Understanding Harness

Welcome to Understanding Harness

PLEASE NOTE:  The entire content of this weblog is the exclusive intellectual property of the author, Barb Lee.  No part of the information or photos contained herein may be reproduced and distributed for profit without permission from the author.   Please copy and share the content freely, with proper acclamation to the author, where the intended use is for non-profit educational purposes. 

WELCOME TO UNDERSTANDING HARNESS!

Launched on January 7, 2012, "Understanding Harness" intends to be the web's most complete source of information for carriage driving harness terminology, function, and fit.  It will be a work in progress for a long time to come, so please visit often!  If you cannot find what you are looking for, please contact the owner of the blog, so that a new section can be launched.

The owner of this blog, Barb Lee, has been an avid carriage driver for over 30 years, and spent 14 years as a professional harness maker.  Barb authored the small book, "Understanding Harness," which sold over 3,000 copies before the rights to publication were turned over to the Carriage Association of America.  The book discusses the critical differences between neck and breast collars, their appropriateness to specific driving activities and carriages, and the concept of "balanced draft."  Balanced draft is a concept wherein the carriage driver may determine that their horse is effectively and empathetically harnessed to its vehicle, for optimal efficiency and comfort for the horse.  "Understanding Harness" may be purchased at www.caaonline.com  It is a thrill to finally be able to take up where the original publication left off.

This information is provided solely for the benefit of the carriage driving community, and will be extended into animal-powered agriculture as the opportunity arises.

It gives me great pleasure to help dispel the mystery and confusion of that tangle of straps known as "harness."  I hope that you will find the information you seek here, and if you do not, that you will say so in order that the information may be included in the future.

I would very much like to include a link to your harness-related organization or business, so if you would like to be included, please contact me.

Below you will find an alphabet that will take you to an index of available topics.  Have fun browsing!

INDEX OF SUBJECTS

A

B

 C

D

E

 F

G

H

I

J

K

L

LINKS TO HARNESS RELATED ORGANIZATIONS AND BUSINESSES

M

N

O

 P

Q

R

S

T

U

V

W

X

 Y 

Z

 

CHECKREIN HOOK

UNDER CONSTRUCTION

TERRET

UNDER CONSTRUCTION

CANTLE/ PUG SEAT

UNDER CONSTRUCTION

Saddle Tree

Under Construction

Gizmo

When I am old,

I shall drive a pony cart.

And my pony will be old, too,

And gentle and kind.

He will lower his head to take the bridle

and nod off to sleep as I fasten him in.

 

When I am old

My pony and I will drowse down the road

in the dusty heat,

With bugs dancing in the air

like gold specks in the buttery sunlight.

The wheels will creak,

The pony’s feet clop-clopping,

 

Marking the ticking seconds

of our time together.

 

We are so fine!

My hat adorned with a feather

I found on some wheeled journey,

My raiment smeared with

Slobbery carrot bits.

My hands with grass stains.

 

We’ll take the track

we take every day.

Where the road skirts dangerously

in a bright remember

along a high escarpment.

And a brave young pony

Doesn’t notice the danger,

But takes me where I’d never have gone alone.

 

We sail together on his outstretched wings

(They are really wheels)

Fording  rivers and climbing mountains.

We conquered the ocean

My pony and me!

The day he pulled the cart into the Pacific.

 

But it’s not important to him.

Just to this old fool.

 

We’ll plod along,

Through misty forests full of wallabies

And bears.

Antelope and cockatoos.

And moonlight.

And carriage lamp light

Flashing through turning spokes

Off the trunks of trees.

 

He’ll come with me again, because

We soar on MY outstretched wings,

(They are really my memory)

To all those places, near and far

 where a lovely carriage conveyed me

behind some fine horse, not just him.

 

And when I am old,

He will be old with me.

And he won’t notice while I’m absent in my memories,

Or that I forgot to put a rein

Through the hame terret.

 

He’s clop-clopped this road on his own a thousand times,

While I’ve sailed back in time

To when we explored together, my pony and me,

The most beautiful places on earth.

 

I have this much time

To when I am old.

Not a moment more nor less.

So few of us ever have a pony.

Especially one with wings.

 

Perhaps that feather in my hat belongs to him!

I shall ask him tomorrow

If he requires it back

Perchance to fly again.

Before we are old.

 

 

The Magic Lamps

Ah, people, how am I going to give you all the elements of tonight's
drive?
It's impossible, all I can do is try to recall the highlights for
you, and
maybe feel just a bit smug that the memory is mine.

A setting sun, a fair sky, a warm breeze and a soon-to rise full
moon.  We
fetched good Scotty down from his paddock before dinner to make
ready for a
moonlight drive through the Sandon forest here in Victoria,
Australia.  We
had anticipated the drive for days, and adjusted some of the new
harness
parts in preparation.  But wait!  What about the LAMPS!

