Poor Legend. Hapless horse, mistreated mare, picked on person, yes, she was all of these, and while she was a very proud mother, we must remember that she wasn't even consulted in the matter. It was all just a hare-brained Harris-Daniels scheme, a wouldn't it be great if... .
And as any human mother can attest, not everything is universally pleasing about early maternity. For Legend, it was nursing. Her bag filled with yummy mare's milk, but it was very tender. Did her foal care? He did not! If milk were not forthcoming in sufficient quantity, he would give her bag a firm swipe with his muzzle. She flinched with pain but persisted. The baby, Secret, had to be fed. Ah, the joys of motherhood.
Weaning time came when Secret was about four months old. Legend's bag was still filled with yummy mare's milk but without a colt to drink it, she had to be milked by hand. She had a big bag and little spigots. It was thumb and forefinger work all the way.
As luck would have it, it was also time for the Tevis Cup ride. I had already earned my buckle on the aforementioned Legend and figured out that since I only wore one belt at a time, I only needed one buckle. But Legend and I had taken up the charitable activity of riding drag from Michigan Bluff to Auburn. Drag riders try to make sure that everyone makes it into the fair grounds on time and earns a buckle. We especially try to make sure no one gets lost in the volcano beds and river bottoms along the way. Legend and I couldn't let the side down, now, could we?
So we showed up at Michigan Bluff, ready and loaded for milking. Legend's bag was full. Very full. I had to milk her before we left and I wanted to drain her bag dry. So, with thumbs and forefingers, it was squeeze and squirt, squeeze and squirt. Cramp time. Switch to thumb and middle finger. More cramp time. Very good, I've milked for five minutes and I'm already cramped from fingers through elbows to shoulders. Can knees be far behind?
And, as has happened so often in my life, a female came to save me, this time in the person of a young girl whose mare's foal had died. She had become an expert mare milker, and offered to do the job for me, since she couldn't tell who was in greater misery, Legend or me. In very short order, she had emptied Legend's bag of milk and we were ready to take up the drag.
And that's how you milk a mare – find a teenage girl to do it for you.
Showing posts with label Michigan Bluff. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Michigan Bluff. Show all posts
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Tevis Ride 1963
Joanne originally intended to make the Tevis ride in 1961 but her intended mount, Legend, popped a curb. She went anyway to crew for our neighbor, Doris Levingston, who was also making the ride. But instead of crewing for Doris, she made the ride on a borrowed white mule, Chongo. The mule was not always cooperative and at one point threatened to go no further. Joanne, following the advice of a seasoned mule handler, convinced Chongo that she was going to beat him to death with a tree limb and leave his lifeless carcass by the side of the trail. Chongo at once perceived the error of his ways and Joanne and he finished the ride on relatively good.
Joanne gained a lot of local fame in the Auburn area as a strong, capable rider and as the first person ever to complete the ride on a mule. When we moved to Auburn we became part of a community of riders who soon began asking, “Well, Ken, when are you going to make the ride?” Life is full of choices, but this was one I was not going to get to make.
Our friend, Jean Leininger, took Legend on the ride in 1962, so that got me off the hook temporarily. I crewed for Jean on that ride and had the opportunity to observe for myself what went on. Also it gave me a season to help mark the trails. Finally, Legend was in fine condition for the 1962 ride, so all I had to do was keep her that way for 1963.
We trained. We made at least one ride weekly of at least forty miles. We practice over Cougar Rock, the Elephant's Trunk, the twin canyons just before you reach Michigan Bluff, the stretch from Foresthill to Fiddler's Green that I knew I would have to navigate in the dark. When the time for the ride rolled around Legend and I knew every inch of the trail.
I experimented with the practice of “tailgating” out of the Michigan Bluff canyons. Tailgating is a technique involving dismounting, hanging onto the reins (that's pretty important), grabbing your horse's tail and letting her tow you up the hill. It's easier on both of you. She doesn't have to carry your corpulent carcass up a hill and your walk is much easier for being towed by your horse. Tailgating was not a universally approved technique in 1963 and it may not even be used now, but I believe it helped Legend. I was no featherweight back then, weighing around 200 pounds. That plus the weight of the saddle and the candy bars in my shirt, that's quite a load for a horse to pack uphill.
