See the Real Arizona on the Back of a Horse

On Horseback in Monument Valley, the Old Southwest Gets Very Personal alloping getaway

alloping getaway

Reigned energy was suddenly loose, and the red sandstone wash below Monument Valley's monoliths resounded with the thunder of hooves, the cries of riders, and the slap of leather. Then, out of the dust cloud, a 1,200-pound quarter horse materialized, forked by a huge rider. When the man held up his left hand, the thundering stopped, and the dust cloud settled, exposing 15 more horses, snorting and sweating, bearing startled but exuberant male and female riders. "Jeez," I muttered. As calmly as I could, I pulled my kerchief off my mouth, adjusted my cowboy hat on my head, leaned over my gray Arabian, and stroked its head.

The big man, Don Donnelly, grinned at me.

"Hey, kid, how was that?" he asked. "Great," I gasped, managing a smile. "Just great."

The truth? I wondered why I wasn't flat on my back somewhere down the wash. My knees were shaking. If I tried to say more than a few words, I'd stutter.

This was only the first full day of Donnelly's week-long Monument Valley horseback tour and my first lope. I made it, but there I was, feeling like a kid: near tears, scared witless, charged by the thrill... and anxious to do it again.

If you want rousing fun and the empowering feeling of being young again, take a ride through Monument Valley with Don Donnelly of Gold Canyon Ranch on the lee side of the Superstitions.

Granted, unless you're an experienced rider, you're going to hurt a little - okay, a lot - especially for the first few days. When your horse takes off on a lope or a gallop down a winding wash, your nerves might be tested. When you're sitting on your horse at the edge of a sandstone ridge with the wind blowing at you 60 miles an hour, you might even feel a little intimidated.

But you'll get over all that, and it surely will be with regret that you hand in your bridle at the end of the ride.

The trip, in late May, began on a Sunday in Gallup, New Mexico, where a dozen people who'd signed up for the ride stayed the night at the Rodeway Inn. It was get-to-know-each-other night in preparation for the next day's drive to Navajo Guy Cly's ranch in Monument Valley and the actual start of the trail ride. This was Donnelly's fourth spring expedition through the valley, and he and his wife, Shelly, met most of us at the Gallup airport.

At dinner, we introduced ourselves. Four of the group had traveled across the world for the trip: two men from Erwitte, Germany, and a couple from Essex, England. Also among the group were a professor from the University of Southern California, a businesswoman from Boston, a lawyer from Portland, Oregon, an educational-software developer from New York City, an expert rider from Carmel, California, and a travel agency owner, also from Portland.

By 7:00 the next morning, we were traveling in a van toward Monument Valley. The plan was that horses would be matched to us at Cly's, and then we'd ride for three hours to our camp on Navajo sheepherder Suzie Yazzie's property at the base of Thunderbird Mesa. Donnelly, a slow-talking John Wayne look-alike, explained that a permanent camp was set up at the mesa. Each day, he said, we'd ride from the camp to points in Monument Valley, eat lunch on the trail, and return late in the afternoon for dinner and sleep on cots in tents.

By 1:00 P.M. we were standing outside the Cly corral. Donnelly was in the middle with his cowboys, calling to us as the wranglers led out horses.

Up stepped a small gray Arabian. Donnelly called my name. I entered the corral, lifted my left foot into the stirrup, and pulled myself up.

"This is Stormy," Donnelly told me as he adjusted my stirrups. "Now, Shelly and I raised this horse. He's a good one. You're gonna' like ol' Stormy."

Well, it took me a day or two to really appreciate it, but Donnelly was right. Stormy was well-behaved, responded quickly, and was genuinely tolerant of the inexperienced lump on its back.

We arrived at Thunderbird Mesa about 4:30 P.M. Several spring-frame tents already were set up, and cots, sleeping bags, and pillows were stacked neatly for us to claim. Our gear was unloaded, and each of us chose our "home" for the week ahead.

Then I went off to investigate the strange bright-blue structures at the edge of the camp.

Out in the middle of nowhere, here were shower stalls with streaming generator-heated water. Outside the stalls were sinks with running hot and cold water and mirrors with lights above them.

