Looking Up!

One of the truisms of horse riding is that you should look to where you want to be. If you look down at the ground then that is your destiny but, if you lift your eyes over the obstacle to your distant goals, then you will achieve them.

Our (My) original plan was to leave work behind us at noon on Friday and head south for our weekend of eagle-spotting. We were both thwarted and supported by the request from Artist Jane Rosen for an appointment to choose stones from our inventory to use in displaying her works.

We have worked with Jane Rosen before. She is a seriously creative artist and sculptor grown from New York Bohemian roots and transplanted to a coast side ranch where her love of nature has led her to produce a series of carved stone and now blown glass falcons, hawks and eagles. The energy and excitement of finding and appreciating the best colors, textures and shapes in our stones, as well as being welcome business, gave us pleasure and made the time fly by.

Knowing that we had a three hour drive to our destination, the last forty miles on very rural, unlit windy roads and we would be unable to get there before dark, I conceded that Hubby could have one more night in his own bed but that the alarm would ring at 5am, no excuses accepted. We had a smooth early morning trajectory and were welcomed by the staff and out on the lake by 10 am; supplied with loaner binoculars much stronger than my own and a map of the lake studded with silver stars , showing where most eagle sightings were to be expected.

For most of the morning, we were the only boat stirring the waters. The weather was perfect; mostly sunny and warm enough to laze around semi-snoozing between arduous bouts holding binoculars to our eyes. The eagles are first spotted as a dark outline, perched in the topmost branches of the abundant oak trees as they survey the open grassland for rodents and snakes. They are there to breed and reproduce before continuing their migratory path. I was satisfied just to have seen one and know from the locals that there were two dozen at last count. I didn't exert myself too much and counted 5 eagles myself. As the thermals rose a little towards the middle of the day two eagles took flight and circled before dropping out of sight beyond the crest of the hill.

Eagles are not the only wildlife of course. I bundled up and took my coffee outside to watch the sunrise Sunday morning with a mama deer and her two fawns. Mama came to eat bread from my hands and then all three grazed nearby for a while.
A storm had been predicted for later in the day and, when it was time to leave, we headed towards the coast to face the weather head on. The dormant vineyards between Paso Robles and Cambria were dissolved in white fog before we got too far and then we were hit by the pounding rain.
Up the coast road past San Simeon it was too wild to stop. The elephant seals were not only on the beaches but out into the ice plants, heads up  roaring to the sweeping rain. They are so huge that they were visible from the car as we drove by.
Hubby likes to drive, especially in challenging conditions. There were a few boulders down in the road and we saw multiple emergency vehicles involved in hauling some poor soul back up the cliff just before we stopped for lunch in Gorda. It was too foggy for a helicopter rescue, that's for sure.

As we neared Carmel the skies cleared and we pulled into Point Lobos to stretch our legs and look for sea otters. If you were a sea otter looking for a beautiful place to raise a family, you would be hard pressed to find a more perfect spot than Point Lobos' China cove. The water is always turquoise, even on a stormy, January day.

I hope the sea otter by the rocks, near the center of this picture will be visible. He's on his back, floating and noshing on something. Then he would dive to catch something else and resume his concentration on his tummy-top buffet, completely impervious to the roiling swells.
So, my weekend was condensed into a shorter span than planned but we fit way more in than we could have imagined by just going with what felt right at that moment. Finding our way back from "My" to "Our" for a while, clearing our heads and facing into whatever storms lie ahead.

It Sounds So Simple...

To laugh often and much, to win the respect of intelligent people and the respect of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others, to give of oneself; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition, to have played and laughed with enthusiasm and sung with exultation; to know even one life has breathed easier: this is to have succeeded.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Working Shanks' Pony

I gave Shanks' Pony a bit of a work out this weekend. My feet and I went off for a walk in the State Park nearby. There is a steep path which I am trying to climb without stopping part way up. My theory is that my lungs will expand and heal my bronchitis more quickly, as well as getting some basic aerobic exercise which is good for body and mind.
I decided to spit out my mentholated cough suppressant candy as I was huffing and puffing up the hill. The park is quiet and the chances of finding another hiker to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre if I inhaled my bon bon instead of the oxygen I needed did not seem like a good gamble.
I survived my vertical challenge, getting further up on Sunday than I did on Saturday. Small achievable goals, patting self on back and tottering on into the flat meadowland for a cool-down circuit and a glimpse of the grazing deer before heading back down the hill.
On Saturday I was pooped out to the point of taking a two hour nap. On Sunday I napped for twenty minutes and headed out to weed the front garden. Seeing that it was only mid afternoon I drove to the Baylands and hiked some more. I like the Baylands, (the area is flat for starters), mainly for the varied light by the water and the ever-interesting variety of water fowl.
The shock of my weekend came in the form of a long cardboard box. When I ordered my rowing machine I was comforted that free shipping would take 7-9 days. Procrastinator that I am about this, I felt that the actual moment when I would have to try to make myself exercise routinely was somewhere in the hazy future. Not so! Twenty-four hours is all they gave me. I opened the front door on Saturday and there it was.
Now why, you may ask, is this post about hiking when there is a rowing machine story to be told? The answer, of course, is that there is an unopened cardboard box in the garage.
to be contd...

Riding Progress

I have ridden every Saturday for a number of weeks. This alone is an achievement. It is all too easy to let life, work, money, and self-consciousness about my rusty skills intervene to prevent me sealing the deal with myself that this is important to me and not to be denied or postponed any longer.

The stable I visit is less than ten minutes away; up the hill; past the reservoir and through the vineyards. The surroundings are pleasant, the horses well cared for. 

Yesterday I was given Amadeus to ride. Deus is a big bay gelding with a long neck and a slow, rhythmic stride. He is obviously an older horse but appears to have had some schooling in his long ago youth. Once I woke up his dead-to-the-leg sides he was lovely into my hands and his snaffle bit. 

More progress; I can now ride for the whole hour without too much huffing and puffing, and I am talking about the (supposedly) advanced class now. We rode quite a bit without stirrups. This I have been able to do fairly easily since the day I bought my first pony and Dad said I would have to wait until my birthday to get a saddle to go with him. Funnily enough the emergency dismounts that we practiced yesterday at the trot were learned back then as well. King Arthur the Great, as my strong, Cobby 13.2 hh Thelwell-derived pony was called, had a mouth of iron. Even in his kimblewick and curb chain he could bolt at the walk. King never deigned to waste the energy to take off at the gallop, but he was always very successful at going where he wanted to go. It was often easier to jump off and pull him along by the reins than try to direct him from above. 

There was a pony in the class yesterday who turned to bite the rider's foot a few times. I am convinced that most ponies have some devil in their blood-lines. They are usually good for a laugh, if not from the rider, from the spectators.