Saturday, December 1, 2018

Be Careful What You Wish For . . .

Mrs. M

Okay, you all thought I looked very natural on Wyatt in an earlier post. So, I'm sure you would love this little true story of my adventure on a really wild-kind-of-horse. So, get into your time machine, go back to 1994 (before most of you were born), and have a good laugh. It was not funny at the time. Oh no, not at all. This would never happen to Andi . . . 

“Of course I can ride well enough. It'll be fun,” I told my sister as we scanned the prices of the various trail rides offered at Sun Lakes State Park. The memory of the trail ride the day before burned fresh in my mind—my young son crowded in the front of my saddle, the horses nose-to-rear-end the entire half-hour, and a pace that would make a tortoise look fast. I had no desire to repeat such an experience. The description of the advanced trail ride looked more like the kind of adventure I wanted.
“Well,” Holly shrugged, “if you're sure.”
“You bet I am,” I assured her, and together we entered the office.

“I hope this horse can gallop,” I commented to Holly as we mounted up, “He looks just like one of the slow-pokes from yesterday.”
“His name is Tornado.” Our teen-aged guide spoke up from behind. He was grinning. “You ready?”
“Yes.” I looked around. “My sister and I are the only ones going on this?”
“Looks that way.” He held out his hand. “I'm John Speck, your trail-guide.”
“Nice to meet you.”
John urged his horse into the lead position, and we were on our way.
The horseback ride was everything I’d hoped for. The evening air was cool and fresh and the sun an orange ball behind us as we explored the sagebrush trails between the lakes of the dry falls area of Eastern Washington. The horse galloped when I said so, and slowed down on command. Holly and I chatted with our guide and learned more about the Grand Coulee than we knew before we came.
Suddenly, a sound straight from an old western movie interrupted our conversation.
“Is that what I think it is?” I asked as we brought the horses to a standstill.
John grinned and dismounted. “Yeah. It's a rattlesnake. There's a bounty on these things, y’know.” He reached for an old branch, and began to hunt for the snake, making a wide circle g around the clumps gray-green sagebrush.
I pulled both legs out of the stirrups and sat cross-legged on my saddle. After all, I had no clue how far a rattlesnake could strike. “What are you doing?” I asked our guide.
 “I want the bounty on this snake.”
The guide began striking at something out of sight behind the brush. He soon emerged victorious, the snake suspended from his raised hand.
“It's just a small one,” he explained.
My fear turned to fascination at the sight of the dead reptile. I ventured a question. “Do you suppose I . . . uh . . . could have the rattle?”
“No problem.” With a swipe of his knife, our guide sliced the rattle from the rest of the luckless snake and thrust into my out-stretched hand. I didn't ask what the sticky, brownish stuff was on the edge of the rattle. I knew. It was snake blood. 
I shoved it into the pocket of my white jeans. “Thanks.”
Holly stared at me, speechless.
We resumed our ride. I was caught up in the adventure of it all. I couldn't wait to show the rattle to my husband and children when we returned. So far, the ride had been worth every bit of the ten dollars we had paid for the one-hour trip. I felt confident the trip would become a pleasant memory for many years.
The hard, wide rocky trail turned into a narrow path as we began the return trip to the stables. We had followed a huge loop, and the trail now took us downhill into an area covered with the accumulation of ages of dust—fine, eastern Washington loess that puffed up as each hoof of my horse touched the ground.
“We usually gallop some here,” John remarked over his shoulder.
“Sure,” Holly and I agreed. So far, the galloping had been the fun part.
Without another word, our guide broke into a gallop. My horse shot off behind him, without so much as a “by your leave” from me, his rider! Old Tornado clearly knew this was the “galloping” part of the trail—the home stretch.
It took me all of fifteen seconds to realize this gallop was nothing like the others. The guide’s horse ahead of me had raised a cloud of dust so thick, I could see nothing—not our guide, not even the trail under my feet. I was surrounded by a shroud of dirt which blinded me completely.
Panic began to creep in. “Enough of this,” I mumbled, still marginally in control of my emotions. I pulled back on the reins, desiring only to slow down until the dust settled. I wasn’t too excited to ride down a trail I couldn't see the end of, and I knew Holly was close behind, probably just as blind as I was. Probably just as scared.
            The moment I pulled on the reins and nothing happened was the moment I knew I was far from any definition of an “experienced” rider. The horse tore along the invisible trail at a breakneck pace.
“Whoa!” I yanked back on the reins as though my arms would break, but Tornado would have none of it. He knew he was almost home, and no “rider-for-hire” was going to get in his way!
My panic rose, but I knew terror was not one of my options—neither was jumping off—so I hung on and prayed to God this horse knew where he was going! I could not see past the horse's head. How could he possibly stay on a trail so narrow and full of winding curves?
A sudden lurch jerked me around and nearly tossed me from the saddle. For a moment I thought my ride—and my life—was over. Tornado stumbled and began to plunge to the left. I knew we were going down, down into the rocks and sagebrush which bordered the trail, and there was not a thing I could do about it. I hung on, wondering in those brief seconds how it must feel to have a horse fall on top of you.
Miraculously, Tornado recovered his footing before gravity made it impossible to do so, and we were on our way again.
“I thought you were a goner!” I heard my sister holler from behind. I didn’t dare turn around to acknowledge her presence.
I gave up trying to reason with this wild beast disguised as a plain-looking horse, so I closed my eyes and hung on for the rest of the trip. Fine loess filled my nostrils, my mouth, my ears, and my hair. By now I was so drained from my near tragedy that I didn't even care where we ended up.
Less than a minute later we emerged from the cloud of dust and found ourselves on a small rise not more than a hundred yards from the stables. Old Tornado had indeed known where he was going. He slowed to a quiet walk.
John waved a greeting. “Fell a little behind, huh?”
“I guess,” I replied evenly and dismounted. Never was I happier to get off a horse than at that moment. I looked at Holly, then down at myself. We were both covered with dust from head to toe.
John walked over. “It gets a little dusty around here this season, especially when we don't get enough rain.” He nodded at us and turned to go. “Good night, ladies. I hope you enjoyed your ride.”
Enjoyed? Perhaps. Remembered? Definitely.
It’s been ten years, and I still have the snake's rattle to recall the incident whenever I feel adventurous. Oh, by the way, we're returning to Sun Lakes next summer. I have another young son now, and he wants to ride the horses. Guess which trail ride we'll be taking?