Later that night, after chicken-fried steaks, mashed potatoes, milk gravy, biscuits, salad, green beans, carrots, corn on the cob, and cherry cobbler, I asked Donnelly how he matched riders with horses.

"I've done it for so long," he said, seated and stretching his legs. "Near 25 years now. I don't know if I can tell you all the things I consider. The size of the person, size of the horse. I can tell how a person is gonna' ride the horse by the way he

alloping getaway

takes the bridle. Now, Stormy - I picked him for you 'cuz he's short, and you're short. He's narrow, so he'll be more comfortable for you when you ride. He walks nice, and he's gonna' be easy for you to get off and on. "We know these horses," Donnelly said. "They're ours, and there isn't a horse in the bunch that's going to do anything stupid like buck you or run off with you. The safest horse you can ride is the horse that works every day because that horse knows what he's supposed to do. He knows his job he carries passengers and he comes to go to work."

Our group of "passengers" included a mix of novice, intermediate, and experienced riders. The first day and every day after, Donnelly and his wranglers routinely stopped the ride, got off their horses, and checked each of us to make sure our stirrups were adjusted correctly, our saddles were secure, and we were generally all right. If proper equipment, good horses, and safety checks are the signs of a good outfitter, Don Donnelly Stables has all the bases covered. There wasn't a single mishap in the seven days. The horses didn't try to buck us off and never ran away. They trotted when we commanded, slowed and stopped when we pulled the reins, backed up when we said "back" and galloped when we sat deep into the saddle and gave them a nudge in the ribs. The morning of the first full day - and every day that week - we ate a breakfast of eggs to order, ham, bacon, homemade biscuits, French toast, pancakes, O'Brien potatoes, oatmeal, cold cereal, fresh fruit, orange juice, milk, and coffee. The cooks were John Hopkins, a graduate of the Culinary Institute of America, and John Burden, who has managed and owned dude ranches and resorts in Arizona. We packed our own lunches, and by 9:00 A.M. we were riding deep into an ancient red world of monoliths, eerie Anasazi petroglyphs, washes teeming with shards and remnants of arrowheads, sand dunes, and whistling wind. After lunch and watering the horses, Donnelly led us down a wash then brought the riders to a halt and announced that we were "gonna' lope." He raised his hand. I pushed the balls of my feet down into the stirrups, tightened my grip on the reins, and got ready. "Let's go!" Donnelly shouted. His hand came down, and we were off. I bounced all over the saddle, forgetting the advice I'd gotten from my business partner, Gail Dudley, who breeds, trains, and shows horses. Suddenly, my feet were out of the stirrups, and I was falling Out of the saddle. I anxiously pulled on the reins, yelled "whoa!" and cussed under my breath.

Mercifully, Stormy stopped. I pushed my feet back into the stirrups, settled into the saddle, and we were off again, at top speed, trying to catch up with the other riders.

By the time Donnelly raised his hand again, signaling the riders to stop, I was breathless.

Each day was like that: trotting by breathtaking rock monuments and breaking into breathless rides. I got better at staying in the saddle, thanks to Donnelly and his wranglers. They took the time to watch me, conferred about whether to shorten or lengthen my stirrups, and gave me pointers on how to stop bouncing in the saddle.

They also taught me about cowboy language. Example: cowboys don't use one word to describe anything. Ask how a wrangler feels, and it's "fine as a frog's hair." Ask if it's cold outside, a wrangler replies "cold as a mother-in-law's kiss." Ask if the trail's rough, and it's "rougher than sandpaper." Ask if a wrangler's sick, it's "sicker than a dog." Ask how tall the wrangler is, and you hear "six feet four until I take off my boots and hat. Then I'm 5 feet 10 like everyone else."

Also, you never get a straight answer from a wrangler. Ask what time it is, you get ""bout then." Ask where the trail leads, it's "up a ways." Ask where you're going, it's "where we're headin'."