Rob has a new pair of lamps that had never been lit!  They were
fitted with
candles, lit
 and carefully placed in the lamp brackets on Rob's 1890 Australian
jinker.
The lamps looked very handsome on the jinker, but the thin light
from the
candles was a bit disappointing.  Well, we had the "atmosphere"
anyway!

Scotty wheeled us away from the barn and onto the road into the
forest.  We
trotted along the tree lined gravel road, past rolling meadows. 
When we
left White Lodge, the moon was not visible, but once underway, we
looked
over our shoulders and discovered it was already climbing in the sky!
Before us, we watched the sun sink into the gum trees...the sky was
darkening, and streaky with crimson clouds...through the black
outline of
the trees, the edge of the world was angry red.  The smaller dams in
the
paddocks were glassy and perfectly reflective; the larger ones were
calm and
brilliant, but the edges were riffled by the warm breeze.

We started up the hill beyond the meadows, into the forest, and the
magic
began...

The lamps are mounted low on the jinker, below the seat.  As the
daylight
faded, the dim lamps seemed to flare brightly, and the amber light
flashed
and sparked off the spokes as we trotted along.  A slowly
brightening glow
began to warm the old brass handrail around the dash.  As we entered
the
darkness of the forest, the candleglow crept across the curved dash
and
spilled gently over Scotty's smoothly trotting quarters, turning
them a sort
of warm, ruby bay.  The moon was climbing and casting its silver
light over
the harness, glinting off the hardware with that cold, fire.

The light never left us entirely, and we never lost sight of every
feature
of the landscape.  The lamplight was mesmerizing, flashing and
rippling
throught the spokes onto the slim trunks of the gum trees.  As the
darkness
deepened in some parts of the forest, the candleglow spilled onto
the ground
in front of us, casting faint shadows of revolving wheels, shafts,
and
trotting legs, until we broke into the moonlight  and the shadows
became as
sharp though it was day.

The air was ringing with the sound of crickets, from time to time the
magpies would add their flutelike warbling, and the air smelled of
the gum
trees, and the dry grass that had been dampened by the previous
night's
showers.

All the while, Scotty carried us along at a relaxed, swinging trot. 
This
was his first night drive and he whisked us along as though he had
done it
every day!  He was just beautiful, allowing us silly humans to get
completely absorbed in the wonderful sensations of the drive. 
Well...at
least I got to enjoy it fully, while Rob had to do the driving! 
Suffice it
to say that Scotty just made the drive, pulling us along in the
beautiful
old jinker with his big swinging, easygoing trot, as steady as a
rock!

There was one little special bit of magic that the lamps cast; only
a lover
of antique vehicles could appreciate it.  The shafts of the jinker
each have
a long, cast brass plate with the maker's name, "Williams,
Castlemaine".
The nickel plating is much worn away, no doubt from many shoes
scuffing
across them.  There is now a soft, antique patina to the brass
plates.  In
the darkness, the lamplight softly illuminated these
plates, "...lemaine..."
is all that appeared in the soft glow.  Somehow it evoked all the
journeys
this lovely old vehicle had made...bits of the spirit of the hands
who made
it, the horses that had drawn it, the passengers who had ridden in
it.  All
that was dormant, but it all seemed to come to life in the
candlelight.

Coming back to White Lodge, we passed the paddock where Rob's gray
Standardbred Stallion, Bluey, lives.  Hard and fit, Bluey raced
along his
fenceline, mane flying, as we passed by, his white body gleaming in
the
cold, flinty light.  Scotty took no notice, just walking quietly up
to the
barn, where he was unhitched, and received his reward for a job
superbly
done.

Rob and I had a long walk in the brilliant moonlight, needing no
torch, to
take Scotty back to his paddock.  I know this post does no justice
to the
experience we had just shared...two people from opposite ends of the
world,
one good horse, a lovely old carriage, driving through a moonwashed
forest.
This is what driving is all about for us.

Here's to a nearly-full moon tomorrow night!

Getting to Know Cyrus

Cyrus Horse Camp, that is, another of Oregon's priceless horse camps, =
> nestled in the Crooked River National Grasslands.
>
> That name may evoke a picture of rolling, pristine meadows, with a lazy, =
> winding river passing through.  Nothing could be farther from the truth. =
>  The National Grasslands is a harsh, volcanic plain, with ragged, =
> juniper studded buttes rising up over sagebrush covered prairies.  With =
> the Ochocos rearing up to the east, and the Cascades walling off the =
> west, Cyrus Horse Camp lies nestled at the foot of a butte, occupying =
> the site of an old homestead.  Parklike in appearance, it is shaded with =
> non-native blacklocust trees, planted by pioneer hands.  It is the sort =
> of place in which a newcomer takes instant ownership.

