by Kelly Wilson
Over the course of a week we got each of the baby Brumbies haltered, leading, brushed all over and happy to have their feet picked up. We also had them navigating a range of obstacles: walking through swing sets, jumping over old goal-posts and leaping up on mounds of gravel on Colleen’s driveway. Working with so many young horses at once was interesting; generally, we paired up with the same ones each time to consolidate our relationships with them. A couple were stroppy — more so than the older horses we were taming — and working with them was particularly interesting. We often find that youngsters born at sanctuaries or in holding yards are more challenging than totally wild ones. In this instance, the friendliest ones were the hardest to work with; they lacked respect for people, and once we began handling them they often disengaged.
It’s easy to become tuned in with the body language of wild horses because they are so responsive to the subtlest of movements. These babies, however, were a little more dulled down towards people and often ignored subtle signals. They had neither the foundations that a domestic foal has nor the natural instincts of a truly wild horse, and the first few days of working with them was less rewarding than with our other Brumbies. Unlike truly wild horses, who try to process what is being asked of them and quickly become engaged, some of the babies threw tantrums over the smallest of things; we often had to laugh at how defiant they became when asked to do something new. Little Ben, approaching three years of age, had learnt to lead with us and had already been out on a number of adventures, but when asked to walk over a small log he reared, struck out with a hoof and refused to step over it. After a little persistence and patience, however, he did walk over it, and once he understood the question we had asked he was an excellent student, trotting and jumping over a course of several logs. In comparison, the first time we led Arana, Shyla and Ballarat, in turn, over a log, the mares lowered their heads slightly, processed their options and carefully stepped over it.
Ben quickly grasped the purpose of the logs and enjoyed jumping them with Alexa.
Shyla’s second ride, on day 11, this time out in the obstacle paddock.
Following on from my first time backing Shyla in the yard, I haltered her and took her to the round yard. Jumping on her bareback, I soon had her walking and turning confidently. Satisfied that she was ready to head out into the open I dismounted, led her out to the obstacle paddock and jumped on her again. We had a relaxing walk around the paddock before I directed her to the logs, and she stepped over them without a problem, just like she had on the lead. Feeling no hesitation from Shyla, I headed to the bridge and soon we had walked over that, too. I’d been riding Shyla for about 15 minutes, and although I usually wouldn’t trot on the first ride, I just felt she was ready. Heading towards the trees, I used my voice and legs to urge her on and soon we were trotting bareback. Again she wasn’t fazed, and she gently transitioned back to a walk when I asked her to.
At this stage in her training, Shyla was about two weeks ahead of Anzac, the wild Kaimanawa stallion I tamed in 2014, and Jackie, the American Mustang I tamed in 2015. While timing means nothing — and with Elder, the old Kaimanawa stallion from the 2014 muster, it had taken over 500 days to achieve the level of training and trust I had with Shyla in just the first week — it was interesting to see how the horses varied. I initially wondered whether Shyla was excelling because I’d learnt so much over the past four years and was simply a better horse trainer, but after a lot of thought I knew it was more than that; Shyla had the most beautiful soul of any horse I had ever trained, and every time I worked with her I sensed an eagerness to please. I was so thankful to Colleen for having saved her and for giving me the opportunity to work with her.
Although Amanda felt that her mare Ballarat wasn’t yet ready to move on to the ridden stage, she was coming along well; her basic handling was very well established. Ballarat still took fright easily, and Amanda was avoiding any issues developing by focusing on building solid foundations. Rather than riding, Ballarat was led out on adventures, taught to be tied up both outside and under cover, and led through narrow crushes in preparation for learning to load. She had also learnt to navigate a range of obstacles and was happy to hike out to the back paddocks of the Brumby sanctuary and stand for hours while Amanda huddled on a log, contemplating life.
