HORSE TALES
Andalusian Horses Take Riders Over Spain's Pyrenean Mountains
by Candice C. Dunnigan
"And the mountains in reply Echo in their joyous strain."

Traditional Fr. carol

My husband, Brian, and I crossed a small section of the Pyrenean mountain range in northeastern Spain on horseback this October. There were 12 of us, plus our fearless leader who we would follow to the end of the earth.

We began our eight-day adventure arriving at the airport in Barcelona, Spain, meeting the transportation representative under the statue of a huge towering black marble horse. After a two-hour bus ride, we arrived in darkness at the village of San Jame de Llerca. With only headlights to guide us, we clambered into jeeps with other weary travelers, and up and up we went. For nearly four miles, on a rutted switchback road, we rattled and climbed to the top in darkness for 15 minutes. There, under twinkling starlight at the top of the world, was Can Jou, the name of an 11th century farmhouse-hotel and riding center.

Our rooms were spacious, comfortable, and unique. Our fellow riders were from Austria, Sweden, Germany, and Australia.

Mick Peters and his wife, Rosa, own Can Jou. Mick is a soft-spoken horseman from Britain and has been running the operation for more than a decade. Can Jou is known for its rides, guides, and horses, especially in the U.K. and Catalonia. I first heard about it because of their Andalusian trail equines.

Columnist Candi Dunnigan in Spain.

After dinner that night, we were sized up with our "ideal" horse and the following daybreak we would meet both our mounts and our guide.

In the morning, looking at the clouds hanging in the mountains and the misty valleys beyond, I could sense how wonderfully remote we were. Below us were the terraced pastures for some 40 horses of Can Jou, the main stable, and yard.

Our guide, Luis, a tall, dark Catalonian, looking a little like an older brother of Antonio Banderas, met us with a huge map, a great deal of Pyrenean mountain and horse experience, and a good sense of humor. We also met Miguel, our one man jack-of-all-trades and chef extraordinaire. Miguel would also transport our luggage to our hotel or guest house en route.

It was uncanny how each animal actually worked out with its rider that week. This was fortunate, because we each took care of our horse, from first feed to last. No grooms or lackeys to pitch a tent or pick a hoof. Our tack consisted of saddle (either English or Spanish), a saddle pad, a heavy felt underpad, girth, overgirth, breastplate, and tail crupper (to help keep the saddle from shifting on the long climbs). We also rode with halters, a lead/safety rope, saddlebags, hoof pick, brush, two horseshoes, and water jug. One of us often carried feed, or part of the ingredients for our picnic lunch, like olives, cheese, bread, tablecloth, wine.

This area in Catalonia is known as the Alta Garroxta, or rocky region. We trekked in a large circle of incredible geography for more than 100 miles. We averaged five to seven hours a day in the saddle, on the trail. We also spent as much as an hour and a half each day walking down these very rugged mountain slopes with our horses scrambling back down the best ways they could manage behind us.

Amazing, because I never knew until then just how nimble a horse actually is. I think now that perhaps the Andalusian is close to tops. They're beautiful horses, but certainly share a kinship with mules in their agility and stamina on a mountain.

The Andalusian, or Spanish Riding horse, is a very old breed. The horse is a blend of both the hot blood and cold. They're the basis for all of the stock working horses in Spain. Lipizzan horses are descendants. These Andalusians are capable of carrying an armed soldier into battle, as well as being nimble enough to survive mountainous regions and the arid climate of southern Andalusia. They're brave horses, and the very best of the breed are used by the Spaniards for bull fighting.

Andalusians have welldeveloped quarters, short backs, large eyes, and wavy manes and tails. What legs and feet!

My husband's horse, Popelle (or Popeye), as he was called, was only five, and a bright bay Andalusian. He was lovely, trusting, and strong as his namesake. My horse, Maharaaschi, was an older Andalusian-Arab cross who didn't like to stand around. He was, however, the type of horse who commanded your respect and would take charge if need be, get you and himself competently out of a jam or away from a run-in with a wild boar.

Each day we rode along the rolling mountains, in forests of Mediterranean oak and beech, among cows and sheep. The weather was good, from the 50s to the 70s. In the afternoon the smells of the ever-present rosemary, lavender, and tarragon would fill the air as we brushed by.

We saw occasional evidence of wild boar, but the scariest part of the ride was coming across hundreds of feral horses on one of the mountain ranges high above the tree line. Fiftymile an-hour winds blew rain, sleet, and snow into us and saddlebags fluttered like butterflies as we held our helmets to our heads. Then several herds of curious horses, with a stallion leading each group, came closer, ready to challenge our domesticated equines. This had all the makings for a turf war, and several of those wild horses

stopped, stood silent, and started to run, unsettling our very own steeds. Our guide was cool-headed and had our group react quickly on our horses, which thwarted a potentially hazardous day.

The mountains and narrow trails gave way to valleys and rivers, farmland, and unique small villages. Canters were long and lovely, too. The food was fresh and delicious. The wine flowed freely, as did the coffee and the camaraderie. We made it back to the base at Can Jou with not a single rider being bucked off, nor did any of the 13 horses lose a shoe or become lame.

No one wanted this ride to end; our farewell dinner lasted long into the night. Often, horses can make or break relationships, but not here. Goodwill seemed to reign on this trip. We had a special time, and a special place. It was right up there with peace, goodwill, and the essence of Christmas spirit.

Thinking on that, Merry Christmas to all and best wishes for a new year ahead.

P.S. Of course, we want to go back, this time with the kids.

Candice Dunnigan is an active member of the American Equestrian Association, the Waterloo Hunt, and the Mackinac Island Horsemen's Association. Seasonally she resides at Easterly Cottage.