Road To The Horse 2014

Mojo braced against Jonathan Field's touch.

There seemed to be less anticipation surrounding this year's Road To The Horse, arguably the world's premiere colt starting event.  There were no larger-than-life characters such as Clinton Anderson, Craig Cameron and Pat Parelli, or legends such as John Lyons.  Missing as well was the quiet excellence of three time RTTH winner, Chris Cox.  Yet the resulting contest was every bit as exciting as any in the previous ten year history of the Road To The Horse.

For the second year RTTH was held at the Kentucky Horse Park's Alltech Arena.  The park is a working horse farm of more than 1000 acres and is a museum and historical research facility as well.  Fabled horses such as the incomparable Cigar can be seen there.  The park is also home to the United States Equestrian Federation (USEF).

This year's remuda was once more provided by the fabled Sixes Ranch (6666) of Guthrie, Texas.  The horses had all been halter broke, gelded, had their hooves trimmed and received necessary inoculations as yearlings and were then turned out for the next two years into a 5000 acre paddock.  Until they were shipped to Lexington, these three year old geldings had had contact with humans no more than 2 or 3 times.

Canadian Jonathan Field, who was competing in his second RTTH competition, is one of my favorite clinicians.  This year he chose a sensitive, skeptical and challenging horse, a chestnut that he named Mojo, " because he has a lot of it."  Field said he found Mojo to be "intelligent and a quick learner looking for leadership."  Mojo was more than a little sensitive about his flanks being touched, and that sensitivity would play a major role in Jonathan's third day performance.

Each clinician would spend about 90 minutes working with their colt on each of the contests first two days.  On day three after a one hour morning session each horse and rider team had a 40 minute segment in which they were required to complete a number of tests such as walk, trot and canter on both leads, back, mount and dismount as well as showing that all four feet could be picked up.  All of the clinicians used at least part of their 40 minutes to continue their mount's training and Field was no exception.

Jonathan and Mojo were on top of their game.  Cheers greeted them as they completed the required maneuvers and entered the obstacle course.  Twists, turns, rubs, squeezes, jumps and gates were all features of a course decorated like the Flintstone's Jellystone Park!  At the drag, Field was able to twirl a lasso over Mojo's head without problem.  But as he began to pull the drag his rope touched Mojo's flank, and when it did, we were treated to an impromptu rodeo of twists, kicks, and views of Mojo's belly as he bucked across the arena.  Field was thrown near the arena's concrete wall and for a moment it looked as though he would be drug.  Being drug is the one thing a rider fears above all else and nothing good ever comes of it.  Unhurt he jumped to his feet with the front of his white shirt now a deep red matching the arena's dirt floor.  Field remounted Mojo and finished the course, including the optional teeter-totter, to the roaring approval of the 8000 in attendance.

Oddly enough, during the selection process I mentioned to my wife that I thought #10, Mojo's hip number, might do well for Field.  Mojo showed a lack of fear, curiosity and even followed one of the other clinicians around as he made his selection.  Sorry about that, Jonathan.

Over the course of the three days each clinician gave a clinic and performed a mounted demonstration.  Field's Spanish Pole Dance astride his half-Arab horse, Quincy, to Metallica's, Nothing Else Matters, brought most to tears with its beauty and grace.  The power of this demonstration leaves you speechless and in awe of the trust and devotion Quincy and Field have for one another.  Quincy was given to Field after having six owners in the first seven years of his life.  He would bolt, rear and sometimes flip over backwards. It took someone like Jonathan Field to save Quincy's life and to give him a new one.  You can see them together on YouTube.  The video is Amazing Performance by Jonathan and his horse Quincy 2012.
You will love it.

Though he did not win the competition Jonathan was awarded the prestigious Jack Brainard Horsemanship Award.  The award is given to the competitor who best demonstrates the qualities of horsemanship and the horse and man relationship.  Brainard, who is more than 90 years old, provided a bit of levity when he introduced Field as, "Jonathan Winters," the famed comedian and actor.

Are your tired of Jonathan Field yet?  Last but not least, "Loren's Best Tee Shirt Award," also goes to Jonathan Field.  As a proud Canadian Johnathan's red tee shirts read, "The "eh" Team."  You gotta love it.

Johnathan Field trying to get Mojo to "join up."

Another of the contestants was Dan Steers, the other half of Double Dan Horsemanship.  Steers mans the Australian continent while Dan James, who choreographed much of this year's entertainment using his horse, "Swampy," concentrates his efforts in the United States.  Dan was pen-wrangler for Dan James in the 2013 event.  Like all of the contestants, Steers was business-like and not given to a lot of chit chat when questioned by color commentator, Richard Winters, 2009 Road To The Horse Champion.  Dan did display a bit of cheeky Australian humor to the audiences delight.