As with our other horses, especially the wild ones, by now it was almost instinct that told us when each horse was ready for more. During those first 10 days, however, Vicki never got that impression from Arana. Even after endless hours of sitting with her and reading, and leading her on adventures through the woods, the mare showed no sign of relaxing around people. It took 40 minutes to get her anywhere near the bridge obstacle in the paddock; rather than make a big issue of it, Vicki was satisfied when the mare got to even a metre of the bridge. She settled herself down on the bridge, letting the mare stand close by, and was rewarded the following day for her patience when Arana stepped right up and stood with her front legs on the obstacle.
Finally, on day 11, Alexa was able to help Vicki determine Arana’s age. Vicki used her thumb to encourage Arana to open her mouth and Alexa was able to take photos of the Galvayne’s grooves and the cups in her teeth. The outcome was disheartening; Arana certainly wasn’t a young mare and was probably one of the oldest we’d ever attempted to tame. The photos were sent through to top equine dentists in both New Zealand and America, and they confirmed Vicki’s suspicions: Arana was likely to be between 17 and 20 years old. This explained not only her lack of condition and her struggle to tolerate change, but also the stiffness we had started to see in her hind end. Vicki had hoped that this was due to her constant running in the yards wearing her hooves down, but at that age it was equally as likely to be wear and tear on her old joints.
Amanda and Ballarat, 11 days into their handling.
Alexa and Ranger progress from the yards to walking around the paddock.
Arana was one of the oldest wild horses we’d ever worked with; Major, our old Kaimanawa stallion from the 2012 muster, had been about 18 years old when he came out of the wild. It is rare for wild horses to live that long, although not unheard of. Cloud, a famous palomino Mustang from the Pryor Mountains of America was documented in the wild into his early twenties; and an old chestnut stallion in New Zealand was thought to be 27 years old when he finally died, out on the Kaimanawa ranges. While Vicki was sure that Arana’s age didn’t make her untameable, she didn’t feel that the Australian Brumby Challenge was the right training or sale environment for her. An older Brumby, especially one we had concerns about, would need to be paired up with the right home if it was to have the best chance; not simply sold to the highest bidder at an auction.
That evening we talked over our options, deciding in the end that we needed to talk to the VBA to see if Arana could be withdrawn from competition. While this would be disappointing for Vicki, Arana’s welfare had to come first. We found Colleen at the yards the next morning; and before we could voice our concerns she said that the committee had also been discussing options — and would Vicki consider swapping Arana out for a reserve? The VBA would retire Arana, giving her a safe place where she could roam with a herd long term. It was as if they had read our minds; and the solution was even better than what we’d hoped for. Of course, Vicki agreed. She and Colleen led Arana out into the laneway, and Vicki released her halter. The mare didn’t hesitate — sensing freedom, she bolted forward through the gate and cantered out to the back pasture. The old mare’s handling had come to an end; without a backwards glance, she joined the herd in the distance and settled down to graze. It was a really good outcome for her. As we headed back to the yards, we again wondered whether at some point during her two decades roaming in the Snowy Mountains she had been chased and lassoed by Brumby runners; it was a distinct possibility.
Arana cantering out to join the herd.
CHAPTER 6
Bringing in the Reserves
Even in the pasture, with 50 acres to roam, Arana would pace i
n front of the herd as soon as she sighted a human.
Being assigned a reserve Brumby proved to be no easy task. The only two mares suitable for the competition were running wild on neighbouring farmland and needed to be passively trapped in yards, similar to how the wild Brumbies are caught in the Snowy Mountains. Unlike our original Brumbies, who had had their 18 months in the sanctuary, the reserves had only been captured from the wild in the previous spring — less than eight months ago — and they had only weaned their foals a couple of weeks earlier.
We drove down with Colleen to scout out the herd. When the Brumbies saw us, hundreds of metres in the distance, the herd leader rounded up the mares and herded them away, disappearing from sight. We followed them, slowly, until we were close enough for Colleen to point out the two she’d lined up as reserves; one was a chestnut and the other a plain bay. The herd didn’t remain still for long, again wheeling around to put distance between them and us. Leaving hay near the paddock gate, we left. It was the first step in the very slow process known as passive trapping; we weren’t quite sure how it would work, or if and when we would actually be able to capture the horses to begin the training process!
