Riding Through the Hoodoos

by Heidi Laughton (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

A leap into the unknown USA

“Follow the path down to the corral, you can’t miss it” the white-mustached gentleman at the horse-trek counter at Bryce Lodge pointed in the right direction. Walking through the sweet pines he was right, the small wooden corral was easy to find and already filled with dusty horses and mules with closed eyes and droopy necks as the warmth of the morning sun began to filter through the trees. At first I thought I must be the only person there, then as I looked closer I made out three bodies lying stiffly on wooden benches - the bodies of spur-wearing cowboys, lying on their backs, arms folded, booted toes pointing towards the sky and large stetsons covering their faces. I sat down at the end of a bench next to one set of the leather booted feet and waited. A few minutes later some other riders began to arrive and eventually the cowboys yawned and stirred. Stretching their arms and clanking their leathers and spurs as they walked, they began to round up the horses The lead cowboy took one look at each of the guests and allotted us a horse each. “You” he nodded in my direction “ask for Red River”. A younger, Stetsoned dude with a small downy mustache, took me to my steed and I was instantly in love - Red River, a very apt name considering I had recently completed a river float trip down the colorado a few days earlier in my trip, was rusty red with a white blaze and speckled grey face. His soft white muzzle blew into my face as we greeted each other. “keep up and keep in the same order you are given” our guide Joe - his handle-bars creeping down his chin like ivy - shouted over his shoulder as he led the way out of the ranch and straight onto the narrowest of trails with a scary drop to the side. Eek, I hoped Red River was as sure-footed as he seemed. Why did he insist on walking on the edge? The rider in front had the opposite problem as his horse kept to the inside of the trail, brushing his riders legs on all the trees and forcing him to bend under each craggy rock. A few minutes later, our fears conquered and nerves settled, we are all distracted beyond imagination by our surroundings. We were riding right through the hoodoos - it was straight out of a western movie, but even better. The peaks and spears, once giant sand dunes, have been eroded over years into the majestic spikes they now appear. It’s hard to imagine that 60 million years ago, this plateau lay beneath a huge lake, the mineral deposits in the silt, mud and sand give the hoodoos their many colours now glowing in the sun, coral pink, burnt sienna, russet umber and creamy yellows in the layers of alternating limestone, sandstone and silt. The hoodoos now stand like silent statues reaching upwards in a glorious natural amphitheater, surrounded by forests. We ride down Navajo loop and Peek-a-boo loop before taking shade for a break and some water refreshments. Wondering at the permanent grin fixed onto my face, Joe teases “it gets even better, you haven’t seen anything yet”. We ride up through the sandstone turrets and make our way below the “wall of windows” where the hoodoos stand like the ruins of an ancient cathedral wall against the skyline. “Come on Red River” Joe shouts down and breaks into my daydream. I was having a moment - one of those rare moments so hard to describe where I’m in awe of the land. Maybe this is what the Navajo mean by “Hozho”, the concept of balance and unity between nature, beauty and existence. Joe continued to lead the group with non-stop (very good!) jokes and my little steed followed cordially. The half-day ride finished back at the corral where I sadly said goodbye to Red River and Joe took the reigns of at least a dozen horses together and led them away in a bowl of hooves and dust - and just like that, whoosh they were gone