by Kelly Wilson
Given the white marks and the rearing, the omens weren’t good; but Vicki rightly commented that rearing was a natural response of a wild horse to feeling pressured, and not necessarily a sign of pain. The best thing to do at this stage was to build trust in the mare so that she could be handled enough to be felt all over her body; then we could see firsthand if and where she was sore. Until then, it was simply a guessing game. And even if she was sore, many issues — such as the poll — could easily be resolved with some massage and skeletal work. Vicki definitely wasn’t put off, although she jokingly commented that she wished she had been assigned the chestnut Brumby as her reserve instead.
Two days into her handling, Zali was happy to be touched on the face and neck.
Ballarat learning to load in preparation for our road trip to Barmah National Park.
CHAPTER 7
Riding in Search of Wild Horses
Our first sighting of Brumbies in the wild, at Barmah National Park.
As we loaded the horses for the three-hour drive to Barmah National Park, this time without any of the drama of our initial practice, I second-guessed my decision to go. Was it really a good idea to take a wild Brumby, with just three rides, out in search of wild horses? The drive provided plenty of time to rethink my impromptu decision, and as with most things in life I decided to wing it. If Shyla unloaded and was settled once we got to Barmah, I would join the others on a short ride that afternoon; if that went well, I might join in on the big ride planned for the following day.
The two-day camping trip had been a spontaneous invitation from Rob, a guy we’d met a month earlier at Fieldays, the biggest agricultural event in New Zealand, when he’d been over from Australia competing in the Rural Bachelor of the Year. He’d shown us some videos of him riding out with friends among wild Brumbies, and we’d been intrigued enough to take him up on his offer of heading out to find wild horses. Some of the highlights of our lives were seeing both Kaimanawas and Mustangs in the wild, and we knew that our work with the Brumbies wouldn’t be complete unless we also saw herds in their natural landscape. Originally we’d planned to borrow stock horses from Rob, but he was a few horses short so we’d decided to bring Shyla and Ballarat.
When we arrived, we were relieved to see that the camp site was right beside a huge array of stockyards; there were plenty of safe yards to keep the horses in overnight. We chose an internal yard for our Brumbies, so that no wild horses could try to hassle them overnight or entice them to jump out to reclaim their freedom. Both our mares seemed relaxed, so I saddled up; Alexa and Vicki had borrowed horses, and Amanda led Ballarat out since we were only planning on going slowly. Feeling confident, I hopped on Shyla for just her second ride in a saddle. Unlike at the Brumby sanctuary, there were no fences within sight and I was really hoping that everything would go well. The situation reminded me of a ride in Idaho with our Mustangs where we went off in search of wild horses after they’d had just 34 days of handling; back then it had seemed dauntingly soon, and now I wondered whether it was just plain stupid to take my wild Brumby out less than two weeks after she had been touched for the first time.
The ride started off well; although nervous, I was relieved that Shyla wasn’t on edge from riding out with the other horses. Rob was also on a young horse, with just a week’s training under saddle, and he often deviated from the path to navigate logs and bend between trees. I was more than happy to follow the others, and it wasn’t until we were 20 minutes into the ride that I finally relaxed and began enjoying it. The others had picked up on how worried I’d been, and Rob jokingly said that it was good to see some colour returning to my face. Laughing, I settled into the saddle and admitted that I was concerned about Shyla trying to follow the wild horses if we found them. I didn’t mention that I was also worried about falling off and losing her, as she still wasn’t totally reliable to catch.
Ironically, about three minutes later Shyla dropped to the ground beneath me to roll in the mud, and I half fell and half jumped off to avoid being rolled on. I quickly urged her up so that she wouldn’t damage the saddle, but instead I just gave her a fright and she leapt to her feet and cantered off before I could grab the reins. Ahead of me everyone had stopped and turned their horses to see what was happening. My worst-case scenario had come true; I went after Shyla, hoping she would return quickly. The only thought going through my mind was that at least there weren’t any wild horses in sight!
