Countdown to Cruising #9
Nine months and counting. It seems as if the closer we get to launch, the more hectic life is becoming. Frantically, we have been putting in 12 hour days fixing up our house to get it on the market. We have rebuilt entire rooms, fixed items that have gone years in disrepair, repainted, and next week come the new carpets and hardwood floor refinishing. That’s just the inside of the house. The outside is a whole new batch of major projects. Barn has to be repaired and painted, woods cleared, fences fixed. As Dan puts it, “We can’t even see the tunnel.” To keep ourselves sane, we gaze at our route map and envision what it will be like when we are finally on the boat. It’s the only thing keeping us going.
Along with the stress of getting the house on the market, there is the impending reality that in less than a year, our lives are totally going to change. When we return to land in 10 years, things we might have wanted to do, might no longer be possible, physically. That being said, I had one particular bucket item I wanted to do before giving up my equestrian life. When I was about 9 years old, my aunt who owned a tack shop, gave me a beautiful yellow fox hunting vest. I dreamed of the day I would be able to go on a fox hunt, but that day never came. I owned horses all my life and had many wonderful adventures in almost every discipline, showing, eventing, dressage, driving, polo, vaulting, beach riding, riding vacations, ect. But, I never got to go on that fox hunt. The vest, of course, is long gone, but my desire to experience the thrill of a fox hunt was a dream I longed to fulfill. When I mentioned to my sister, Carol, my unfulfilled bucket list item before heading out to sea, she exclaimed that going on a fox hunt would be no problem. She was attending fox hunts almost every weekend down in Aiken, South Carolina.
“Fly down,” she said from her horse farm in Charlotte. “You will get to go on your fox hunt after all!”
Of course, the first thing I did after picking a date to fly to NC and join Carol, was to call my daughter Katie.
“Katie, guess what! I’m going on a fox hunt. Why don’t you come with me?” I said, knowing if I was going, there was no way she was going to be excluded from this trip. She had never been fox hunting either. Before we knew it, Katie had her plane tickets from California to Charlotte. I had mine from New Jersey. We had a date and we were both very excited. There were just a few issues to work out before we made this trip. One, I hadn’t been on a horse for 3 months. It was the dead of winter up here. Second, I don’t own any hunting clothes and formal attire is required.
Thank goodness Katie has married into a proper riding family. They have myriads of show clothes and Katie promised to bring me a black jacket, tan riding pants, white riding shirt, and white stock tie. All I had to bring was my hunt cap, and boots. Next, I made myself go out in 20 degree weather and ride several times the two weeks prior to the hunt. I dressed properly for the frigid conditions and got myself in a semblance of riding shape – hopefully enough to stay on the horse at the very least.
We both arrived in Charlotte in time to pack up the horses and head to Aiken, SC on Friday night. The hunt would begin first thing on Saturday morning. My sister, 10 years my senior, has apparently found the fountain of youth. She runs circles around me energy-wise, and in the true fashion of her energetic self, stabled the horse several miles from the location of the hunt. We dropped the horses off by 10 that night and drove to our hotel. The next morning we would go the barn, tack up, ride several miles to get to the hunt grounds. She felt we had to experience the grandeur and scenery of the equestrian town. It wasn’t enough to just be chasing the hounds for several hours at a gallop. We arrived exhausted at the hotel. We had been traveling all day, packed up equipment and horses, unpacked equipment and horses and then had to check into our hotel. As soon as we entered the room, Katie excitedly pulled out our hunt wardrobe. Pants fit fine, shirt was a little tight but I got it buttoned. Stock tie was a completely miserable thing around my neck but fit fine, jacket… not even close.
Crap. No black jacket, no hunt. We all put our minds together and thought of a game plan. Six other people were accompanying our group and there was an extra parent attending as a spectator. We found a tack shop on the internet that opened at 8:30 AM. It was only a few miles from the stables where our horses were staying. The hunt started at 9:00. The plan was for the extra parent to tack up my horse and ride to the grounds. I would be at the tack store at 8:30, buy a black jacket, and meet everyone at the hunt grounds. I didn’t have a warm, fuzzy feeling about the whole situation but at this point, it was my only recourse.