For the most part I think Dan's accomplishments with the horse he named "Ringer" were overlooked.  Why?  Because Ringer was curious and willing from the start though not without issues.

Dan really wanted to buy "Ringer" but mentioned that it would cost $35,000 to $40,000 to to ship him to Australia.  However one of Double Dan's interns, Shalise, purchased "Ringer."  I spoke to her by phone and she admits that the name, one that she doesn't care for, will stick.  She would have preferred something a little classier, she said, but Double Dan said they would have called the colt "Ringer" anyway.

Dan Steers setting up a "rub" for Ringer to pass through.

Dan Steers in the iconic RTTH standing pose.

Antoine Cloux of Geneva, Switzerland, had a difficult weekend with his colt.  He called his gelding #5, its hip number, and said about him, "He's cutting bred, but he looks at things and I don't want to take that away form him."

Until the finale, #5 showed little in the way of forward movement, but put on a Hereford calf during the freestyle demonstration he showed focus, energy and that much sought after forward movement.  In an email to me Antoine said, "...it's amazing what they can do for us if we just wait for them."  And on Sunday he proved the truth of that statement.

Antoine is the only European horseman to participate in the 2012 and 2013 Horseman's Re-Union and one of very few Europeans recognized internationally.

Here is a link to Antoine: www. antoinecloux.ch/philosophy  Also you can catch him on YouTube.  Watch The Horseman's Re-Union Day 2.  Johnathan Field appears on this video as well.

The "Wild Card" winner, Jim Anderson of Saskatchewan, Canada, emerged from a field of seven qualified and talented professional clinicians.  Jim, although unknown to me, is highly respected in reining as both a trainer and competitor.

His horse, whom he called "Smokey," is the only Grullo colt ever born on the Sixes ranch dating back to 1870.  To be a Grullo a horse must have black or brown legs, a head darker than its body, a distinct dorsal stripe and dark tips on its ears.  There are other possible markings but they are not required,  The Grullo's coloration represents the dun gene in a black horse.

Anderson proved his that his Wild Card win was no fluke by putting in a solid workmanlike performance.  Jim was the least verbal of all of the competitors.  His answers were short to the point of being disrespectful.  And while he may have needed a crash course in showmanship, he got the job done and was all smiles and more than willing to speak when he was named the 2014 Road To The Horse champion.  It was a hugely popular win as the dark horse/every man clinician bested his better known counterparts.

You can plainly see Smokey's dorsal stripe in this picture.

Jim mounted on Smokey

Another link you may enjoy:

www.jonathanfield.net/

This link provides a great video of the third day of competition:

/vimeo.com/89232340

Next years purse has been increased to $100,000.00 and better yet, three members of the audience will be chosen to participate with the clinicians on the floor of the arena.  You can imagine how much I'd like to be one of those selected.

Text and photos:  Copyright, March 27, 2014 by Loren R. Schumacher

I Hate Talented People, Don't You?

While I plod along like Ol' Dobbin pulling a plow, my wife, Carol, has pushed her artistic boundaries beyond  anything she could have imagined or hoped for.

Just a few years ago she set her sights on becoming a fabric artist, an art quilter to be more precise.  Art quilts are just that, pieces of art to be hung and exhibited.   Her reputation for quality and originality has grown.  She regularly exhibits in a local gallery; her work hangs in homes from Ohio to Florida; she has even had work appear in a national quilting magazine.  And she's made dolls that have been snatched up by a local collector.

This past Christmas she asked me to buy her an on-line art class originating in England.  Just three months ago she could not draw a bead on a target, but today, well, I'll let you be the judge.  These are four of a series of whimsical gift cards, and no, I'm not shilling for her.   They're are not horses, but I think you'll enjoy them anyway.

Oh, and by the way, I'm really proud of her.

My Favorite

Out of Africa

One of my clients forwarded this photo to me yesterday.  She has avoided our latest snow storm by laying over in the Carolinas while her daughter, who forwarded the photo, vacations in South Africa.


  I had an epiphany this morning about the "magic" of technology.  On March 1 this photo was taken somewhere in South Africa and sent to the Carolinas, then forwarded to Cincinnati, all in the space of a few minutes.  What an incredible world we live in.


Part of this picture has been cut off.  The little girl being eyed by the Cheetah is the daughter of the sender.

Winter Arrives With A Vengeance

Our local morning talk show host punctuates his dire warnings about the deadly cold, 6 degrees below zero with a wind-chill factor of nearly 30 degrees below zero, with his insipid, homespun humor.  There is just enough blue-gray light to check our own thermometer which reads a bone chilling 12 degrees below zero.  I hurry outside wearing just a pair of sweats and a flannel shirt to feed the birds, most of whom have been waiting for me since just before the sun peaked over the horizon.  Just a breath of air pulls at the trees, wind-chill won't be a problem today.  Still, the cold makes my bones ache.

