The Spirit of the Ride
Word had got around to meet up at the station. Everyone who was anyone would be there! The station's most valued horse had gotten out and had joined up with the wild bush horses. By the time I showed up, I could see old Harrison there and even Clancy of the overflow, two bloody good horsemen if ever there were any. And their horses are so majestic; they put my own little ride to shame just on size comparison! But you see my own, although he's not a full thoroughbred, is a hardy little pony who has seen many a hard run, even before I broke him! He can take on any of those full sized thoroughbred's in a heartbeat and probably even win when it got down to the crunch. You could see this pony has fire in his eyes!
Anyway, old Harrison reckoned my little pony wouldn't hack it, that the mountains were too rough, but Clancy stood up for me and suggested they let me ride along. Clancy believes in me, he knows I'm from the mountains and my pony too, we'll keep up with them, not a problem!
You see I'm from the Snowy River up Kosciusko way; hills are rough and steep there. The ponies that come from the mountains need to have sturdy footing to handle the rough terrain. That's been my home for as long as I can remember, that's where the best horsemen come from, and I'm one of them, Clancy knew this!
So off we went riding to search where the horses went, and we found them by a big mimosa clump. Trouble arose when they saw us and they bolted toward the base of the mountain. Old Harrison told us to take the horses by the jump, and he instructed Clancy to steer them to the right. He warned us to not shy away 'cause if those horses gathered the shelter of the hills, we'd lose them for good.
So Clancy rode off to steer them to the right and you could see him as he rode like a madman. He raced to keep up with the wild horses till he was equal with them and as he met them face to face, you could hear the echo as he cracked his stockwhip. They halted but only for a moment before changing their direction and running toward the mountain scrub where it'd be harder to round them up. We cracked our stockwhips, as we followed, to push the horses to their limits; the fierce echoes came back to taunt us from the surrounding cliffs and crags. We chased the herd along the cliff tops rising ever higher toward the summit.
I could hear Harrison cursing that we'd have to call it a day, 'cause there's no way we can follow them down the other side of the mountain. Sure enough when we reached the summit, everyone, even Clancy, reigned back their horses. No one was game to follow, but here's where I came into my own; this is my kind of country now and my pony knows this terrain, so I let him have his head as we flew over the edge. I have faith in his confident footing, and sure enough, he's cleared everything from the wombat holes to loose logs, so all I have to focus on is staying in the saddle.
I didn't dare glance back, but I'll bet you anything those others were all halted up at the summit still, well I reckon let them, my ride could handle this not a problem! He knew how to handle this kind of a mountain, he's done it many times before, to slide down with loose debris, sending flint stones flying; so going down this mountain at speed is second nature to him, and as he raced past the trees and saplings, it was clear it was something he was confident in.
Anyway, I let him have his head till we reached the bottom and only then did I draw the bridle in. I stayed right with the horses as they climbed the next hill, fiercely I plied my stockwhip, I stayed with them through the gully and into the rolling hills, onward until finally they wore themselves out.
Then, and only then, I mustered them and turned their heads for home. My pony exhausted, and bloody from hip to shoulder from my spurs, but I can hold my head up high that my pony held his own, and still with spirit strong steered the wild horses on. Back to the station, just the two of us, alone and unassisted by any of the other mob that I rode out with earlier in the day.
I reckon from this day forward, after this ride, I'll be a household name from the mountain top to the wide plains. After all, I AM the Man from Snowy River and other stockmen will always tell the story of my ride!
To read the poem this blog is based on, you can view it here:
http://www.middlemiss.org/lit/authors/patersonab/poetry/snowy.html
Anyway, old Harrison reckoned my little pony wouldn't hack it, that the mountains were too rough, but Clancy stood up for me and suggested they let me ride along. Clancy believes in me, he knows I'm from the mountains and my pony too, we'll keep up with them, not a problem!
You see I'm from the Snowy River up Kosciusko way; hills are rough and steep there. The ponies that come from the mountains need to have sturdy footing to handle the rough terrain. That's been my home for as long as I can remember, that's where the best horsemen come from, and I'm one of them, Clancy knew this!
So off we went riding to search where the horses went, and we found them by a big mimosa clump. Trouble arose when they saw us and they bolted toward the base of the mountain. Old Harrison told us to take the horses by the jump, and he instructed Clancy to steer them to the right. He warned us to not shy away 'cause if those horses gathered the shelter of the hills, we'd lose them for good.
So Clancy rode off to steer them to the right and you could see him as he rode like a madman. He raced to keep up with the wild horses till he was equal with them and as he met them face to face, you could hear the echo as he cracked his stockwhip. They halted but only for a moment before changing their direction and running toward the mountain scrub where it'd be harder to round them up. We cracked our stockwhips, as we followed, to push the horses to their limits; the fierce echoes came back to taunt us from the surrounding cliffs and crags. We chased the herd along the cliff tops rising ever higher toward the summit.
I could hear Harrison cursing that we'd have to call it a day, 'cause there's no way we can follow them down the other side of the mountain. Sure enough when we reached the summit, everyone, even Clancy, reigned back their horses. No one was game to follow, but here's where I came into my own; this is my kind of country now and my pony knows this terrain, so I let him have his head as we flew over the edge. I have faith in his confident footing, and sure enough, he's cleared everything from the wombat holes to loose logs, so all I have to focus on is staying in the saddle.
I didn't dare glance back, but I'll bet you anything those others were all halted up at the summit still, well I reckon let them, my ride could handle this not a problem! He knew how to handle this kind of a mountain, he's done it many times before, to slide down with loose debris, sending flint stones flying; so going down this mountain at speed is second nature to him, and as he raced past the trees and saplings, it was clear it was something he was confident in.
Anyway, I let him have his head till we reached the bottom and only then did I draw the bridle in. I stayed right with the horses as they climbed the next hill, fiercely I plied my stockwhip, I stayed with them through the gully and into the rolling hills, onward until finally they wore themselves out.
Then, and only then, I mustered them and turned their heads for home. My pony exhausted, and bloody from hip to shoulder from my spurs, but I can hold my head up high that my pony held his own, and still with spirit strong steered the wild horses on. Back to the station, just the two of us, alone and unassisted by any of the other mob that I rode out with earlier in the day.
I reckon from this day forward, after this ride, I'll be a household name from the mountain top to the wide plains. After all, I AM the Man from Snowy River and other stockmen will always tell the story of my ride!
To read the poem this blog is based on, you can view it here:
http://www.middlemiss.org/lit/authors/patersonab/poetry/snowy.html