My worries were for nothing, thankfully; after passing the ridden horses, Shyla circled back and waited to be caught. I was soon remounted and we continued on our ride. Rather than stressing me out, the misadventure completely relaxed me, as I was now confident that Shyla could easily be caught and I set off through the bush teaching her to trot over logs and leave the company of the other horses. A few times we all halted to let Amanda lie over Ballarat’s back while we waited; she even took her first few steps bearing the weight of a rider.
Talking around the campfire at Barmah.
Shyla riding out with the stock horses in search of wild Brumbies.
We arrived back at the stockyards just as it was getting dark, settled the horses for the night and gathered around the campfire. Rob was doing a camp oven roast over the open flames and we had borrowed swags to sleep in overnight. The food, company and country music was excellent, and some of the locals joined us, talking of their plans to save their wild horses, who were also at risk of being culled. For years, the Barmah Brumbies had effectively been managed by Nature. Every seven to 10 years, the herd numbers would grow from 125 or so up to about 600, and then a severe drought would cause them to die by the hundreds, dropping the numbers back down. The starving stallions prevented their herds from moving into the river area, to avoid other stallions’ territories, and the young foals, being more vulnerable, regularly died. Eventually, desperation would cause the herd to venture nearer to the river’s edge and the weakened stallions would often die trying to win the right for their herds to graze in more fertile areas.
In many ways it made more sense to passively trap, or muster, the herds every year. With the current herd size of 125, only 20 to 25 horses would need to find homes each year, ensuring that the population stayed at an optimum for the amount of grazing available. If you released the older horses and only re-homed the yearlings and two-year-olds, these younger animals would not only be at the ideal age for an easy transition to domestication, but herd numbers could also be sustained at a healthy level, preventing mass starvation in drought years.
IT WAS SURPRISINGLY WARM AND COMFORTABLE SLEEPING under the stars in winter; we were all cosy inside our swags. We woke at sunrise to wild horses grazing within sight and scrambled eggs and bacon cooked in the campfire ovens. Once we were fed, we headed over to the horses to saddle up. This time 13 horses and riders, including Shyla and me, were heading out for a three-hour ride in search of the wild Brumbies. Ballarat was staying in the yards, and since we were short of a horse, Amanda disappeared in the trees with the cameras to photograph the wild horses while we rode.
The ride started well, although Shyla was very animated with so many horses around; a few times she trotted keenly off to investigate the horses in front. I made sure everyone understood that she was recently wild and barely started under saddle, to make sure that no one took off without warning me first. Shyla was striding out well, working her way forward to get near the front. The two riders ahead of me suddenly cantered off through the trees and Shyla followed; I was unable to stop her and we sped through the bush and wove headlong between trees. It was her first time cantering with a rider on and she was very unsettled, although she did come to a halt when the other riders stopped.
A wild Brumby watching us at sunrise.
Shyla (fifth from left), after just 14 days of handling, was a little unsure of standing among so many saddled horses.
My heart pounding, I looked back and saw that Rob, Alexa and Vicki were well behind. Wanting to be near riders I knew, knowing that they would
keep an eye on me to make sure I was safe, I circled back to join them. For the next hour I was always careful to stay near one of the three. At times we were weaving through dense bush, but although Shyla’s steering still left much to be desired I didn’t have to worry. Not once was I at risk of brushing my legs up against the trees: her years in the wild had made her sure-footed and clever and she always left plenty of room.
As we trotted over logs and through flooded areas, Shyla and I both gained confidence. At one point, passing a marshy swamp, we kept in time with a fox leaping through the water and reeds; a spectacular sight. When we came out into a large clearing, Vicki urged me to try a canter — this time on purpose. I was a little worried, but agreed that it was better to practise now so that we wouldn’t hold anyone back during the last two hours of the ride. True to form Shyla settled into a lovely canter, her rhythm soft and quiet, before coming back to a walk. A few other riders joined us, and again Shyla cantered well. Stoked, we pushed the boundaries throughout the rest of the ride, trotting and cantering parallel to wild Brumbies moving between the densely growing trees, and jumping over fallen trees.
