The Half-Fast Camino Walking* Club

Growing up way out in the country, on a plantation being run as a cattle ranch, I lived an isolated life. The other nearby children were all boys. As an introvert, my “tribe,” my go-to support group, consisted of books, my dog, and horses. Being able to saddle up a horse and go for a long ride anytime I wanted to do so was wonderful. Flying down the main plantation road at a full gallop, my heart pumping and adrenaline surging, gave me a thrill in a way nothing else did. As a rider, I was fairly fearless, and more of a horse person than any of my brothers, who seemed to prefer things with motors, like trucks and tractors. I saw the Sunday night Disney two-part series “The Horse Masters” when I was ten. I wanted to go to that riding school. I wanted to learn to ride English-style. I wanted to enter jumping contests. I asked Santa for an English-style saddle for Christmas, and Santa found that I had been a good girl that year and obliged. I still have that saddle; it has accompanied me around the world. The joy of riding was baked into my bones, and the love of horses has only grown stronger over the years. When I found out that it was possible to ride the Camino de Santiago, I couldn’t get the idea of riding it out of my head.

My previous recent posts have set out my plans to repeat a Camino de Santiago pilgrimage, but this time on horseback, and to train over the summer of 2021 in order to get ready for that horseback Camino. While I’d done almost no riding since my mid-30s, and certainly no very long rides, I was confident in my ability to ride. I understood horses. I loved them, but I also respected them. In the flight-or-fight division of animals, horses are in the flight category. If something scares them or startles them, their first instinct is to flee, which can mean going from zero to a full-out gallop in a couple of leaps.

My biggest worry in starting this Camino riding adventure was a concern that I would be thrown. As a child, teenager, and adult, I had been thrown many times. It’s a part of riding, a negative aspect that I accepted. I had never been hurt by being thrown. My eldest brother, on the other hand, was thrown off a horse as a teenager and had the misfortunate to land on and then slide down a barbed wire fence. The scars on his back are still with him. Most of us are familiar with the case of Christopher Reeves, thrown while competing in a cross-country event and left a quadriplegic. Even worse, when I was a child, a young man working for my father got thrown in one of our back pastures and suffered a severe head injury. He died. For a cattle ranch, horses are a necessity to work the livestock, and just as riding in a car carries risk, so too does riding.

The thing about being thrown is that the rider is not necessarily at fault or insufficiently trained. If a rider enters a rodeo, or a jumping contest, or chooses a highly spirited horse, of course that rider knows that the chances of being thrown increase exponentially. However, even a sedate trail ride can result in riders being ejected from the saddle. For example, plodding along nose-to-tail with the horse in front, a trail horse might suddenly catch sight, out of the corner of his eye, of something unexpected, and off that horse sprints, sometimes leaving his rider in the dust.

The horses at Cypress Trails Ranch, where I rode over the summer of 2021, were very well trained. Even so, during those months I saw more than one incident when a rider or riders were unhorsed. In the worst incident, I had mounted my preferred horse, Toby, and was waiting in the stable yard for the one-hour 11:00 am trail ride to move out. Suddenly a yell went up, “Hold the horses!” Every available wrangler, intern, and staffer rushed out and grabbed the reins of every horse that had a rider. Then we waited. And waited. An intern, maybe 14 years old, was holding Toby’s reins. I didn’t think I needed to have Toby’s reins held, but I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, so I didn’t say anything. Finally, the penny dropped, and I realized someone must have been thrown and the riderless horse was in flight towards the stable yard.

A horse in full flight will spook other nearby horses, whose instinct is to follow the lead of a herd member and flee the danger, whatever it might be. All of us in the stable yard continued waiting. And then waited some more. Looking down, I realized that the intern was standing directly in front of Toby, instead of at his shoulder. Were Toby to bolt, he would run right over the top of the girl. I was telling her to move to the side when the first riderless horse, reins and stirrups wildly flapping, thundered into the stable yard, clearly panicked. The horse next to Toby bunched his muscles preparing to gallop away. An experience wrangler was holding that horse; the wrangler kept the horse from taking off, but an initial leap and subsequent sideways movement made that horse bash into Toby, who just to keep his balance stepped forward. Toby didn’t bolt, and the intern didn’t get run over by a 1,200-pound horse, but it was a close thing for a second or two.