To make a long story short, the tack store didn’t have any black jackets. I tried another store, it didn’t open until 9:00. I was so upset, I got hopelessly lost even with my GPS. I was in tears. I came all this way to go on the last possible hunt of the season, and I was going to miss it. All of a sudden, my phone rang. I had to pull over because I was too upset to talk and drive.
“Carol, I’m lost, I didn’t get a jacket, I can’t go on the hunt. Go without me!”
Now, my sister is not one to give up on anything, ever. The word, “not”, is non-existent in her vocabulary. Upon leading the group to the grounds, she tracked down one of the hunt chairman. He was mounted and on his way to the hunt as well. She explained the situation and how far I had traveled to go on the hunt. She asked permission for me to ride in the black sweater I was wearing. Of course he said, “Yes! No problem.” Carol explained this turn of events to me, and still distraught, seeing it was 10 minutes until 9, I explained to her that I had no idea where I was.
Telling me not to panic, just follow her directions, she determined what road I was on and what direction I needed to head. She was giving me directions while mounted on her horse, group of 8 others surrounding her, on a busy street in Aiken.
“Drive until you see a horse crossing sign and a light. I am standing on the corner. You can’t miss me,” she instructed. I drove as fast as I dared in the large pick-up truck. In a few minutes, sure enough, there was Carol and her entourage waving me on frantically. We only had minutes until the hunt began and we still had to ride the start of the course. I parked the truck and Katie threw a black coat at me as I got out of the truck and ran up to my horse.
“It’s my pea coat mom! I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. It’s black and it sort of looks like a hunt jacket.”
Great. I put it on as everyone yelled for me to get on the horse. It didn’t button either but was close. Carol quickly handed me three large, gold, safety pins and I got the front of the jacket mostly closed. Problem was, I couldn’t really move in the jacket. The shoulders were so tight I couldn’t put my arms forward – NOT good for riding a horse at a gallop. As everyone was shouting for us to get going, that’s when the stray horse made his appearance. As if things were not hectic enough, a loose horse came trotting up the path, heading right toward the busy street. I hadn’t mounted yet so I jumped in front of him and grabbed his reins. Just then, a woman came running up, her horse in tow. She explained her friend had just taken a nasty fall.
“See!” yelled Carol exuberantly. “If we had not been here at this point in time, this horse would have run into that traffic and been killed!” She was probably right, but now, it was 5 minutes after 9 and we still were not at the starting point of the hunt. Off we galloped. Katie and the others stated afterward that the gallop to find the hunt was the most fun part of the day. In our group of 6 we headed off at a very brisk pace and cantered up and down hills, over streams, through the woods, before arriving at a totally empty field. Not a soul in sight.
“Darn it. I must have been given the wrong starting point,” Carol said with dismay.
Remember the part about Carol never giving up? This came into play once again. Personally, I was already exhausted and I could go home in all good consciousness and say, “Well, gave it my best shot. I did get to gallop through the woods and it was spectacular.” Not Carol. No thousand mile park was going to stop her from finding the right starting point. The rest of us thought surely the hunt group was well on their way. However, in the spirit of the chase, we once again took off at a gallop in a new direction. I thought there was no possible way the hunt was going to take place for us. I took consolation in how badly my legs hurt already and thought, perhaps, this was all for the best. That is when we heard the distant sound of a hunt horn blaring. Carol honed in and sped up.
We arrived in a field with a pack of horses waiting to begin the hunt. The dogs and the first flight of riders had departed. They were the group closest to the hounds (which I mistakenly referred to as dogs and got severely chastised for – hunt lingo no-no). We had arrived in time to join the second flight of riders who gallop at the same pace as the first flight but go around instead of over the jumps. This was a godsend as I couldn’t move my arms because of the jacket being too tight, and my legs were already aching. As the day began heating up, I started to sweat. The horses were breathing hard also. They had ridden several miles to get to the park, and had just galloped for over 10 minutes.
