More horses

When clearing my desk, I find all sorts of notes for blogposts I meant to write but never did. Sometime in 2010 I remember visiting an exhibition at the Musée des Civilisations (now known as the Musée Canadien de l'Histoire / Canadian Museum of History) entitled "The Horse"––it was about their evolution, their biology, their characteristics and about how we humans have made use of them through the ages. It included Joe Fafard's sculpture of 11 horses, now installed outside the National Gallery on Sussex Drive. It seems a shame to throw away my notes on that experience unused, so I'll transcribe them here.

Cave painting at Lascaux

55 million years ago there were prehistoric horses with four or five toes; they evolved into three-toed animals (hypohippus) and eventually the middle toe developed into a hoof.

Wild horses appear in the French cave paintings made 33,000 years ago. I have seen the ones at Lascaux. It's thought that the first domesticated horses were the ones in Kazakhstan between 5000 and 3500BC. Villagers raised them for meat.

Samurai warrior

History is full of stories of horses ridden into battle, pulling chariots or carrying fighting men on their backs. Chariot races took place in hippodromes. Trousers were invented for the purpose of horse riding by the Scythians. Medieval horses in Europe had to carry a 46kg load, their armour being so heavy. The special breed able to bear it was known as the "Great Horse" or destrier. The Spaniards went on horseback to fight the Incas and in North America, 300 years ago, native tribes began to make use of horses captured from Spanish invaders. The Japanese samurai were cavaliers. In the first World War, the long suffering animals were still being exploited; 800 horses were killed in a single Canadian charge.

Elsewhere they've been used as pit ponies, draft (draught) horses pulling all kinds of merchandise as well as fire trucks and for transporting people or mail. On the Silk Road safe conduct passes were carried on horseback. The Pony Express in the USA went through relay stations changing horses every 16km. Horses were famously used by cowboys or gauchos where a mere five horsemen could control 1000 head of cattle.

The Arab people value mares more than stallions and the Sakhas of northeast Russia ferment mares' milk (koumiss) to drink. In Mongolia, the music made by fiddles with horses' heads transports listeners into a spiritual world.

Going for a ride

Marie-Ève adjusting Chris' stirrups on Navaho, Carol getting to know her horse, Éminence

Yesterday, at the Ranch du Versant near Ripon, Quebec, we were given a rare treat, a ride through the Montagnes Noires on horseback. This was a gift in appreciation of a couple of sight-seeing flights Chris has given ... to people who own horses!

Mounting my horse, Déesse, Nicolas looking on

To reach the stables it was a 100 km drive from home through lovely countryside, Nicolas and his wife leading the way in a truck, and when we arrived the horses were saddled and bridled, but not necessarily eager to depart. Isabelle called them paresseux, the day was warm, but we were assured that they like being with people and with one another, so wouldn't be hard to persuade to follow one another down the trails. I hoped that my horse would be happy just to keep in line and, despite detailed rider's instructions on how to make her stop, start, turn left and turn right, that she'd want to do no more than follow the others in a docile manner. In fact I made a private vow to leave most decisions to the horse, as I was sure she'd know far better than I what to do, if we came upon any obstacles. Nobody told me at the start that Déesse used to be a racing horse. As a matter of fact, she proceded in a leisurely manner all the way. Only once did she break into a little trot, which was quite enough excitement for a novice such as me.

We rode for nearly an hour in single file, Marie-Ève leading the way, acquiring some basic skills as we went. Downhill, we leant back to keep ourselves as upright as possible on the saddle. Going uphill, we leant forward, which encourages the horse. (Chris joked afterwards that he'd coped fine with the ride except for the stretch where he'd had to carry his horse up the steep hill.) Carol, who'd ridden before, was relaxed enough to take photos whereas I kept a tight hold of pommel and reins (le pommeau et les rênes) all the way around. My calves began to ache within minutes, probably because I was too tense. Later, I realised how much I was enjoying myself and relaxed into the ride. We'd had to sign a waver to say we accepted the possibility of injury or death in the enjoyment of this activity. I wore a riding hat, although the more experienced members of the expedition all sported cowboy, or sun hats. The ranch couldn't supply a riding hat large enough for Chris so he wore his bike helmet.

When we came to muddy patches, the fastidious horses preferred to step around the mud rather than go through it, so we had to contend with branches getting in the way. There were roads to cross with care as well and, at one point, a little ditch. "Navaho might jump it," said Marie-Ève to Chris, "but don't worry. Let him, if he wants to!" But he didn't. Déesse, following Éminence's footsteps, picked her way delicately across the ditch and didn't jump either. Nor did we see the bears that sometimes make an appearance on this trail; even so it felt like a truly American experience to be riding, Western-style, through those hills. We thought of the early settlers who had covered thousands of miles this way. I don't suppose they were always rewarded by a distribution of cool beers at the ranch at the end of their expeditions, as we were. We sat by the barn and watched the horses, unencumbered by bridles or saddles, canter around and greet each other by rubbing noses, and saw the big one, Duc, roll in the sand because he felt hot and sticky. A sense of bien-être pervaded among adults, children and the animals themselves.

The only point at which I fell off was when trying to dismount at the end of the ride, having left one of my feet in the stirrup, much too far off the ground. (Notice that everyone in the picture, including me, is in fits of laughter.)