The first horse in flight was followed by a second panicked horse. And a third. Then a fourth and a fifth horse. What in the world had happened? That’s a lot of thrown riders on what was supposed to be a leisurely trail ride. As soon as the five spooked horses were caught by wranglers and led off to calm down, my trail ride headed out. None of the thrown riders had yet walked into the stable yard. We were well into the trail ride when I spotted an all-terrain vehicle loaded with a driver and five passengers. Everyone looked fine.

It was a while before I heard the story. One horse on one trail ride had spooked and bolted, taking along a second horse, with both riders falling off. It so happened that there was a second group of trail riders across a large open area. The two spooked horses headed for the safety of their mates in the other trail ride, crashing into the line of trail riders, causing three more horses to bolt and three more riders to get thrown.

While that was the most dramatic incident I saw at Cypress Trails, it was hardly the only incident. On two other trail rides, I saw riders unseated. The first time, a deer crashed out of the woods and ran right into a horse named Wizard, causing the horse to lunge out of the way, which in turn left his rider, in a Wile E. Coyote moment, hanging in the air before hitting the ground. To the rider’s credit, she picked herself up and immediately remounted. No screams, no tears, no demands to return to the stable yard. I was so impressed with this novice rider that I posted a photo of her on my Instagram page. The second time I saw a rider unseated, the reason for the horse to suddenly jump forward was not at all clear. That rider also picked himself up and got right back on his horse.

I know I’m a good rider, with excellent balance and strong knees for gripping. I know I am very good at “reading” a horse: ear position, the bunching of muscles prior to a run, head location. A horse with his head thrown up and his ears pinned back is getting ready to fight with another horse, for example. A rider can see this, and prepare for it. Other times, however, sudden bolts give the rider no advance warning.

All of these incidents kept fresh in the forefront of my mind the danger of being thrown. As a younger woman, I wouldn’t have worried about it so much, but now, old, overweight, and out of shape, I was very worried. If anything could derail my horseback Camino, it would probably be an injury from being thrown.

Or at least that was my thinking before July. In accordance with my master plan, my intention was to increase the number of hours that I would ride each month: from two per riding day in May to three in June to four in July. For June that would be a one-hour, one-on-one ride with a wrangler plus a two-hour trail ride every day I was at Cypress Trails. By the end of May, however, after 20 hours in the saddle, I was still experiencing intense pain when I rode.

The pattern of the pain was always the same. For the first half-hour of the first ride, I felt wonderful. It was fabulous to be back on a horse, out in nature, with summer beauty all around me. At about thirty minutes into the first ride, the pain started. Hips, thighs, knees, shins, ankles, feet—all of them hurt, with the pain intensifying over time. By the end of the second thirty minutes, I was in such pain that all I wanted to do was dismount and walk back to the stable yard, but dismounting was a problem and besides I had to work through this pain in order to build up my stamina for the Camino horseback pilgrimage. When the wrangler signaled that it was time to head back, I was always more than ready. I then took an hour-long break before my second hour-long ride. The strange thing to me was that after dismounting and resting a bit, the pain stopped. Something about riding was causing the problem, and I thought at first that it was just that my muscles needed to stretch out for riding.

In mid-May, I had booked my June rides, increasing the trail rides from a one-hour to a two-hour ride. Towards the end of the month, I talked over my situation with Tracy Sugg, who was working the Cypress Trails check-in desk. She suggested I change to an hour-and-a-half trail ride rather than a two-hour ride as a way to ease into the longer time in the saddle. That sounded like a great suggestion to me, so she rebooked my June trail rides for the shorter time.

On my first June hour-and-a-half ride, I knew I was in trouble. My pain continued to follow the same pattern, and by the time the first 60 minutes had passed I was in great pain, yet I had another 30 minutes to go. When I got back to the stable yard, I knew I wasn’t yet ready to increase my time in the saddle, but I was still hopeful that my muscles would stretch out during June.

That hope was gradually dashed as each June day of riding went by. By the end of the month, with 40 hours of riding completed, I was really worried. Nothing was improving. How would I ever be able to ride four to six hours per day for five days straight on the Camino? Almost every day that I rode, I considered dropping the whole idea of a horseback Camino. Nevertheless, as I mentioned in my previous post, I have a stubborn streak, so I refused to give up. Something was clearly wrong, and I suspected the problem started in my right hip. The pain seemed to radiate down from there. I called and made an appointment with my general practitioner.

