Angora chaps and grazing rights

Ten years ago, I celebrated six decades on the planet by riding up into the high alpine with a cowboy named Hubert. I was excited but nervous. In response to a question from ranch hand Vicki, I admitted, “I haven’t been on a horse for decades.”

Vicki smiled reassuringly as she handed me a waiver to sign. “Don’t let it worry you. We’re a training facility as well as a stable. We do all we can to make our rides safe.”

“I’m not worried, I prevaricated, “but please put me on a gentle horse.”

Vicki led me to a black mare. “You’ll be riding Raven -- she’s calm and cooperative.”

I went back to the car to stow my purse. To say I no longer knew the ropes would be a serious understatement. Clearly I couldn’t take my cell phone. How would I carry my wallet and car keys? Vicki had the answer: a pommel bag. This two-sided pouch has a strap in the middle and a metal-ringed hole to hang over the saddle horn. With keys and wallet tucked in one side and water bottle on the other, I followed Vicki as she led Raven to the mounting block and climbed gingerly onto her back.

“Will she be bothered if the keys jingle?”

“Not at all,” Vicki assured me.

A slim man in worn plaid shirt and chaps strolled up and we introduced ourselves. When I said my name, Hubert tipped the brim of his cowboy hat, then mounted a black stallion he addressed chummily as Diablo.

It was a fine summer evening. Hubert led the way out of the stable yard, and we soon began to work our way up the wide swath of ski run, switching back and forth to make it easier on the horses. As I looked uphill toward our destination, I was surprised to see distinct grooming lines where a mower had passed over the wild grass.

“Do they cut the grass up here?” I asked Hubert.

“Sure,” he said. “They use a four-wheel drive riding mower.”

The saddle squeaked and the mare slowed slightly, head down and breathing hard as she laboured upwards. As we traversed the steep slope, I felt a flicker of fear, wondering what would happen if I fell off.  

Thinking about my cell phone, back in the car, I reasoned that even if I had an emergency, up here a cell phone wouldn’t be the answer as there was unlikely to be any reception. Besides, I was on retreat. I smiled, imagining myself answering a call with the words, “I’m on horseback on Todd Mountain. Can I call you back?” Anyway, the vibration would likely spook the horses.

At the same moment, I heard a ring tone from the back of Hubert’s mount, and watched in disbelief as he pulled the phone from his back pocket. Raven was following close behind Diablo, and in the high mountain silence, I couldn’t help but overhear Hubert calmly discussing the forest fires. “I can see the smoke from the Sorrento fire and the Pritchard fire,” he reported. “About the same as yesterday.” He was silent a moment before saying, “Yes, Whitecroft is on evacuation alert. Just a precautionary measure. The Whitecroft fire is still quite far from the road.”

I felt a sudden chill. Whitecroft straddled the road down the mountain. If this fire got worse, I could be trapped up here.

Appearing unconcerned, Hubert finished his call and turned back to me, “How are you doing?”

My toes were numb and my butt was saddlesore. “Fine,” I lied gamely, then joked, “They say riding is exercise, but really it’s the horse who does the work.”

Hubert was not fooled. “We’ll take a rest,” he said kindly. “You can take your feet out of the stirrups for a bit.” He cocked his head at me. “Your saddle looks a bit off-centre. Put all your weight in the right stirrup and press down hard a couple of times." I followed his instructions and he reappraised, then nodded. "That’s better.”

After the break, we continued to work our way slowly uphill. I was enjoying the summer alpine flowers: fireweed, lupins, and some small yellow ones I couldn’t identify. Seeing the vermilion flare of Indian paintbrush, I told Hubert excitedly, “I haven’t seen those flowers since I was a kid.”

As the trail got steeper, Hubert reminded me how to sit. “Lean forward just a bit,” he said. “It’s easier on you and easier on the horse.” Hubert could see that I was getting tired, and he chatted encouragingly. “When we get to the top, you’ll be able to look back and see how high we’ve climbed.”

We paused to rest again on a level trail amid three peaks. I took my feet out of the stirrups, but I didn’t dare dismount, for fear I wouldn’t be able to get back up. The view was spectacular. Far below, distance and a light haze muted the village of Sun Peaks. Hubert pointed out the smoke plumes from the fires, visible on the horizon in three directions.

As we sat gazing at the scene, Hubert spoke quietly. “Look over there.” Following where he pointed, I saw a large buck browsing, quite unconcerned by our presence. “They’re not bothered by riders,” he said. “The horses mask the human smell.”

He explained the lay of the land. Behind us was Sundance, where we had ascended, and ahead of us lay the high alpine slopes of Todd Mountain, the run called ‘Top of the World.’ The long switchback ski run was clearly visible. “That’s Five-mile,” he said.

I was incredulous. “Is it really five miles long?”

“Yes, he said, “it’s five miles down to the village, a nice easy trail for kids and families.” He told me they had developed the high alpine runs to make the season longer. "When the snow in the village is gone, you can still ski up here.”

