I’m not a great rider, I’m not even a good one, but I have horses in my blood and I am drawn to them, despite the fact that they scare the bejesus out of me. Christine, who runs the ranch, really knows her horses, and, after the two weeks I spent with her last year I think she knows me pretty well too. She matches horse with rider with a great deal of skill and care, and this year she has given me a horse called Molly to ride. Molly and I have had a wonderful week, she’s fast and safe, and together we have climbed mountains and crossed rivers; we’ve galloped down dirt roads and across aspen framed meadows, and to my complete surprise we’ve done all this without a single mishap. I always think that if I can survive a week of riding without incident then I’ve done pretty well, but sometimes nature can throw a little spanner in the works…

My last ride of the week was to be unforgettable in more ways than one. We set out for the day with sandwiches, water and a tall, gentle, wry wrangler called Aaron. Aaron is a man of few words; I wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of him, because he’s as big as a house and as strong as an ox, but when he guides you up a mountain you know that you are in the company of a man who really loves what he does. Aaron doesn’t need a college education or a library full of books, he is perfectly well equipped for the life he’s chosen, and everything he needs for that gloriously happy existence sits with him up on his horse. You cannot help but like him, and a day spent in his company is a rare privilege.

We rode up the mountain the leads to the prairie divide, with Aaron at the head of the party, repeating his favourite mantra ‘Just trust your horse.’ The horses carefully picked their way up and down the steep inclines, their metal shoes sometimes slipping on the smooth rock paths, but never faltering. They know the narrow paths well and we all made it safely to the top. We met another party of riders for lunch, and Sharon and I tried hard not to choke on our sandwiches as we watched the man in chaps posturing and preening on the rocks in front of us. The wranglers laid back on a flat rock, put their hats over their eyes and had a five minute siesta, whilst we munched on our apples and rested our tired bodies.

After lunch, Aaron took us up to his favourite look out point, where we sat on our horses and gazed out across thousands of acres of mountainous wilderness, and when we’d seen enough, we turned our horses and headed back to the ranch. It had been a mild, sunny day, but as we made our way home the sky filled with ominous-looking clouds and it began to rain. We were all aware of the urgency to reach shelter, but we only had one long lope before we would reach the summit of the mountain and would be able to make our descent to the safety of the ranch. Thunder claps and lightning made that last gallop to the top of the hill a nerve wracking affair, but the accompanying adrenaline rush made us forget the menacing danger of the storm that raged all around us.

As we reached the summit a massive bolt of lightning struck the ground fifty feet away from the lead horse in our party. We were all bunched up in a group and there followed immediately the most terrifyingly loud clap of thunder I have ever heard. It wasn’t above out heads, but all around us, the air fizzed with static charge and all of a sudden our dream-like ride turned into hellish pandemonium. The horses all bolted; Sharon’s veered off into a tree and my horse reared up and took a great leap forward. The front riders all managed to stay in the saddle, but the last of our party was still coming to the end of her lope and her horse took off, dumping her in a bush. Her cries of pain were audible despite the storm raging over our heads, and Gregg and Aaron quickly dismounted and ran to her aid.

Lisa Tuttle was not an experienced rider. She and her husband David came to the ranch with no specialist riding equipment, they wore trainers and floppy hats, which I found rather refreshing after all the dandyish nonsense of some of the other riders. I liked them immediately; they were down to earth and funny and proved to be excellent riding companions during our week at the ranch. Lisa was not a confident rider, which made her fall all the more distressing. Fortunately for her we had an orthopaedic surgeon in our party; Gregg was quickly able to establish that she’d broken a rib, and began busying himself with trying to get her up on her feet. The rest of us got off our horses, but the confusion was palpable and we were all wondering what the hell we were supposed to do, standing as we were, on the top of a mountain, each holding two snorting, stamping lightning conductors in our trembling hands. Aaron soon raced up the hill and tied up the horses for us, and we laid Lisa out under the shelter of a boulder and wondered how we were going to get her home. After strapping up her ribs with my shirt and a coat, all we could do was keep her dry and comfortable and wait for help to arrive.

There is nothing like a bit of adversity to bring out the humour in people. I love the company of Americans, but when you get six funny people together in a stressful situation the result can be harmful to your health. The wise-cracks came thick and fast, and there was so much laughter that it was a wonder that Lisa didn’t injure herself further. She eventually made it down the mountain, and was quickly give painkilling drugs to ease her discomfort. The next evening she was happily mixing her medication with strong red wine, which had the delightful effect of removing all the normal constraints that she would normally have employed in polite company. For once it was nice to have somebody else silencing the table with an embarrassing story, and after a meal of prime rib and some more wine, Lisa felt a whole lot better.

I consider myself very lucky to have escaped the lightning strike without injury; I wouldn’t have missed that last ride for the world, and despite her injury, I don’t think Lisa would have either. It was hard to say goodbye, but I hope that one day we can all meet up again, drink some more wine and share in the wonderful camaraderie of riding the rocky mountain trails.


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