Horse Riding High in the Western Cape

After breakfast, it's saddle-up time for a four hour ride up the Hawekwa Mountains. We ascend through hills of pink and white proteas. Past fields of fynbos and olive orchards. The green expanse in front of us seems made for speed and we break into a canter. 'Yee ..haa!!', I whoop, one hand clutching the reins, the other grabbing the saddle, as I experience equine freedom for the first time.

For our final ride, we drive to Rhebokskloof wine estate outside Paarl. We're all tired from many hours in the saddle and take a slow meander through the vineyards before lazily summitting a small peak. It's a hot afternoon and the horses are content with the leisurely walk.

The next day back home, I ease myself gingerly out of bed. Groaning as my sore muscles and bruised knees begin to make themselves known. 'No pain .. no gain,' I mumble to myself.

Then I remember the feeling of riding on high. That pure smell of moist pine forests and the lingering green of the Langeberg slopes. I remember the good times and the agony disappears.

Copyright © 2002 Jeremy Jowell. All rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or in part without the permission of the author is prohibited.