have not posted yet for the Cowboy Life series.  It’s a good one too.  There is a gal who may start posting her Thankful Thursdays on THE PONY EXPRESSION too.

I like how this blog reflects my life history both sad and happy, but also has interesting things outside of me for folks to read.

Lesson learned there are no final decisions.

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Just  a short note to say that my Internet is back up and running in Silverton Colorado.  In the next couple days I’ll post a run down of what has been going on. Also I have word that their may be a new series posted on THE PONY EXPRESSION soon.  As well as another Outdoors story.

Stay tuned.

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We are very pleased to feature our 2nd Outdoorsman and Outdoorswoman Writers Series guest author Dawn Faught. With a camera as her constant companion the resulting photography punctuates her distinct and enjoyable writing style.

ROCKY MOUNTAIN HIGH

I never knew how much work goes into saddling a horse until I tried it at 10,000 ft.  when I experienced the pleasure and terror of a five-day pack trip in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains in Colorado with Bear Basin Outfitters. Since this is a “roughing it” type of vacation, we saddled and cared for our own horses, set up tents and generally helped around camp as much as we could. Roughing it also meant when you inquire into the nearest “facility” you were handed a shovel and roll of TP and pointed in the general direction of a clump of trees!

 The first morning out, this flatlander eagerly set out to brush and saddle my horse….now you could swear she must have been of draft horse stature since I had to take breaks between brushing each side, not to mention after hefting my saddle over her massively tall 14.3 hand body.  I glanced over towards my tent mate to see her in the same predicament….we promptly declared in one voice, “Altitude stinks” and sat down for a break to slow our labored breathing and pounding hearts.

 The Sangre de Cristo Mountains are about as rough and beautiful as I’ve ever seen. As part of the Rocky Mountain Range, they live up to their name with boulders ranging from baseball size to entire mountaintops and anything in between, and lots of them. The horses navigated through the tricky rolling deathtraps with great agility and finesse. Hiking past altitudes of 12,500 ft., by the way, is a feat I actually accomplished… but it wasn’t pretty. A high mountain lake inaccessible by horseback was our goal if that gives you any clue to the terrain. We unfortunately didn’t quite make it to our destination but I sure didn’t complain when that hailstorm and lightning came along and made us beat a hasty retreat back down the mountain. Going downhill is much easier than up as long as you keep your footing. My guide cautioned us, “If you kick a rock loose make sure you warn anyone below. Someone sent one tumbling last week and it’s still rolling.”

The pleasure of the ride came from sharing time with great new found friends who shared my love of horses and the pure splendor of the mountains. The magnitude of the 14,000 ft. peaks towering above us washed in brilliant sunrises each morning were as delightful as the tiniest of flowers blooming prolifically at its feet. Elusive elk and bounding deer found their movements frozen within my camera lens along with countless horses, trees and scenic views. Scat signs and the grunting noises of a black bear somewhere within the dense forest but never visualized kept us on our toes as we traveled past trees bearing their massive claw marks. 

The terror came as we scaled the passes along narrow trails through treacherous rock slides. The pass we scaled the last day was the worst, in part because it occurred shortly after riding past a tombstone for some poor chap dated 1913. Visions of just how that pioneer must have tumbled to his final resting point went crashing through my head as Dan the guide warned, “This ain’t no disco, ride as light as you can.”  For once, my camera sat idle as we traversed the crumbly switchbacks. Riders behind me were “the size of ants” on the trail far below. We were so high, even the marmot we saw was hugging a rock for safety on his high perch. I looked at Dan and he chuckled at my extremely wide-eyed ND Flatlander Scared You-Know-Whatless look.

Photo credit: Dawn Faught

That look and my terror were quickly exchanged for pleasure once again, along with a gasp of extremely thin air as we reached the top and enjoyed the splendor of the mountain valley and clear blue lake far below. I grabbed my camera and after vowing “these are pictures I’m never going to show my Mom,” started snapping photos of the stragglers working their way up This Ain’t No Disco Pass.

Enjoyed this story? Would you like more? For more Dawn Faught imagery be it written or visual take a journey to her website at:  www.rushridge.com

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This is the first of our Outdoorsman & Outdoorswoman Writers Series.  Our first guest writer is Mike Hawk Huston a very talented author of thought provoking short stories and articles with a moral twist.  I hope you enjoy these stories and articles and appreciate the talent and messages shared here by our varied authors.
 

 
SACRED GROUND

For miles, the grasslands sway in the evening breeze. Like a sea of gold, the wind moves the landscape in a constant never-ending wave of moving grasses. Several miles away on the horizon, a herd of pronghorn antelope grazes among the sagebrush and grass as they have for thousands of years. The pronghorn has remained virtually unchanged for millions of years; during the Pleistocene period, the pronghorns lightening quick speed helped them to survive the onslaught of attacks by Dire Wolves, and prehistoric Cheetah. Today they still populate the west in large numbers, living comfortably in the most extreme conditions, where other animals would surely perish. Another animal that thrives in this harsh environment remarkably well is the wild American Mustang. These horses have survived for hundreds of years. The American government tried to wipe out the wild mustang in the eighteen hundreds in an effort to bring the Plains Indian tribes to their knees. After years of conflict, this was our government’s solution, to try and defeat the proud warriors who fought so bravely for their homes, families and way of life. Thousands of wild Mustangs were ordered shot on sight, nearly decimating the once vast herds. In the same way as the plains tribes main source of food and basic necessities of life the Tatanka or Buffalo was. The proud and powerful American Bison once roamed the vast plains in numbers too numerous to count.

As I stare across the open country, I see the herds vanishing before my eyes and the lodges of the ancient peoples disappear into as much mist in my minds eye.

Thunderheads build across the western horizon. Lightening dances in the cloud formation lending a spiritual aspect to the power I feel brewing all around me on these sacred high plains. Cisco, feels the power on the winds too. I feel the muscles bunching under me, as he starts prancing in that way he does, letting me know his legs are ready for a long powerful run across the threshold of time. He is a direct descendent of the ancient mustangs. A breed unto themselves, built for stamina and speed, endurance and true wildness. Cisco came to me through a friend, no one had ridden him and the horse trainer I took him to said I should never try to ride him because he would kill me. The warrior spirit in me stepped up to the challenge and we began the process of training each other. Our first ride ended with me meeting the earth at a high rate of speed. Since then, we have learned together and have ridden over a hundred miles together in the last few months.

Mike Hawk Huston on Cisco, his American Mustang partner and friend. Together they pierced the Veil.

Photo credit: Stacey Huston of  A Focus In The Wild

I touch his side ever so slightly and release the reins. On powerful legs, we launch into the plains with lightening quick speed. The ground falls away behind us as Cisco hits his stride. The evening air hits my face, making my eyes water as we fly into the winds; we have danced this dance before, man and beast flowing as one in a sacred manner across the lands of our ancestors. For miles, we run, feeling alive and free in the face of the oncoming storm. Finally, we slow to a walk, and I pat his neck, whispering into his ears in a gesture of friendship. The truck and trailer are in sight. Somehow, we have returned to the present, to the modern world, from our ancient journey. As I steer the truck onto the highway, and begin the trip homeward I glance across the plains. In the distance ancient fires still burn and the glow of hundreds of lodges light the evening horizon, while wild horses graze on the dimly lit grasses of late evening …………Hawk a/ho

Would you like more?  Read more of Mike Hawk Huston’s work at High Country Archer

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