Reminiscing of summer camp

The awesome Baron

Every summer, when I hear the kids come into the library and tell me about their summer camp adventures, I yearn to be a kid again. I want to relive those magical summer days and nights; around the campfire, in the barn, out on the trails...every single precious moment that always ended too soon. The school year seemed so long as I waited for another three seasons to pass before I returned to the hills of Vermont.

Catherine Capers was heaven for me--a camp centered around horses, a mecca for horse-crazy girls who wanted to eat, breathe, and live with horses. I've never forgotten my first moment there as a camper when I realized I'd be caring for a horse every day for four weeks. Sgt. Pepper certainly taught me a thing or two; a seasoned camp horse who could be an ornery curmudgeon. From camper to C.I.T. (counselor-in-training) to counselor, I gained a wealth of knowledge at camp. Aside for all things equine, I learned to use a map and compass, build a fire, make doughboys, practice first aid (horse and human), and a plethora of silly songs.

It all started with my first breakfast ride as a camper when a Nellie, the trip counselor, woke me around 5:00 a.m. and asked,"Want to go for a breakfast ride?" Before the rest of camp arose, a selected dozen or so, retrieved their mounts from the pastures, saddled up, and rode off to meet a dropped-off breakfast, somewhere down the trail. Breakfast rides, supper rides, and my favorites, multi-day rides, filled my days.  My first overnight was on a horse called Doc--a roman-nosed bay. That was the year we had a barn full of bay horses whose names began with D on loan from nearby Fort Drum.

5 Day trip - campsite along the Mettawee at Aunt Eunice's

When I became a counselor at CC, my role was horseback trip leader. I spent enough hours during the school year at Hollins College riding hunters and practicing ring work. Summers, I let down the stirrups and high-tailed it for the hills, spending my days leading kids on adventures in the Vermont countryside. I took out trips ranging from two to three days. Our supplies would be dropped off at each night's location; food, tent, personal gear, horse feed, hay, water buckets, brushes, blankets etc. By August, cool nights required blanketing since the horse we tied up at night.

My mentors, Nellie Higgins and Sally Shaw, showed me the ropes over the years. I accompanied them on many a trip as a C.I.T., learning the maps, the trails, the campsites, and meeting the landowners. I remember being in awe of Sally, taking off on a ride bareback, with only a halter on the Shaw family horse, Nutmeg. I think the only "must haves" were heeled boots and a helmet, back then, with or without a chin strap!

Sally and the gang leaving camp

The honest soul, Spice

I became quite proficient at tying ponchos onto English saddles. I quickly learned D-rings and baling twine are your friends! A few horses were my favorite mounts and I'd try to give them a reprieve from ring work by taking them out on a ride. Spice was a favorite; such an honest soul. Some horses did better on the trail than in the ring, and more often than not, they went on most rides. And some were banned from the trail. After running away with his rider three times on Bullfrog Hollow, Snowball was relegated to staying in camp!

One summer, years after being a counselor, I got a call from Audrey, the owner. She needed someone to take out a 5 day trip with another counselor who was not as familiar with the territory. I jumped at the opportunity, a chance to relive some of those magical times in the saddle. My mount was Lewis, a dark bay gelding well suited for the ride.

Lewis--my mount for 5 days

We rode through some lovely land, although we did have to skirt a bull one day! I can still see the roads, trails, and maps etched in my memory. The local farmers allowed us to camp on their land providing we cleaned up, aka "leave-no-trace" camping.

Above Rush Hollow--before we met the bull!

 One of my favorite campsites was situated along Flower Brook in East Wells. I pitched my tent along the brook so I could listen to it burble all night long--or at least until I was woken for night watch.

Early morning sun along Flower Brook

But it wasn't all just trail riding at camp. Stable management, cleaning tack, caring for injured horses; all part and parcel of my summers. I probably fell in love with my first OTTB at camp. Newton, a skinny, hard keeper, gelding was in my care one summer. He probably ran at the old Green Mountain track in Pownal, Vermont, a hard-scrabble track for Thoroughbreds and Standardbreds.

I have a soft spot for bay OTTB's, I guess. Newton needed doctoring on a stifle wound for most of the summer, as I recall. And he ate a ton. Knowing what I know now, he might have fared better with less grain and more forage. He was the "counselor project horse" that Audrey always seemed to have each summer. I wish I knew what his registered name was so I could find his history. I never thought to write down his tattoo.
Sally Shaw schooled him, and another riding counselor, rode him in the Combined Event. I don't think he was quite ready for the dressage ring. But he was a sweetie to care for....

Newton attempting dressage

Each summer, it seemed like Smudge, the giant multi-toed cat, would produce another litter of barn kitties, some who went home with campers, I believe. These two were part of her 1977 crop, cradled in the arms of a camper.