I’d been walking Shyla on a loose rein for about half an hour, making our way back to camp, when four Brumbies broke through the trees and galloped towards us. They were the same ones we’d seen that morning, and as they passed, within metres of us, I was careful to keep hold of Shyla. However, although alert she didn’t try to follow them. A few minutes later the stockyards were in sight and we dismounted and unsaddled the horses. It had been a phenomenal experience riding with the wild horses in such an iconic landscape, and even more special to have shared the experience with Shyla, so recently a wild Brumby herself.
Vicki holding Ballarat while Amanda sits astride her for the first time.
Amanda was keen for one last session with Ballarat before we left, so she brought her in from the yards. As on the previous day, she was soon sitting astride Ballarat; this time with Vicki leading her around the camp site. Amanda looked ridiculously big on the mare, and she kept her knees bent so that they wouldn’t hang down by little Ballarat’s knees. Pleased with her progress, we loaded both Brumbies and began the three-hour drive home; keen to get back quickly so that Vicki could work with Zali.
Both Shyla and Ballarat had come so far over the past two days. Not only had they loaded and travelled for the first time, but Shyla had gone from no more than 100 metres of trotting with a rider on to confidently trekking out in a group for five hours over two days. She had even learnt to canter and jump — it was the best thing for her. Ballarat had made excellent progress, too, and had a new sense of quietness and confidence about her. After just two weeks neither Brumby was reacting like a wild horse; instead, they were looking to people for guidance and companionship. It was incredibly rewarding to have them trusting us.
CHAPTER 8
Many Hands Make Light Work
Leading the baby Brumbies down to the pond for an adventure during the VBA Volunteer Day.
We returned from Barmah to distressing news. Back home in New Zealand, one of Vicki’s young showjumpers was sick and the vets hadn’t been able to diagnose a specific issue; he needed round-the-clock care, and although Mum and Paula — our stable manager — were looking after him well, Vicki really felt that she needed to be there. Although we only had 10 more days in Australia before returning home with our Brumbies to continue their training there, Vicki was concerned enough to change to an earlier flight. Fortunately, we got permission from the VBA for Alexa and me to continue handling Zali once Vicki had left. Unlike the New Zealand competition, where only the assigned trainer is allowed to handle and ride each challenge horse, the VBA understood the importance of the horses getting used to many different people; especially since most will go to strangers at auction. Amanda had decided to join Vicki, as Ballarat was already at the stage where she would be ready to fly when the time came; also, her Mustang, Bragg, had finally arrived in New Zealand from America and she was keen to get home to see him again.
Over the next three days, Vicki focused on establishing the basics with Zali: leading, loading on the trailer, being brushed all over the body, being tied up and getting caught. The day before she left, Vicki washed Zali all over, hosing and sponging her with shampoo before rinsing her off; Zali objected to it quite strongly and took a while before she would stand. Although she’d only had one week of handling and was still very raw, she was well advanced compared with how most wild horses would have been, and could now cope with all of the handling requirements she needed before leaving Australia. Alexa and I simply had to repeat the things she already knew, so these would be well practised before she flew to New Zealand.
Briar, one of the other trainers in the Australian Brumby Challenge, had arrived at Colleen’s place while we were in Barmah; she was staying with us for our final week while she did the initial handling on her own Brumby, Esta, to prepare her for a 10-hour drive north to Queensland. That drive — up the length of Australia — was actually going to be much longer than the three-hour flight across the Tasman Sea for our own horses, which made us laugh.
Zali protests to being washed, something required as part of her handling assessment.
