Paw Tracks

by Denis O'Connor

  Later, just as I was about to turn in, lulled to eye-drooping wooziness by the leaping flames and aromatic fragrance of the fire, the young lady ranger appeared carrying a plate of steak and chips. A camp barbecue had been organized and she had thoughtfully brought me a plate of the leftovers. The sight and smell of the steak suddenly awakened a tremendous appetite in me, brought on by my long day in the saddle in the freshest air that could be breathed. I thanked her profusely and soon demolished the meal.

  Whilst I had been eating, the ranger had sat quietly on one of the nearby boulders. Now she came closer and sat by the fire with me. In a friendly conversation that lasted well over an hour she managed to elicit my life story so far, barring any mention of my abusive father. She told me that her name was Sally and that she was from Australia, as was the head ranger I’d met in the woods, who had served in the British Army during the war and had decided to settle here. She had lost her brother and father in the war and, since her mother was already dead, she’d decided to come to England to make a fresh start.

  Before she left I felt obliged to dig out three pounds and six shillings, which was all I had, and offer it to her as a token of my gratitude for all the hospitality the rangers had extended to me. The sum was graciously declined. She told me with a smile that the rangers laughingly thought that they had come across a latter-day young Davy Crockett suddenly riding out of nowhere from the Derwentside woods. She said they ‘were tickled pink’ to see me and couldn’t quite believe I was real. As she stood up to leave she mentioned that I could have some of the sketch maps they gave out to the hikers to help me plan a ride and, even better, she would join me on horseback if I wished. She explained that the rangers kept two ponies at the centre in case a hiker got lost in a part of the forest where a jeep couldn’t reach.

  ‘If you like, I could show you one of the more scenic trails and we could be company for each other on the ride,’ she said.

  I readily agreed and thanked her for the offer. At the same time, I wondered if this was the wardens’ way of keeping tabs on me in case I got into trouble riding alone. I believed that Wildfire and I could to handle any trouble that came along, but I understood how they felt the need to keep me, a minor on horseback in rough country, under close observation. If anything went wrong they could be held responsible.

  I gave Wildfire a last stroke and told her again how wonderfully she had dealt with those two tramps. I then slid into my sleeping bag and checked the time by my old-fashioned pocket watch, a present from my Uncle John which by now had seen better days. It was just after midnight. I listened to the sound of the river coursing its way downstream and the occasional bark and whistle of the local wildlife, but I was soon slumbering away.

  In the morning I got up quickly and was soon tackling chores. I never minded doing chores except for the ones I had to do for my father, such as taking his bets to the bookmaker or collecting heavy tea-chests from the Co-operative yard for him to break up for firewood. I didn’t so much dislike the jobs he gave me – it was just that he never thanked me or praised me, and treated me as if I was a menial slave. The first job was to refill Wildfire’s water bucket and to feed her some of the maize and grain nuts I carried with me. She seemed genuinely pleased to see me and I was treated to some affectionate nuzzling and snorting before she got to work on the horse nuts. It was a real luxury simply to walk over to the washrooms and take a refreshing shower. I didn’t have a towel with me so I just dried myself with one of my spare T-shirts.

  My fire was a mass of grey ash with just a few red embers but a few careful pokes soon had it blazing again. I had brought along a small frying pan with a collapsible handle and started to sizzle strips of home-cured bacon that Mrs Bramer had given me. I opened another tin of beans and placed it to warm on the hearth while I filled my empty Tizer bottle with water. The morning looked full of promise and after breakfast I washed up, tidied my campsite, stowing away my sleeping bag and cooking utensils inside the tent.

  My watch showed ten minutes past nine so I had nearly an hour to wait before joining Sally for the trek on horseback into the forest and hills. Meanwhile, I rubbed down Wildfire, brushed her beautiful mane and saddled her up, ready to move off. I also carefully checked her hooves, something else Anthony had warned me about since the smallest stone lodged in a horse’s hoof can turn her lame and unrideable. She looked fine so obviously our little adventure was doing us both the world of good, as my grandmother was fond of saying.

