The first Summer that I lived in Colorado provided me with an opportunity to spend six weeks camping in the western Rocky Mountains, during June and July. In preparation for a summer in the outdoors, I acquired an eleven-year-old1985 Dodge Ramcharger, a model famous for its 4×4 capability and ruggedness. Just the thing for negotiating the wilds of the West Elk Mountains. I cruised south from Glenwood Springs, turned short of the road to Aspen, and passed the beehive coke ovens of Redstone to the town of Marble. In some ways, Marble is a modern ghost town, with dirt roads and weather-beaten cabins, but as it hosts a Post Office and fire department, it retains its “living” status. True to its name, the local quarries provided some of the highest quality stone for monuments in Washington.
Pavement rapidly disappeared as I headed up the steep, one-lane road from Marble. I passed the U.S. Forest Service road sign that advised “4WD Only Beyond This Point” and my pulse quickened. I took the right fork and jounced slowly over twin ruts, the former road to an actual ghost town located some miles from Marble. As I rounded a bend blasted through granite, just wide enough to accommodate a horse-drawn wagon, I braked suddenly and gasped. The road in front dropped off into a steep pile of rubble that clung to the side of a mountain, high above the roaring Crystal River. Even the twin ruts degenerated into a jagged surface of jumbled boulders and cobbles. At the base of the steep bank of talus, off the road, a dented, burned-out Chevy pickup rested in the weeds, a derelict from a previous adventure in decades gone by. I shifted into 4-Low and dropped the automatic transmission into “1″, such a low gear that even at engine idle the Ramcharger jerked forward and crawled to the tune of rhythmically whining gears. Two feet from the edge of the road’s drop-off, and mindful of the Chevy’s fate, I began the bouncing, swaying descent. Momentarily, the speedometer needle rose slightly from where it bottomed out at 5 mph, and it gently tapped the brakes. Too fast, perhaps 3 mph was more suitable. I crept down the ancient road, imagining how teamsters had once negotiated wagons over this treacherous track.
At last I reached the bottom, where the road was pot-holed and covered with dirt, presumably settled-out flood sediment from the roaring Crystal River, whose whitecaps danced at a level only slightly lower than the road. After some time, I ascended a rise and came opposite a weather-beaten, yet picturesque mill perched high upon a jutting promontory of granite above the river. Giant wooden beams, shed from the structure after a punishing winter, whirled in the vortex at the base of the millrace, smashed to splinters as the thundering current relentlessly pounded them into the unyielding granite. Beyond, the town of Crystal crouched alongside the road. Through town, the road had completely degenerated into a rutted, rocky, jouncing misery even at 5 mph. Rugged log cabin-type structures lined the street, constructed of rough-hewn square timbers notched together, boarded up and nailed shut. Aha, but I saw that this wasn’t strictly a ghost town! The last house on the edge of town had a somewhat cared-for appearance, with a circa 1974 Ford pickup parked in front that prominently displayed a bumper sticker that advised “51% Nice Guy, 49% SOB. Don’t Push It.” No problem there, I’m just passing through.
As I continued out of town, the lush, green valley of Lead King Basin was sprawled out before me. I had broken out of the woods along the river bottom, and thick green grass sprinkled with yellow, blue, and white flowers swayed in the mountain breezes. All around, majestic, snow-capped granite peaks rose toward the sky, and the steep, jagged cliffs of the distinctively colored Maroon Sandstone jutted into the air. This is the same rock formation made famous in Colorado postcards of the Maroon Bells. I climbed the narrow jeep trail, carefully driving over a series of berms that, from the look of the surrounding prospect pits, had been piled up by a bulldozer to keep out the casual gawkers when prospecting had been more lucrative. I took a sharp left, and had to gun the engine to climb the steep, one-lane trail that ended at the boundary of the Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness. What a gorgeous sight, as the classic U-shaped glacial valley spread out before me. The daily afternoon rainshower had begun, and so I elected to remain in the shelter of the Ramcharger’s backseat for the night. The giant windows afforded a spectacular view of the surroundings, and I gasped in awe as lightning bolts crackled from the snow-capped, granite peaks across the valley at my very eye level.
