by Kelly Wilson
We got back to stormy weather so only worked the horses lightly the following day, catching them and brushing them in the barn before turning them out in the paddock again. Zali was a little on edge; even though we were able to catch her and take her for a walk, she was tense. She barely stood to be brushed and was significantly worse on her right side — we didn’t even attempt to touch her legs or girth area. She was undoubtedly more comfortable with Vicki, but we were content with how good she’d been considering that it takes a while for wild horses to trust new people.
Before it got dark we set the yards up for the new arrivals, and then headed inside to catch up on sleep; we didn’t hear the truck arrive or the horses being unloaded, and woke to find 11 new wild Brumbies in the yards. They were even more beautiful than we’d remembered, and remarkably brave, watching us closely as we mucked out around them. The two stallions in particular were curious, and both edged closer and closer. After feeding out, we helped Colleen separate off the three pregnant mares. Unfortunately, the youngest colt, which we’d assumed belonged to one of the mares, was obviously not her foal and he had to be kept back in the yards to be supplement-fed. The mares, however, were ready to head out to pasture and we opened the gate; they quietly wandered through it and we followed behind them as they slowly made their way down the laneway and out to join Arana’s herd in the pasture. The colts would stay in the yards until they could be gelded.
Leaving the new ones to settle in, we headed into town to get foal formula for the young orphaned Brumby. Deciding that the trip would be the perfect practice for Zali, we loaded her, Shyla and Ballarat and headed off. The return trip took three hours, and we arrived back just before the rain set in. The forecast was for a few days of horrible weather before we were due to fly out, and as Shyla and Ballarat were sufficiently advanced in their training we decided to keep dry and just work Zali. The weather was miserable, with howling winds and heavy downpours, so we took Shyla and Ballarat inside the shed each day and tied them up for a few hours with some hay. It was useful for teaching them patience in preparation for their flight, and it also allowed their coats to dry out.
Zali desperately needed to improve in her handling. She had to pass a handling test administered by the VBA and vets before she was allowed to travel by air, and she was getting worse, not better. She was hard to catch and impossible to handle — four days before we were due to fly, it took us three hours to touch the right side of her body, which she’d been fine with just a few days before. Alexa and I persisted, very patiently, although it was frustrating — we were cold and wet, and the last thing we wanted to be doing was dealing with a mare who’d decided to revert to her wild days. Not wanting to worry Vicki, who had more than enough on her mind, we kept quiet and hoped that the next day would be better. Vicki had arrived home to work alongside the vets, doing everything possible to save her young showjumper, but they weren’t able to save him and he had to be put to sleep.
Unfortunately, the weather was even worse the following day — it was snowing again nearby and the wind roared through the valley — and again Zali wanted nothing to do with us. The feeling was mutual. We were, however, desperate to get home; winter in Victoria left much to be desired and we were missing our other horses. Alexa, who was training a wild Kaimanawa for the Kaimanawa Stallion Challenges, had already been away from him for three weeks, and if we had to delay the flight because Zali wasn’t ready to travel I would be staying on alone so that Alexa could go back and catch up on training.
Zali naturally didn’t understand how much we were missing home, and that day it took over an hour before she’d let me touch her left side, and another three hours before I could touch her on the right side. In despair, I rang Vicki and said that it was unlikely we’d have her ready to travel in time; another week or two would probably be best. Vicki was surprised, as Zali had been doing well before she’d left, but she knew that we would make the call that was in the mare’s best interest. We decided to wait and see how she was the next day before making a decision.
We woke to blue skies and calmness, a novelty after days of stormy weather. Rushing outside, I headed to the pasture to see the three new mares and Arana one last time before we left; I wouldn’t have time for this after today. When I got to the paddock, Arana saw me from some distance away and immediately started running, back and forth in front of the herd as the rest of the horses turned to face me. It was incredible how strong her instincts were, even though I was standing several hundred metres away. The three new mares were quietly grazing off to one side; like the wild Brumby herds we’d seen in the Snowy Mountains, they watched us curiously rather than stressing out like Arana.
Feeling exhausted just watching her, I went back to the yards to check the other wild horses, and Alexa joined me to muck out. Once again, the colts crept closer and closer to us. When Alexa left to work Zali, I held hay out for the boys and within minutes Gundara was standing in front of me and stretching his head out to eat. He was an exceptional horse, and part of me was regretting that I was heading back to New Zealand; I would have loved to have tamed this beautiful Brumby stallion. Behind him, Molasses watched quietly before finally stepping forward to eat as well — it was amazing to think that just a few days ago they had been running wild in the mountains.
In the five minutes I had spent hand-feeding the stallions, Alexa had caught Zali — and the mare was standing quietly while Alexa brushed her all the way down her left side. I quietly moved over to watch as Alexa switched sides and groomed Zali on her right side; although tense for the first few minutes, the mare stood still, and as Alexa continued to work I could see the mare’s tension leaving her. Zali must have been on edge because of the poor weather; it was a huge relief to see her back at the level of training she’d been before Vicki left.