As we climbed higher, he changed the subject. “We may see some range cattle up here.” Immediately after, I picked out a brown cow and a white one grazing on the ski run.

“Don’t they get lost way up here?” I asked.  

“No,” said Hubert, "The ranchers get grazing rights from the Forestry Department. They control the numbers so the wild animals still have plenty of food. They drive the cattle up here in the summer. Then in October they take them down the mountain, set them on the road and they all go home to their own barns.” Seeing my surprise, he added, “They aren’t stupid. They know the way.”

Recalling how driving up the mountain, I had crossed at least half a dozen cattle-guards, I asked Hubert about that. “These cattle are restricted to certain areas by an electric fence,” he said. “Between those and the cattle-guards, the animals are kept in certain areas. Otherwise, they’re free to roam.” We stopped at another gate, and he opened it,  unscrewing two blue devices attached to wires before swinging the frame wide. Diablo stepped through, and Raven followed.

“Good girl,” Finally getting the hang of it, I turned her with a light pressure of the reins on her neck, as Herbert had instructed. “Whoa!” When I lifted the reins to decrease the slack, she stopped on a dime.

On the return journey we saw a herd of deer. They raised their heads for a brief glance at us and then continued browsing. “Are there bears?” I asked Hubert.

“Lots of bears last year,” he said. “This year I haven’t seen a single one.”

“Don’t they scare the horses?”

“Not if they’re off to the side, minding their own business.” Hubert grinned. “If they’re on the trail, we train the horses to chase them.” My jaw dropped, and he explained. “It’s for safety. We don’t want them to get too comfortable with the horses, or with humans.”

“What about cats?” I asked, “Are there any cougars?”

“The cougars are all right. They don’t usually bother anyone. Now the deer, that’s the cougar’s meal ticket. They keep the population in control.”

Just then my horse raised her head and skipped to one side, eye white showing as she looked back at the trail behind us. “Whoa!” I cried in alarm.

Hubert stopped and turned Diablo. “Mountain bikers,” he said. “they aren’t supposed to be up here at this time. The horses are always the first to hear.” He called out to the bicycle riders, “All right, you can pass us here.” But they must have heard my embarrassing squeal and realized they’d scared my horse. They turned away from us, onto another trail.

A couple of bends later, we entered the forest. Dusk was falling and we rode in silence. I looked at the beaded leather vest Hubert wore over his shirt and thought it must be warm in this weather. Still, with the battered hat, scuffed boots and chaps, it made him the classical picture of the cowboy.

“Why do you wear chaps?”

“Oh, just a habit, I guess." He grinned. “Besides, they’re nice if I have to go into the trees fast.”

I glanced dubiously up the steep forested hill on one side of us and then at the sheer drop, thick with firs, on the other. “You mean people fall off their horses and end up down there?”

He laughed. “Sometimes people are hanging off their saddles, like this.” He leaned off Diablo at a precarious angle. “Then I have to get to them fast.”

I swallowed. “I’m glad you didn’t tell me that at the beginning of the ride.”

He laughed. “You did fine. You have the right idea anyway. Life is not a spectator sport. You have to get out there and try things.”

He looked down at his chaps again and my eyes followed. They were tanned on top, and he wore them like a second skin.

“In the old days, cowboys used to wear angora chaps."

I raised my eyebrows. “Angora. Why?”

“Well, they kept his legs warm on long trips and the hair repelled rain and snow.”

“You mean the fur was turned to the outside?”

He nodded. “Sometimes you can see that in a really old western movie.”

Nearing the barn, we passed the corral and Hubert called out to the horses. Several raised their heads to look at him. A man in his element, he seemed happy talking to his equine friends. To witness this was refreshing; inspiring even.

“That one at the back.” He pointed. “That’s a Tennessee Walker. The mare beside him is a Peruvian. And the one looking over the gate, beside that Apaloosa, is a Paint, even though she doesn’t have the markings. Pinto is a colour,” he explained, "and Paint is a breed – a cross between a Standard-bred and a Quarter horse.”

My eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You raise your own horses?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, “raise them, train them and take the trail rides. In winter we do sleigh rides, but no trail rides. Then we have to let them just be horses for awhile.” He tugged one rein gently so his horse could turn and look him in the eye. “Right, Diablo?”

“Diablo seems gentle,” I said. “What’s devilish about him?”

“Just an accident,” said Hubert. “We wanted to name him after Zorro’s horse, and we couldn’t recall the name, so we called him Diablo. Zorro’s horse was Toronado, but when we remembered, it was too late to change this guy’s name.” He patted Diablo's neck.

As we rode into the yard, Vicki came to meet us, asking if we'd had a good ride. “It was a great ride,” I told her. “I just don’t know how I’m going to get off.”

Hubert weighed in with a final word of advice. “Take your feet out of the stirrups and relax your legs before you dismount.” Vicki led Raven to the mounting block, helping me as I climbed stiffly down. It took a moment or two to re-connected with the ground.