Sometimes You Just Have to Push On

The note below is about a Corolla stallion that is in Texas and is standing at Karma Farms.

The Sea King and the Critter Creek CTR
by Tommi Grey on Tuesday, September 7, 2010 at 11:45am

This weekend CWH The Sea King was introduced to the concept of Competitive Trail Rides (CTRs) and the North American Trail Ride Conference (NATRC). Knowing my little horse had no, and I mean NO conditioning even for the short 40 mile weekend of Novice, I took King and volunteered to ride drag at the Critter Creek Caper at the LBJ Grasslands, located outside of Decatur, TX.

For those of you about to ask, drag or safety riders are riders who follow behind the competitors on the trail picking up lost items, taking down old (and sometimes remarking) markers and trail, and – most importantly – helping a horse or rider in need in case there is an emergency on trail. Usually it’s a pretty easy job, and drag riders only go as fast as the last rider, which is usually pretty slow. LBJ is very easy trail, being mostly sand, and so I figured this would be a great time to get some conditioning in on King.

First off, the little Corolla stallion was a big hit with pretty much anyone who saw him. Deck out with my distance gear and covered in yellow ribbons to indicate his fertile state, he was often greeted with, “Oh my god, he’s so cute!”, “What a sweet horse!”, “Is he really a stallion? He’s got such good manners!”, and “He’s from WHERE?!” This was often joined with children, riding and not riding, literally hugging him, petting him, and hanging off of him anytime they had a chance. He spent Saturday afternoon before dinner giving “Corolla rides” to the Karma Kids, who just had to know what it was like to ride a real sea horse. Oh, and the food. He spent a lot of time eating, particularly things that were never intended for a horse. Kids and adults alike added to his diet cookies, peanut butter granola bars, Wheat Thins, watermelon, carrots, Honey Nut Chex Mix, and Chili Cheese flavored Fritos. He was particularly fond of the homemade Macadamia nut, chocolate chip, marshmallow cookies. In fact, I think the only thing he didn’t eat when offered all weekend was celery.

The riders did two loops each day, Novice being shorter and slower than open. When asked by the Safety Chairman where we were needed most, we found ourselves riding the second Open loop both days. Day one was uneventful and easy, though faster than King was used to. The White loop was right around 12 miles, 2 miles further than King had ever gone before and far faster. But he took it in stride, and found he actually rather liked it. Not too surprisingly, though, when I got back to camp I found he had some girth rubs and adema. I doctored him, and we prepared for the next day.

Sunday morning saw only 13 Open riders time out. The first P&R (Pulse and Respiration check) was right in camp, which happened to be where I and my fellow drag team, Bill and his horse Flag, took over. 12 Open came into the P&R. 10 minutes after the last one left, we were still waiting on number 13. No one could reached the other Open drag on the radio. King and I had been waiting for a while, so a P&R worker asked if I would mind back tracking down the trail and looking for the lost rider. I met with the Ride Chairman who told me take no longer than five minutes and be back quick.

Half a mile later, I ran into Open drag – and not the rider. When I told them about the missing Open, they doubled back to look for her while I went back to camp. By the time I saw the chair again, they’d found her: she’d taken a wrong turn on trail.
Bill and Flag left with the rest of Open to keep an eye on them, while I stayed in camp to get the radio and follow the no longer lost rider. It took her 20 minutes to get in and out. King and I followed her three miles, until she and her horse decided they were done—the horse was just too tired to continue.

I radioed ahead to inform management of the pull, and asked if she needed me to follow her back. She said no, she would be fine, so I continued down the trail. I saw no reason to hurry too much – King was still sore from yesterday, and Bill had my cell phone number. If there was a problem, he could call me—otherwise King and I would take our time and look for lost items on the trail.

Guess who called?

A rider had fallen off of her horse and broken her arm. To make matters worse, said horse had run off down trail and the only person able to follow had been another competitor. When Bill called me, we were about 3 – 4 miles away, and there was no way to move the rider and no way to get in to her except horseback or on foot.

So I kicked King into high gear and began to relay info to management. For at least a mile maybe two, I rode with the radio in one hand, my cell phone in the other, and King’s head free as a bird, using only my body and verbal signals to keep him in a constant trot or lope. The day was hot, the sand was deep, and he was sore, but I couldn’t let him rest right then. He didn’t argue. When I was able to put the cell phone away, I kicked up a notch faster. He gave me what I asked for.

By the time we’d reached Bill and the injured rider, King was hot and panting. I saw to the rider while Bill argued with 911, and when I could sponged King down, tied him under a shadey tree and pulled the saddle. His girth rubs were three times worse and very tender, but again, I couldn’t worry about that then.

Bill left to find a near-by road to help 911 with directions, leaving me with the rider. We talked for a while, and I was informed that her horse had been caught and taken back to camp. After a time I asked what had happened. Her horse had spooked when she’d gotten her map out. After a moment or two longer, while looking at King, she asked, “What is your horse?”

“Spanish Mustang, or Colonial Spanish Horse,” I responded, “He’s from a very rare, pure strain still wild on Corolla beach in North Carolina.”
“Is he a stallion?” she asked, seeing the yellow.

“Yeah, but he’s a real sweetheart with perfect manners.”

“Does he spook much?”

I laughed a bit. King’s odd spooking habits had earned him the nickname “Chicken of the Sea” at the farm. “Not really, just from other horses. He got hurt in a stallion fight on Corolla which was why he was taken off. I’m sure he knows that’s what ruined his life as he knew it.”

She paused a moment. “I think I need one of those next time,” she mused.

After a while, Bill returned with a volunteer fireman. The road wasn’t far, and an ambulance was on the way. I radioed management, and was told to leave Bill with her and I should try to catch up with the rest of Open. I saddled King, careful to keep the girth as far back from the rubs as I could, and we left. Bill caught up with us quickly, saying she had been able to walk out to the road to get in the ambulance.
To try and make time, Bill asked, “Is your pony up to some fast riding still?”

I looked down at King. He was so much more tired, and so much sorer…but his ears were up, and he was curious and looking at things. “He’s got more than enough left,” I replied. I asked him to go, and he went without hesitation.

By the time Bill and I got back into camp, the rest of the riders had been in for over an hour. The Safety Chair thanked us, and asked if I needed her to take care of my horse while I took care of me. I thanked her, but said King and I would be fine. When I striped his saddle for the last time, his girth was no worse but his breathing was hard and labored. I took him and a sponge down to cool water and shade, where I sponged him off and let him drink. I gave him a dose of Bute and electrolytes, and in 15 minutes he was cool, calm, and happy as a clam.

More importantly, however, was that the little horse was very proud. Everyone in camp could tell it. He carried himself better, he held his head high, his eyes were brighter, and he even ate his hay with a different sort of vigor. He knew he’d done something important, something wonderful, and he thought he was wonderful for having done it.

And you know what? He’s right.