June was a difficult month in terms of riding, but it brought its own pleasures too. Those first halcyon minutes of pain-free riding. Exercising (at last!). Getting to know the Cypress Trails staff and horses. Getting out of the house in the middle of the pandemic.

Both May and June in Houston were extremely wet months. Whether rainy or clear, booked rides head out on schedule. The only times rides get cancelled are when lightning is striking nearby, since a rider atop a horse, particularly on open ground, constitutes an excellent target for a lightning strike, and indeed one rider and horse were hit by lightning over the summer (but luckily they were more shocked than injured).

With all of the rain, the trails were muddy everywhere and had canon-high mud in some places. Mud is slippery, even for a horse with the stability of four legs, and slipping and sliding can be disconcerting for a rider, particularly on an up or down slope. As for the alternative—using gravel paths–the horses generally hate it, since their hooves are designed to walk on dirt; a sharp stone can hurt the sensitive part of their hoof as much as it would hurt a human foot. The best surface for riding in rainy weather, sand, was only available on some east-side trails, which got ruled out for a separate reason.

June in Houston is prime horse fly season. If you have never seen a horse fly, it is about twenty times the size of a regular fly. Huge, fat, and just waiting to land on your horse (or you) and suck blood, horse flies have been known to drive horses loco, making them buck or bolt in an effort to dislodge the horse flies. A horse’s tail is great for switching away horse flies, but a tail can’t reach everywhere on the horse’s body, such under his belly. Cypress Trails horses were sprayed with an anti-horse fly concoction during horse fly season, and knowledgeable riders doused themselves with Off or a similar repellant, but even so the horse flies managed to land and bite. I received several bites in June on places hard for me to reach or see, like my back or underarm. Painful in the instant, the bites I got caused subsequent swelling, redness, and itching for two weeks or more. Based on years of experience, Darolyn Butler, owner of Cypress Trails, banned rides from the heavily shaded trails east of the stable that were populated with hordes of horse flies. That meant from June through mid-July, all rides had to be on the west-side trails.

In the full daylight of the west-side trails, the number of horse flies decreased, but the sun, even at 9:00 am, could be brutal, and by 11:00 am it was not wise to go out without water. I had ordered a small caddy that I could strap to the saddle in order to carry a bottle of water, my phone, car keys, and sun glasses, replacing the fanny pack which I had found to be cumbersome.

Given the copious June rain and despite the hot sun, instead of dry, hard ground, the west-side trails were churned up and very muddy. This led to a strange situation on many days—intense heat from above coupled with slow-to-dry mud below. In the choice between horse flies or heat and mud, everyone agreed with the decision to stick to the west-side trails.

Taking into account all of these negative aspects—the fear of being thrown, the pain, the mud, the horse flies, the sun—why did I continue? The peace and beauty of the first 30 pain-free minutes on horseback made it all seem worthwhile. Leaning over to pat Toby’s neck, smelling his horse smell, looking at the yellow and blue wild flowers dotting the landscape, watching a butterfly flit among the flowers, trying to identify the birds soaring overhead—these were all magical moments that I didn’t want to give up. At least not yet. At least not until I absolutely had to do so. I still wanted to have one last, great, memorable riding experience. After all, it was bred in my bones and stuck in my head.

Having decided to ride the Camino in the fall of 2021, and hoping that the new vaccinations against COVID would permit travel to begin again, I knew that I needed to start training for the ride. I grew up riding western-style on my father’s horses; I always loved horses—their smell, the feel of their skin, their beauty. After leaving home for boarding school in my mid-teens, my ability to ride became limited since I didn’t have access to a horse. It was a great pleasure at my first two overseas posts, Israel and Paraguay, to be able to resume riding on a regular basis. I took classes in English-style riding and even jumping. That was in my 30s. I hadn’t ridden much since then; life got in the way. When traveling out west to national parks, I would always book a trail ride—but those occasions were few. On my last trail ride, I was very uncomfortable after a couple of hours and thought, “my riding days are over.” Ten or so years later, I retired to Houston. When visitors came to town, I would frequently book a trail ride for them, but I didn’t ride myself.

