By Fyllis Hockman
Heels down. Toes out. Squeeze with calves, not knees. Lighten up on the reins. Sink your butt into the saddle.
So began my first riding lesson at the Arizona Cowboy College in Scottsdale. After that came instructions in grooming, shoeing, advanced riding techniques and roping. And this was just a one-day primer to what other “city slickers” channeling Billy Crystal experience in their five-day cattle drive at the college.
The day began with some initial instruction from Jigger Boss Elaine, whose main goal seemed to be to keep us from falling off the horse and to avoid getting kicked when not on it. My experience up to then had been an occasional trail ride where the horse was presented to me all spruced up and saddled and all I was expected to do was mount it. Not so here.
Prior to even thinking about actually riding the animal, I was taught how to groom and brush her — Billie, a brown mare — and how to do so safely. Elaine showed me how to pick up Billie’s hooves and clean out the bottom of the horseshoe with a pick, removing the excess dirt, pebbles or nails before taking her out. My first thought was, “You want me to do what?” As I was cleaning out one of her hoofs, I couldn’t help thinking there’s 1,200 pounds of horse flesh here that with one thrust of the hoof I’m holding can flatten me. Fortunately, Billie was not so inclined.
During Saddling 101, my status as first-rate tenderfoot was further confirmed when I tried to pick up the saddle — and collapsed under its weight. The idea that I was actually supposed to get it atop the horse was ludicrous.
Riding a horse in the desert is very different terrain from what most riders are used to, and that — in part — is what brought Bob and Carol Skinner, local racehorse owners and my cohorts at the ranch, to the college.
Bob, who has been around a lot of very different racehorse disciplines all his life, claimed that each discipline thinks its methods are the right ones in terms of training and expertise. Always looking to learn something new, he says he came to Cowboy College to see how the cowboys do it as opposed to racers. That much I understood. What came as a surprise was that as much as Bob knew about horses, he did not really ride. And while Carol did, her expertise was with racehorses; cowboy steeds were still a mystery.
To begin with, racers ride Eastern saddles, which carry with them proscribed rules of posture and deportment much more regimented than the more relaxed rules of Western riding. They have two-handed split reins instead of the one-handed neck reins; riders in the West must have one hand free to shoot rattlesnakes and rope steers. It is amazing how much of how you and your horse interact is determined by how you hold the reins.
Prior to heading out on our ride, we hunkered down at the bunkhouse for chow. The fact that it was bologna, ham and cheese on white bread with mayo seemed perfectly fitting.
Then we headed out — me on Billie, a quarter horse, Carol on a mustang, Bob on a Paint. Bob commented that just squeezing with his calves as opposed to his knees made an immediate difference. In the East, most trail rides are through woods; here we loped through sand and rocks and sagebrush, past cacti as tall as small buildings over a monochromatic panorama of gray and tan and muted greens. Did I say trail? Nope, no trail — just feeling our way over, around and through the rocky wasteland.
As we rested our horses atop a mesa in the Tonto National Forest, I looked out admiringly at the wide expanse of desert below, poetry-inspiring mountains in the distance and a sky the color of every shade of blue found in even the largest box of crayons. This alone was worth the pain I expected to feel later in the day.
As we continued our ride, punctuated by an unending array of rocky inclines and descents, Bob and Carol became increasingly dismayed. Apparently, the uneven landscape and Western style of riding were alien to the two racehorse owners. The idea of riding horses over such a threatening terrain was a foreign concept, much less at a speed sufficient to maintain the momentum necessary to scale the crest of the embankment. Elaine kept reassuring them that, indeed, the horses were fine with it. She also kept reminding Carol — accustomed to riding English, where proper posture is so important — to stay low in the saddle and resist the temptation to ride “two-point.”
When I finally dismounted Billie, my legs were so wobbly I could barely make it to the corral. And we weren’t done yet. It was now time for our roping lesson. Fortunately, no actual calves were involved.
OK, so I wasn’t ready to go on a multiday cattle roundup, but I sure did have a whole new respect for anyone who does. The plus for me? Considering the difficulty I had walking the next day, I was glad that — unlike those participating in the whole program — I did not have to get back up on a horse.
WHEN YOU GO
For more information: www.cowboycollege.com
Jigger Boss Elaine teaches the author to clean a horse’s hooves at the Arizona Cowboy College in Scottsdale. Photo courtesy of Victor Block. A student at the Arizona Cowboy College in Scottsdale learns to rope a steer. Photo courtesy of Victor Block. A saddle for every would-be cowboy or cowgirl awaits at the Arizona Cowboy College in Scottsdale. Photo courtesy of Victor Block.
Fyllis Hockman is a freelance writer. To read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.