For the Love of Horses: The Wilson Sisters' Inspiring Journey to Save New Zealand's Wild Horses by Wilson Kelly

Author:Wilson, Kelly [Kelly Wilson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781775536772
Publisher: Random House New Zealand
Published: 2014-10-02T04:00:00+00:00

The blind, a camouflaged area where the media are based during the muster.

From left: Vicki, Amanda and me at the 2012 muster.

We had plenty of footage of the horses entering the yards and being sorted, but Amanda wanted to capture the entire round-up process. The pilot was very happy to let us fasten a GoPro camera to the helicopter so that we could see when and where each herd was sighted, the diverse terrain the horses had to travel over and how they coped with the helicopters. Over mountain passes and through rivers they travelled, some having to journey nearly 30 kilometres while others came from grazing just over the brow of the hill. We were amazed at how different the various horses looked, some herds resembling Exmoors and others obvious descendants of the Welsh and Arab bloodlines. Having seen the horses from a distance on the Ranges Trip, we were even more impressed with them up close. Without a doubt, the quality of the Kaimanawas was far higher — more refined and with better conformation and looks — than we had expected.

Once the first herd was safely yarded, Vicki set to work ageing horses and directing them into different yards, the mares, stallions and foals separated for re-homing. Behind me I heard the distant buzz of one of the choppers and turned to watch as 32 horses galloped down the valley. They were the first horses to come from that direction, the only grey Kaimanawas we had seen and the largest group of horses a helicopter had brought in at once. As they galloped down onto the flats they separated into two distinctive groups: both herds had grey lead mares and the stallions brought up the rear, striking bays with a strong Clydesdale influence.

We watched as they cantered around the bend and, with ears pricked, approached the yards and trotted through the gate in formation. It was a depressing sight because these horses, more than any of the others, seemed to belong in the wild. Because it was taking a while for the horses to be sorted, the latest arrivals stayed in the large yard, milling around. They were more unsettled than the other herds and spun in circles, unsure of what was happening. The oldest stallion quietened quickly but the younger one, very similar-looking, was worried about his mares and kept challenging the older one to fight.

Eventually the two herds were directed into a smaller yard to be sorted, some lowering their heads and tentatively walking through the narrow chute, others rushing through. Vicki, busy sorting, paused when the oldest stallion approached. Unlike many of the others he raised his head and looked her directly in the eye, maintaining a proud and defiant bearing. Dreadlocks matted his mane, reaching down to his knees; there was no doubt that he was one of the oldest horses in the muster. As he walked past, Vicki reached forward and brushed a hand over his back, and he flicked an ear in acknowledgement.

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