What a trip!

I fell in love with a mare named Nippissi. One part mountain goat, one part camel, and an all around smart red roan QH/Draft cross.

My trip out to Alberta was uneventful, and I eventually spotted my fellow crew in the arrivals waiting area as our shuttle was stuck in traffic. I met "the dude", a recently retired psychologist from San Francisco, who inspired confidence with his "let it flow" attitude. And "the medic", a young vet from Switzerland who loved to travel the world on crazy adventures, and was on her fourth pack trip with this outfit. And then "the sleeper", a quiet but wild stewardess who wanted to gallop every mountain she could find, and was doing her second trip with this outfit. Our fifth guest "the mom" was waiting for us at the lodge, a retired teacher that had been coming to the ranch for 17 years, every single year. Turns out, the dude and I were the only newbies. Him, cool as a cucumber. Me, anxious until the final days.

We met our hosts at the ranch, our father and son guides, as well as the volunteers ("the spirit guide" and "the caretaker") that would be joining us and helping out with logistics and meal prep. In our herd of 9, we were 5 "guests". As we introduced ourselves, and spoke of our likes/dislikes re:horses, I felt it was important to say that I dislike other peoples horses. That I was a one-horse-woman, with a one-woman-horse. "Did you bring your horse then?" They laughed.

I had been at this ranch before, in 2019 for a day ride before spending the weekend at Spruce Meadows for the Masters, a gift from my husband who continues to indulge my equine love affaire. I had been really impressed with the quality of their horses, the professionalism, and most important ... their horsemanship. The way they organized the horses, paddocks, feedings, tackroom ... spoke volumes about their priorities. And so I put their pack trips on my bucket list ... and with my 50th bday around the corner ... here I was again.

Our first ride out was in the mountains, and was 6 hours of rocky slopes, switchbacks, river crossings, and some bushwhacking around fallen trees. My Nippissi took it all in stride. The horses drank their fill of water in the rivers and streams, and got to graze when we took breaks. Nippissi showed me her lovely jog, and her smooth as silk canter, as well as her trail smarts when we crossed the rocky beds in the river. I finished that first day thinking this mare and I would get along just fine, even if she did yank my arms out of its sockets to graze at every gate crossing.

As we did a steep switchback down to another river crossing, we were warned that the river was still frozen in the deep shade of this section and that we might have to get off to walk across. As we approached, the guide said we could cross astride, but that we should be prepared for the horse to leap across the crevasse. All the horses before me sat back and leaped over. My Nippissi approached the crevasse, looked down, and with that bored look of a smart mare just stepped across.

Our second ride out was higher up in the mountains, on a grey day promising of rain. While we stayed dry, with our oilskins tied to the backs of our saddles, we started our "off the beaten trail" theme, walking on narrow slopes between trees. My confidence was building in Nippissi, so when I would look forward and see where we were going, I just released my need for control and let Nippissi figure it out. We stopped for lunch in a beautiful meadow of red willow, which in Cree is Nippissi. I took many pictures of the mare I was falling in love with.

The following day, we packed up the horses and gear, and trailered to Writing-on-Stone provincial park, where we would begin our multi-day 150 km trek across canyons, grasslands and prairies. A landscape so unusual and varied, the images etched in my memory. 

Not having camped or slept in a tent in almost 20 years, I was a bit nervous. With recommendations to not overdress in my sleeping bag, I settled in with shorts and a t-shirt, to then wake up 2 hours later in full body shivers and teeth chattering. And I needed to pee. I can not tell you how hard it was to pull myself out of that sleeping bag to go outside. It took me 30 minutes to convince myself, after which I proceeded to run around the tents to warm up. When I got back in my tent, I entered my sleeping bag fully clothed, zipped up the sleeping bag, and then pulled my oilskin coat over. And then, I slept like a baby. When I finally woke up at 6 am, with the sun brightly shining, I discovered ice on my tent. Temperatures had dropped to -5C.

That morning, as we fed and tacked up the horses, I noticed our senior guide coiling a lasso. I asked why and he said "for a river rescue". 

Um, what??? 

Yep, we had to cross the Milk River at its deepest point to get to the Police Coulee. The river was running hard and strong, and it wasn't clear where the best crossing point was. Our guide said that the deepest part would likely be 2 m after entry, and that if the two guides disappeared to not follow them. 

Um, what???

The horses were thirsty, not having had access to water since the day before, and I was anxious to get my smart mare to water a.s.a.p. But this river crossing was something else. I watched with some trepidation as our senior guide approached the water first. He pushed his horse hard to get down the steep bank and into the water. I watched closely as he got past the 2 m mark. He seemed ok, so I ventured after him, keeping my eye tight on the egress point as the water kept pushing us downriver. My tank of a mare was sucking back the water like a camel, as she pushed her weight into the water pressure. Steady progress we made across the river, my feet tucked up to avoid getting drenched. We popped out the other side, and then the real adventure began.