Saddling Up

The next morning, we arise to see for the first time where we really are. We are on a simple ranch, but nothing about the scenery is simple. In one direction, we see their grazing horses against a backdrop straight from a movie set, except it's real. In another direction, mountain flowers paint the ground with purples, yellows and blues. It is heart-stopping beautiful.

After washing up in the stream, Askar and son start rounding up the horses, but not to be saddled -- yet. First, the mares need to be milked. (Fermented mare's milk is a famous Kyrgyz drink.) I had not heard of milking horses, but Askar says they can be milked up to five times a day.

Then, the saddles come out. The saddles look like a wooden frame, with little to no leather attached. My butt is anticipating several hours in these, and I wince. But, atop a saddle blanket, they put on these saddles "frames", another thick blanket, then a cinch that goes around the entire works. By the time I'm seated, it feels very comfortable.

The horses are well trained. They are not small ponies, but the same size as an American quarter horse. We all name our horses: mine is Blue Babbette; Beth's is Loretta; Mark's is Lucky; and Jim's is Star. The mouth noises Askar and his son use with them are obviously different than our "giddy-up" and "whoa;" I can't roll my r's so I'm unable to even make one of the sounds. But, my horse is trained for neck reining and responds well to me.

We ultimately ride a 30 mile round trip over two days through mountainous terrain, including fording quite fast-running streams. I assume correctly that my horse knows where to plant his hooves better than I and I give him a lot of rein.