Day 6 Mustangs!

There isn’t much that says the West like wild horses, Mustangs, or Broomtails as they’re sometimes called. The mental image one gets upon hearing those names immediately brings to mind long rolling hills, or desert flats, or herds grouped around the only water hole for miles. I see herds of horses running free before the wind, manes flying, hooves flashing, heads thrown back in the sheer joy of being free, racing from one part of their territory to another to do whatever wild horses do.

There is a place outside of Cody, Wyoming called McCullough Peaks and it is the home of a magnificent herd of wild horses numbering over 120 or so at last count. The terrain is made-up of slight hills and huge sweeping valleys, green at this time of year, dusty and grey as summer progresses and the heat dries out the summer grass and the watering spots.

The herd is usually made up of one or more stallions, a bunch of mares, and of course the resulting colts. These are not your typical herd of horses, standing quietly, heads down, waiting for whatever use we have for them. These are independent horses, aggressive, willful, wild, doing what they want to do, totally involved in their lives, not ours. They need to be approached carefully and not too close at that, as they, especially the stallions, will not tolerate any interference or threat and will defend themselves and the rest of the herd without warning. A person on foot is at risk here.

The herd was located at a water hole 10 miles or so off the highway and reached by driving over a gravel road that soon turned to two ruts with spring grass growing up between them. We forded a small stream and as we came over the rise, there they were. The herd was clustered around the water hole quietly resting and drinking and calm.

Calm didn’t mean motionless however and various small groups would break off from the main herd and run great circles around the water hole, racing the wind if nothing else.

There is always drama in a horse herd, especially one that has more than one stallion. This herd had at least 5, possibly more as some of the herd was behind one of the low-lying hills. Suddenly and without warning a fight would break out and two of the stallions would battle until whatever disagreement they had was settled. These fights were serious but not deadly as they can sometimes be at the height of the rut. No blood was drawn but pain was definitely inflicted.

The stallions weren’t the only ones that could get up a head of steam. The mares with colts wouldn’t tolerate any other animal to approach too closely to her offspring and would lash out with a jaw-breaking kick from her rear hooves to the offender. That usually got her point across.

What appeared at first to be a calm setting was in fact a continual series of altercations, dust-ups, sparring, establishing who the bull duck in the pond was, and perhaps an opportunity to refine a few tactics if the fight got really serious. There were knee-biters.

Neck-biters. Kickers, chewers, bumpers, runner away-ers, chasers, loud screamers, interested observers, dis-interested observers, ignorers and winners. And also losers.

After several hours that sped by in seconds the herd finally finished their morning absolutions and headed off into the distance to their next destination. Their pace was slow and steady, paced about right for the foals to keep up. One mare leading the way, the stallions bringing up the rear, sometimes racing ahead then returning to take up rear guard again. It was as magical to see them leave as it was to see them arrive. It seemed that they had the entire west to travel in. They didn’t of course, highways and train tracks and fences and ranches and every kind of man-made obstacle we have created prevented that. This isn’t a gripe with the present, we all know that the facts of life are what they are. We co-exist. But it is incredible fulfilling to think that we have horses like these still running free.

Earlier I mentioned about these horses being different. These horses, although wild, are looked after by the BLM and protected from many of the dangers from the outside world. The BLM researchers have done DNA testing on this stock and found that some of them can be traced back to the Spanish explorers losing them and some of the others have been traced back to the horses that were given to Buffalo Bill Cody by the Queen of England when he toured there with his wild west show in the late 1800’s.

The most different thing for me though, is that this is what freedom looks like. Can he be any more confident and proud, his head held high, displaying the bite wounds of his previous battles on his side, looking forward to the rest of what ever comes his way. Wild and free. Hopefully forever.