So how in the heck did I think I could manage a horseback Camino? I guess it was a form of stubbornness. I wanted to make my second Camino a horseback Camino, and I’d explore that option as long as I could.

Destiny smiled on me. I contacted Cypress Trails Ranch, the only outfit I knew of in the greater Houston area that offered trail rides, as opposed to classes in an arena. I spoke to the owner, Darolyn Butler, who it turns out, competes in endurance riding events. We discussed my goals and what Cypress Trails offered, and I signed on for a monthly lease option that offered ten lessons and unlimited trail rides. Darolyn suggested that I begin with a one-hour lesson, take a break, then go for a one-hour trail ride. That sounded like a great plan to me. On May 1^st, I went for my first rides.

My initial plan was gradually to build up my endurance in the saddle. I knew that horseback Caminos meant six or more hours riding each day, so I planned for two hours of riding per day spent at Cypress Trails in May, three hours in June, and four hours in July. By then, I hoped to have built up my endurance to the point that I could manage whatever the Camino required.

Darolyn herself took me out for my first “lesson.” I didn’t really need to learn how to ride, but the lessons gave me one-on-one time with different Cypress Trails wranglers. I could ask all sorts of questions about all sorts of topics. For example, I grew up around rodeos, and I loved watching equitation and show jumping competitions, but I knew nothing about endurance racing, in which a number of the Cypress Trails staffers compete.

That first day of riding was an eye-opener. Mounting from the ground was impossible for me. Luckily Cypress Trails had several heights of mounting blocks. Riding for even an hour caused not just discomfort but actual pain—hips, thighs, knees, shins, ankles. That first ride seemed like it would never end. And then I had to dismount. What an embarrassment! Three wranglers ran over to help. One stood at the horse’s head to hold him steady, one stationed himself beside me on the left to keep me from falling, and one more came over at my request. Despite a couple of attempts, I couldn’t get my right leg up and over the horse’s back and the cantle of the saddle, so I asked the third wrangler to push my leg up and over. I was mortified, but I had to get off!

After dismounting, I had to sit on the mounting block steps for a while to recover.  My legs were shaking, sweat was pouring off me, I felt unsteady. Darolyn rushed out with a liquid she highly recommended to replenish electrolytes. After a short while I was able to walk to the stable to rest for an hour before going on the scheduled one-hour trail ride. The difficult mount, developing pain over the hour-long ride, and embarrassing dismount repeated themselves for the trail ride.

I thought about throwing in the towel that very first day. Who was I kidding? Old, way overweight, out of shape—this was never going to work. Why go through the pain and embarrassment? One inducement to keep trying was that I had paid for a month of riding in advance. Another was the thought that things had to get better since they could hardly get worse (unless of course I got thrown and really hurt myself). A third reason to continue was the encouragement and kindness of the Cypress Trails wranglers and staff. They all praised what they could—that I had good form on the horse, good hands, calmness and confidence once mounted.

I determined to soldier on. As my legs stretched out, I thought, the pain would lessen, then go away. I would improve at mounting and dismounting. I would lose weight before my horseback Camino. That’s what I thought then.

Over the first few weeks I rode three different horses. First, Blue. A big, good looking horse—the kind I had always favored—Blue turned out not to be right for me. Trained for trail riding, that’s all he wanted to do—plod along behind another horse. That first day I tried to ride side-by-side with Darolyn so I could hear what she was saying, but Blue was having none of it. Darolyn eventually broke off a tree branch that I could use as a crop, but Blue was still not responsive. I tried Blue once more, with the same results, then knew I wanted to try a different horse.

Next, I was offered Dusty as a mount. The wrangler who suggested him said that Dusty had been a top horse when younger but now had slowed down a bit. Still, he remained a good mount. That first time I rode Dusty, he fooled me. He willingly broke into a trot with no urging, so unlike Blue. He seemed to have the right amount of spirit—not enough to cause me to worry about being thrown, but enough that it didn’t feel like I was riding a plow horse. So I asked for Dusty the next couple of times, only to find that my first day on Dusty was an aberration. For whatever reason, he was feeling his oats that first time. Subsequently, he slowed down to the point that I had to do a lot of urging just to get him to keep up with a slow trail ride. Adios, Dusty.