Author’s note: Sadly, when we returned to Sun Lakes, the horses for trail riding were no longer available. 


  1. Oh, Mrs. Marlow!!! I sure am glad God kept you safe. What an adventure! Thanks for sharing. It clearly shows your courage. You were scared to death, but you saddled up again anyway ;-). Just curious, but is this possibly your rattle:

    Thanks again! And thank You, God, for Your protection!


  2. Awesome! Thanks for sharing!!

  3. Oh, goodness! Honestly, I can't imagine that happening to you, Mrs. M (even though you described it really well!). That seems more like something that would happen to . . . well, ME, for instance. I am NOT, by any stretch of the imagination, an experienced rider. *cringe*

    1. Neither was I. I just thought I was. But I did know how to hang on and not fall off. That is the best knowledge of all.

    2. Right-o! God gave us the self-preservation instinct for a reason! :)

  4. Oh, no that would never happen to Andi...or did it? The name Tornado sounds familiar... glad you were ok! What would we do if we didn't have Andi books to read?

    1. As a matter of fact, I named the horse Tornado in San Francisco SMugglers (at GG Park when Andi had to ride side saddle) after the REAL "lazy" Tornado. The Tornado in SFS did to Andi exactly what the REAL Tornado did to me---except I never fell off. It was the laziest horse ever . . . until it took that turn and started galloping for his stable. I like to name things after real life, like Panda and Chase "Chasing After the Wind" was the real Chase's real name.

  5. Loved hearing about your adventures!

  6. Thanks for the story! That is amazing! God is also AMAZING! I love stories like that! Thanks again!


Let Andi know what you think!