Back in the Saddle Again.

Or, back to the saddle again?

I've slept since then (though hardly well or a lot), so bear with me as I attempt to recount The Round Up.

Rob and his son having fully prepared our horses' tack, all we had left to do was mount up and make sure they were watered well before we headed off to meet up with the other folks. One thing was instantly clear about our mounts--they were very close friends and did not ken to being separated. When one trotted, the other trotted, when one walked, the others walked. When one galloped...we all screamed our heads of and nearly died (totally just exaggerating, mom!)...but that's a story for a later time.

We met up with the other riders--the real horsemen and women who brought their own horses and trailers and gear. It would have been a perfect opportunity for anyone of them to get snippy or holier than thou, or even just weirdly protective, but everyone was perfectly lovely and treated us and our rental horses as equals. It was pretty cool.

We got the lowdown on where we'd be headed, approximately where we would find the cattle (they had actually already been rounded up for the most part and brought in to a basin a few miles from the ranch--to save us all a lot of time and hassle), and where we were going to be bringing them. And then we rode. And rode. And then we rode some more. It was beautiful and sunny and cool, and just about as close to heaven as I could imagine. If there had been chocolate and a live band, it could have passed.

When we finally got to the basin where the cattle were hangin out, there were a few yet that had to be wrangled. We let the more experienced riders do this, instead opting to sit on our horses and listen to the incessant bleating of the calves and the lowing of the cows as they wondered what the HELL was going on. Damn, cattle are a noisy lot! Oddly, though, the acoustics were so amazing in the basin that even over the cacophony of the cattle, we could hear every word of every conversation being held--we could even hear the folks on the far edge of the basin chatting up the cows they were trying to bring in closer. Perhaps it was a shepherd who originally "invented" the outdoor amphitheatre?

Anyway, after we got all the strays collected, it was time to start moving them all back towards the ranch. We again had positions assigned along the creek bed to ensure that no one bolted from the pack and tried to backtrack into the sunset. I did not fully understand Princess' attachment to the other horses until I was given a spot in a tucked-back area, out of sight from nearly everyone else. She whinnied and pawed at the ground and shook her head and was generally a right bitch. I had to continuously walk her in circles just to keep her busy.

And then, all of the sudden...cattle! Many and lots of cattle, ambling by, wailing and moaning as though they were on some sort of cow-death-march (perhaps after all they were about to go through at the ranch, they were only wishing for death as a less torturous alternative). Just when I thought that this was all for show and that I would never have to actually *do* anything, there they were! A momma and her yearling broke ranks about 20 yards, one 2ft ledge, and 1 treeline from me. The fellow manning that spot had just left it to hustle in another errant pair, leaving a big ole hole that this couple wasted no time filling. I gave Princess a nudge and she LEAPED up the ledge (scaring the pee outta me) and in front of the cow and her calf. They looked stunned for half a second and then grudgingly got back in line, bellowing all the while.

Woohoo! I was a cowpoke for reals! I was so proud of myself, and of course NO one saw it, cos they were too busy doing the same thing. But it was cool, trust me!

After we got the cattle out of the creek bed, it was just an easy walk back to the ranch with them hugging the fenceline and us sort of walking along beside them telling them to hurry the hell up. Damned hoof-draggers.

After we got them little doggies (ha!) safely to the work pens, we turned our horses towards camp. And woe is me for forgetting the nature of the trail horse. Slow to go out, but DAMN when it's time to go home they always tend to move a little faster. A lot faster in our case, because S and I were a little pony-crazed and are speed demons to boot. So we nudged them from a trot to a canter, and then when they realised they were so close to "the Barn", they took off like bats outta Hades-full gallop. I'm fairly certain I was screaming like a banshee (with glee more than fear...but a little fear), and I know for a fact that I was gripping the pommel like it was the last remaining hope in a world of doom (it pretty much was, because at that point I'd lost at least one of my stirrups and I was kind of flailing).

It was terrifying, but OH it was fun! But it just meant that we were back in camp that much sooner and it was time to give the horses a rest and go eat lunch. Yep. All this was before lunch on the first day!!

Of course I don't have photos of any of this, because I didn't have saddlebags, and I wasn't about to risk losing my camera. Besides, when all the good stuff was goin' down, I was far too busy actually doin my job to take snapshots. ;)

There are a few other good stories to tell, and I'll tell them. But most of the rest of the weekend was trailrides, eating, sleeping, reading, eating, and more trailrides. Oh, and the Ride Up Bar. Oh yeah. Mimosas and Bloody Marys on horseback? Heck yeah.

More on that later.