> From where we camp, we can look down the sweeping plain, across tiny
Haystack =
> Reservoir, and up into the Cascades.  The day is mild, but there is a =
> bitter wind blowing off those snowfields and glaciers.

> Not knowing the area, we consult our map and decide to be =
> not-too-adventurous, sticking to the main gravel road that leads to =
> Haystack Reservoir.  We have no feel for mileages.
>
> Gizmo is easy to hitch in this new place, and full of life and =
> enthusiasm as we set off.  We learned immediately that one skill a horse =
> must have to drive here is indifference to cattle!  They are everywhere, =
> including range bulls!!  Giz is heads up, but we drive right through =
> them.  The calves are curious, but the mamas are fairly indifferent. =20
>
> The main gravel road was a good drive, wasn't really something you trailer
2-1/2 hours to drive your horse on!   We enjoyed the views as Gizmo reeled
off the miles, but wondered =
> what else the area had to offer.  Arriving at the reservoir, we realized =
> it was not horse friendly, just a place for fishermen and waterskiers, =
> so we made our loop and headed back out onto the main road, passing our =
> turnoff and exploring further.   The drive back to camp was cold, and I
was pretty glad =
> when it was over!
>
> Sunday morning I rise at the thinnest suggestion of daylight.  The near =
> full moon is setting over the Cascades, and the morning star is just =
> rising over the Ochocos.  It is still, perfect.  Ice on the waterbucket, =
> but the day will be warm.
On the suggestion of a fellow camper to go east, into the buttes,  we chart
what appears to be a loop on the map, load up and set off. =20
>
> I can't believe the strength and endurance Gizmo has this year!  He did =
> about 12 miles the day before, at a very brisk clip, with a heavily =
> loaded vehicle, and he showed no sign of slowing down.  All the =
> winter/spring work is paying off!  Especially when we realize that going =
> "into" the buttes means going UP them!  We pass through a small herd of =
> cattle, with a great bruiser of a bull lounging not five feet off the =
> road, under a juniper.  "Excuse us Sir, just passing through!"  He =
> barely bats an eyelash!  :o) =20
>
> This track we are on is a beauty, more to our liking, and view after =
> view unfolds as we rise up and over the landscape.  But soon, we find =
> ourselves on a long ascent.  The scenery has changed, from scrubby =
> juniper to great tall ones, and there is a thin thread of a stream, with =
> lush grasses growing in this arid place.  The stark contrast makes this =
> tiny rivulet one of the most beautiful little water features one could =
> imagine! =20
>
> Up and up we climb; Gizmo is walking, obviously not straining, just =
> marching along as we climb and climb and climb up through this canyon.  =
> Today our weather is pristine; warm and clear, with scarcely a breath of =
> wind.  I keep thinking we will top out soon, but we continue up, along =
> the flank of Grey Butte, stopping periodically to open gates at cattle =
> guards.  We are surprised to see that there are a fair number of =
> springs, which have been developed for the cattle, and periodically, we =
> pass yet more abandoned homesteads, wondering what could have possessed =
> those pioneers, after such a gruelling passage, to stop here in this =
> desolate wilderness, to try to make a life. =20
>
> Finally, our long, uphill walk tops out, at another homestead site, and =
> a beautiful old pioneer orchard.  Grey Butte rises up above us, and =
> beautiful, ragged, rocky Pine Ridge rears up before us.  For a short =
> time, we have "trot-able" track, but soon we find ourselves on a steep =
> descent into a deep ravine known as "Skull Hollow".  Our camp neighbor =
> later tells us that a pioneer massacre occurred in this ravine, and the =
> victims were not found for 17 years.  Artifacts were still being =
> recovered in the 1950s. =20
>
> I am so thankful for my new brakes!  Between the recently installed =
> sliding seats on the cart, and the brakes, I am able to keep Gizmo just =
> barely in breeching, and on all but the worst declivities, can even keep =
> the weight of the shafts off his back, through careful adjustment of the =
> balance.  Knowing we have relieved Gizmo of a great deal of work really =
> clears my mind to marvel at this wondrous wilderness all around me!  A =
> juniper 20 feet tall may be 200 years old.  The junipers in this ravine =
> are towering over our heads.  Pine Ridge rears sharply up to our left, =
> Grey Butte to our right.  Along the side of the track this delicate =
> strip of green rolls downhill, with occasional evidence of the fragile =
> watercourse that feeds it.  It is lunchtime, and we are rewarded with a =
> beautiful little site where a spring has been developed, and the =
> junipers offer welcome shade.  Gizmo is tied with neckrope and nosebag =
> to a tree, after slaking his thirst (he is not hot), and we enjoy a bit =