Next I tried out Toby. A nondescript horse—darkish brown with no markings of any sort—I wouldn’t have picked him out from a herd to ride. I was told he was a Morgan. I grew up riding Quarter Horses; Toby looked quite different from a Quarter Horse, with relatively shorter legs and a very wide, stocky body. Despite his lack of good looks, Toby proved himself to be just the horse I was looking for to ride. Very steady, he was not “spooky,” not shying away or bolting or trying any of the tricks some horses do.  On the other hand, he was very responsive to signals, both leg and voice. Toby willingly walked faster or trotted whenever I asked him to do so. He patiently endured my protracted and awkward dismounts, standing rock steady. I had found my equine partner. I brought him carrots and later peppermints (I never knew before that some horses like peppermints until one of the wranglers told me that Toby did). In return, Toby would knicker when he saw me approaching, which gave me a good feeling.

I should say something about equipment. I took my old riding helmet along with me to Cypress Trails. Darolyn scoffed at it and told me I needed to invest in a new, modern helmet. I did. I had two pairs of beautiful, handmade English riding boots in my closet, but I could no longer use either of them—my feet had gotten bigger and I had put on too much weight. I asked various wranglers for suggestions on boots, and I ordered four different pairs online, all of which I had to return. None of the local western stores had an extra wide boot that would fit. I had some English-style riding pants, but those, too, no longer fit. I went to Cypress Trails in blue jeans and stuck with those, even though Darolyn urged me to get some new riding pants, which, among other advantages, are cooler than jeans in Houston’s summer heat and have special pockets to store a cell phone on the thigh. Vanity, mostly, kept me from buying the new pants, but also the knowledge that I didn’t really need them and would only be using them for a few months. I did invest in a carrier that attaches to the saddle so that I could take along a water bottle and carry my phone without having to wear a fanny pack.

By the end of the month, I had ridden on ten different days for a total of 20 hours on horseback, but my legs still hurt each and every time I rode, making me ready to get off the horse after a half-hour but having to endure another 30 minutes of pain.

In previous posts on this blog, I published the letter I wrote last autumn to three ministries of the Government of Spain (Development; Culture and Sport; Industry, Trade and Tourism) concerning the Camino de Santiago. Over the next few months following my letter, I received three replies from Spanish government officials. I also posted copies of those three letters, as well as a translation of each of them.

To recap, the first letter, from Ricardo Mar Rupérez, an advisor to the Minister of Development, simply acknowledged receipt of my letter and let me know that he was passing it to an official in another office within the ministry.

The second letter, from Amparo Hernamperez Martin, also with the Ministry of Development, answered a question I had posed in my letter: which ministry was the responsible entity for the Camino de Santiago? Ms. Hernamperez Martin let me know that a coordinating committee called the Consejo Jacobeo (Jacobean Council)—composed of representatives of several ministries plus provincial representatives and chaired by the Minister of Culture—was the entity I was seeking. The purpose of the Consejo was “to facilitate communication” about the Camino among all of the federal and provincial governmental bodies represented on the Jacobean Council.

The third letter came directly from the Jacobean Council and was penned by Adriana Moscoso del Prado Hernández, who is the Secretary for the Council’s Plenary and also the Director General for Cultural Industries and Cooperation. In that letter, Ms. Moscoso del Prado Hernández explained the Jacobean Council more fully and added the information that the Council can also request the participation of civil entities, such as religious, cultural, and academic leaders. She also cited two websites with information about the Camino.

While all three letters were cordial, none of them answered my series of questions except in regard to the question of which entity is in charge of the Camino. That answer did let me know to which entity I should have addressed my letter, the Consejo Jacobeo, but it did not really answer the question of which entity is responsible for the various issues I had raised. While designating a coordinating council is a great idea, who ultimately is responsible? The Consejo coordinates, but which governmental body, for example, is responsible for the signage along the Camino? Who approves the design of the signs? Who decides where to place those signs? Who decides if additional signs are needed, and where? Who goes out and plants those signs in the designated spots?

In response to the first two letters I received from Spanish officials, I recently sent individual replies thanking the senders for their letters and enclosing a copy of my book, Savoring the Camino de Santiago. In response to the third letter, in addition to thanking the sender and enclosing a book, I asked for a further response to four of the questions from my first letter.

Here is my most recent letter.

Today, I received word that my book has been awarded a silver metal in the category of Travel Essays by the judges for the eLit contest, a prestigious annual competition for books published in a digital format. How happy this makes me!

