Mike and I went horseback riding on one of those nose-to-tail group trail rides that departed from near the “Grand Canyon of Yellowstone” on our second day in Yellowstone NP.
Just the smell of horse lifted my spirits as we moved along in a group. I enjoyed the vistas of late summer meadow, the clinking of the bridles and clack of shod hooves on stones. We spotted osprey nesting near the precipitous canyon, the dinosaur-like skeleton of a bison, and alarming slash marks made by a grizzly. I enjoyed the tail switching and ear swiveling as I coaxed a little interaction out of the gelding I’ve been assigned, while Mike looked ridiculously tall on a bald-faced old campaigner named Bert.
The main wrangler, a Native American guessing by his high cheekbones, tan skin and waist length, glossy black hair worn loose under a cowboy hat, rode his paint gelding backwards to talk to us on the trail.
He told us that he’d raced horses when younger and had been to a M…
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