Came time for the ride, and we were ready. The horses are always checked for soundness on the day before the ride. The vets are very thorough. Nobody really cared about the riders. If they're that stupid, they deserve what they get. But the horses have no real choice, so the vets check them thoroughly on the day before the ride. Then the rider is assigned his number and the same number spray painted onto the horse's haunch.
While I'm on the subject, there were three enforced rests stops in those days where the horses were vet checked coming in and going out, Robinsons Flats, Michigan Bluff and Fiddler's Green. If the horses didn't meet some rigorous physical standards, they didn't continue. (The stops aren't the same now as they were in 1963. I just looked on their website and didn't recognize much of anything. Here's a news flash. I just looked in the mirror. It's not 1963 there, either.)
Horses need those stops. They are such giving creatures. “Sure, boss, you want me to go 'til I drop dead? I'll do it.” And it has happened. But no veterinarian wants it happening on his watch.
In '63 the vet checks were done on the shores of Lake Tahoe. “Run your horse down the beach and back,” the vet instructed me. I gave Legend a vocal signal and began to run down a sandy beach as fast as I could run on a sandy beach in high heeled boots. Legend broke into her rockinghorse canter, matching my pace exactly, so you know we weren't going to set any land speed records. She felt so good she “flew her flag,” tail up and swirling. Man, we both felt good – we were ready!
But we weren't ready for John Robie's reveille. We had to be up early on the morning the ride because started at 5:00 a.m. So at o'dark-thirty John Robie blatted his bugle and produced an effective but in no way melodious result.
At 5:00 a.m. sharp we rode as a group from Tahoe City to the area below Squaw Peak. The trail ran through a grove of tall cedars. It was darker than Satan's armpit, so dark I couldn't have seen a white horse if I'd been riding it.
There weren't many surprises on the ride itself. The first sixty miles went well, although when we pulled into Michigan Bluff Legend's pulse was so elevated that the vet checking her told Joanne that the mare would never continue. But Legend was in great shape and her recovery rate was wonderful.
We cleared the volcano flats during the last light of day and it was quite dark when we checked into Fiddler's Green. By then Legend was in better shape than I was. My legs had given out. I could no more support my weight than I could fly. But it would have been bad to sit in the saddle and bounce around like I was duct taped there. Hard on Legend's kidneys. So I elected to lean forward and push down on the saddle horn with the palm of my hand. That worked for both of us, although I did have a blistered hand the next morning.
We arrived with five minutes to spare, but we were tired, the both of us. I took Legend to a stall that had been rented for her at the district fair grounds where the finish line was. A thick bed of bedding straw becked her and she gently lay down and groaned. She wasn't in extremis. She was just very, very tired and that fresh straw felt and smelled so good.
I was looking forward to the same kind of rest when I got home, but I was so tired I couldn't sleep. Even a hot bath and brandy in my chocolate didn't help. And for me not to go to sleep within five minutes of the time I hit the pillow is unheard of.
Eventually I did drift off for a few hours but woke up sore in every muscle and joint, and stiffer than a pine tree. Legend was pretty stiff, too. We went for a gentle walk that afternoon, maybe a mile, just to work some of the kinks out.
That evening all the other riders chauséed and pas de basqued up to get their buckles. I hobbled. Barely. It produced quite a laugh because the other riders thought I was putting them on. I wish they'd been right.
Joanne gained a lot of local fame in the Auburn area as a strong, capable rider and as the first person ever to complete the ride on a mule. When we moved to Auburn we became part of a community of riders who soon began asking, “Well, Ken, when are you going to make the ride?” Life is full of choices, but this was one I was not going to get to make.
Our friend, Jean Leininger, took Legend on the ride in 1962, so that got me off the hook temporarily. I crewed for Jean on that ride and had the opportunity to observe for myself what went on. Also it gave me a season to help mark the trails. Finally, Legend was in fine condition for the 1962 ride, so all I had to do was keep her that way for 1963.