The award is given for the overall excellence of an eBook–its writing, layout, design, illustrations, cover, topic, relevance, etc.

I have to admit that this spring has not been the best time for me. First, I was very ill for six weeks. Also, my spring marketing plan for the book was shot to kingdom come due to the coronavirus situation. Scheduled speaking dates were cancelled, and any ideas about scheduling in the future are tentative at best. So I was feeling pretty down a week or so ago. In fact, I had one of those “should I give this all up because it doesn’t seem like it’s working” conversations with my co-editor at Bayou City Press.

There is a saying among Camino enthusiasts: “The Camino provides.” I have to say, the Camino has come through for me today! I couldn’t be more thrilled.

And I couldn’t be more grateful to all the folks who contributed to my book: my co-editor, my traveling partner, my cover designer, my illustrator, all my friends who encouraged me to write the book, all my writing group colleagues who had to listen to early chapter drafts. With their help, I wrote and published my book about my Camino journey.

I think I have a bottle of Cava in my fridge, and I think it is going to be popped open tonight! Buen Camino to all my readers!

In previous weeks, I posted an overview of the 2020 Gathering, and then highlights from the Gathering. I’d like to add a few more highlights.

One of the funniest moments, for me, was when the principal coordinator of the Gathering, Sara Gradwohl, and her partner-in-crime, Carmen Marriott, donned a unique sort of homage to the Camino. At once hilarious and a bit surprising, they were the only others at the Gathering besides myself that I remember donning a “costume” of any sort. Their get-ups brought to my mind the classic number in the musical “South Pacific,” when coconuts are used to cover the relevant parts. Maybe one year the organizers of the Gathering could think about holding a costume contest and see what our inventive group can come up with?

I am also still in mini-shock about having been caught in a snow storm. I included a photo of the dock at the Zephyr Point Conference Center in an earlier post, taken on the first day, when the sky was clear and one could see across the lake to the mountains on the other side. The only touch of snow at that time was on those mountain peaks. Then the snow started. Here is what that same dock and view looked like on Sunday. The mountains across the lake are completely invisible.

Everyone who reads my blog and/or book knows that I love history. The talks at the Gathering that included Camino history were the most fascinating for me. One talk included a number of slides showing posters used to promote past Holy Years. Here is a photo of one of the slides.

I can’t wait to see what the image for Holy Year 2021 will be!

Our meals during the Gathering were prepared by the Zephyr Point Conference Center staff. Meals were abundant with a lot of choices.  There was always a salad bar option. On our first day there, the staff made a special effort and prepared these special Camino cakes, with the St. James cross on the top. What a treat!

Before the Gathering started, many of the organizers went to great lengths to prepare for it, bringing trunks-full of snacks and other items. One decorative point in our meeting room was the sign below. Sitting in the room each day looking at it, I would wonder, which of these routes should I attempt next? It served as a good reminder that our journey along the Camino is not finished yet!

 

I mentioned in my last post that the two concerts by Australian singer Dan Mullins were a highlight for everyone. Coming from Texas, I particularly enjoyed hearing Dan’s version of the Willy Nelson classic “You Were Always on My Mind.” Although my own singing is so bad that my toddler son used to beg me not to sing along to “The Wheels Go Round and Round,” I couldn’t  help myself from joining in with Dan. You’ll faintly hear my frog-like voice at certain points of the video. Sorry, Dan!

I also previously mentioned that when Dan launched into “Kumbaya,” everyone stood up and joined in. I was equally enchanted with his song “Somewhere Along the Way.”

 

Let me end this post with something I brought home with me that I will treasure. In participating in the Silent Auction, I managed to win a fantastic photo of the nave of the church at Roncesvalles. As those who have read my book know, Roncesvalles was one of my favorite places along the Camino–so I am particularly pleased to be the proud owner of this photo. I am going to hang in my Bayou City Press office, near the cockle shell I carried along with me on the Camino, and beside my many books on the Camino and Spain. My photo of the photo doesn’t do justice to the original, but it will give you a sense of the beauty of the original.

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I hope these three posts on the 2020 Gathering have been entertaining for those who attended the Gathering, and informative for those who couldn’t make it. Buen Camino to all during this period of the Coronavirus Plague!