This morning takes shape as does most every other morning, frigid or not.  I grab a Coke and a pack of Zesta crackers and head to the computer to check my email, MSN and, ugh, Facebook.  Today there is a post from my stepson which makes me laugh and then lament the state of his world.  My response merits a slap on the wrist from his girlfriend, whom I have only spoken to on Skype.

Thirty minutes of the world are more than I can take, so to lighten the day I feed our five cats: Lilly, Gracie Allen, Smudge, JoJo Blacktop and Cotton, then clean their litter boxes and sweep up around them.

The snow, swept thin in spots by a relentless wind and drifted in the hollows, crunches beneath my thick-soled boots.  It sounds like someone has ripped a cardboard box.   Well it does to me anyway.  I make sure the openings in our one remaining beehive are clear of snow and then pull the hood of my sweatshirt up and over my head.  Unlike the dawn hour I'm wearing a tee shirt, a flannel shirt, a heavy hooded sweatshirt, thermal coveralls, an  insulated vest and two pair of thick cotton socks.  Surprisingly, I can still move my legs and swing both arms!

Dressed for action

The deer have churned their own highway in the snow and the fox and coyote, unwavering as a predator must be, follow.  Following their tracks down the drive to the gate, I open it and high-step through the snow drifts and cross the pasture to the stable.  The stable, as the crow flies, is just 150 yards from the house, but nearly a quarter mile by the path I have to take.

After I unchain the gate, Stormy greets me as a member of her herd with an urgent, high-pitched shriek. Always hungry, Callie greets me with careless head tossing.  She narrowly misses cracking her nose on an overhang.  When she connects, as she so often does, she'll wear her scabby pink nose until her new coat comes in the spring.

Stormy never pees in her stall, so as soon as the stall door opens she steps out and gingerly crosses the cupped, frozen ground, and raises her tail.  Relieved, she walks to her stall and paws her bedding, impatient to be fed.

In the 18 years that my wife, Carol, and I have lived on our vest pocket farm it has never been this cold. Sub-zero temperatures accompanied by 20-30 mile per hour winds have lingered for days.  Even though our horses have full hair coats, we've decided to blanket them for the first time.  The blankets were expensive, but I take some satisfaction in knowing that Stormy and Callie are warm and dry.  They look sharp in their battleship gray and eggplant hued blankets.  High fashion has arrived in our pasture.

Callie after rolling in her new blanket

Where's my breakfast?

I feed them a combination of 10% sweet feed, which they like, and for nutrition, pelleted feed, which they hate, along with nearly thirty pounds of hay.

Oblivious to my being.

After inflating the wheelbarrow tire (an everyday chore) I remove a night's worth of wet bedding and manure.  I push, pull and shove the heavily laden wheelbarrow through the snow to Mount Poop, ten years of accumulated "stuff."  Its wedge shape lets the horses reach the highest wild honeysuckle leaves that they love so much.

After I clean the feed and water buckets, refill the heated buckets and plug them into their sockets, and sweep down each stall, I'm nearly done.  The solar water tank's float has frozen overnight and I use a shovel to free it.  After sweeping the small feed room I am done for the time being.  Under all of the clothes I'm wearing, a trickle of sweat makes its way along my backbone.  I spend several minutes petting and talking to Stormy and Callie while they mug me for treats.  After more than two hours in the biting cold I close the feed room door and trudge through the snow to the gate.  I call to the horses, "See you later, girls," but their placid eyes are focused on the hay I've spread for them and they don't bother to look up.

A "selfie," because I wanted to.

Later in the day I'll bring another bale of hay and supplies of bedding or feed on the plastic toboggan that we bought for this purpose.  In fair weather I use the front loader on my tractor, but the snow is too deep and the driveway too slick to use it, even though it has four wheel drive.  Later, when we put the girls up for the night much of the morning's work will have to be repeated.

One of my clients recently said that she was jealous of my owning horses because she'd always wanted one.  "Not to be jealous," I said, "because for every hour I get to ride them I must spend 30 hours taking care of them."  Thirty hours may be a bit of stretch, but owning a horse requires a love and devotion that is not unlike the selfless love we have for our kids.

Later in the day, around 7 p.m., when we put the horses up for the night, they spitefully and not unexpectedly, greet my wife before turning to me.  Oh, well.