So next week, when another kid regales me with camp tales, my mind will wander away to the hills of Vermont. I'll smell wood smoke, horse sweat, and hear the babble of a brook. The sun will beat down on a string of girls on their horses, trotting along the dirt roads of Middletown Springs. Then they will wave at each other as they round the hairpin turn, heading for home along Lake St. Catherine, a trip song on their lips to sing that night to their fellow campers. Oh to spend my summers in the saddle at camp once again.

I asked my horse to take a walk...

Just a walk, just a little way....
So we got a late start this morning and didn't mount up until 10:30 or so. But after spending my entire yesterday walking the pastures in the sun (and getting quite the burn), whacking weeds while my father mowed, my body wasn't responding quickly. The overcast skies and thick, muggy air didn't motivate me quite like the previous day's sunny, breezy weather.

Today called for full bug protection for horse and rider; long sleeves for me and fly hood for Harley. This picture was taken about half way into our ride where we encountered the ever-expanding quarry.

Our previous route disappeared, so we tried following the new roadbed only to encounter a bank of rip-rap.

Our options were to turn back and try to find another route, or get off and let the horses carefully scramble over the rocks. I was so proud of Rolex for following John and of Harley for keeping cool and not clambering through at speed. Pats and carrots for all!

Things went sour when we encountered the grumpy relative of a landowner that was not pleased we were riding on her mother-in-law's property "because the horses churn everything up". Since we were walking, the horses' hooves did minimal damage. John introduced us and our horses, but she obviously had no interest, and told us we needed permission. She told us to call her husband who "would probably say no" to our riding along the edge of the property. I asked if we could just walk by today and not trespass again. She grudgingly relented, but I think we'll avoid their land from now on--not worth the hassle, even if we did get permission for the actual landowner, the mother-in-law!

Harley picked up his pace, prancing along, happy to leave her behind and head for home. Tomorrow is another day for another adventure, on another route.

And in today's featured ride...an ungulate joins us for some fun

We had an appointment with our farrier, Saint Butch, this morning so we planned to take Harley and Rolex for a ride to take the edge off, since they'd been stabled the previous night due to thunderstorms. We hit the trails by 8:45 under fresh sunshine and sparkling wet woods. Quick trotting along the Orris Falls Trail warmed everyone up--loosened my muscles and made Harley reminisce of his race days. Every now and then, he'd break into a canter, leaning on the bit, chasing Rolex down the trail. I felt the surge of his muscles as he accelerated--hang on, Lisa.

John planned a jaunt through Orris Falls with a road walk back to the barn as a cool down. Things went all pear-shaped (as the Brits say) when a loose goat barreled out of a yard, bleating after the horses. Harley and Rolex saw the goat and threw on the brakes. We convinced both horses to keep heading down the road, but the goat trotted after us, his plaintiff bleating scaring the heck out of Harley. He spun around to face his "attacker" from the rear, sidestepped, turned back to run, whirled back around, and pranced in the road. It was one of those self-preservation moments--bail out, Lisa! With me standing between him and the goat, Harley settled. John held the horses while I began knocking on doors, trying to track down the owner. No one appeared at the house where he'd come from, so I tried across the street, to no avail. So, the goat decided to join us for the ride home. I planned to call the police and let them know we had a missing goat when we got back to the barn.

We determined he was a wether, the correct name for a fixed male goat, and probably someone's pet, given his friendliness. With absolutely no fear of the horses, he quickly fell into step right alongside, nearly on Harley's hocks. He seemed happy to go on an adventure with us, and I was happy to get him off the road. I felt quite silly flagging people to slow down as the goat meandered in the middle of the road. On the trail, narrow space forced the goat to tuck in between Harley and Rolex. Every so often, Harley would stop and wait for the goat to go out front so he could give him a sniff. Harley accepted the goat as another trail partner, albeit a funny-smelling one. With the goat sandwiched snuggly between Rolex's nose and Harley's hind end, he bravely clambered up and over Brown Hill, the high point in the Orris Falls Preserve. I wondered if he'd stop and drink once we reached water--his panting had me a bit worried. But no, instead he offered us an example of goat agility as he leaped across the stream. Good thing Harley didn't see the action--it might have made him jump too! I said to John, "Let's see what he does at the foot bridge. I'll bet he uses it." John replied,"If he does, hang on, because that will certainly spook Harley!" Well the goat surprised us both and hopped from stone to stone, ignoring the foot bridge.
 
Butch was waiting, as I expected, and I apologized for the delay. He saw the goat and exclaimed, "Where did you get the goat?" A full explanation followed while each horse their feet trimmed. I put the goat in one of the spare stalls and contacted the local police to inquire about possible missing goats.

By the end of the day, the goat's owner was located and he was transported back home to Emery's Bridge Road. The owner filled us in on the goat's story--he used to have a goat buddy and an equine pasture mate. Now wonder he was such a friendly little guy and wanted to join us. He was just plain lonely. I hope the owner took this to heart and will think about getting him another pal. Otherwise, he may be off on another adventure--next time a horse passes by.

Best buds--Rolex and Harley