The next day we headed down to the property early, setting up a full set of temporary stockyards and placing hay in the yards. The plan was that the horses would enter the yards to get the hay and then the gate — if someone happened to be around at the time — could be closed on them. We were sceptical about whether it would work; surely, no wild horse would enter an enclosed area when they had plenty of grass to eat. Keeping quiet about our doubts we smiled at Colleen, secretly hoping it wouldn’t take weeks.
To us it was unfathomable that passive trapping was so effective that hundreds of wild horses were captured this way in the Snowy Mountains. The 12 to 20 trap sites set up each winter in Kosciuszko National Park will catch between 40 and 70 horses most weeks. Colleen kindly explained how it worked. Unlike here, where we’d set up the yards in one go, the park rangers set up a bait site — laying out hay and hollowed-out logs filled with minerals and molasses. After a few weeks of the horses visiting the bait site, a single corner of a yard is set up. When the horses return they are initially cautious of this new structure, but quickly realise that it’s not going to hurt them and continue to come for the food and minerals. Over the next few weeks, the rangers add another panel to the yard each night while laying out food; gradually, the horses become desensitised to the fences until eventually the bait site is fully enclosed. At this point the only access to the feed is through a gateway in the yard, and since the horses feel so safe in the familiar environment they step through the gate to eat — setting off a tripwire that closes the gate and traps them inside.
Once the trap is complete the rangers check it daily, and most mornings horses are found and removed from the yards. Sometimes half the herd are inside the yard when the tripwire shuts the gate; at other times just one foal. Very rarely is the whole herd captured at once, but typically the rest will be captured over the following days. It amazed us that the horses were reckless enough to risk their freedom for the taste of salt and molasses, especially after watching the stress of their fellow herd mates when they realise there is no way out of the fence that holds them.
To keep ourselves busy while waiting for the reserves to be trapped, Amanda, Alexa and I continued working with our Brumbies while Vicki concentrated on the baby Brumbies. Alexa had been making good progress with Ranger and had had her first trot on him, bareback, but we had some serious concerns about his future. With the right home and a professional and sensitive trainer he had the potential to have a good life — but he had an even greater capacity to hurt someone, or even himself. Like Arana, he had no sense of self-preservation and often would jump over or go through fences if something panicked him.
Vicki’s reserve mare, later named Zali.
Zali kicking other horses in the yards during the sorting process.
Shyla’s ridden work was also coming along well, with her now being ridden at the walk and the trot under saddle, but in other ways she was defiant; she often reared as her way of dealing with things that scared her. The first time we taught the Brumbies to load on a trailer, Ballarat was excellent. Shyla, too, also walked straight on. However, when we went to reload them a second time, Ballarat was again perfect but the normally relaxed Shyla spent five minutes rearing before settling down and loading as if she hadn’t a care in the world. It was a bizarre reaction — I would have expected it on the initial loading, but not after she’d done it once so calmly. Leading her off the trailer, we tried again and this third time she didn’t hesitate.
THREE DAYS AFTER WE’D FIRST SEEN the reserve Brumbies, we were thrilled to hear that Colleen had passed the temporary yards on her way home and seen the horses inside, eating hay. By the time we got there the horses were long gone, however, but Colleen was confident we could round them up. The herd ‘stallion’ and lead mare had been chosen especially to be Judas (traitor) horses — they were familiar with the routine of the yarding system and would lead the other Brumbies into the yards when they saw us bringing hay. Things didn’t quite go to plan, as this was a different property to the Brumby sanctuary the horses were used to. Three of them, including the two we wanted, headed off in another direction and jumped a fence into the next paddock rather than following the other horses into the yards. Rather than unsettle them further we called it a night. The next morning, Colleen returned and tried again, this time with success. We quickly joined her and began the sorting process, releasing the Brumbies that weren’t needed back into the pasture until only the two reserves remained.