We trained. We made at least one ride weekly of at least forty miles. We practice over Cougar Rock, the Elephant's Trunk, the twin canyons just before you reach Michigan Bluff, the stretch from Foresthill to Fiddler's Green that I knew I would have to navigate in the dark. When the time for the ride rolled around Legend and I knew every inch of the trail.
I experimented with the practice of “tailgating” out of the Michigan Bluff canyons. Tailgating is a technique involving dismounting, hanging onto the reins (that's pretty important), grabbing your horse's tail and letting her tow you up the hill. It's easier on both of you. She doesn't have to carry your corpulent carcass up a hill and your walk is much easier for being towed by your horse. Tailgating was not a universally approved technique in 1963 and it may not even be used now, but I believe it helped Legend. I was no featherweight back then, weighing around 200 pounds. That plus the weight of the saddle and the candy bars in my shirt, that's quite a load for a horse to pack uphill.
Came time for the ride, and we were ready. The horses are always checked for soundness on the day before the ride. The vets are very thorough. Nobody really cared about the riders. If they're that stupid, they deserve what they get. But the horses have no real choice, so the vets check them thoroughly on the day before the ride. Then the rider is assigned his number and the same number spray painted onto the horse's haunch.
While I'm on the subject, there were three enforced rests stops in those days where the horses were vet checked coming in and going out, Robinsons Flats, Michigan Bluff and Fiddler's Green. If the horses didn't meet some rigorous physical standards, they didn't continue. (The stops aren't the same now as they were in 1963. I just looked on their website and didn't recognize much of anything. Here's a news flash. I just looked in the mirror. It's not 1963 there, either.)
Horses need those stops. They are such giving creatures. “Sure, boss, you want me to go 'til I drop dead? I'll do it.” And it has happened. But no veterinarian wants it happening on his watch.
In '63 the vet checks were done on the shores of Lake Tahoe. “Run your horse down the beach and back,” the vet instructed me. I gave Legend a vocal signal and began to run down a sandy beach as fast as I could run on a sandy beach in high heeled boots. Legend broke into her rockinghorse canter, matching my pace exactly, so you know we weren't going to set any land speed records. She felt so good she “flew her flag,” tail up and swirling. Man, we both felt good – we were ready!
But we weren't ready for John Robie's reveille. We had to be up early on the morning the ride because started at 5:00 a.m. So at o'dark-thirty John Robie blatted his bugle and produced an effective but in no way melodious result.
At 5:00 a.m. sharp we rode as a group from Tahoe City to the area below Squaw Peak. The trail ran through a grove of tall cedars. It was darker than Satan's armpit, so dark I couldn't have seen a white horse if I'd been riding it.
There weren't many surprises on the ride itself. The first sixty miles went well, although when we pulled into Michigan Bluff Legend's pulse was so elevated that the vet checking her told Joanne that the mare would never continue. But Legend was in great shape and her recovery rate was wonderful.
We cleared the volcano flats during the last light of day and it was quite dark when we checked into Fiddler's Green. By then Legend was in better shape than I was. My legs had given out. I could no more support my weight than I could fly. But it would have been bad to sit in the saddle and bounce around like I was duct taped there. Hard on Legend's kidneys. So I elected to lean forward and push down on the saddle horn with the palm of my hand. That worked for both of us, although I did have a blistered hand the next morning.
We arrived with five minutes to spare, but we were tired, the both of us. I took Legend to a stall that had been rented for her at the district fair grounds where the finish line was. A thick bed of bedding straw becked her and she gently lay down and groaned. She wasn't in extremis. She was just very, very tired and that fresh straw felt and smelled so good.
I was looking forward to the same kind of rest when I got home, but I was so tired I couldn't sleep. Even a hot bath and brandy in my chocolate didn't help. And for me not to go to sleep within five minutes of the time I hit the pillow is unheard of.
Eventually I did drift off for a few hours but woke up sore in every muscle and joint, and stiffer than a pine tree. Legend was pretty stiff, too. We went for a gentle walk that afternoon, maybe a mile, just to work some of the kinks out.
That evening all the other riders chauséed and pas de basqued up to get their buckles. I hobbled. Barely. It produced quite a laugh because the other riders thought I was putting them on. I wish they'd been right.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
