Saving the Snowy Brumbies

by Kelly Wilson

  Bragg the Mustang meeting Ballarat the Brumby.

  The three of us photographed with Bragg not long after his arrival in New Zealand. It was a bittersweet moment and made us miss the rest of our Mustangs and our time in the USA.

  We arrived home in the early hours of the morning and unloaded the horses at Vicki’s property, settling Zali into a stable before leading Shyla and Ballarat down the hill, across the arena and down to the bottom of the property where Amanda and I base our horses. Relaxing in a yard was Bragg, Amanda’s American Mustang, who had flown in just a week earlier. I glanced over at him in surprise, barely recognising him — he was tiny! In America we’d been convinced that he was 15.3 hands (which would have made him a horse rather than a pony), but seeing him again, and especially alongside the showjumpers, he looked closer to 14.2 hands. I looked sideways at Amanda and she laughed — she’d had exactly the same reaction when she’d first been reunited with him, and wasn’t sure how we’d got his height so wrong. He had seemed so much bigger than our other Mustangs, and in the Wild West the winter before we’d obviously guessed wrong; we’d had no tape-measure with us.

  We led Ballarat and Shyla up beside Bragg, and, even though he was smaller than we’d expected, he still dwarfed the Brumbies. We had thought our Brumbies were between 13 and 14.2 hands high, but it looked like we’d been wrong again. Pulling out the measuring stick, we checked their height and were disappointed to find that Ballarat was even smaller than we’d guessed, at only 12.2 hands, and Shyla was 13.2 hands — we hadn’t ridden ponies this small since we were seven! Even Zali, who we’d assumed was a full-height pony, was only 14.1 hands high. We felt a little confused — we’d been around horses our whole lives, and yet somehow we seemed to have wrongly estimated the height of every wild horse we’d trained offshore! Mulling it over, we came to the conclusion that it was because we’d had nothing full-sized to compare them against. In America we’d been in a Western-dominated region, where the average height of a horse was significantly lower than our own showjumpers; everything had felt big. Similarly, in Australia we’d only been exposed to Brumbies and most of these had been young, so our own had looked big in comparison.

  Leading Shyla and Ballarat out to the back paddock, we released them in with my two greys, Elder and Dancer. At 15 hands high, Elder towered over his new paddock companions and I winced — we often felt big sitting on our Kaimanawas, who were small compared with our showjumpers, but Elder looked solid and impressive in stature beside our Brumbies. I glanced over at Amanda, who was also looking concerned: these Brumbies would be our biggest challenge yet, our two especially, because they were too small for adults to ride long term. We therefore had just four months to get them quiet enough for children — a big enough task for a young pony born into domestication and already started under saddle, let alone a completely wild one.

  With a lot to think about, we headed inside for a sleep. The Brumbies had had a big day and, for the first time in over a month, they had a large field to roam that was surrounded by rivers and trees. Suddenly we realised that for the first time, probably anywhere in the world, three of the world’s most well-known wild horse breeds were on the same property.

  After giving them two days off, we caught the Brumbies and spent hours brushing the dirt from their coats; their hair was nearly 3 centimetres long and mud was clinging to it. To avoid us having to groom them for several hours each day they ideally needed to be put into covers, but this would risk overheating them. They’d come from near-freezing conditions to one of Northland’s warmest winters; after weeks of wearing thermals and multiple layers of clothing, we were down to shorts and T-shirts. Clipping Shyla seemed like the most practical solution for her, so I jumped on her bareback and rode her up to Vicki’s stables for a wash and a clip. Like most things, she was very accepting of the new experience and stood quietly in the aisle while I held her and Paula, our stable manager, set about clipping her. There were a few times when she objected, such as when Paula reached her lower legs and girth area, and rather than make an issue of it we left it for the day and gave her a pat. We could easily finish the job in a few days’ time, and there was no point in overwhelming her when she’d been so accepting.

  We’d arrived back in New Zealand just in time for my birthday, and to celebrate we headed to the beach with 10 horses in tow. The truck and trailer were filled with showjumpers, along with Shyla and Bragg, and Mascot and Instigator — Vicki and Alexa’s Kaimanawa stallions from the 2016 muster. Although by now they’d been out of the wild for eight weeks, the recently gelded Kaimanawa stallions had only had a few days of handling since Vicki and Alexa had returned from Australia.