The rain gradually diminished and ceased by mid-morning, and it was time to continue on my way. I rolled out of my parking spot, back onto the shallow, twin ruts that would lead me the short way back to the main jeep road. Suddenly, apprehension gripped me as I noted that the ruts, so easily climbed the night before, had a pronounced tilt from my present approach. I had been proceeding at a relatively sedate 15 mph, but apprehension turned to panic as I felt the Ramcharger begin to slide sideways as gravity tied to pull it down the deceptively shallow, but increasingly steep slope into a shallow gully. For a split second I considered making a controlled, soft landing, but quickly realized that by the time I slid to the bottom of the shallow gully, the truck would be on its side with no hope of recovery. As an automatic reaction to avoid danger, I stepped on the brake and was horrified to feel the truck speed up as the tires broke loose on the wet grass and greasy mud. I could hear the slithering slap of wet, leafy fronds on the tires and felt my momentum increase, bearing me toward the declivity, as I screamed Oh, Dammit NO! Counter to panicked intuition, I clutched the ball of the transfer case lever and pulled it back sharply from 2-High into 4-High as I goosed the accelerator. Trying to slow down had nearly been disastrous, and my heart was pounding as I desperately hoped that the engaged front wheels would pull me back up onto the treacherous, deceitful twin-rutted path. By now leaning crazily, the spinning front tires found purchase and arrested my lateral slide into the gully, as the Ramcharger regained the shallow, muddy ruts with a final fishtail. As I began to relax, I realized that within five seconds I would have a more serious problem. I had regained enough momentum to climb back onto the gently tilted trail, but as I crested a slight rise, I stared straight down, past the adjoining main jeep trail and out into space past the edge of the cliff. While congratulating myself on avoiding one disaster, I was now rapidly speeding toward another, since I now had enough momentum to careen down the hill, shoot across the jeep trail, and fly off the cliff. Recalling my Wisconsin winter-driving experience, I shifted the automatic transmission into neutral to disengage drive to the wheels and began gently tapping the brake pedal at a furious rate. As the cliff edge loomed, I felt the truck slow and knew I had regained control. I crept down the steepest part of the rutted trail onto the main jeep road at the dizzying speed of about six inches per second. My heart was pounding, and my entire body was so tensed that I could barely command my leg to press the brake pedal, or my arm to shift into Park. I idled on the jeep road, as the adrenaline spasms rippled through my body and I tried to catch my breath. When I finally regained control of myself, I crawled along the greasy, shale-slicked road in 4-Low, and considered myself lucky to be leaving Lead King Basin.
The idea of picking up a horse’s hooves can intimidate some owners since a well-placed horse kick would really hurt! Such caution is good, but in reality if you pick up a horse’s hoof properly you provide him with no leverage or ability to kick you. This is a situation where a person’s worst fears can cause him to imagine an incident that is highly unlikely to occur with careful handling.
Here’s how to safely pick up a horse’s hoof:
Starting with the front hoof, approach your horse diagonally from his front so that he clearly knows you are there - you don’t want to surprise him. Place yourself even with his shoulder and make sure to face his rear; you will both be facing opposite directions during the hoof picking process.
Making sure that your feet aren’t too close to the horse’s hoof, start running the hand parallel to him down his shoulder and along the length of his leg, finally stopping just above his ankle. Gently grasp the ankle portion and click (or otherwise verbally cue him) to ask him to raise his leg. If he’s well trained, that small cue will be more than enough and he’ll do just what you requested. You’re now free to begin picking his hoof.
If your horse is being a bit stubborn or hasn’t learned how to pick up his legs yet try leaning into his shoulder as you run your hand down the back of his cannon bone. You can also gently squeeze/pinch the tendons to further cue him to what you would like. As you perform these physical cues make sure you provide a verbal one also (I make a clicking sound) so the horse later associates your sound with the requested response. Increase the weight you push against his shoulder until he finally lifts his leg as requested.
When picking a horse’s hoof you want to remove all debris from the hoof clefts as well as the rim and frog. Be careful around the frog because it can sometimes be a bit sensitive, particularly if the horse has thrush.
Once you have finished cleaning the front hoof carefully guide it back to the floor; you don’t want to allow the horse to slam it, potentially hitting your foot in the process. Praise your horse and pat him on the front shoulder a bit so he understands that you are pleased with his cooperation, then run your hand along his back to his rear leg. Place yourself in the same position as you did with his front leg and do the process over again.
There is a slight difference between lifting a rear foot and front foot, even though your basic positioning and actions are nearly identical. When you lift your horse’s rear foot he will probably give a little jerk that you might misinterpret as a kick. This is a common reflex reaction among horses and nothing for you to worry about.
Secondly, when you raise your horse’s rear leg you’ll want to step into him a bit so that your hip is underneath his leg. Rest his leg on your thigh, grab his hoof and gently flex it upwards. By doing this you lend him some support and more importantly the position of his leg and his flexed hoof will prevent him from being able to kick you.
Clean the hoof, lower it cautiously as you did the first and praise him. Congratulations - you’re halfway done! The opposite side will be done exactly the same way, but try to return to his front and start the opposite side rather than move around his rear. It’s bad practice to approach or circle all but the most trusted horses via the rear in such close quarters since a horse would be within range to strike.
When lifting any hoof try to make sure your horse is properly squared (balanced evenly on all four legs) so that when you lift one hoof he can easily balance on his remaining three. At no time should the horse actually lean his weight on you! Even when you rest his rear leg on your thigh you’re not allowing him to use you as a crutch.
Once you have picked your horse’s hooves a few times it will probably become very simple and take less than 5 minutes to clear all hooves. Most trained horses will raise their hoof for you the moment they feel your leg run down their leg.
It is a very good idea to control your horse’s head while you are picking his hooves. This can be done by attaching his halter to crossties or asking a partner hold your horse’s head. By controlling his head you ensure your horse can’t move away from you while you’re trying to pick his hooves, or worse… turn around and take a bite at your rear!
Visit http://www.alphahorse.com/horse-care.html to view other articles pertaining to horse care.