As a life-long city slicker, I never thought there’d come a day when I had to wear chaps. I’m not sure what it is that bothers me so much about them. Perhaps it’s the fact that chaps seem to masquerade as pants. Sure they cover your legs and fit snuggly across your waist (like pants), but they also happen to be missing the entire crotch area and backside. That’s just kind of weird if you ask me.
What am I Getting Myself Into?
Chaps are a necessary evil when riding horses through the brush and scrubland of high-altitude terrain, and today I was learning to ride in the most awe-inspiring of settings. I was in for a truly unforgettable experience riding along tight mountain passes and through the winter’s last blankets of snow in the Andes Mountains of Chile’s Araucanía Region, just outside of Pucón.
Roughly 780 km south of Santiago, Pucón sits in the shadows of Mt. Villarrica — a picture perfect conical volcano set along the shores of an ice blue lake. This is Chilean cottage country for the well-heeled and well-known. It is known for its geothermal hot springs and is also an adventure tourism Mecca offering up the opportunity for skiing and snowboarding, whitewater rafting, ziplining, kayaking, and of course, horseback riding.
Still, I felt a little uneasy about the whole experience, and it wasn’t just because of my questionable equestrian attire. I was somewhat reluctant to trust my one-and-only life to the spindly hooves of a foreign pack animal who didn’t even speak my language. Beyond a few confused months during early childhood that saw me secretly enjoy the pretty pink horsies of My Little Pony, I never really understood all the fuss about horses.
You can Lead a Man to Horses, but you Can’t Make Him Ride
Chaps on, I strut around the barn staring at the horses waiting patiently in their stables. Which one of these things am I gonna get stuck with, I think to myself. With any luck I’ll get the one rebellious teenager horse that doesn’t want to be told what to do by a pushy bipedal in crotchless pants.
I wait patiently while the others in my group take mount upon their steeds. Eventually a sturdy-looking, mocha horse was dragged over my way. He looked calm enough I thought, but I didn’t bother to ask its name. For now, this was strictly business.
My initial fears of the unknown were quickly eased when I met Rodolfo Coombs — our dashing guide, instructor and the proprietor of Huepilmalal Equestrian Center. With a genuine passion for both people and horses, Rodolfo lives to teach newbies to ride.
A dead-ringer for the Dos Equis “most interesting man in the world”, in a wide-brimmed cowboy hat, I’d quickly learn that the fictional beer spokesperson had absolutely nothing on our leader. Rodolfo has a personality as colourful as the huaso-style ponchos his horsemen don. As a former Spanish show jumping coach at 2 Olympic Games during a self-imposed exile during the Pinochet era, he has travelled the world many times over thanks to his skills on the back of a horse.
Before setting off I received my final riding accoutrement, a hard-shelled riding cap similar to those worn by posh English aristocrats out on a fox hunt. Now all I needed was a red blazer, some white pants and a trumpet I thought. Huzzah!
Riding: The Art of Keeping a Horse between You and the Ground.
As I sat there on top of my horse, I felt very uneasy. I had always heard that horses were extremely perceptive and could sense when their rider was nervous or agitated. Maybe the silly hat and chaps would fool him I thought. We set out single file to the practice pen to receive our instructions. Ultimately this boiled down to: yank the reins left to go left, right to go right, pull back hard to stop from moving, and give a gentle kick in the side to encourage your horse to keep moving. I didn’t feel comfortable kicking my horse at first, but after his first foray off course, my opinion changed dramatically.
We worked our way up, single file from Rodolfo’s estancia into the surrounding foothills. Well-trodden horse trails through the thick forests gave way to wide dirt roads as the vegetation became less dense with the ever-increasing altitude. So far it was all easy riding, and my horse had established its place toward the end of pack. Slow and steady wins the race.
Every now and again the horses would break from their walking pace and begin to trot in unison. I found this both exhilarating and terrifying. Sitting back on the fur covered Chilean-style saddle, I hung on for dear life while still trying to remain relaxed, and beam “I’m totally in control” vibes to my trotting steed. The air was fresh and beyond clean, yet I struggled to breath. It couldn’t be the altitude.
Rodolfo’s House in the Hills
After a couple hours on the trail, we arrived at Rodolfo’s rustic stable and bunkhouse in the hills. Both the horses and my aching bum were afforded a much needed rest. Although this was short-lived, I relished being back on solid ground for a quick moment. The horses made a mad dash for the water, while Rodolfo rushed over to get his wine cork. Fortified by a quick glass of red, it was back on the horses toward our end goal.
Hooves slipping and knocking together, our horses struggled at times with the steep, muddy terrain, but never faltered. Slowly, surely and in single file we ascended the hillside through the spring’s last remaining snow banks. As a proud Canuck I wasn’t as enthralled with the sight of show as the Brazilians in my group, but could still appreciate the beauty of the rugged countryside.
Aside from his prowess on the back of a stallion, Rodolfo a turned out to be a equally impressive mounted photographer — effortlessly juggling multiple cameras, and turning these fleeting moments into priceless mementos of our journey. Going back down to the bunkhouse provided a few more slips from horses, but there was never any doubt to their stability in the snow and mud.
Chilean Cowboy Grub: Chorizo and Carménère
Back at the bunkhouse, Rodolfo threw marinated steaks on the open fire along with fresh chorizo sausages. Local tomatoes and olive oil quickly became a salad. Another bottle of 2008 Carmenère was cracked open and passed around the group. This was a true huaso feast in the most spectacular of settings. We enjoyed great food and great conversation, learning more about our guide’s impressive riding career and impressive love life. It was time to put the horses on ‘auto-pilot’ and cruise back down to the ranch.
Does Anybody have Sunscreen and a Claritin?
Perhaps I am a little clairvoyant, but I had an uneasy feeling about riding horses right from the get go. While my horse proved reliable, it would turn out that I am severely allergic. But like the old cowboy saying goes: The best place to learn about a horse allergy is on a 5 hour ride through the middle of nowhere.
Ears and nose now completely plugged, mucous smeared across my face, lungs weezing and gasping for air, my purple sunburnt face was finally visible to my friends waiting for us back at the estancia. We had emerged from the hills, we were all fine, and I looked like an idiot.
I thanked Rodolfo and tried to explain to him that I was appreciative of his help, and genuinely enjoyed this new experience. “Unfortunately I’m allergic to the horses” I said in parting. “Allergic? No, no no” responded Rodolfo, as if the very idea that anyone could have an allergy to something so near and dear to him was humanly impossible.
While a Claritin would have made all the difference, I was still very much appreciative of this truly unique experience, and recommend that others go for a ride in this breathtaking corner of Chile. It was now off to the hot springs to soak my aching body and air out my sinuses.
Contact Rodolfo personally by visiting www.huepilmalal.cl
For more information on the great travel experiences to be had in Chile go to www.visit-chile.org