> of lunch, and a little exploring.  (I have to brag - I am using my =
> Stockman's bridle, have removed the bit to use the halter function to =
> tie Giz to the tree.  Now I am worried that he will rub the winkers and =
> damage them; voila!  20 seconds later the winkers are popped off and Giz =
> is relaxing in a regular halter.  I love it!)
>
> We are rested, stretched, watered and fed; it's time to continue on.  =
> Giz is hitched and we are away, still travelling down into this narrow =
> ravine.  When will it bottom out!  Through more gates at cattle guards, =
> more springs and water troughs - we are amazed!  And more cattle!  =
> Everywhere!  Meadowlarks and bluebirds, exquisite little mounds of =
> purple and yellow wildflowers, friendly weekenders, we even met, of all =
> things, a driving acquaintance (mounted)!  At long last the ground is =
> levelling out and a plain stretches before us.  We can see the cars on =
> the highway in the distance, and we should be swinging left soon, around =
> Pine Ridge, to make our dash for home.=20
>
> But what's this!  We come to the highway, but no track!  The map has =
> lied!  There is no continuing track around the ridge after all!  I am =
> thoroughly confused, I am sure I was following the map correctly, but no =
> joy.  We talk to some riders - no there is no track alongside the =
> highway, just a narrow riding trail.  This means, our only way back to =
> camp is back up that steep ravine!  And what about Gizmo, how is he =
> going?  Well he has enough starch left to misbehave for the amusement of =
> the other horses (and my embarrassment), so I reckon he's got enough to =
> assault the ravine! =20
>
> On our way back, we doublecheck the landmarks; yep we are exactly where =
> we think we are, with the road numbers matching the map.  The map is =
> incorrect.  I am hugely disappointed, but need to concentrate on getting =
> us back up the hill.
>
> I am just astonished at little Gizmo.  On all but the very steepest =
> going, he just set a determined march that seemed virtually effortless.  =
> There was no straining into the collar, he just set it in low and =
> marched up that grade with a will.  Very occasionally you could see he =
> was working a little harder, but still it was just something to think of =
> the strength he possesses, in such a small package.  All his gear is  =
> optimal now, I think; this wonderful, wide draft wool-faced collar, =
> wide, sliding backband saddle, the axle draft, the brakes, sliding =
> seats,  pulley breeching, and careful attention to balance.  This rig is =
> turned out for rough travel, the horse is fit, and all the time, effort, =
> and work are all galvanizing in this one drive.  It is not the longest =
> we have done, but I am sure, by far, the most difficult. =20
>
> We take breaks along the march, and Gizmo is grateful that we have =
> carried water.  He drinks greedily at every chance.  It is mild, but =
> very dry.  Oh, I am thinking, this is gonna be one tuckered little horse =
> when we get to the top of this grade!  This part of the drive is more =
> concentrating on Gizmo's wellbeing than on enjoying the scenery. =20
>
> FINALLY we top out at the orchard.  We can see the plains sweeping away =
> from us to the west, and the Cascades rippling along in the haze.  "Your =
> pace, Gizmo"...he is allowed now to take his own stride.  He is so self =
> preserved, I know that he will take care of himself.  I expect a doggy =
> walk back to camp, but this boy has his second wind, and for the brief =
> mild terrain, he has turned up the wick and is rolling along at a trot =
> about a third again faster than what he usually does at home!  :o)  But =
> soon, we have hit that long descent on the other side, and we ease back =
> again, into a measured walk.  Down on the plains again, Giz is =
> refreshed, he knows he is camp bound and he treats us to a brisk trot, =
> sometimes a canter when he meets a hill.  He seems unstoppable!  =
> Scattering herds of cattle, just rolling along through the desert and =
> the warm, dry air.  It's just unbelievable, what a day this has been!  I =
> have to ask him repeatedly to walk the last mile, he is so chipper and =
> still ready to go!  But as we roll into camp, he is more than happy to =
> stand for unhitching and a good sponging off before returning to his =
> corral to rest up and feed before the trip home.
>
> I am stiff and sore (nursing a bum back anyway), and so grateful to get =
> out and stretch!  :o)  We have been over five hours, covering 13 =
> gruelling miles.  Our map, inaccurate as it is, promises many more =
> challenging drives.  This place will be magnificent for spring and fall =
> drives; too hot and dry in summer, and inaccessible in winter.  As we =
> pull out and head for home, we know we have experienced something truly =
> special, and I silently thank those volunteer hands, and the public =
> employees, who have made this place for us.  We will return.

