Ride one, part two

A little more than an hour into our first ride in Iceland, we pulled off the trail for our first rest stop. 

Our guide showed us how to put our horses on a "long rein" for grazing. Then we took turns holding each other's horses...

while we scampered up the hill to use the "facilities."

Karin scolded us for not doing that before the ride, but then - just a few minutes later - she disappeared up the hill as well.

Once that was done, she told me to take my saddle off Vaskur and put it on one of the hand horses.

My immediate reaction was horrified disbelief. I knew I'd struggled in the tölt, but I hadn't thought it was that bad. The ride had barely started. I would get better. Why was I being demoted so quickly?

I thought about asking for a little more time, but I could sense the decision had been made.

Also, the new horse - a contrasty dun mare name Grettla - was really pretty. I moved my saddle without saying a word.

I convinced myself this was for the best. Vaskur and I were not a good fit. Grettla would be better.

Then we tölted.

WOW, she was even bumpier than Vaskur.

Almost instantly, I lost both stirrups. I picked the right one up, but the left one was an ongoing struggle. I pushed my feet home in the irons. It helped a little. Not enough. I tried angling my body further back, looking for a sweet spot. It was impossible. There were no sweet spots. Everything was terrible.

And it was terrible for a really long time.

After an eternity we arrived at our lunch spot. 

We put the horses on long reins and removed their saddles and nosebands. I hoped that when we got back on, I would not be on Grettla.

It turns out, I shouldn't have worried. Everyone switched horses after lunch. 

My new mount was a tall, narrow, somewhat awkward looking horse called Salvör.

I mounted up and held my breath until the first tölt.

It was... fine. Not magic carpet smooth, but totally rideable. 

My feet stayed securely in my the stirrups, and since I was no longer struggling just to stay aboard, I was able to experiment with adding and subtracting leg, seat and rein pressure to create a more comfortable gait. The results were hit and miss, but for the first time all day, I felt like I was really riding my horse.

And then it became so much fun.

This side of the lake brushed up against the outer, horsey suburbs of Reykjavik.

I enjoyed peaking into stables...

and round pens and imagining what it would be like to keep a horse there.

When we stopped for our last break of the day, I prayed I would not have to change horses again.

I didn't!

As we neared the end of the ride, we passed by some big formations. Karin dismounted...

and had us line up for photos.

Jennifer on Salvör and Karen on Kengála.

Then it was back to the trailer. We dismounted, untacked our horses...

and loaded them up.

It had been one of the most intense riding days of my entire life, and one in which I'd felt all the emotions - from despair to euphoria and just about everything in between. I was exhausted. I was elated.

Most of all, I couldn't wait to do it all over again.