Up close both were lovely types. The bay mare was light in condition and significantly bigger than the others we’d seen, and the chestnut was strikingly beautiful although her conformation wasn’t as correct. Unlike Shyla and Arana, who had been saved after the meat buyers had taken first pick, the following year Colleen had been able to choose some of the biggest animals before the dogger dealers arrived. The bay was assigned to Vicki, but the chestnut was also taken back to the Brumby sanctuary in case another trainer needed to swap out a horse in the next couple of weeks. Trainers had 30 days to identify any unsoundness or extreme behavioural issues with their horses that would make them unsuitable for the challenge, and Colleen didn’t want to repeat the trapping process if another reserve was needed.
Shyla’s first ride in a saddle on day 12.
Vicki’s first day working with Zali in the yards — she was much more relaxed than Arana in the early days.
Although the weather left much to be desired, Vicki quickly set to work, having lost 14 days of training. The rest of us holed up inside as much as possible to avoid the wind and rain. The new mare, whom Vicki soon named VBA Zali (meaning ‘special’) was fairly sensible, something we had first noticed in the paddock and the yards when she was being sorted. She was quite happy with Vicki nearby, and unlike Arana she stood quietly and watched, rather than running. It was a far more typical response from a wild horse, and Vicki was relieved. By the time I ventured outside, about an hour after Vicki, she was touching the mare on her neck — although each time she inched her way forward to the mare’s head, Zali would toss her head away and Vicki would have to start again.
As Vicki worked with Zali, I photographed the pair of them. Flicking through the photos on my camera, I spotted something I hadn’t noticed with the naked eye: white markings were evident on Zali’s back. I zoomed in and had a closer look. Along most of Zali’s spine a lace pattern was evident through her winter coat; I called Vicki over and pointed them out. Now that we were looking for it, it was more than obvious. Three things could have caused it: horses can be born with a white lacing, which is a rare but beautiful spider-web-like pattern that grows as the horse grows; or it can be from a spinal injury; or, as we’d seen with the American Mustangs, it can be caused by frostbite burns from prolonged exposure to snow.
Vicki always seemed to be unlucky with wild horse
s: four of her five competition Kaimanawas, Mustangs and Brumbies had been unsuitable for ridden work due to injuries. It gave us a sense of foreboding, but Vicki shook her head and said surely she couldn’t be that unlucky. Another injured mare at this point would mean that of the six wild horses she’d been assigned over the past two years, only one — Argo — would have been sound and healthy enough to train to any great extent. As optimistic as always, Vicki returned to the mare and gradually inched closer over the course of the next hour until she was able to get a halter on her.
Pleased with Zali’s attitude and the progress she’d made, we headed inside to sleep. The next day we were taking Shyla and Ballarat to Barmah National Park for a ride out in search of wild Brumbies, and Vicki would only have a short session with Zali before we left. Unlike Arana, Zali retained much of what she had learnt the day before, and soon Vicki was touching her on the head and neck and was able to clip a lead onto the halter. Gently applying pressure on the rope, Vicki began the process of teaching Zali to lead, but as soon as the mare felt pressure on her poll she reared up. Once her feet were back on the ground, Vicki gently asked her forward again; and again the mare reared, striking out. It took about 10 minutes before she stopped rearing and begrudgingly stepped towards the pressure; as soon as Vicki felt the forward momentum, she loosened off the rope and stepped back to give Zali time to mull things over. Vicki hadn’t pulled back on the rope to force Zali forward, just applied a very gentle pressure; but that had been enough to trigger the extreme reaction. Vicki, who seemed to have a sixth sense for sore and damaged horses, quietly said that she hoped Zali’s reaction wasn’t pain-related, because she had acted like a horse with damage to its poll.