On our final day together before Vicki and Amanda flew out, we held a Volunteer Day so that the public could come and meet the Brumbies. A lot of people had been asking to meet both us and the horses we’d been taming, and rather than having the focus on us we decided to use the extra man-power to help pull down some old fencing at the Brumby sanctuary that needed replacing. The day started with us showcasing the Brumby babies we’d been handling, and we were thrilled with how well they coped with the crowds. Everyone followed us around the property as we led the youngsters out, demonstrating how important adventures are to any horse’s training. We navigated obstacles that we found along the way, both man-made and natural. To finish, everyone lined up and stepped forward one at a time to pat the Brumbies; it was amazing to see how good they were with strangers. These youngsters had only had about four to seven handling sessions each, but even Arana’s foal, who was notoriously timid, enjoyed the attention and really blossomed after the experience.
We spent the next few hours pulling down almost a kilometre of old fencing; what would have taken months for Colleen and her husband Dave, trying to fit it in during their spare time, took only a few hours with dozens of people pitching in to help. Vicki, Amanda, Alexa and I all worked alongside the others and were sporting many scrapes by the end of it, but it was certainly worth it — having safer paddocks for the wild Brumbies that lived at the sanctuary would be hugely beneficial, and we loved being able to give something back after Colleen and her family had been so hospitable in having us stay with them.
After a barbecue lunch, our challenge Brumbies came out, along with Alexa and Ranger. The mares were exceptional, especially considering that they had never seen so many people together at once; I was even able to ride Shyla a little and Amanda sat on Ballarat. Ranger, though, was very unsure about having so many people around, and Alexa kept him on the lead. Even that proved overwhelming, and when I walked forward to pat him he panicked, rearing right up and falling over backwards before scrambling to his feet and jumping over two fences to get away. It was distressing for Alexa after all her work with Ranger. It took her some time to catch him, but fortunately everyone was distracted by how much Shyla and Ballarat were enjoying their cuddles, and even Zali braved a few people saying hello from a distance.
Amanda leading Eden around the Brumby sanctuary during the VBA Volunteer Day.
Colleen’s daughter, Bridie, patting Shyla.
Once the visitors had left, Colleen talked with us about the best outcome for Ranger. He’d been working so well; for Alexa he was now much easier to catch, and he’d progressed from being ridden bareback to trotting under saddle. Although his panic attacks were usually worse when he was being handled from the ground, in the two days leading up to the Volunteer Day he’d also panicked with A
lexa sitting on him; something he’d not done before. Both incidents were triggered by people walking too close to him, causing him to spin, rear and eventually bolt after Alexa had jumped off. Because none of the fences on the property could contain him, we often had to cross many paddocks to retrieve him, and each time he was a challenge to catch. Realising that he wouldn’t be safe to rehabilitate or re-home for a long time, if ever, we discussed his options. There were two: either a very kind professional, with a very gentle training approach, needed to invest a year into him; or he needed to be left unhandled in a herd situation.
Alongside those that thrive in domestication, there will always be some wild horses that have a hard time adapting to the human world. For these horses, generally older stallions or lead mares, having their freedom stolen away is heartbreaking, and many have a limited future once they are taken from the wild, due to behavioural and soundness issues. Elder, my older grey Kaimanawa stallion from the 2014 muster is one of these. I have thought many times that it would have been so much nicer for him to have died in the mountains he loved, rather than having to spend years adjusting to a life he will never embrace. On particularly bad days, when his hooves are so bad that I have to work with him enough to catch and sedate him so that his hooves can be done, I also wonder if it might have been kinder to have let him go to slaughter directly from the muster. A quick death at the abattoir would have saved him a lot of emotional trauma. We’ve always striven to do right by Elder, and have given him as much patience and time as he needs. It took 500 days before I sat on him for the first time, something I only persevered with because I honestly believed that being able to go out on the farm and to the beach would give him a better quality of life — which it did. Riding Elder has always been on his terms — he tolerates a rider purely because he loves to explore the world; he is happiest cantering down the beach or out on the hills.