Long Trot, Cold River

--- In RecreationalEquineDriving@y..., nearside@e... wrote:
> It was one of those mornings where you crack an eyeball open to look
> out the window, then just wish you could pull the covers over your
> head and hibernate until summer!  Only in Oregon could they be
> screaming drought in the midst of all this rain!
>
> So poor Bob is listening to me whine all morning - I think I'm gonna
> die if I don't get some sun!  I'm gonna lose my marbles if I can't go
> drive someplace!  If I don't get out of here for a good drive pretty
> soon I'm gonna go crazy!  Whine whine whine!  And guess what?  It's
> not gonna get any better for at least two more months!
>
> He has just mounted the new singletree on the cart - hopefully the
> last modification - I have frittered away the morning, planting some
> seeds of a delicious Australian variety of pumpkin that mysteriously
> turned up in my luggage after the trip, moping around, and generally
> pestering Bob about how miserable and light deprived I am!
>
> So it's like, 2:00 in the afternoon, and nobody in their right mind
> thinks about loading up all the gear and the horse in the cold rain,
> and taking a 40 minute trailer trip for a two hour drive, with a 40
> minute trip home, right?  Like, we're gonna be trotting back to the
> trailer in the dark?  Hey it's daylight savings time, if we dash, we
> can do it!
>
> Giz is just so ready for some away trips!  Both of us are bored to
> death with the neighborhood, so off we went, to my beautiful green
> tunnel of mossy, fern-covered trees, the Molalla River Corridor.
>
> I just can't get over Giz this year.  At eight, he's gone from being
> that giddy youngster to this little driving machine.  I figured he'd
> be bouncing all over the place, reacting to stuff when I took him out
> of the trailer, but nope, he just stood like a rock to be harnessed
> and hitched, looking around with the mildest interest.
>
> The first thing that assailed my senses when I stepped out of the
> truck was the roar of that beautiful little river.  Giz and I stepped
> off down the road and I realized there is one beautiful benefit to
> all this rain...waterfalls.  Little waterfalls everywhere.  Gurgling
> and splashing and roaring down the mossy basalt mountainsides.  The
> cottonwood trees along the river are in their first yellow-green
> flush of new growth, the alders have hung out their catkins, but most
> are still barren of new leaves.  Yet everything is green.  Ancient
> maple trunks are completely furred over with emerald green moss,
> sprouting ferns, and the alder branches are all hung with a gray-
> green, sort of Spanish moss.  The first wildflowers are in bloom,
> flowering currant, trilliums and a few I need to learn the names of.
> The skunk cabbage is beginning to unfurl its yellow calla lily-like
> flowers in the wetlands.
>
> Giz has hit a stride; he is not setting land speed records, but he's
> a little horse, who seems to have a sense for taking care of
> himself.  He is forward, regular, ticking off mile after mile at an
> easy trot, never needing encouragement.  Always slightly uphill, just
> rolling along.  The beautiful little wild river is clear emerald
> green, racing along gravel beds, crashing into huge basalt boulders,
> slipping over black basalt races, squeezing and rushing through
> narrow, frozen lava floes that spray out like the whorls on a horse's
> forehead, then broadening out over wide gravel beds.  Everything is
> dripping with moisture, yet we are spared a deluge.
>
> We pass over the river, across a high bridge; I have noticed that Giz
> spends a lot of time with his head cranked over slightly, keeping an
> eye on that noisy river, 50 feet below him!  The bridge is our early
> season turnaround point; we have gone five miles at a steady,
> relentless, uphill trot.  So I turn the boy for the trailer, and he
> is keen to take his stride again.  The only difference in speed can
> be accounted for the slightly downhill grade.  He is as relentless,
> as effortless, as easy as he was before.  In his maturity, he is
> confident, he is allowing me to record all these sensations in my
> memory to give to you, after the drive.  He no longer needs my
> support with every step, but boldly ticks off the miles as a
> confident driving horse who knows I will be there if he needs me.
>
> Traffic is sparse and courteous, many motorists slowing and waiting
> for a signal to pass.  The corridor is a designated recreational
> corridor; it's a rare motorist who's in a hurry there, as the road
> goes nowhere.  There are many there today like me; restless,
> housebound, just looking for an escape.  It is a beautiful,
> contemplative, slightly wild, yet accessible, place to spend a wet,
> otherwise housebound Sunday afternoon.
>
> Giz and I have done nine and a half miles at a rolling trot.  I've
> gathered my coat around me and buttoned it up.  The little heat packs
> in my gloves are doing nothing to thaw my fingers.  I have a gnawing
> hunger in my belly, and my joints are cold and stiff, as we walk the
> last half mile to the trailer.  I throw an old wool army blanket over
> Giz as I unhitch and untack him, then cover him up in a blanket.  He
> is not interested in a drink, but relishes his oats in the trailer.
>
> We are loaded up, and on our way home, through a fine rain, as the
> day darkens and the clouds thicken.  I'm trying to thaw my fingers
> with the little chemical packs, trying to get feeling in them again,
> and gnawing on a half-frozen Power Bar, that I gratefully remembered
> in my pack.  I look at the earth and the sky on the way home; it's a
> very contemplative time for me, that trip home after a long drive,
> and I think, gee, I could have stayed in the house and stayed warm,
> or mowed the wet lawn, or cleaned up the shop.  But I am so glad, so
> very glad, I just took that first step out the door, into the
> wretched weather, and spent this afternoon with my horse, in this
> beautiful place.
>
> Hoping you had a glorious drive today.