  Just as I was finishing combing out the tangles in Wildfire’s tail I happened to glance over towards the ranger’s hut and saw the young ranger leading a dark brown horse towards us. The horse’s name was Tango and he was a four-year-old gelding. The two horses made contact, sniffed each other’s identity and then seemed content with each other’s company. After a few brief words we were eager to get going and, with Sally leading off, I followed behind. Soon the camp was out of sight and we were riding through thickly wooded terrain on the slimmest of trails, possibly a game trail used chiefly by deer. After a while we emerged on to an undulating plateau covered in gorse and clumps of dark-coloured heather and we were able to ride alongside each other.

  I have often found that wildlife is much more tolerant of people on horseback than people walking. We passed stray pheasants and foraging wildfowl, who hardly gave us a second look. Rabbits were numerous in the vicinity of our track and away to our left, as Wildfire noted with an inclination of her head, a herd of roe deer was grazing. Ahead, I could see that we were approaching more trees and soon we were in a forest of older trees with a predominance of oaks and ash. Now and again, we forded powerful streams that cut their way through the forest and led down from the innumerable hills above us to the narrow, hollow vales below.

  At one point Sally reined in her horse and pointed down to a beauty spot nestled below us, which she identified for me as Allensford. We avoided the roads that covered the countryside around us but stopped several times to admire the bridges we could see in the distance. Occasionally we could hear the whistles and chugging of the railway trains that travelled through the area. After two hours of fairly gruelling riding we were ready for a break although the horses seemed remarkably fresh. We rested by a glade of willows that graced the banks of a clear stream. After the horses drank their fill, we unsaddled and roped them securely to stout trees. I’d brought some horse nuts for Wildfire, which I shared with Sally’s horse. She had brought along a picnic, which included amongst its delicacies some small pork pies, the aroma of which made my mouth water. She’d also brought along a straight-sided flask, the like of which I had never seen, but which fitted more easily into a saddlebag than the rounded variety. It was full to the top with sweet, hot coffee.

  We ate the food and drank our coffee in verdant surroundings where, apart from little clouds slowly tracing their way across a clear blue sky, nothing moved. While the horses close-cropped the grass, Sally talked at length about riding. She told me how she had learned to ride on a small farm her family owned in the outback of eastern Australia where she could ride all day and never see another person. She described how wild and open the country was and that it was really easy to get lost or have an accident and no one would ever find you. So it was important to always carry a reliable compass and she showed me hers, a heavy-looking Army model. She looked at me inquiringly then and I felt myself blushing as I admitted I didn’t have one. She then proceeded to give me a short lecture on the dangers of camping out in the wild country without taking due care and preparation. She reminded me that the first principle of survival is never travel alone and always leave clear information about where you are going and when you expect to be back. And always, she emphasized this point by raising a finger, carry more provisions than you think you’ll need.

  When she finished I felt rather shamefaced and admitted to her that my expedition had been severely flawed and seriously dangerous now I looked back on it. She glanced across at me and smiled as a wise older sister might have
done. Then she said that she admired the get-up-and-go attitude that you might find in a boy’s adventure story but this was real life and if I hadn’t encountered the head ranger I could have ended up in grave danger. She made me promise to take more care in future and I said I would. We shook hands on it, which she said was the Australian way to agree something binding.

  All saddled up again, we rode downhill along the routes taken by the many brooks and burns as they descended to become part of the river. I needed all my riding competence to cope in places where the downward slope was very steep. Sally turned and gave me a thumbs-up sign after Wildfire and I managed a precipitous bankside where the horse slid right down to her haunches and, but for sheer willpower, I would have been unseated. Riding a horse downhill is a most difficult task – if the horse doesn’t panic the rider might and it is a recipe for disaster. I noticed that Sally leaned back and grabbed her horse’s tail to steady herself during the descent and I filed that strategy away for future use. Once we reached the valley floor the going became progressively easier and every so often we kneed the horses into a rocking canter that was so intoxicating that it made us both laugh out loud, with only the stony, craggy outcrops that lined parts of the valley and the sentinel trees to witness our delight.

