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I Survived Edgemont, (I think)
By Anita Martin
I am not a novice horse person. I grew up riding horses, showing in 4-H, trail riding, barrel racing, pole bending, etc. Not being a novice, I also realize that not being a novice means absolutely nothing when it comes to new experiences on horseback, and as far as I am concerned, each ride is a new experience, therefore I have come to the conclusion that I will always be a novice.
Anyway, I was DEFINATELY considered a novice last year during my first competitive trail riding season, and righty so. The first ride I did was the Biltmore. Anyone ever done that NATRC ride? It's beautiful and I highly recommend it, especially for "novice" riders or horses. Ah..., I can do this I thought. Even my little arab mare, still wet behind the ears had no trouble at all negotiating the course. She did buck several times at a canter going uphill, but then, I guess it is considered bad form to canter uphill anyway.
In the NATRC booklet that describes each ride in the current season, there was a little blurb about a ride in Edgemont, NC that was fairly close to home. My friend Sherrie'' and I decided we wanted to do another NATRC ride, and Edgemont wasn't too far away, so we decided to do it. The blurb stated the usual about breast collars, cruppers, well-conditioned horses, and SHOES being recommended. My horse and I had never used any of those things, and so I paid no heed to the advice. I did however, worry just a bit about the warnings for Brown Mountain. It said we should stay away from the edge because "it will cave off." I thought they meant on horseback. They didn't. They meant keep your TRUCK and TRAILER away from the edge, which proved more than a little difficult on the very busy one-lane gravel road.
None of my childhood camping adventures had prepared me for the shock of this teeny weeny, narrow, winding, caving-off, one thousand foot drops into the abyss, gravel road. Luckily I wasn't driving. After nearly being side-swiped by a lady in a green mini van doing a 90 mile an hour mad dash down the mountain my friend Sherrie' and I got very quiet. This road was serious business. The higher we climbed, the more tight-chested I got. I wanted to close my eyes, but I was afraid to look away from the road. Sherrie' was telling me how beautiful the river was, a million or so feet over the cliff. It probably was, but I wasn't about to look down there to see it.
We had directions to the camp, but at the very last right turn we were to make, there was no sign as the directions had promised, so we kept going. The road started to narrow even more, so we stopped and asked advice from some locals. They said a lot of people had came through the night before, some pulling trailers. (We later decided they had been hallucinating, or more likely, drunk). We continued on. We came to a bridge that seemed much narrower and longer than the others. "Okay," we thought, that last turn must be on the other side of THIS bridge. It wasn't.
There wasn't anything on the other side of that bridge. Not even a place to turn around, which was what we had decided to do. So up the mountain we went. We both began praying to Jesus for help. The solution that came to me was to stop the truck, unload the horses, ride them down the mountain, and send some big strong men back up after the truck. Well, it wasn't my truck, and Sherrie' didn't really like that idea. I guess I couldn't blame her. But, I thought, I could get out, saddle my horse and ride down the mountain for help. Secretly I was thinking that by the time I got a mile down the road, Sherrie' would have figured out how to turn the rig around and come and pick us up. We weren't going slow enough for me to jump out of the door without getting hurt, but I was keeping my eyes open for the first opportunity to bail. Some friend I am, huh?
Jesus finally took pity on us, and at the top of the mountain, a turn-around appeared. For anyone who has never been to the top of Brown Mountain, my advice is DON'T DO IT! Especially not pulling a trailer full of horses that you really like. It might be a good place to take a mean and grumpy mother-in-law for a Sunday drive though. Certainly she would come down a changed woman. If she started acting up after that, you could just sweetly remind her of Brown Mountain. She'd get right back in line.
I am sure many a soul has been saved from eternal hell on the side of that mountain. After we turned around and drove back down, we were so happy we went ahead and took the bridge the instructions directed us too, minus the sign, and lo and behold, right through a canopy of big green trees, hidden from view, was the NATRC camp we had been looking for. We pulled in and parked, but didn't see anyone official-looking right away to curse or strangle for nearly getting us killed, and by the time we had unloaded the horses and went to sign in our emotions had cooled and we were saved from spending the night in jail for assult, although jail would have been much warmer.
Everyone was really nice and we got a great dinner and a warm fire to sit around. And we got stories from the many-timers of previous rides at Edgemont. Stories about steep rock climbs and trecherous desents and horses falling off cliffs and riders landing in rhododendren bushes. We learned that this ride was the toughest in the region. Did I mention my horse and I were under-conditioned? Or that Amira had just been started under saddle the spring of the same year, or never worn shoes or even seen a crupper?