The Morgans of Juniper Acres

There are other horses at Juniper Acres, but the Morgans that pull the
wagon are famous all the way to Alfalfa!  :o)

Our trips to Camp are getting easier and easier as we now have just
about all the amenities for "roughing" it in place.  I keep trying to
remember what I've forgotten to do, but we find we are not lacking once
we get there.

The desert sun is mellowing like fine wine as summer fades to fall.  The
air will clarify as valley agricultural pursuits slow down.  As it is,
we are above most of that dust, but it does obscure the view of the
Cascades some days.

The tradeoff is at daybreak, when the mountains are completely cloaked
by an electric blue and pink haze.  It clears as the sun comes up to
reveal the bare peaks, with only glaciers splashed on their slopes.  We
need rain and snow.

We arrive to our ceaseless appreciation, to find that no human has
disturbed our belongings.  The only vandal has been a rodent, probably a
pack rat, who has chewed through all the spark plug and alternator wires
on the motor home engine.  This time he entered the coach and left us a
poignant offering on the couch; some puffs of foam rubber he'd nibbled
from the furniture, assorted droppings, and a small sprig of juniper
with berries, all rather artistically arranged.  Sadly, the offering we
left in return wasn't a friendly one.  Next year we'll try to keep the
wildlife out of the coach with electronet varmint fencing.

Camp is pitched, dinner is cooked, ponies are fed and blanketed.  We
drive in the morning.

Our first outing is mostly to test gear, limber up and get rid of a
"deplorable excess of energy" in the horses.  Gizmo, abandoning his
usually impeccable manners, is particularly peevish about having been
incarcerated in a stall, trailer or pen for 24 hours, and hits the
collar like a pulling horse three times before dragging all of us,
including Spunky, to the top of the driveway.

Not our best start!

We were only going to do a warmup, but the horses definitely had other
ideas.  We turned for the "long loop."

Giz, who can be hard to motivate at home, sets and maintains a very
aggressive pace!

I'm not interfering now that we're underway!  The horses' legs are
pumping like pistons.  Spunky is right up there with Giz, and we're
hurtling along at a really smart pace!  My instincts tell me to guide,
but not interfere, just let these two amped up road horses do the job
they were born to do!

And this is the only place that I know of on the planet where they can
do it like they can at Camp Lee!

The sandy hardpan road twists and turns through juniper forests and sage
studded plains.  The view opens up to 360 degrees of vast vistas, then
ducks back into stands of ancient junipers - the oldest on the continent
abide here - winds past low escarpments where sage has been cleared and
amber colored native grasses have reclaimed the land.  In these places,
it is more fragile meadowland than desert.  Indeed, before overgrazing,
the Oregon high desert was a vast savannah of stirrup high grass.

We blast up a short, rocky ascent, past "Horse Lady's" place, where a
mob of young Arabs dance gleefully along the fenceline in pursuit.  The
Morgans amp up the pace to flaunt their "freedom!"

Our South African Cape style vehicle just cruised along brilliantly.
The vehicle continued to prove its merit.  The balance is something to
behold.  With two up, I get Bob to move his seat "just so", then I
manage the balance from my seat.  On rolling terrain, there is virtually
no rebalancing to do - the tip of the pole floats along and never puts
an ounce of weight on the horses' necks.

A long trot on one very washboardy road, though, convinced us to go back
to the lighter Dennett Springs!  The new heavy ones were a bit too
stiff.

The horses finally admitted they'd had about enough at the turn of about
12 miles, and agreed that walking home the last couple of miles wasn't a
bad idea.  Well, there was still lots of trot in there, but they were
pretty well ready to slow down now.  They came into Camp cool, but their
dark coats were crusty white with dried sweat.  They both took a good
long nap before dinner!

Well, that drive was the sort that a person would really look forward
to!  Great going, two fast ambitious horses, light in the mouth and
working flawlessly together, a first rate trekking vehicle, perfect
weather and truly authentic Wild West landscapes.

Late afternoon came and our friends, the Stampers arrived with Garland's
dad in tow, for the usual camp feast.  The menu featured roast chicken,
salad and true camp stew, simmered for hours in the Dutch oven ("camp"
oven to you Aussies), rolls, hot coffee and the ubiquitous Black Butte
Porter.  But along with the mellow days of fall, come the freezing
desert nights, and the party disbanded before things got too chilly.