  We crossed the ford and rode up to the rangers’ station almost before I realized that we had arrived back. Sally said I could bring Wildfire to the stable yard to give her a good wash down with a hose.

  Having dismounted she came over to me and said, ‘You’re invited to have a meal with us all tonight and tomorrow, after you’ve had a chance to do some birdwatching from our hides, I’ve volunteered to see you on your way home.’

  I realized that I was being taken in hand, but considering how caring and friendly the rangers had been to me I considered it only fair that they would want to make sure that I got home safely without being any further trouble to them.

  I dismounted and, taking Wildfire’s reins in hand, I smiled at Sally. ‘I really appreciate all you have done for me and the way you have directed me. You have allowed me to have the experience I wanted but with your protection, so thank you. I much appreciate your kindness that you didn’t send me packing off home that first night.’

  She nodded her head with relief and said, ‘Well, we were in two minds about that but we admired your initiative even if it was foolhardy. We thought that maybe if you stayed a while with us we could teach you something. Right?’

  ‘Right!’ I said.

  And on that note we parted to see to the horses and wash up.

  ‘See you around seven-thirty,’ Sally called out as she led Tango away.

  I walked Wildfire back to my campsite, stripped her of saddle and saddlebags, and then strolled back with her to the stables. Sally had meanwhile washed and rubbed down Tango and now it was Wildfire’s turn. I held her gently by her noseband as I turned on the hose and gently sprayed her body with cool refreshing water. She snorted at the first impact of the shower then visibly relaxed as I hosed her down all over. Then I brushed and combed her mane and tail, by which time I was ready to drop with exhaustion. My knees especially were achingly sore.

  Back at my campsite I fed Wildfire some horse nuts, filled a bucket for her and, after hobbling her, simply flaked out on top of my sleeping bag and had a much desired siesta. I awoke to the sound of ball games being played across on the grassy expanse near the rangers’ station. I walked over to the shower stalls and gave myself an invigorating sluice down after which I discovered that I had a raging appetite.

  Since it was already after seven according to my pocket watch, I hung around to watch the preparations for the barbecue. Roast potatoes, heaps of vegetables and fresh salad were being prepared but the main item of attraction was a large piglet that was already speared on the spit, ready for cooking. The charcoal base was just beginning to flame as I walked up and offered my services. I was told that I could help with the serving and general distribution of the food. I saw a sign that said ‘Barbecue 5 shillings a ticket’ and offered my money, which was politely declined by a female ranger that I hadn’t met before. It appeared that everyone knew that I was the kid with the horse and that I was to be a guest this evening.

  The barbecue proved a great success. Families collected their food in a spirit of conviviality and gathered in groups to enjoy the al fresco dining. The weather was calm and the river tranquil as it moved slowly past us. After the campers and stray hikers had been served I joined the rangers at a long trestle table and we all ate hungrily of the juicy meat and fried vegetables, which had come from the same local farm as the piglet. I listened avidly to the stories of these men and women who, despite their relatively young age (most of them were in their thirties), had experienced so much. Later, one of the campers started playing a guitar and the singing spread to the whole assembly as the night wore on.

  It was dark when I got up to leave. I shook hands with each of the rangers and Sally reminded me that she would show me where the bird hides were in the morning before we left for the journey home in the late afternoon. I nodded agreement and looked across at the big head ranger, who liked to be called Chuck. His face was ruddy and lined in the reflections of the firelight as I expressed, as best I could, how much obliged I was to him. He didn’t say anything at first, and just gave me a casual wave of acknowledgement with his right hand. But then, as I was walking away, he called out, ‘Come back again and I’ll teach you some real bush craft.’