  Arriving at the beach, we quickly saddled the horses. It wasn’t until I was doing up Shyla’s girth that I realised how stupid it had been to clip a recently wild horse that had only been ridden in a saddle a handful of times. After being clipped for the first time, horses often react to having a saddle or a rider on; indeed, I felt Shyla tense. She soon relaxed, however, and I turned to lead her over to the others, assuming that she would be fine. Behind me I felt a tug on the rope; spinning around, my jaw dropped as I watched Shyla leap up in the air before landing on all fours and putting her head between her legs like a rodeo bronc. Luckily, she settled down within seconds. I felt terrible; she’d been faultless every step of the way in her training so far, and then a miscalculation on my part had given the poor animal the shock of her life. Not wanting to have a fall on my birthday, I led Shyla for the first part of the ride. Once she was leading nicely at a walk and a trot, and seemed quite comfortable with the saddle against her recently clipped coat, I carefully mounted. I was relieved that she felt solid and steady beneath me!

  The ride started well. Amanda was loving her first beach ride on Bragg, even though he seemed a little amazed at so much water — beaches were definitely not the norm in the deserts of Nevada where he’d grown up. Shyla was enjoying herself, too, and when we got round to the ocean beach I took her for a canter with the showjumpers. By now she’d had about the same amount of riding as the two Kaimanawa stallions with us, but she was significantly further ahead — cantering happily down the beach in a halter on a loose rein. While Instigator and Mascot were coming along well, confidently trotting and having a few canters, the Brumbies just seemed so much easier to tame. I wasn’t sure whether it was Brumbies in general, them being mares rather than battle-scarred stallions, their transition period at the Brumby sanctuary, or even the passive trapping as opposed to the helicopter mustering. Something about the Brumbies made them stand out from the rest of the wild horses we’d worked with.

  While Shyla was noticeably more advanced — so much so that it was often easy to forget that she’d once been wild — both Ballarat and Zali also had something special about them. Although a little more reactive and still scared at times, they had a gentleness and sweetness about them. For the first few days in New Zealand, Zali lived on the driveway — Vicki’s favourite place to put genuinely scared horses. It was the one spot on the property where the horses could be exposed to people wandering past every hour of the day, cars driving in, and horses being saddled and ridden out on the farm or down to the arena. Initially, Zali stood warily under the trees, well away from anyone, but soon her curiosity grew and she began to relax. She started to walk up to the stable entrance to watch other horses being groomed, and munch on hay off the trailer during feed time. Although we’d barely been able to catch her in Australia, within days of being home she could be caught and handled by both Vicki and 11-year-old Gaia, one of our local students; the improvement was remarkable.

  Little Ballarat was also coming along well, but although she was ready for more, Amanda was very concerned about riding her because she was so small. At only four years old, her bones were still developing, and her lack of condition also meant that she didn’t have the muscles needed to carry a rider with ease. Amanda spent most of her time working Ballarat from the ground; although she backed the mare a
few times, she felt guilty sitting on her and would only do so for a few minutes at a time. We’d weighed her on our horse scales once we’d got home; by the international Mounted Games Regulations she was only supposed to carry a rider weighing less than 54 kilograms, and by showing standards the rider’s weight had to be no more than 57 kilograms. Amanda exceeded both of these limits. Although she understood the importance of starting a wild horse well, so that it could be set up for a good future with a smaller rider, she was adamant that putting a rider who was too heavy on a weak pony was not in its best interests. Of all the wild horses Amanda had worked with, though, Ballarat was the most advanced for the time she’d spent with her, and she was very proud of the mare’s progress. It was just disappointing that the size of her assigned Brumby would limit how much time Ballarat could have under saddle. If our eyes hadn’t been so off in Australia, she probably would have asked to swap Ballarat out for a reserve for welfare reasons. On the mare’s forms her height had been estimated at 14.1 hands, and while we’d realised she was smaller we wouldn’t have guessed that she was only 12.2 hands and weighed in at just 288 kilograms.

  Shyla’s first ride since being clipped, 36 days from her wild state.