The next morning I rolled out at first light to give the ponies a feed.
There was a skiff of frost on everything.  I ducked back into the coach
quickly, to a pot of hot coffee and some brekkie!  Oh, we are such rough
and tumble campers!  :o)

We dawdled a bit before we went out again, to let things warm up some.
It turned into another seriously gorgeous day!  I got two very mellow
and agreeable horses harnessed up, hitched to the vehicle, and we made a
civilized, albeit swift, depart.

But the horses had exhausted their supply of overexhuberance and once on
the road were prepared to walk or slowly jog the eight mile "high road"
loop with little input from me.  We thoroughly enjoyed what I call their
"sightseeing gait!"

THIS was the driving I am learning to know and love!  We drove north up
the main dirt track, walking easily into the brilliant morning.  There
was time now to savor the fragrant air, take in the views and enjoy the
feel of two quiet, relaxed horses swinging along together in perfect
harmony.

We turned east toward the buttes and the "high road" that winds along
the flank of the buttes for miles.  The juniper and sage studded
Millican Plateau stretches out below us to the west.  To the south,
ragged escarpments encroach on the plateau.  Beyond the plateau, the
Cascade ranges.  The hues of blue and purple, amber and green create a
rich palette to trace our route upon.  We follow close along a classic
old western barbed wire fence, gnarled split juniper posts holding it
up.  At one old gate, someone's nailed a rusty old skillet to the post.
The road lurches quickly up short ledges, washed and gravelly with
terra-cotta colored stone, winds gracefully to the right.  Its
meandering path directs our gaze like a skilled tour guide to look down
at the gorgeous ornamental grasses, up at the soaring peaks, the
vastness of the desert sky.  The horses' foot falls are counterpoint to
the meadowlark, or the splendid warbling of the Townsend's Solitaire.
The rabbitbrush is waving its yellow flowers in the breeze.  We "top
out," then roll along south for miles, gradually wending our way back to
the main road.  The horses are relaxed, easy on the bits, swinging along
like they could go on forever.

Ah, but once again, another great drive comes to a close!

In the night, a stiff wind blows up and rattles the coach all night
long.  It's still howling in the morning, so rather than take that one
extra drive, we decide to pack up and leave.  Of course by the time we
we were underway, the wind had laid and it was yet another magnificent
day!

Ah well.  There will be another trip, and hopefully the horses will be
more fit so we can really begin to do some exploring with them!

In the meantime, we can remember these glorious drives and look forward
to the next trip!

Trillium Lake (2)

Friday...
I was sitting in the Cazadero tonight.  The restaurant is in Estacada, and the big windows look out over a slackwater stretch of the Clackamas River, where that beautiful wildling is imprisoned behind River Mill dam.  The air was full of that late summer, late afternoon, dusty-goldy haze, that makes the the flying insects visible as little sparkles, even from long distances.  Every once in awhile a small trout would breach, to sample the aerial smorgasbord.  The far bank of the river rises steeply from mossy, half-submerged boulders, cloaked in deep underbrush, that perfect landscaping job of Mother Nature.  The water was clear green, and the river's pulse was barely visible in the stifled current.  Dinner and conversation were lost on me.  I want to go back to the mountains...

Tuesday...

So here I am at four thousand feet.  Mount Hood's burned and blasted summit, naked of snow, rears up behind me.  Only the glaciers remain, splattered on the mountainside like so much spilt milk.  The truck cab was stuffy; I'm surprised at that little bite in the breeze, glad that I brought along a long sleeved shirt.  It's been very dry, and the fir trees are withholding their scent today, it's a bit dusty and deep summerish.  But it's beautiful.  I am grateful to be here.

Today is not one of Gizmo's model-of-good-behavior days.  What driving he's done since the trek has been just around the neighborhood, helping me test my experiments and new equipment that have been taking shape as a result of the trek.  All the time I was packing this morning, he was urgently supervising, from his side of the fence.  He knew a trip was afoot, and he was impatient to be off!  Now he is tied to the trailer - he is fired up and ready to go!  He's always so good for hitching though (well usually!), and I have him put to quickly.  We go for a test drive around the large parking area; there's a bit of pavement we have to negotiate.  He is in his element, he is just fine.

Hoping there is no logging going on in the area, we take our turn off the pavement and face our first long grade.  We walk the grade, then head down a long clear stretch of gravel road. 

Most of the time Giz is neither in draft, nor breeching.  He has hit his stride, he feels good, and he takes us swinging along at a beautiful clip.  Gee it's great to feel his energy surging through the reins, his enthusiasm.  His three weeks of rest have done him wonders. 