  Only I never did ever see him again. Shortly after my adventure the local council closed the rangers’ centre due to expense cuts and the wardens were dispersed elsewhere.

  Come the morning, after clearing my camp, seeing to Wildfire and using the washing facilities, I made do with a breakfast of plain biscuits and water. I still wasn’t very hungry after the barbecue. At ten o’clock Sally came to take me to the bird hides. One was situated in the border of the woodland and the other was cleverly stationed just by the river. There were large information charts pinned to the walls within the huts and she left me to spend some time there. I chose to watch from the woodland hide first and what a find it was. The rangers had hung bird-feeders filled with a variety of bird food and they were in full use. As my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom I could identify, with the help of the charts, a number of birds that I hadn’t even known by name before. Over the space of about an hour I had seen black caps, white throats, blue tits, long-tailed tits and bullfinches all frequenting the feeders. In addition, there were numerous goldfinches as well as greenfinches and chaffinches, the latter identifiable by their military-type white flashes along each wing. Once, to my surprise, I saw a great spotted woodpecker, distinguished by his red cap, drumming away at the peanut holders.

  Moving on to the hide by the river the viewing was disappointing as far as birdwatching was concerned but I was treated to a flush of blue damselflies swiftly zooming and then hovering above the surface. Then, just as I was leaving, a blue and scarlet streak splashed into the middle of the river and then rose in a veil of spray to fly to a tree. I was convinced that I had just had a brief glimpse of a kingfisher. I was thoroughly satisfied with my birdwatching and, when I met up with Sally again, I didn’t hesitate to tell her how impressed I was with the work of the rangers who had set up the hides and feeders. She thanked me and went on to tell me that the rangers bought the bird food with money out of their own pockets, which impressed me even more.

  At three o’clock Sally, now riding a sable-coloured gelding called Jonty, sought me out again for the journey home. As we left the centre the other wardens waved us goodbye from the veranda. It had been a wonderful experience and I was sorry to go. I thought that the centre was an amazing place, enabling visitors and schoolchildren to take advantage of the wonders of nature all around. I was enchanted by the setting, which offered everything that I had long yearned for.

  It was late summer and some of the trees were already beginning to shed leaves as a foretaste of the autumn to come, but e
verywhere I looked there were still remnants of nature’s summer show. It had rained overnight and the horses’ hooves left tracks in the softened earth. Flocks of birds, chiefly siskins feeding on the mature seed grasses, took wing as we approached. There was an unexpected eruption in the calm river surface ahead of us, causing huge splashes of white water. I looked across at Sally we said the same word at the same time, ‘Otters!’ and laughed together. No doubt the otter family I had seen on my journey up stream were busy fishing and also having fun at the same time.

  Gliding past the giant black edifice of the cokeworks, I began to hear the muted sound of traffic on the road to Rowlands Gill, while away to the right was the distant outline of the old railway viaduct. As is so often the case, the return journey seemed so much faster than the outward one, which was full of unknown trails and landscapes to discover. The urban outline of Swalwell soon came into view.

  Leaving the trail by the river we halted by the bridle path that led back to the stables. Sally moved her horse alongside Wildfire and reached over to give me a sisterly hug. Barely whispered words of farewell were exchanged and then, turning her horse, Sally was gone. A beautiful episode in my young existence had come to an end, but would be stored forever in my memory.

  Back at the stables there seemed to be no one around. Suddenly Amanda appeared and greeted me with surprise. Perhaps sad that I had reached the end of my adventure, I didn’t feel like talking much so I said only the minimum and excused myself to take Wildfire back to her paddock. Once there, I groomed her until her coat had a silky sheen. I stored the gear that Anthony had lent me in his shed and left the key with Amanda. She had a message for me: Anthony had sold Wildfire to a man with a pony-trekking business near Ullswater in Cumbria. I was sad and yet happy at the same – sad because I would probably never see her again but happy that she wouldn’t end up pulling a milk cart.