No time to ponder the consequences. Tally Ho! We were off. I was fulfilling my bucket list dream of participating in a fox hunt. One of the strict rules of the hunt is that you are not to pass other riders. Everyone has to stay in order and proceed at a gallop, up hills, down hills, around obstacles while keeping your place in line. This would be fine under normal circumstances. However, first of all, I couldn’t move my arms and my horse had no brakes. I had to stand up in my stirrups and brace myself against the reins to keep the horse from taking off and passing everyone in front of him. I was in a wool jacket and the temperature was rising. My legs were not in shape for the immense strain there were under. I could feel the skin peeling away where my legs were rubbing against the saddle.
At this point, I can now relay the whole fox hunt experience back to sailing. This is a sailing blog after all. I can liken this experience to making a decision to sail into a hurricane. Once in the hurricane, you realize it was a very, very bad idea. The only problem with sailing into a hurricane is that you must keep sailing until you are out of the hurricane. I was only on the first part of a 3 leg process and I was already exhausted! There was no way out.
I stayed on and was very pleased to arrive in one piece at the first resting point. The crowd of horses gathered around “the hounds” and flasks were broken out. The horses cooled down, and waited patiently as everyone recouped and prepared for the next leg. Had circumstances been different, I would have enjoyed the gorgeous forest surrounding us. I would have tuned into the iconic sound of the hounds braying, eager to continue their hunt. Bright red coats of the hunt masters weaved in and around the sea of black jackets as everyone mingled. All too soon, the groups set out after the hounds and the second leg began.
I seriously thought I was going to pass out the first five minutes into the next round. When you get to that point, and the ground is passing below you at a dizzying speed, you somehow hit a wall but find a way around it. I did just that, and miraculously made it to the second stopping point. Just one more leg to go. I thought I might survive my first fox hunt after all! The third leg, the hunt gods were kind to me. The hounds got distracted and took off after another scent. The whole hunt procession halted for a good 10 minutes while the hunt horn blared, huntsmen called, and the hounds ignored them. Finally, the hounds were collected and put back on track. The third leg was the shortest, so before I knew it, the end was in sight and the hunt was finished.
The completion of the hunt was on the other side of the 1,000 acre park from where we started. In addition, we still had the several-mile ride back to the stable. But, that was not enough for Carol. Seeing as how we were not in first flight and taking the jumps, she wanted to ride into the park and go over some jumps before returning home. Sure enough, she headed off in a new direction to find a jump course. As jumping was a huge part of my past, I couldn’t resist and joined the kids in taking a few jumps. My legs were already raw at this point and I knew I would have huge sores just above my knees. A few jumps were not going to make it any worse. Not being able to move my arms was a huge handicap, but nonetheless, I managed. Then, we began the long, really long, ride home. Just as we reached the edge of the park another group of fox hunters appeared before us. As tradition has it, après hunt drinks can be found following the hunt. We were all treated to shots of various liqueurs, while mounted on our horses. It definitely eased the pain of the ride back to the stable.
After each hunt, members of the hunt club take turns hosting a “hunt breakfast”. The timing makes the meal more of a lunch. We returned with the horses and took care of our mounts, changed our attire and headed to a glorious old mansion for the breakfast. The spread was like nothing I had ever seen. The open bar was exactly what I needed to medicate my aching muscles. Our group retired outside to eat around the pool and enjoy the beautiful day and myriad of flower appearing in anticipation of spring. Someone mentioned the weekend was too short. We were supposed to be heading back to Carol’s farm in Charlotte that evening. Somehow, in the time span of demolishing our incredible feast, we determined we would not go back to Charlotte that evening. Carol, with her many resources, made a few phone calls and before we knew it, we were packing up the horses and heading to the beach. So the excitement continued.
Carol always tells me I can’t do anything or go anywhere without a good story. She says this occurs so I always have something to write about. This scares me a little. I am going out to sea soon. Staying true to Carol’s prognostications, we dropped the horses off in the dark at a friend’s farm. It took us several attempts to get the horses into the pasture. We put two horses in, and one would run out. We caught the one and put him in, and two horses would run back out. We repeated this process a few times until the humor of the situation set in. Carol and I both had to pee at this point. So when we finally broke into hysterics, we simultaneously pulled our pants down and squatted in the grass to relieve ourselves before we peed ourselves. This of course, set us off into new sets of hysterical laughter. Poor Katie. All she could do was watch the two cackling sisters squatting in the dark with their pants down, while she valiantly captured the escapees.