The first time I was here was some twenty years ago.  At that time, much of the forest had just been planted.  Now those saplings  are 20, 30 feet tall!  The scenery changes every mile or so...we are in a thick, mixed young forest, now an old clear cut, carpeted with pinky-purple wildflowers falls away to the right.  Now we are entering a mature, deep forest, shaggy with moss, and knee-deep in bracken.  Everywhere, the head-high wild rhododendrons grow.  In the sunlight, the lacy vine maples are just beginning to show scarlet tips; in another month, they will set the forest ablaze with color.  And all the while, little Giz is rolling along, ears up, keen and sensitive and aware of every rustling leaf.  He is a joy to drive! 

I remember twenty years ago, this drive seemed so long!  It was one of the first pleasure drives we led our fledgling driving club on.  Sadly, it was never repeated.  It is a beautiful drive.

I was beginning to wonder if the road was still all there...last year I took the route in reverse, made a wrong turn and took Rob on a merry chase along the edge of a precipitous gravel pit!  We found our way out up a washed out, steep, rocky track, and I was just amazed that my good road had disappeared!  Nope, I had turned one road too soon last year, the old road was still very good, and revealed some beautiful sights that I am sorry I deprived Rob of last year!

I turned down a road I'd never been on before, hoping to add some mileage, but it was long and steep, and I turned Giz around.  He was still afire, and got that persistent "hitch" in his trot, that means he's begging to canter!  What a dream!  The old cart, with it's axle draft, just floated along as Giz gained momentum.  He was feeling so good, the canter soon became a hand gallop!  But I was hearing some noises that I'm not sure where they came from, so asked him back down.  The woods had gathered close, and were cool, it seemed what few remaining wildflowers that were in bloom were here, so we walked a spell, and I let my mind take me back to other beautiful drives I had experienced here...

We turned for the dam, came around a corner, and brilliant little Trillium Lake lay before us, with Mt. Hood rearing up behind.  It's a sight that never fails to catch the breath!  There was a tenacious great cloud, clinging to the eastern slope of the mountain, about halfway up, and it cast a great shadow below it.  It was quite dramatic! 

Giz spied the dam... yes, mate, over you go!  He must have been quite a sight to the fishermen, with his neck all hooked and his dicey trot, eyeballing those great overflow pipes, doing his best impression of his old granddaddy, UVM Promise!  <VBG!> 

The gravel road on the other side is a beautiful drive, the woods are quite deep, and the road twists and rolls.  We were passed from behind by one car, which pulled up a hundred or so feet ahead, and a nice lady tumbled out to take our picture. 

I turned up another unfamiliar road, one I'd always wanted to check out.  But it was steep, very steep.  We walked, and we walked, and we walked, and soon the road narrowed and became very rutted and rocky.  Still we walked, hoping it would level out at some point and give some good driving.  We passed a clear cut, and were given a spectactular view of Mt. Jefferson, to the south, and also some idea of just how far we'd climbed from the little valley of the lake.  I kept thinking, just one more turn, let's just see what's around that corner, but still the road climbed.  I was getting hungry, so decided to try to find a wide spot to rest and eat.  The mountainside swept away dramatically to the left, and rose up to the right.  The road was narrow, there wasn't much room to turn around, but we finally found a wide-ish place with a suitable tree to tie Giz to, and provide a bit of shade.  Giz got a drink from the OBRA (On Board ReHydration Apparatus - Ha!), then a nosebag, and relaxed, unhitched, while I ate and clicked some photos.  Giz is not one to waste time, though.  It wasn't long before he was anxious to be off.  So I hitched up, and we trudged up the hill a bit further, just for future reference.  It was useless.  The grade went on forever.  So we pivoted a wheel on that two-rut track and headed back down the hill. 

Gee, that pulley breeching worked beautifully!  The singletree that the cables are attached to would travel as much as four inches with every stride.  I never saw him work so comfortably in breeching as he did today, on that very steep, rocky, rutted track. 

Back on the main gravel road, Giz was alight again after his rest, and ready to fire!  We hit a beautiful trot, to our last turn, then hooked a left, along beautiful Summit Meadow, and took a lap around Still Creek Campground.  It is deep in the woods, with many wildflowers blooming yet, and the roar of the creek a constant through the beautiful campground. 

We are headed back now, toward the trailer, on a short stretch of the Barlow Road, one of the main pioneer routes to the "Garden of Eden", the Willamette Valley, at the end of the Oregon Trail.  I am not far from the infamous Laurel Hill, where the wagons were lowered down the mountainside with ropes.  I bid a silent good day to the pioneers buried in the tiny cemetary alongside the road, as we walked quietly past.  The flowers in the meadow are fading, the grass is still green, but looking a bit parched.  It won't be long before frost claims the flowers at this elevation, the rains will come, then the snow.  I've probably said goodbye to the mountains for this summer.  My little horse can relax, his workload will be light from now on, until the late winter ritual begins again, and we face the elements, to prepare for these rare, indescribably beautiful drives next summer.