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Honeymoon on Horseback
By Kate Van Pelt DeLoach
It wasn’t until after I planned our honeymoon, and my fiancé, Paul,
paid for it that I informed him he wouldn’t be riding the gaited
Tennessee Walking horses he was used to on our seven-day horseback
riding trip on the Mendocino Coast. No fourth, smooth, running-walk
gait for which the Tennessee Walkers were bred and known. Nope, just
walk, trot and canter. Though not Tennessee Walkers, the horses at
the Ricochet Ridge Ranch sounded lovely and exotic: Akhal Tekes,
Russian Orlovs, Arabians, Appys … but nowhere did I read “gaited,”
the cue word for that fourth gait.
“You
might want to learn how to post,” I said to the man who had
entrusted me with planning our post-nuptial vacation. (Posting is
when you extend your legs to rise and fall in the saddle with the
horse’s stride.) Paul wasn’t amused. And he certainly had no
intention of learning to post, I could tell from the
real-men-don’t-post glare he gave me. For the next several weeks
I could overhear him muttering to his roughest-riding Walker, “I’ll
be dying to be on you out in California.” And, “I’ll be missing even
you soon, Ol’ Boy.”
I don’t
claim to be an expert rider—far from it—and Paul has a lot more
experience on a horse than I do. But I had recently taken just
enough English riding lessons to know 1.) the value of chaps and
half-chaps (to prevent leg chafing) and 2.) the value of posting and
riding two-point (to put your tush in the air when any other place
is painful). I did manage to convince Paul to take his leather
chaps. Perhaps he would survive the adventure after all.
Day 1
The
flight into San Francisco was uneventful—just what I want a flight
to be—and we stayed the night at a hotel. We got up early to drive
north on Route 1, up the California Coast to Fort Bragg. I have been
in California Wine Country before, and the ocean waves breaking on
the rocky coast is as beautiful as I remember it. We arrive in Cleone, a small coastal town and check in at the Cleone Gardens Inn
just in time for a meeting arranged by the host of the trip, Lari
Shea, owner of Ricochet Ridge Ranch and an award-winning endurance
rider. Lari is petite and pretty, with a well toned and tan body
that speaks to the experience she has as an endurance rider.
The
group, at this point, is small: Celeste, a real estate banker from
L.A., and her 10-year-old daughter, Brittany; Judy, a high school
Spanish and French teacher also from the L.A. area; and Betsy, a
computer programmer/project manager from Palo Alto; and, of course,
Paul and Kate from South Georgia. Another five riders are expected
to join us later in the day—the Gonski family from Alaska. For the
11 of us, there are four guides: Lari, Cynthia, Carolyn and Kyra.
Having advance information on the group members’ experience level,
height and weight, Lari has pre-assigned our equine companions. I
have been matched with Citron, a pretty palomino Akhal Teke/Arabian
mare, and Paul has been assigned to Dakota, a large, muscular,
Quarter horse gelding.
It is common among the “horse people” we know—including Paul—to
prefer geldings (castrated males) over mares, but I have always
considered this a little unfair. Geldings are supposed to be calmer,
more predictable, than their moody female counterparts. And while I
rode a perfectly behaved mare at Kitty Turner’s South Winds Farm in
Americus, Ga., where I took lessons, Goldie is a school horse after
all; it’s her job to be well behaved. So I am happy to be on Citron,
to judge for myself.
The California beaches’ sand is coarse and granular—far more akin to
the Atlantic Ocean beaches I grew up on than to the Panhandle’s
fine, packed, powdery sand that I have grown accustomed to. As the
horses walk along the beach, their hooves sink into the sand up to
their fetlocks, and it is easy to see how they have built such
well-defined haunches and shoulders. Citron is model-gorgeous, with
a little bit of celebrity attitude, too—a nip here, a
pinned-back-ears glare there, even an ill-placed kick towards
Dakota—but as long as her transgressions stay aimed at our
four-legged companions, I can deal. And then we turn around for
home—a place all horses are eager to go.
I had the good fortune (in retrospect) of being on a runaway horse a
couple of years ago. Without digressing into that nightmare, suffice
it to say that I learned, after the fact, how to handle a runaway
horse—turn him, or in this case her, into a circle. Citron’s plan
was thwarted. But I think I’m beginning to agree with the folks back
home.
The first two nights, we will stay at the Cleone
Gardens Inn, a comfortable place with private
jasmine-engulfed room entrances and a fabulous
multi-tiered deck on the back. The owners serve us
hearty breakfasts both mornings on the deck. And the
Northern California weather is as perfect as I remember
it.