Confident that Zali would be ready to leave in just two days, we rang the vets and arranged for them to come out and tick-wash the horses, mark off their IDs, worm them and scan their microchips. The first vet arrived early, in town clothes, and tiptoed through the muddy yards to quickly complete the IDs before hopping in her car and driving the two hours back to Melbourne. A different vet was required to do the more physical work and Anne, a lovely lady with great horse sense, arrived soon afterwards to tick off all the other boxes. To our surprise, the tick wash was more of a tick spray — all our practice washing and sponging the Brumbies hadn’t been needed. The horses couldn’t have cared less about having a fine chemical mist dust their coats. Worming was next, and the vet was happy for us to worm the horses ourselves, under supervision so that she could mark it off as done; again, we needn’t have practised having strangers opening the horses’ mouths at this early stage. It was all far more uncomplicated than we’d anticipated, and soon all three Brumbies were signed off and ready for travel.
Drawn back to the yards, I spent some more time with Gundara. Since I’d been there first-hand to see him being saved, and knew just how close he’d been to heading to slaughter, I offered to sponsor him. My birthday was in just a week’s time and it was the best use of birthday money I could think off — not only saving a life but also supporting the work of the VBA. Having saved many wild horses over the years, we know just how expensive it can be. There’s no money in rescuing wild horses; mentally we have always written the financial loss off as charitable work, justifying it as giving back to the horses for everything they have enabled us to do over the years and for the invaluable learning opportunities that working with the wild horses provides.
The vet spraying Ballarat with tick wash.
Alexa worming Zali under supervision from the vet.
Often, it’s the emotive concept of saving a horse destined for slaughter that grabs at people’s heart-strings and encourages them to re-home or sponsor a wild horse; far too often, though, the support isn’t there for a horse that’s already been saved. Time and time again we’ve seen people and organisations with the means and experience to re-home and train wild horses strugg
le to find homes for those they’ve been training, even at a cheaper price than it would cost for people to take them directly from the wild themselves. Equally bad is seeing people with the time and experience to tame wild horses be limited in how many they can work with due to the financial costs involved. If the demand and the support for people to re-home horses isn’t there, it is not fair on the animals for them to be stockpiled — and nor is it feasible, as can be seen with the American Mustangs. Initiatives like the Australian Brumby Challenge and the Brumby Gentling Clinics, which lead to homes for an extra 40 previously untouched horses, are allowing the VBA to save twice as many Brumbies as in previous years.
Gundara eating out of my hand, just days after arriving at the VBA, and less than a week since being trapped from the Snowy Mountains.
Bridie, Colleen’s daughter, befriending the orphan foal.
CHAPTER 11
Homeward Bound on a Cargo Plane
The box holding the Brumbies being loaded onto the cargo plane.
Twenty-four days after arriving in Australia, Alexa and I were set to leave again. Shyla, Ballarat and Zali had passed all their vet checks, their handling was at a sufficient level and we had run through check-lists in our heads to ensure that we had checked everything off. Colleen was driving us to the airport with the Brumbies, and we would be boarding the cargo plane with the horses, something we were relieved about.
Initially, we’d been told that the Brumbies would have to be based at a property near Melbourne for the two days leading to export, then be loaded onto a transporter and taken to the airport by strangers. We didn’t believe that this was suitable for the Brumbies and even considered driving the horses 10 hours north to Sydney where the rules were more relaxed. Fortunately, however, we’d been able to get an exemption allowing us to transport the horses to the Melbourne airport and load them ourselves. As we were flying with them, we would also be able to check on the horses throughout the flight. Without that routine, and having familiar people around the horses, there is no way that we would have considered flying the Brumbies back to New Zealand at this stage in their handling.
Managing the horses was a huge responsibility for Alexa and me, and in those final days there were many times when we wished that Vicki and Amanda hadn’t gone back early. Soon the afternoon of departure was upon us. Everything was ready except our bags, which still needed to be packed, and we were literally counting down the minutes. Then, we received a call from the airline to say that the plane was arriving an hour ahead of schedule; in a flurry, we shoved clothes in suitcases, grabbed our tack boxes and everything else and hurriedly loaded it all in the ute before catching and loading the Brumbies.
Three hours later we arrived at the cargo area of the airport and signed in before unloading the horses in the dark. In the loading area, a small fenced corral on the tarmac lit by spotlights, stood the cargo box with a ramp leading up to it. Once the horses were loaded, the box would be towed to the plane and loaded on. Because Zali was the most difficult, we decided to load her first and get her safely in her stall so that we could focus on the remaining two horses. Alexa led her slowly up the ramp — she didn’t even hesitate, walking into the narrow enclosure like a seasoned pro and standing quietly while she was tied up and the gate behind her shut. Next in was Ballarat and last Shyla; both were as relaxed as Zali. It was a huge relief. With nothing left to do, we loaded our gear into the front of the box and settled in for a long wait; we had allowed 90 minutes for loading the horses, in case something went wrong or they were unsure in the dark, but all three combined had taken just seven minutes.
