Tags
don juan, hail, horseback riding, indians, personal history, s., scott, wheeler peak
s. is racing across the hard desert. he is imagining himself a pony express rider. his cheek is pressed to don juan’s neck.
the reins are long enough to hold in his left hand while the right flicks the ends on the horse’s rump. how fast will this conquistador horse really go he wonders.
suddenly, the horse stops, on a dime, veers to the right, which catapults s. into a lovely arc flying through the air. s’s body makes a dent in the hard ground. he looks back about twenty feet where don juan is snorting; probably laughing in horse language. undaunted, s. remounts, trots off, begins to canter, then low down again is galloping like the wind.
s. is totally attentive. waiting for the slightest sign. once again the horse starts to stop and like a sledge hammer, s’s right fist lands on don juan’s cheek. now the horse is stunned and stops. one more time s. puts don juan through the paces. horse and rider gallop back to the house on pilar hill. now they are ready for the trip.
the next day at dawn they take off into the desert towards taos, fifteen miles away. the horse is fresh and carries only rider and seventy pounds of supplies. walking into the small town, s. sees a breakfast place with a hitching post in front. he dismounts and tethering his horse enters the establishment and orders a big breakfast of bacon and eggs and oatmeal.
somehow out of the corner of his eye s. sees his horse going by. he jumps up and runs to the door. some guy is leading his horse away.
“what the hell?…”
“is this your horse?” asks the man.
indignantly, “yeah… what’s the problem?”
“well,” says the irate proprietor of the greasy spoon pointing to the pile of steaming manure. “that’s the problem, and you can’t park a horse in front of my restaurant.”, then, “you’re going to clean that up you know!”
s. doesn’t bother arguing about what the hitching post is doing there if not to accommodate customers on horseback, just goes back to his breakfast. the same man brings a shovel. s. is fuming a little now and plays with the idea of just paying and taking off. he thinks better of it and figures a dose of humility is always good for the soul. after finishing breakfast s. shovels the shit, goes around to the back and rides off towards the mountains. not without stopping at the liquor store for a fifth of courvoisier cognac for the cold nights by the campfire.
there’s a mountain north of taos, sacred mountain of the hopi indians. chris had said that in the old days if a white man were found there he would be killed for sure. nowadays the braves would just beat the hell out of him and escort him off the reservation.
wheeler peak is over 14,000 feet. it’s an extinct volcano filled with ice cold blue water. s wanted to see it. there was a horse trail to the ridge which circumnavigated the peak and then dropped down into the red river valley and colorado.
half the day in the hot sun s. made his way straight to the base of wheeler. they went west for an hour looking for the way up.
the alders and poplars were yellow this time of the year. s. could hear the river to the right. he felt an urge to see the river and made a path to it. don juan was happily nuzzling the fresh water when looking back through the trees s. saw a quiet party of twenty braves trotting by. that was lucky, thought s., or was that just some deep-rooted instinct. he was 1/8th indian on his father’s side.
the rest of the day was spent climbing the trail to the summit of wheeler mountain. s. ate while riding up the winding trail. at last, around early evening they arrived on the rim trail and looked down into the enormous midnight blue of the still water in dark shadow far below. the trail along the rim was no more than three feet wide. as they made their way northeast s. looked for signs of the way down the north face.
black clouds came pouring in from the north and then there were gale winds and hailstones as big as golf balls and they hurt. s. jumped off the horse and found a crevice where he balled up and covered his head with his arms. looking out from this semi-shelter he could see don juan in the blur of the storm tail tucked in, his backside to the wind perpendicular to the trail with all four legs gathered together he hung his head low beneath his chest. poor don juan. he thought.
in a few minutes the storm passed. the sun was setting. s. worried that it would get dark before he got down off the cold mountain. they found the trail. but the horse was exhausted and making his way slowly over the bare rock where the trail was only marked by piles of rocks. it was twilight when s. saw the dirt trail and some vegetation and eventually trees, but it was getting almost too dark to see.
so screaming like a banshee and kicking his heels in, they began to gallop down the mountain. every five minutes or so don juan would slow down to a snails pace. then s. would let out a bloodcurdling scream. don juan thought a devil was on his back and always took off again like a bat out of hell. they made their way this way in increments until they were about halfway down the mountain. and it was dark.
