Dennis and his Arabian mare, a.k.a. the mountain goat (and the Princess), led the way. Our 6-year-old daughter, J., followed on Thor. The blue-eyed, spotted gelding’s previous job had been carrying a 5-year-old boy into the Manzano mountains, which we understood he’d done consistently with great care. The old fellow swung into the jaunty walk he’d maintain throughout the entire ride, completely in his element. Caprichosa, C., and I brought up the rear.

For a moment, the trail ahead seemed impossibly vertical. I wondered how we’d negotiate it. But before I could think any further, my mare was digging into the earth with each hoof carefully placed one after the other, big haunches working overtime while I fleetingly questioned the wisdom of bringing the kids on such a ride. I went through the mental checklist again. They had trail experience at lower elevations, solid seats, helmets strapped on securely, and we all had good horses. I could feel C.’s fingers tighten on my belt loops.

“It’s awfully high, Mom,” he said, nearly as breathless as I.

“I know, C.” I reached back to give my little boy a reassuring pat on the thigh that did not even begin to match the sinking feeling in my stomach as I looked below to see our rig at the trailhead getting smaller and smaller. From the map, we’d known that the first mile out of Jack's Creek would be the most difficult section. As a flatlander for the majority of my life, it took some self-control to not clutch the Andalusian’s mane as she doggedly hauled us higher. I told C., “Don’t look down, buddy. Just relax, and breathe. Caprichosa will take good care of us.” And the big mare did, negotiating up the mountainside through conifer forests and rough, stony places.

As we finally made our way up what seemed an interminably long switchback, the narrow trail split wide open into a sprawling meadow. On the flank of Round Mountain, stands of silver-white aspen trees greeted us, their leaves quaking and whispering in the morning breeze. The grass grew in great thick clumps, a verdant green dotted with wildflowers. Caprichosa ripped up a big mouthful and chewed, and I let her. Clouds billowed out of the arc of horizon against which the sky lapped, an ocean of air. Dennis and J. rode ahead of us to the cusp, and waved.

We ate the oatmeal cookies I’d made the day before. From where we sat beneath the boughs of a gnarled pine, the world spread out below and around us for miles. C. sat on a rock hugging those impossibly small knees while J. and Dennis lounged back in the grass. Our horses rested in the shade, full of their share of cookies too. I lay back against the round curve of the earth and for one heady moment felt thankful for gravity. Because without it I had no doubt I’d go tumbling headfirst into that sea of sky.

It had definitely been a ride of passage.

Sources: The American Discovery Trail; Matt Parker
Flickr Photo Sources: lnwestcliffe; ckindel ; edgeplot