This story, the third and final installment of the long overdue water saga, is once again the result of my time wrangling horses at summer camp.

There’s an old saying that goes “anything that can go wrong, will go wrong,” and this law is all too relevant when working with 1000+ lb herd animals. I was privy to this from day one on the job, but that did not prevent me from holding out hope that things would eventually go right. How foolish of me.

Every weekend or so, while the camp was receiving a fresh crop of scouts, the only thing that we had on our agenda was the evening trail ride, so every once in a while, a local group would book us for an afternoon of fun. We would get special needs kids, senior citizens, the local boys, and girls club, or even the girl scouts, and we were happy to help because it got us out of having to participate in the camp-wide events. It was on one of these days that we had a group of young girls come to the barn to learn a little and ride around.

This was standard procedure. We’d give them an overview of whatever it was they wanted to learn, we’d pull our most tame horses, and have them all ride around the paddock, and then they’d all go home. This day was a little different, though. We got through the normal instruction and riding early, leaving us with 20 girls and nothing to do. My sister, Tori, was my boss at the time, so I turned to her with a questioning look, expecting her to tell me what to do next. She shrugged and walked off to ask Walt, the horse director what to do.

Now Walt wasn’t the best at thinking ahead. That entire summer, we had been struggling to give the animals adequate food portions because we were always running out. This time was no different. His suggestion was that we take them for a trail ride. This presented a few problems. First, we didn’t have enough horses who were patient enough to work with young kids, and second, a storm was rolling in. We mentioned both issues, but he was unconcerned.

“Throw an older kid on the pissy ones, and take the short trail,” he grumbled.

Tori and I shook our heads, but we did what we were told. For the next 20 mins, we saddled and bridled nearly every horse in our herd, including one named Scarlett. Scarlett was the one we were the most concerned about. She lived up to her name well. She was a rich reddish brown and had the temper of Scarlett O’Hara: short and vocal. I had ridden her on multiple occasions in an attempt to train the temper out of her. Despite our best efforts, she was still not quite ready to have a 12-year-old on top of her, but that’s what we did anyway. One of the girls saw her and immediately fell in love. We had to put a kid on her, so it might as well have been her.

Now normally our trail rides worked with a lead in the front, and three or four people walking alongside to help out if anything happens. We were short staffed that year, so it was only Tori and myself – her in the front, and me walking. The whole situation stunk, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous, so I instructed a CIT to walk with Scarlett and keep an eye on her. This specific guy was abnormally incompetent, but all I wanted was for him to walk alongside the horse to keep her in check. I thought for sure he could do that. I was wrong.

We finally got on the trail. Close to 20 horses, and a mini pony between the three of us, and one guy was supposed to keep his attention solely focused on one horse. As it happens, he didn’t. I had to remind him every three minutes or so to keep up with Scarlett, and he’d jog back up, but then fall behind again. Luckily, we got through the first half fine, but then we started the second half. We were probably ten minutes out when it started to rain. This was not what we needed.

I was miserable. Anyone who has worn jeans when it’s wet and hot knows that it’s a terrible time. It’s stuffy, you start chafing, and somehow it’s also freezing. I was entirely focused on getting everyone back, and changing into something dry. Soon, however, my a chapped ass was about to be the least of my concerns. We headed down a large hill on a steep, muddy incline, and while horses are usually very surefooted, they were struggling enough that it was slow going. About a quarter mile out, we went around a large bend that was particularly muddy. On the left was a 25-foot embankment, and on the other side was a drop of about the same distance into a small wooded area. There was a stream of water that ran right along the embankment, making it muddier than the outer edge, so I ran to the front of the line and posted myself right at the most dangerous part to guide the riders around it. I sat between the line of horses and the dirt wall that loomed over our path, talking to the riders as they went.

One by one they came by, each animal being extra careful not to fall. Then Scarlett rode in front of me. My CIT that I had posted was a good six horses behind. I was just about to chew him out when the horses stopped. A few began chomping at their bits. Scarlett began to jerk her head, so, shivering wet and slightly annoyed, I approached to grab her halter and calm her down. As I did, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I stopped and backed up a foot. I knew what was coming.

If you’re sitting right on the runway at an air show, there’s a moment just as a jet engine fires, where it gets a little quiet, and then, like shifting into high gear, there’s an explosion of sound so violent that your intestines shake, and you become weak at the knees. You can feel the power and heat of the engine as if you are sitting right on top of it. Right at the moment that my hair stood up, the woods fell silent. Then like a jet engine, an explosion of sound and a violent white light ambushed us, pushing me back against the muddy wall.

Lightning struck not 20 feet from where I stood. It was a crap your pants kind of moment. The horses flew into a frenzy. Scarlett began hopping around, and sheer terror filled the face of the poor kid on top of her. I grabbed the horse nearest to me and yelled at the girl to pull back on the reigns. It wasn’t doing anything. I yelled to pull back more, and she did. Eventually, the pressure caught the attention of Scarlett, and she began to back up, instead of freak out. I walked up to the horse and grabbed her halter. The girl released the reigns, much to the satisfaction of Scarlett, who was thoroughly relieved that her teeth were no longer in pain.

The rest of the horses calmed down pretty easily. At that point, though, I was covered in mud, and soaked because of the rain, and I was ready to go home. At Tori’s request, everyone dismounted and walked their ponies back the last quarter mile. I was still shaken up when we got back to the barn, and Tori, a normally non-confrontational person, immediately walked up to Walt. She politely but sternly told him that in the future, we wouldn’t go out if we saw a storm on the horizon. Cold, wet, and still recovering from the massive shot of adrenaline, I put the tackle up and went to change into some dry clothes.

Despite Tori’s emphatic defense of our safety, Walt kept making bad decisions. The CIT eventually got what was coming and was fired. Tori nearly was as well, but what was left of the staff threatened to walk out if that happened. Neither of us has been back since.

So this concludes the not-so-epic saga that has led to my distaste for water. These stories were in response to a question put to me by one of my good friends after I declined a swimming offer multiple times. I hope this answers her question and provides a little insight. If it does neither, I hope that at the very least, it’s entertaining.

-Nickel

Part 1

Part 2