Horse riding in Drakensberg

I recently fulfilled a long-time dream to ride a horse in the foothills of the Drakensberg.  It's some 40 years or so since I rode regularly and the body is not what it was then, but I didn't give it a second thought. I saw the horses, read the sign and seized the day.  Arriving at the appropriate time, I was alarmed to see the state of the horse, head drooping, hip bones sticking out. But again, I wasn't looking for a racehorse, just a gentle stroll through the grasslands.

The Zulu groom, with whom I communicated in body language, indicated that my grass hat was not right and I must wear the grimy plastic hat he gave me. Oh well, what's another sweaty head! They probably wouldn't let me go without it. A flash of perfect white teeth (not from the horse) indicated that I was right.With a little assistance, I heaved myself into the saddle. It was one of those moments when I wished that I actually did have a bigger bum. The saddle had no padding and appeared to be made of hardwood. Too late to turn back now. I slid my feet into the stirrups and grasped the reins casually in one hand, making a loop to spur the horse on.  And off we went, single file along the hillside.

The scenery was breathtaking, the air like champagne.  I was riding a horse in the Drakensberg.

It soon became apparent that my horse only responded to the pace and clicking of the groom in front. We lurched involuntarily into a brief and incredibly uncomfortable trot and I thanked my lucky stars for all those riding lessons way back.  We crossed the river twice, like they do in cowboy movies, and passed through a field of grazing bulls. At the end of the field, we came to a donga and although the groom's horse went down and up, mine had aspirations to be a showjumper and leapt over the gap. Did I grip with my knees!

The scenery was breathtaking, the air like champagne.  I was riding a horse in the Drakensberg.

We rode out of the valley and up into the hills, passing a small herd of eland on the way. From the crest of the hill we could see the way ahead.  It was a wide grass road, possibly 500 metres long and the groom turned around and gave a huge smile and nodded.  Body language for: Ok, that's enough dawdling, time to
stretch their legs. And we were off!  Shades of Clint Eastwood galloping across the plains. The adrenalin was pumping as I clung on desperately with my legs, yet exhilarated as we thundered up the roadway.

The scenery was breathtaking, the air like champagne. If I didn't get off this horse soon, I would just slide out of the saddle and fall to the ground.  They could fetch me later.

As we passed other guests on the way back to the stables, I wondered if we looked as if we were born in the saddle, or just plain saddle-sore.  I couldn't get off the horse.  I had to pull my leg over with both hands, and slid onto the grass where I just lay and laughed and laughed.  I couldn't sit for 3 days and had bruised and chafed legs, but it was still the best.

The scenery was breathtaking, the air like champagne, and I've ridden a horse in the Drakensberg.