I was ready to pull. And then to top it off someone mentioned that this was not a ride for the faint of heart or a first time NATRC rider. I am definately the former, and apparently Biltmore doesn't really qualify as a "challenging" ride. Oh, and I had been riding regularly as an adult for only a year. Did I mention that?
Well, after our heaters gave out around 1am, I couldn't sleep for being so cold. We restarted the heaters about 5am and then before I could get warm it was time to get up. I don't know how cold it was, but it was too cold to get up. By the time we finally got the courage to uncover ourselves and get ready to ride it was time to ride. No time for coffee, which in retrospect, probably saved me from having a nervous breakdown on that mountain later in the day. (Fewer nervous coffee jitters). An alcoholic drink would have been just the thing, but I didn't have one of those either, nor the time to drink it. Ah well.
I had been having trouble with my feet slipping through my stirrups so I grabbed a pack of vet wrap to wrap the stirrups with for extra grip. Grabbing the vet wrap as they were yelling for the novice riders, I forgot my helmet. Two feet out the gate and my horse spooked, sending my vet wrap flying. No time to get down and pick it up. So, I was heading out on the most trecherous ride in the region with my feet in danger of slipping through my stirrups and no head protection.
We started out going down a nice flat gravel road. We trotted to make time and warm our horses up, at Mary's Britt's suggestion. She was so kind to ride with us, although at first I wasn't sure about it, as her horse was shod and his shoes on the road were making noises that kept spooking my mare. Once we got off the road and headed up the trail, the shoes were no longer a problem and Sherrie' and I were both really glad to have Mary along as a guide and for moral support. She was a real pro, having done this ride and lots of others many times before.
I know I am only a novice, but I swear that those trails up that mountain have got to be some of the most trecherous trails there are, and I never, ever, ever, would have thought I could ride a horse up them. They were washouts, steep-sided, rock-covered, narrow, and downright dangerous in places. There was no way in the world I thought we could do it. But when Sherrie' and her horse went up the hill, and Mary and her experienced horse went up the hill, there was nothing else for me and my little mare to do, so I figured we'd try the hill. It was tough. It was scary. If she would have spooked we'd have both fallen down a cliff. She didn't spook. She just kept going. At the top of the trail about 11 miles in, was a P&R. Oh good I thought, this must be our 45 minute hold like at the Biltmore. I asked if this was our lunch break. The judges laughed. We had a 10 minute hold and then we went back the way we came, only this time negotiating the trails from hell down, instead of up.
I was more scared. I could envison us catapulting to the bottom in a bloody heap. My horse seemed a little happier going back down. The judge's noisy truck going past us on the road didn't bother her at all. In fact, nothing much was concerning my spooky little Arab mare. I let her grab a bite of grass every chance she could. Amazingly the ride down the hill didn't seem as bad as the ride up. Maybe because the shock had somewhat worn off. We were all happy going down and then I noticed Mary tightening up her crupper. My saddle had never slipped, luckily for me, and my horse didn't need a crupper. But, I had never gone down the mountain at Edgemont. Within a mile of downward travel I was sitting on my horse's minimal withers. Soon I began asking Mary about the benefits of using a crupper as I watched my saddle inch forward further and further. Finally Mary pointed out that my horse was probaably going to be sore because her girth was sliding forward and rubbing the backs of her legs, and I was riding on her neck. I wondered outloud if I should stop and rearranged it or if it would be a fruitless attempt until we leveled out a little. About then, Sherrie's horse, Katie, who is an Appy with a very sparse tail stopped alongside the trail. My horse stopped right behind her, and since I had been encouraging her to drop her head and eat all day, she did it this time too. The rear-end of my saddle flew up in the air, catipulting me over her head. I grabbed at Katie's tail, swishing over her ample butt, but it was too sparse to help me and I so I landed with a thud on my helmetless head. I had visions of never seeing my horse again. Usually when I came off she ran back to the barn. She decided to stay this time. I guess she didn't know where the barn was.
After a few minutes of feeling sorry for myself, I told Mary that I thought a crupper was a very good idea, and made a mental note to buy one as soon as I got home. The rest of the ride was uneventful. Our horses, (our BAREFOOT horses) came in sound. I could still walk after dismounting, so I considered the ride a success.
Would I do Edgemont again? I'm still not sure. I feel more empowered now, much less a fraidy-cat rider, more trusting of my horse. The people at Edgemont were extremely nice and helpful, and knowing now how to get there, and having survived it once, I just might have to go back again and do it. I'll take my camera this time though because all my friends think I am exaggerating when I tell them just how tough it really was.
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