Dinner both nights is arranged at restaurants in Fort Bragg. This
first night the group is mostly finished when the Gonski family
arrives. We order more wine and hang around to get to know the five
who round out the group. There’s Dustin Hoffman-look-alike Jim, his
wife, Pat, and their children, Brandon, 17, Meghan, 14, and Katie,
12. The Gonski’s are outdoor, adventure-loving folks—they own a
whitewater kayaking company in Alaska to prove it—but have had very
little horseback riding experience. They are on this trip for
Meghan, compliments of Make a Wish Foundation. Meghan, who is
battling cystic fibrosis, has loved horses all her life. And
although her extensive knowledge of the equine world is primarily
through books, Meghan’s wish is “to canter a horse on the beach.”
Cystic
fibrosis (CF) is a genetic disease, Pat explains to me, that results
in the faulty transport of salt in organs such as the lungs and the
pancreas, which leads to a thick mucus that hinders the function of
these organs. Currently Meghan is on a waiting list for a lung
donor, but her parents are actively pursuing finding two living
donors (they have one). As we all have five lobes in our lungs, and
can function normally with four, the procedure is to remove one lobe
from two donors and replace Meghan’s lungs with them. Potential
donors for Meghan must have O-type blood and be non-smokers, says
Pat.
Meghan
is small for her age and frail-looking, which is typical of those
persons with CF, but quite pretty. She has large blue eyes rimmed
with dark brown lashes the color of her long thick hair. She began
losing her hearing in the second grade and is now deaf—a common
ramification of the medication that CF children must undergo. Her
family signs to her as we talk around the dinner table, keeping her
informed of the discussion.
While I
felt a little odd when planning my honeymoon—that it would be with a
group of strangers—I now feel quite blessed to be able to spend it
as witness to this special child’s experience of a lifetime. It
seems odd, too, that such misfortune can spawn joy. I sink into bed
this first night feeling very special myself, just for being here.
Day 2
Today
we ride in Mackerricher
National Park. After breakfast, we each pack our own
picnic lunch from a spread of cold-cuts and trail mix provided at
the Ranch, and we pile in cars and trailer the horses the 20-plus
miles to the Park. I don’t know if it’s a comment on my handling of
Citron yesterday, but today I have a new mount: Indiana Jones,
called Indy, a gray Arabian gelding. I must admit, I am happy about
the switch.
I am learning what an endurance horse is all about. Our horses
scramble up impossibly steep and rocky trails (too steep to hike on
foot) and, even more astonishingly, they maneuver back down them.
They trot and canter as much, if not more, than they walk. The
horses never miss-step or falter or spook.
Indy is Harrison Ford, and more. He wants to go and to go fast. For
long stretches of fast, uphill canters, he leads the pack, just
behind Lari on Avantii, a chestnut Arabian gelding. At the end of
exhilarating miles-long canters, Indy is barely breathing hard. What
an incredible horse. Right now it seems like a perfectly fine trade
off: our Walking horses’ gait for these Arabians’ speed and stamina.
Lari explains that
Arabians make such good endurance horses because they
often have an amazing cardiovascular system, capable of
delivering a larger volume of blood with each stroke of
the heart than some other breeds, so they work with a
lower heart rate and recover to normal parameters
faster. With a proliferation of little peripheral blood
vessels under relatively thin skin, they are able to
radiate heat out of their bodies to help cool down. And
their relatively small size makes for a greater
proportion of surface area in relation to body mass, so
they can sweat and cool down faster than, say, a quarter
horse. Which is why, as I am leading the pack on Indy,
Paul is bringing up the rear on Dakota. Dakota is
tremendously muscular, but doesn’t have the respiratory
and cardiovascular capacity to keep up with the
Arabians. And it is just as well Paul’s back there where
I can’t hear him cussing me and Lari and trotting and
posting—all in a very high-pitched voice.
Day 3
On this third day, we ride in the morning on the bluffs overlooking
the Pacific Ocean. The views are spectacular, and we take a lot of
scenic photographs. The afternoon is free to explore downtown
Mendocino. During lunch, Lari tells us some of the history of
Mendocino as a logging and fishing community and shares photos of
the early methods for maneuvering the huge redwoods from the forest
onto the ships for transport.
After checking in at the old Mendocino Hotel, Paul and I tour the
small town’s retail shops and galleries. The group is served an
excellent dinner in a private room at the hotel restaurant and is
entertained by a dulcimer player and balladeer.
Day 4
This
is the day Meghan has been waiting for. We will all canter Ten Mile
Beach in the morning on our way to Westport, Calif., where we will
spend the next three nights at the DeHaven Valley Farm Bed and
Breakfast and ride the surrounding hillsides during the days.
Lari
often splits the group into three or even four smaller groups based
on the capacity of the horses and the will of the riders (thus, the
need for extra trail guides). Paul and I usually are not in the same
group, but today we are. Cantering in the ocean’s surf is a
beautiful experience, and once again I am amazed at how strong these
horses are that they can maintain a fast canter—a gallop if they’re
allowed—all the while their legs are plunging into the sand a foot
or more with each stride in some places.