Copyrighted, February 7, 2014 by Loren Schumacher
All photos Copyrighted, February 7, 2014 by Loren Schumacher and Carol A Lang

A Little Something To See If Google Has Fixed Blogspot

"A pony is (a) childhood dream.  A horse is an adult treasure."  Winston Churchill

                                                   

Just One Thing

Several years ago my barber asked me what one thing he needed to know to ride a horse.  I couldn't think of the "just one thing" answer he was looking for, so I said, "Well, a horse needs to know that you can disengage its hindquarters, and you have to train both sides of a horse, because each side of its brain can think and concentrate independently."  None of my  answers satisfied him and he walked away unimpressed.


Today if I were putting you on a horse for the first time I would teach you the "one rein stop."  I can hear you saying, "Stop, why stop, we haven't started yet?"  Why?  Because the "one rein stop" can save your life when a horse takes the bit between its teeth and heads for the woods, the barn, or a cliff as if its tail were on fire.


It's as simple as lifting one rein and pulling the horse's head around to the side.  When you can see the horse's eye, its hindquarters are disengaged and it can't run or buck.  Your horse will run in smaller and smaller circles until it comes to a stop.  Think of the "one rein stop" as your emergency brake.  Foolproof?  No, nothing is foolproof, but it surely beats the alternative.


Today most clinicians who practice natural horsemanship teach the "one rein stop."  It isn't a new technique however.  The famed cowboy, writer and artist, Will James, mentioned it in his book, Cow Country, first published in the mid 1920's.  James and another cowboy were chasing wild horses when, "Taking another look at the bunch so as to make sure of their going straight down the mountain, I sat on one rein, brought my running bronc' to a crow hopping standstill, and then made him head back up the mountain.

My copy was a gift to Roberta Miller, December 25, 1945.

When I was still an inexperienced rider, two horses nearly got out from under me.  In Montana, on the only warm day of our ranch visit, rattlesnakes were sunning themselves on every rock and buzzing a warning that couldn't be misunderstood.  We had just taken a small herd of cattle to a new pasture to graze and were crossing a flat when, having never before worn spurs, I raked my horses sides.  We shot past all of the other riders and while I struggled with my horse, I felt panic rising  in me.  I hauled back on the reins and nothing happened, if anything, the gelding was running faster than before.  I was desperate to stop him and I pulled back on the reins with all my strength, bringing the horse's nose straight up in the air.  He began to "root" his nose from side to side while doing a crazy stiff legged dance across the flat.  While it wasn't pretty, he finally slowed to a walk and I began to breath.


The second time came in Arizona, near the Mexican border, riding a beautiful chestnut gelding named, Tomahawk.  I was told he was the second best horse in the string, but I could never get much out of him.  Like the horse in Montana, he got away from me, only this time I was just riding over my head.  The high desert was flat as a landing strip and Tomahawk, despite my best efforts, broke to a canter, and then a walk with no help from me.

Tomahawk and me.

Sadly, no one had ever breathed a word about the "one rein stop."

Copyright, January 23, 2014 by Loren Schumacher
Tomahawk and Me by Carol Lang, Copyright January 23, 2014

Superstition

Recently I read that cowboys of the high plains seldom rode horses that were light in color because they believed that those horses attracted lightning during thunder storms.

In this photo from my collection, a squinting Idaho cowboy sits astride what appears to be a dark bay horse.  No fear of lightning on that particular day I suppose. 

The ranch house behind him is enormous and it looks as though both the cowboys and family may have quartered there.  Meals were probably served there because the dinner bell is mounted high on the roof next to the tank/rain barrel.  Because the tank is so large the house may have had running water.

Another cowboy sits on the stoop to the left and just behind the heels of the horse sits a dog.

The cowboy wears suspenders and a collared shirt.  Around his neck he wears what today is called a glad-rag.  All of this is accented by his "woolies," chaps made from sheep's wool.  His are dark in color, while most that I've seen have been light in color.  The chaps may be a prop to add drama to the photo, because in front of the house trees have bloomed and a window on the house's second floor is open.  Just a stunning picture from the West as it once was.

This cowboy's Montana Peak hat is the tip-off that he is from the northern tier.

In southern Montana, near the Wyoming border, my wife and I and several others were riding between ranches after moving fifty or more cow-calf pairs to a new graze.  We were more than two or three miles from the second ranch when the most vicious thunder-storm I have ever seen broke over the ground we were trying to cover.  We put our horses into an extended trot, praying that none of us would be struck by the crazy zigzag lightening that struck, cloud to ground, all around us.  The rain was desperate and traced paths down my cheeks, soaked through my yellow slicker, left my hat shapeless and limp, and put puddles in my boots.  But the truth is that the old superstition must be true.  Each one of us were riding dark horses on that July noonday when storms came to the mountains, and not one of us was struck by lightning.  You can 

believe it or not.

Copyright, January 2, 2014 by Loren Schumacher

Photo from the author's collection