Bear GulchPosted: August 18, 2012
She always rode Sunday, a gentle white mare so eager to go. Sunday would prance in anticipation, loved to be first in line. I always rode Lad, dependable solid Lad. We would take them up through Folly Ranch past Bear Gulch and leaning way back in the saddle take them down the steep curving trail, where 4-wheel trucks inched over the rocks like caterpillars, to Rapid Creek.
We would slip off our boots and dangle our feet in the icy cold water as it sped by as the horses grazed on the grass and wildflowers. The scent sweet and intoxicating, the view transcendent.
Then heading back, the horses always eager when homeward bound, as we reached the steep winding climb I would lean forward and whisper to Lad that he could catch Sunday and hooves thundering we charged up the hill. Leaning forward moving with him, slapping his flanks with the reins we flew laughing with the joy of motion. But always just before we passed Sunday would find another gear to pull ahead until at the top with sides heaving we let them catch their breath and walked them home.