We arrived at the hotel we had booked en route, only to be sent to a room already occupied by other people. It was 10:00 at night, again, after a brutally exhausting day, and we had to revisit the office across the street, of course, from the multi-building hotel, in order to find our room. We attempted to go out to eat and had a horrible dinner experience. Finally, we passed out exhausted in our hotel room by midnight. We all looked forward to a wonderful ride on the beach the next day.
Fortunately, packing back into the trailer and getting to the beach preceded without a hitch. It wasn’t until we were mounted and on the beach, that Carol realized there was a slight problem. I wasn’t going to ride the same horse I had on the hunt. My legs were raw and I wanted an easier day on the beach. Problem was, because she hadn’t planned on going to the beach after the hunt, one of the horses we had with us had never been to the beach. In fact, he had been to a lake once and freaked out so badly, Carol had to have him trailered home. It was the first time any of her horses had been terrified of water. Now, her little horse Linus was facing an ocean.
“Alison,” Carol said, “I need you to ride Linus. I have no idea how he is going to react.” Carol was not riding herself as she was suffering from a bad cold . In addition, she had called a student the night before that wanted desperately to go on a beach ride. She told the family to meet us there that morning. She had given up her horse so the girl could have her ride on the beach. Being the good sport I am, I switched horses with Katie who was a bit nervous Linus was about to explode ( his rapid breathing, snorting and bulging eyes were a good indication of this). I mounted him and sent one group ahead to take a gallop while I hung back with two others to introduce Linus to the ocean.
“See, it’s not that bad,” I said, forcing him to put his front feet in the water. The small waves lapped gently against his legs as he bravely waded forward. “Good boy. Here comes a little wave, it won’t hurt you, I promise.” You know that feeling when you try something new, and that moment when you realize you have nothing to fear and the experience turns into exhilaration? Linus was apparently experiencing this phenomenon. Before I knew what was happening, Linus took to sea. He decided he could swim to Europe. Who needed a sailboat! In all my years of swimming with horses, I have never experienced a horse so determined to go into deep water. It took everything I had to turn him back to shore. Not waves, not the fact I had a saddle and boots on, nor the fact he was leaving his buddies behind, could daunt this horse. He was a sea horse, he decided, and he was having the time of his life.
So Linus ended up loving the beach and now Carol has another proven beach riding horse. All that was left was to make the 4 hour trip back to Charlotte safely. I decided to drive the truck and trailer as Carol needed to sleep and recuperate. The drive was long but uneventful. Uneventful that is, until I pulled into her driveway. I only had one gate left to navigate through. Katie got out of the truck to open it and guide me past. As I pulled the truck through, I suddenly heard Katie yell as the 12 ft. gate exploded off the hinges forcing her to jump to safety. I had taken the gate clear of the hinges and bent the post. I stopped the trailer immediately and got out. There was Carol, squatting in the grass again. This totally set me off and I couldn’t help myself and squatted next to her. Katie walked around the trailer, looking for us, and once again found the sisters in their compromising positions. She just rolled her eyes saying, “Geez you two!”
Needless to say, it was a terrible way to end the trip. I damaged the trailer fender, bent the post and took out the gate. But, it was an adventure filled weekend and I’m forever grateful to my sister for allowing me to cross fox hunting off my bucket list. Katie and I returned to the airport the next day after a well deserved mani and pedi and made it home safely from our fox hunt/beach ride.
Back to reality and the process of fixing up the house. The much harder job for me is packing up everything I own and consolidating the necessities to a few boxes to take on the boat. As I went through all my family photos and precious items from my children’s past today, I had to stop and remind myself just how blessed we are. I filled five containers with pictures and memories of 29 years of the most incredible adventures with my family. They will stay in storage with my oldest son, Philip, until our return. I took the time to look at the sweet faces of my babies, and how they grew through the years. Those years are so precious to me, flower pedals in a bouquet of happy memories. I look forward however, to having my family join me in various parts of the world to make new memories. I hope the albums and memories we create in the future will be as sweet and precious as the ones from our past. Now, if I can just survive until “Countdown to Cruising #8”!