Time passed slowly while we stayed with the horses to keep an eye on them. Travelling with wild horses after less than a month of handling wasn’t something we wanted to take for granted and we remained with them until their cargo box was safely loaded on the plane. Only then did we join the pilots and the groom employed by the airline to oversee the horses’ flight. Travelling in a cargo plane was a novelty, and we loved the experience. The seats were larger and more spacious than in a passenger aircraft, the bathroom was twice as big and the meals were gourmet in comparison — and you could help yourself to food and drink whenever you wanted. There were even rooms with beds for long-haul flights. No wonder Amanda hadn’t complained about flying cargo when she’d flown her pony Showtym Viking to Denmark a few years earlier — it was basically like flying first-class. Even better, we had excellent access to the horses to check on them throughout the flight, and were allowed to join the pilots in the cockpit for take-off and landing, which was thrilling.
We arrived in Auckland just before sunrise and were met at the airport by Vicki and Amanda. All three Brumbies unloaded quietly and walked straight onto the horse truck, although it was their first time loading onto one; previously they had only loaded onto a stock trailer, which just had a step up rather than a ramp. They were certainly well-travelled ponies! One of the airport staff made a comment about how quiet they were; countless horses had to be drugged to fly, or to load onto transporters at the end of their trip. The staff couldn’t believe that these horses had been completely untouched just a few weeks ago, especially Zali who had had just 12 days of handling. Even we were impressed with their behaviour; although we’d put plenty of time and work into preparing them for the trip, with horses nothing’s a sure thing and we’d been prepared for a few issues to arise. In every way, the Brumbies had exceeded our expectations.
Although amazed by how straight-forward the horses were to handle, the airline staff were taken aback by their size, condition and appearance; I’m sure many of them wondered just what we could see in these feral-looking ponies, or why we were investing so much time and money into taming them. In some ways that’s part of the beauty of working with wild horses: the transformations are often not only from wild to tame but also from poor to well-conditioned; in addition, we’ve always begun taming wild horses in winter, when their fluffy coats hide much of their true beauty. Working with wild horses can be likened to finding a diamond in the rough; as a trainer you have to dig deep to see their potential, and then spend endless hours polishing the horses to realise it.
Many people ask why, as professional horse trainers who compete at the top level, we bother spending time working with the wild ones — especially when (like now) we don’t get to pick the horses ourselves and have no control over age, height, colour, temperament, conformation or soundness. Sometimes we wonder the same thing! But while it’s not always easy, and the time invested is huge, the lessons these horses have taught us have been so worth it. And it’s not necessarily so much what these horses can teach us, but rather what we can teach others by sharing their stories. If we can inspire better welfare for horses, and encourage others to produce happier and sounder animals, then I think we’ve done something right in life. Throughout every level of horse ownership, the level of ignorance we often see is heartbreaking — and it’s the horses that have to suffer, in silence. We’ve learnt a lot over the years, and have come to realise that as horse owners it’s our responsibility to know when our horses are hurting and to know how to get them sound and comfortable again. Horses are constantly trying to communicate with us — all we need to do is truly listen — and we’re very thankful that the wild horses have given us a platform for inspiring others to look out for their horses’ best interests.
The Brumbies waiting to load in the dark.
Zali, Shyla and Ballarat inside the cargo box, ready to load onto the plane.
We’re often asked why we consider wild horses to be the best teachers: it’s because, unlike domestic horses, they aren’t dulled down. Every reaction is a true reaction, so that the horses become a true reflection of your ability as a trainer. If you are too hard on them or hurt them — even if only by accident — they become mistrustful. If you allow them to take the easy path every time, you develop a lazy horse with a poor work ethic; but if you constantly nag them with your hands or legs without getting a response, then you desens
itise them to these aids, sentencing them to a life of kids needing whips and spurs when riding them. We take the responsibility of training young and wild horses very seriously, because we know that what they learn first they learn best. If we can set them up to seek human companionship, be bold and willing to try new things, and be soft in the mouth, responsive to the leg and able to enjoy their life, then we know we’ve done well. Already we were starting to see many of these attributes in our Brumbies; as we drove north, heading home, we wondered what lessons these wild horses would teach us and where their story would take us; the only thing we knew for sure is that the road ahead was bound to have some twists and turns we wouldn’t see coming.
The Brumbies all loaded up and ready to fly.
Checking on the Brumbies mid-flight.
CHAPTER 12
In the Winterless North
Shyla’s first beach ride after arriving in New Zealand.