One tip I got from a 78-year-old Donnelly wrangler, who calls himself Ol' Grizzly, is this: "Hon, I'll tell ya once and only once how ya know if a cowboy's lyin' it's when his lips is movin'." I'd be lying if I said the ride was all fun. It would have been except for the pain. If you don't ride as a rule, there are parts of your body that take a real beating, especially the insides of your knees and your backside. Also, your skin will rub itself raw against the horse if you don't know to wear protective underclothing, such as pantyhose. I had a painful problem that was caused by my own stupidity. I figured that real women should get up on their horses from level ground. So, being short, I'd sort of jump up and try to catch my left foot in the stirrup. Then I'd use the strength of my left leg to pull up. Well, after two days of that, the muscle in my left groin hurt so badly I had to use both my hands to lift my leg. I was swallowing three and four aspirins every six hours, hoping to make it through the trip. Then, on the third morning, I saw one of the more experienced riders do something I should have figured out on my own.

She led her horse to a rock, stood up on it, and mounted from there. Brilliant. I claimed the practice as my own and never had another problem. Another important point about the pain is this: by the fourth day, it's gone. True story. I didn't believe it when Donnelly and his wranglers said it would happen, but, by Thursday, the pain in the knees and derriere was gone. Even so, on Friday, the fifth day, I took a break from riding. I went to Goulding's lodge and the post office with Donnelly crew member Joni Kreus, who later took me to Suzie Yazzie's to watch the 71-yearold Navajo woman weave a blanket. That afternoon, I dared to go into Hopkins and Burden's fully equipped, spic-and-span portable kitchen and asked if I could help prepare dinner. They handed me a chef's apron and a knife. I cut the fresh broccoli into stalks, made a crisp green salad, sliced onions and red cabbage and sauteéd them on a hot griddle. Burden showed me how to make Dutch-oven biscuits and invited me to prepare them for breakfast at 6:00 the next morning. I did. They weren't just good. They were "good as gold in the Lost Dutchman Mine." And later that day, when I handed in my bridle at Cly's and took one last look at Stormy, I decided that the trip wasn't just fun. It was "fun as a fiddle at a coun-try dance."

Photo Workshop: Join photographer Gary Johnson, the Friends of Arizona Highways, and Don Donnelly Tours on a horseback tour of Monument Valley, June 7 to 12. For reservations and information, contact the Friends' Travel Desk, Arizona Highways, 2039 W. Lewis Ave., Phoenix, AZ 85009; (602) 271-5904.

WHEN YOU GO

Among the operations in Arizona that organize trail rides are: Don Donnelly Stables at Gold Canyon, 6010 S. Kings Ranch Road, Gold Canyon, AZ 85219; (602) 982-7822 or toll-free 1 (800) 3464403. Trail-ride areas include Superstition Wilderness, Tombstone, Monument Valley, Bradshaw Mountains, and White Mountains. Richardson Enterprises, with ranches in Phoenix, Scottsdale, Litchfield Park, and Mormon Lake; contact Ann Griggs, (602) 5850323. Trail-ride areas are throughout central and northern Arizona. They also offer treks to requested areas. Pusch Ridge Stables, contact Frank or Vickie Pitts, 11220 Ν. Oracle Road, Tucson, AZ 85737; (602) 297-6908. Trail-ride areas are Catalina State Park, Coronado National Forest, and southeastern Arizona.

Hitchin' Post Stables, contact Roger or Sandy Hartman, 448 Lake Mary Road, Flagstaff, AZ 86001; (602) 774-1719. Trail-ride areas include Walnut and Sycamore canyons, San Francisco Peaks, and other northern Arizona locations. Perkins Wilderness Trail Rides, contact Marion Perkins, P.O. Box 101, Williams, AZ 86046; (602) 635-9349. Trail-ride areas include Sycamore Wilderness, Verde River, and Mingus Mountain. Kachina Stables, contact Lori Steinmitz, P.O. Box 3616, West Sedona, AZ 86340; (602) 282-7252. Trail-ride area is Oak Creek Canyon, Sycamore Canyon between Flagstaff and Cottonwood. Canyon Country Outfitters, contact Eldon Bowman, Route 4, Box 739, Flagstaff, AZ 86001; (602) 774-1676. Trail-ride areas include northern Arizona and the San Francisco Peaks. Also treks to requested areas. They specialize in rides for people who have their own horses.