  Although bigger, Shyla initially weighed in at a similar amount, but as she gained condition she increased to 342 kilograms and could carry me quite comfortably. I didn’t like to ride her bareback, though; she was safe enough but was too small and narrow — I would often lose my balance when she turned or stopped suddenly. It made me realise just how much smaller in build she was compared with Anzac, my 13.2-hand Kaimanawa stallion from the 2014 muster. Amanda also struggled to stay on tiny Ballarat bareback, but rode her that way anyway, figuring that avoiding the extra 10 kilograms that a saddle weighed would make it easier on Ballarat.

  Zali was paddocked on the driveway when she first arrived in New Zealand so she was exposed to the comings and goings of daily life.

  Zali loose on the arena so she could become accustomed to horses being ridden.

  CHAPTER 13

  Camp Chaos

  Zali, just two weeks since her first handling session, standing behind Vicki, Lucy, Shanti, Harvey and Vicki’s Kaimanawa stallion, Mascot KH, who was mustered from the wild 75 days earlier.

  Six-year-old Lucy leading Shyla through the obstacle course during our Showtym Camp.

  Vicki leading a partially clipped Zali over the rocking bridge during the winter Showtym Camp, just five days after arriving in New Zealand.

  The day after my birthday, and just four weeks since we’d first touched our Brumbies (17 days only for Vicki with Zali), our winter Showtym Camp got under way. Forty riders and their ponies arrived, and our previously quiet property became filled with the sound of laughter and the chaos of children.

  Shyla was in her element. On the first day of camp, I left her for six-year-old Lucy to hold while she dried off after a bath. Shyla spent the whole time nudging Lucy for cuddles; as I watched them, I had the feeling that she was going to make the ultimate kid’s pony. She was so gentle and affectionate — this was rare in a wild animal so soon after domestication, and we attributed it to the transition time the mares had been allowed. Having worked with three wild horse breeds from three different countries, each with a different management plan, it was interesting to see the similarities and differences between the horses. While in many ways New Zealand manages the wild Kaimanawa population best, Australia’s way of capturing them has to be the less stressful, especially for those Brumbies that are then saved through the VBA and are given down-time with a herd while the stallions recover from gelding and the mares from foaling.

  As Lucy hadn’t brought a pony to camp, I paired her up with Shyla for the obstacle challenge on the arena, during which I photographed the riders attempting to lead and ride their horses through, under and over a range of obstacles. Vicki’s Kaimanawa Mascot was paired up with Lucy’s older brother, eight-year-old Harvey, and Vicki and I kept a careful eye on both children as they led their wild ponies, with only a month of handling, under flapping flags, got them to stand while balls were kicked around them, and had them balancing on a rocking bridge and standing on a raised box. Both Shyla and Mascot were better than most of the camp ponies and followed their little charges around as if they’d been doing it all their lives.

  The camp kids loved meeting the wild horses and watching them being worked, and feeling that Shyla was ready for a ride I legged Gaia up on to her for a bareback lead around the arena. The mare was again unsettled by the feeling of a rider on her recently clipped coat; she froze before hunching her back in discomfort. Giving her a few pats, we waited for her to relax and then began leading her around the arena, first just walking and trotting, and then tackling some of the obstacles. Impressed, with her performance, we gave her another pat and Gaia dismounted before I passed her to Lucy again so that I could photograph the kids jumping in a Tip ’n’ Out competition, where the jump height is raised every round to see who can jump the highest.

  To finish up, Harvey hopped on Mascot for a ride on the lead, and then kept sitting on him while Vicki asked the Kaimanawa to lie down, something she’d trained him to do. Once he was on the ground she led Zali over — our neighbour Jazz had been leading her quietly through the obstacles — and a few of the kids gathered around them for a photo. It took a bit of convincing for Zali to edge up to the chatter of little kids, but gradually she gained courage and stood still long enough for a photo. Mascot, however, was completely loving the attention — deeply thankful to have had humans join his world. He’d obviously been beaten up by other stallions in the wild and had significant injuries, which meant he would probably only be suitable as a paddock mate or a lead-rein pony, so it was very fortunate that this seven-year-old stallion was gentle and safe enough for kids.

  We filled the second day of camp with lessons, bush-bashing and lots of team challenges. Once things had quietened down I got Gaia to ride Shyla again, this time in a saddle. Again she behaved excellently, although green; it was a remarkable learning experience for Gaia to work with such an inexperienced pony.