IArtMan said:
hi ravo,yes, they mean business. good thing they are out of practice. 🙂
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Ravo said:
Hi Scott,I was shot at by reservation indians once when I climbed a different Wheeler Peak–The one on the Utah/Nevada border! :eyes:
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momable said:
Guess you should wear a shirt when you go there that says, "I am part Native American!" and the name of your tribe.Think that would save you? 😆
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BabyJay99 said:
:up:
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IArtMan said:
i don't think that would help, mom. but i tan like a redskin and my hair was really long. my saddleblanket was a sheepskin. i think if they found me i could have talked my way out of it. :smile:hi lea, what's up your highness? i loved your borneo pictures. 😎
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BabyJay99 said:
So far so good Sir Scott. Thanks for joining our virtual tour and glad you enjoyed them :up: 🙂
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KYren said:
Hi Scott,reservation Indians?Guns?Mountins?A Gandhi wasn't born in the natives there? 😀
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IArtMan said:
lea, i will be back for a revisit also. i kind of sped through the pages and want to take the tour again. :heart:not that i know of, kyren. the hopi indians kind of isolate themselves from the rest of the world. but later on in this segment of history, i found out that my stepbrother was an honorary hopi, officially, and that he was even married to his wife on the reservation in a hopi ceremony. that makes me an honorary hopi indian. :happy:
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IArtMan said:
love that little horse… :heart: stay tuned. i'm working on the continuance at this very moment. it's going to be long and will require the usual super-effort of stamina to keep it up. but my aim is to remember all ten days of that adventure. :love:
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ellinidata said:
:eyes:Wow meli! this is an amazing experience! I am so glad you are not a "trophy" in a skin collection for any of them!I am sure they admired your ability to ride PS sorry I visited so late meli,I never god a notice on this baby,but…..Opera will never keep me away from the coolest house around !:heart:
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ellinidata said:
:hat: more amazing entry!and I hope Opera does nottry to keep me in the dark!:)PS this is the one of the two horses emoticons I havethe other is the one that kicks his poop 😆
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lokutus-prime said:
Sir Scott – I enjoyed reading this :up:
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FIFINELEB said:
This short story makes me think of the movie: "THE HORSE WHISPERER" I liked reading it very much.
SparkleTags.Com
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IArtMan said:
fifeneleb,great book the horse whisperer… better than the movie, i thought. :cool:loku,glad you enjoyed my little tale… which goes on and on. i guess maybe three more days of posting will do it. :happy: this is all from memory and i am actually, trying to keep a promise i made to allan (ricewood) when i said i would write about that trip someday.meli,to post the other horse emoticon would be cool with me. on the next installment to show that you love me. 😆 :happy: :heart:
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lokutus-prime said:
Sir Scott – Yes, I am enjoying your little tale :happy: and, like myself, you are also Wordsmith You enjoy the art and naturally tell a tale and hold your audience in thrall. We are brother-Wordsmiths :happy:
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PainterWoman said:
This is quite a story Scott. When was this? I see you have the next chapter up already so I'm off to read.
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IArtMan said:
like brothers of the spear… remember them?1950 comic series. :smile:hi pam,yes, let's see now… about 1969. i would have been in my prime, around 26 years old. :heart:
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KYren said:
🙂 Hi Scott,I declare you an honorary east indian.You are amazing.
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IArtMan said:
lol kyran… must be the influence of some past lives… :smile:i humbly accept the honor.
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IArtMan said:
o.k. sorry. just remembered wrong. kiran. 🙂
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KYren said:
Real name is Kiran.KYren is an acronym for KeY to RENaissance.:D
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KYren said:
My fellow indian,that's alright.:D
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lokutus-prime said:
"like brothers of the spear… remember them?
1950 comic series. " Yes, I do :happy: … Brothers of The Spear and also Captain Marvel & Captain Marvel Junior – Halycon days, dear american brother, Halycon days. We were children of the dawn :happy:
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ellinidata said:
KyrenI like hena pained on my hands , does that count ?? :DAm I a fellow Indian too ??:heart:
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KYren said:
Absolutely. :heart: :happy:
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ellinidata said:
W00t!Hena painting, part of a gang,lots of love!!! *dances in circles* what else do I need to start a great day ??? 😆 I know ..a cup of tea :)thanks KYren,from the frozen NY CityI am sending you positive thoughts!:)
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BabyJay99 said:
U're always welcome anytime Sir Scott 😉 The Castle is yours too 🙂
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KYren said:
Thank you fellow Indian Angeliki.:)
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IArtMan said:
lokutus-prime said:
Greetings again dear Bro Sir Scott :up: 🙂
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