At the
end of Ten Mile Beach, we get onto the highway (Route 1) long enough
to cross a bridge (which in itself is a sight to see—more than a
dozen horses trotting across a two-mile bridge shared with vehicular
traffic), and we eat lunch on the other side on “Simcha,” property
owned by Lari and her husband, Harvey, who has joined our ride this
day. On Simcha, Lari hosts 50-mile endurance rides and ride-and-tie
races (where partners take turns riding a single horse, the
non-rider running on foot). Sitting on a clearing intended for their
future home, drinking wine from Harvey’s saddlebags, the group
watches a thick fog roll in from the ocean and engulf the hills.
Simcha, meaning “joyous occasion,” is aptly named. Today is a joyous
occasion—Meghan cantered on the beach!
Day 5
I am
getting used to this lifestyle: big breakfast, leisurely pace,
perfect weather. We have two guest riders with us for the morning,
Deborah and Frank, and we get onto the trail in mostly our standard
order—Deborah’s horse, Rascal, is behind Avantii, then Indy, all the
others, and then Dakota at the rear. We are meandering toward the
hills when the call comes out from the front, “Hornet hole! Turn
back!”
By the
time we realize the hornets are swarming us, several of us have gone
past it; the ones who have not yet reached it turn back. The horses
who have been stung are bucking and rearing; Deborah jumps off and
Rascal runs up the trail riderless. Betsy is attempting to dismount
when her horse sends her airborne with a buck. Her helmet cracks,
but her head is saved. Most of the horses have been stung and some
of the riders. We move on up the trail and meet up with the others
who had turned back and taken another route. I am happy to learn
that Paul and Dakota are OK. And I have not been stung either,
although I can tell Indy took a fair number of hits by the way he is
twitching his skin. But true to his moniker, he takes it like a
hero!
Throughout the day, Lari teaches us about the endurance horse, how
to read the horse’s pulse, heart rate and general condition, as if
we’re at a “vet check” on a 50- or 100-mile endurance race. We ride
on Simcha and the ranches surrounding it. We ride through the
headwaters of the Noyo River in Jackson State Forest and through the
deeper Ten Mile River in the privately owned forests behind Simcha,
lunch on the river bank, and then split up into groups based on the
horses’ fitness ability. Indy and I go with Lari’s group, along with
Deborah on Rascal, Betsy on NightCap, Judy on Nature’s L’Chaim and
Frank on Mustard. We ride an exhilarating gallop up one long trail
(at more than 30 miles an hour) and pick our way back down the
mountain along a ledge trail. It is on this narrow trail that we
encounter the hornets again.
Indy is
behind Avantii and Rascal behind us, and we manage to pass the
hornets before they stir. However, they are in full force on Betsy,
again, and this time Frank. Everyone is quick to dismount, as there
isn’t enough room on the narrow trail to negotiate a bucking horse.
We quickly walk/slide on foot down the mountain with nervous,
twitching, bee-stung horses in tow. Frank releases a hornet from his
helmet when we reach the bottom. And I slip a carrot to Indy, the
perfect gentleman through both incidents.
Tonight
is the night Lari has been telling us to prepare for—the night we
are to entertain her with a talent show. Celeste, Betsy and I put on
a skit acting out some of the fantastic stories Lari has shared with
us on the trail of her life and travels; Judy and Jim sing a
rendition of L’Chaim, for which her horse had been named; Brittany
and Katie perform the one-body-with-someone-else’s-arms routine to
hilarious perfection; Pat reads us a poem she authored; Paul and
Brandon assist Jim in a sing-a-long; Paul tells a joke; and then
Meghan silences the group with a display of her sketches. Most of
her pencil sketches are of horses, as if she has been around them
all her life.
Day 6
The
last day of riding is a reverse of two days ago. We split into
smaller groups for the beach ride. This time Meghan is in the first
(fast) group with Indy and Avantii—cantering skillfully and joyously
through the surf. The trip has been wearing on her fragile body, but
you wouldn’t know it. She rides Faraj, a gray Arabian gelding, as if
she’s been riding all her life—her petite frame and delicate beauty
framed by the ocean’s overpowering wave-surges and surf.
Back at
Ricochet Ridge Ranch we leave our horses, pick up our cars and head
back to the DeHaven Valley Farm for our last evening and breakfast
together before departing tomorrow. Mike and Bill exhibit their
culinary prowess again with an astounding dinner culminating in some
nameless chocolate creation that leaves us all wanting more. A trio
plays guitars and sings for us on the B&B’s side deck.
Day 7
After
the bountiful breakfast at DeHaven Valley Farm, we say our goodbyes
to the strangers-turned-friends we shared our honeymoon with, and
make our way back through Wine Country to the San Francisco airport
and to our normal lives. And I think of Meghan, who will never have
that normal life, and who made our honeymoon more special than she
could ever know—she who may never know her own.
Thank you, Meghan.
For information on horseback riding
vacations at Ricochet Ridge Ranch visit
www.horse-vacation.com.
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