  On the third day of camp, Amanda got Gaia’s younger sister, Shanti, working with Ballarat; she, too, was confident that our little apprentices had the timing and feel needed to assist in the Brumbies’ training. By now Amanda had ridden Ballarat a few times, although never for more than 10 minutes at a time and only at a walk, and felt that the pony was ready for more. She’d been led out over the farm with a saddle on, so the transition to having Shanti riding her was very easy. All the basics, like stopping and turning, were already established, and Amanda felt that Ballarat would benefit from having a smaller rider on her. Shanti was nervous and excited in equal parts, but having worked with many young ponies already she was more than competent. The pair started off on the lead rein, walking and trotting around the arena, soon progressing to riding by themselves, following Gaia on Shyla so they didn’t have to worry about direction, while Amanda instructed from the middle. It was incredible to watch these two ponies, just 34 days out of the wild, working so kindly for kids.

  With camp over, Zali, who was two weeks behind in her handling, was now also at the stage where her ridden work could begin. She was relaxed around people, had been clipped all over, was wearing a cover and could be caught and led anywhere. Vicki had begun the first stages of backing her: first jumping up and down beside her, then jumping up to lie across her bareback — and Zali couldn’t have cared less. Twenty days after she’d been touched for the first time, and a week after arriving in New Zealand, Vicki sat up on Zali for the first time. The pony was calm and relaxed, and they quickly progressed to walking up the stable aisle. The next day they had their first walk on the arena, navigating the bridge and learning to steer, and just a few days later Zali was out on the beach for the first time. They meandered at the back for most of the ride, then Vicki pulled the mare up halfway down the beach and dismounted, leading her the rest of the way. Zali had been very good in such
open spaces with so many horses around, and Vicki wanted to keep everything fun and easy for her.

  WE’D FIRST MET GAIA AND HER YOUNGER SISTER, eight-year-old Shanti, when they’d come to our property for a birthday ride eight months earlier, and we had been so impressed by their natural talent and work ethic that Vicki had offered them lessons in exchange for helping around the stables. She recognised in them so many of the attributes that we’d had as kids. We spent hours with these kindred spirits, sharing much of the knowledge we wished we’d known at their age. Over the summer the girls, who were home-schooled, could often be found at our property, mucking out or brushing horses, and it wasn’t long before they were invited to join us as Showtym Scholarship riders — for intensive training sessions that we hold for talented young riders as a way of giving back to our local equestrian community. The girls would also swim the showjumpers in the river, ride various horses out over the farm or have lessons on the arena. They rode simply because they loved horses and enjoyed being around them. It was both refreshing and eye-opening — until we’d met Shanti and Gaia I don’t think we had truly realised how different from the norm our own childhood had been. Seeing their way of life, which was so different to that of most kids today, really made us appreciate how rural — and how feral — we had been as kids.

  Ballarat being ridden by eight-year-old Shanti, 34 days from the wild.

  Vicki’s first ride with Zali on the arena, after three weeks of handling.

  While we inspired the girls with a love of showjumping, they were equally stirred by our work with the wild horses. When Shanti wanted to save and train her very own Kaimanawa from the 2016 muster, she begged her parents to let her have a weanling. Shanti couldn’t bear the thought of the Kaimanawas going to slaughter and believed that she was capable of training a wild horse. After printing out the re-homing forms several times and leaving them around the house for her mum to find, her persistence paid off and we got a phone call to ask whether we thought the girls were capable. After a lot of consideration, we decided that both were indeed ready; the experience they could gain from taming a wild horse would teach them much more about timing and feel than any domestic horse could. We also offered to mentor them. They could have their Kaimanawas delivered to our stockyards and work on the initial handling alongside us so that we could keep an eye on them and continue to teach them everything we had learnt. Then, once the horses were ready, they could then go to their own property. It seemed like a win–win situation: it would allow Shanti and Gaia to have a similar experience taming wild horses as we had benefited from as children — Vicki had been nine when she’d tamed her first wild stallion (from Parekiore Mountain) and 12 when we’d tamed some wild Welsh stallions from further north — and would also ensure that two fewer horses went to slaughter during the upcoming muster without us overcommitting to too many horses ourselves.