by Cyndi Rowat

Poncho has been as much the family patriarch as he has been a 7- Time Peruvian Horse Association of Canada high-point Trail horse award winner.

At age 30, it is difficult to say whether he has endeared himself because he is a great horse for every member of our family or if it is because he has allowed us to be so successful on the competitive trail circuit here in Alberta.

One thing I can say for certain is some of my best moments with horses have come about because of this sturdy and proud gelding.

Poncho came to be ours only a couple of months after we purchased our first horse, also a Peruvian. They are like potatoe chips, you can’t just have one.

Certainly, there were many traits that made me frustrated in the early days. For an example, there was a time where I had to rally three friends to help catch him. I remember a tearful complaint to my soon-to-be hubby Brent, ‘I can’t teach him that I love him if I can’t catch him!’

I recall the horse-eating mailboxes that sent him into a tailspin in the ditches we rode and I recall his headstrong attitude on the trail.

I also remember so many, many rides. My first time riding alongside a herd of running deer and the first time I rode alongside wild horses – that was rather scary, but exhilarating. In any and all accounts, Poncho has been an amazing partner for all of us.

His career, as far as competitive trail or endurance goes, is not remarkable. His competitive mileage is not triumphant when compared to others in the sport, due to my family commitments and, in hindsight, the restrictions I placed upon myself.

But he carried himself with charisma and competed with such joy.

Poncho achieved several top accolades with our provincial competitive trail association, yet many of my fondest memories of our trail adventures together are not about the ribbons or the accolades, they are the stories of Poncho, our friend, competitor and Peruvian Paso.

One of my fondest recollections was of a harrowing incident on a training ride in one of Canada’s magnificent Provincial Parks. Only an hour from home, Kananaskis is a smorgasbord of beautiful mountain trails that exists only an hours drive from our farm. It was early in the season and I had an agenda. As we motored along on unfamiliar trail, we ran upon some snow here and there. After negotiating an icy flow that ran over top of the trail with running water flowing freely beside it, I thought to myself, wow, spring is here.

As we continued down the trail, the blanket of white became more prevalent and we soldiered on. The trail – or was it the trail, it was getting hard to tell - snaked along a small ravine and traversed along the Northern slope. I urged him on and he obliged.

Being only 14.1 hands, Poncho and I had forged rivers and swam in deep pools. His small stature suited me, his presence though, always made me feel like I was riding a much bigger horse.

Suddenly, we sank up to the base of his neck in snow. My feet hit the top of the snow pack. Poncho paused and hesitated. Small or not, Poncho was in a pickle. He lunged to the right and landed again in more deep snow. Then he lunged again. He wasn’t achieving the goal of freeing himself from the snow and, he was heading down the ravine, not back onto the trail. We had many years of trust between us – he had taught me the hard way to trust him more.

Instead of freeing us from the predicament though, he managed to get himself hung up on a downed log beneath the snow. He stopped. I jumped off landing well up to my waist in snow. My feet submerged in the icy water flowing beneath. I shuddered at the cold. I shuddered at my predicament.

My fingers worked nimbly and fiercely to undo his tack. I left it in a heap on the snow, untied his lead rope and secured it to his halter.

Removing his bridle, I assessed our situation. Straight ahead was more ravine. With a small river running beneath the snow and my horse already lodged on deadfall, it was not an option. Neither was going back. Poncho knew which way was out and fighting him to back up hill to dislodge himself from the deadfall was very unrealistic and unsafe. To my right and up about 14 feet was the trail we had been on before the corner full of snow. I positioned myself out of his way at the end of his lead. All the miles, the years we’ve spent together I hoped had created enough trust for him to trust me this time.

I encouraged him forward. He hesitated, considering his options I am sure. Maybe even uttering a few words beneath his breath for putting him in such an awful predicament. But shortly after my asking him to try, that sturdy little horse catapulted himself up over the deadfall and into the deep snow on the other side. I still have no idea how he cleared it from a standstill – the large log had been wedged at his belly. Seeing his out, he lunged to the right and up and up and up out of the ravine. I tried to stay a few steps ahead but fell behind and he wound up pulling me up and saving me in the process.

Poncho would never be the one to say he saved my bacon on that day. I’ll say this, once we got back to the grassy patch on the safe side of the icy flow that started my uneasy feelings, I broke down and cried.

Poncho’s days are a bit less eventful these days. He still loves to go out riding and though he isn’t as fit or as young as he used to be, he still wants to ‘go’.

He has always been an endearing ambassador to the Peruvian Breed – I have fond memories of our Reining to Music performance to Batman that culminated our first couple of years of showing. He was never the best gaited but to those who didn’t know about the breed, he sure could show them! I can’t even count how many riders I would pass along the trail and they’d comment ‘that looks like a nice ride’ and I would just beam from ear to ear and say “It Is!!” He competed every mile in the very first Peruvian saddle we ever purchased.

He is always a great ambassador to my favorite sport (and, I think his too) of competitive trail riding. Riding new and different trails 25 miles at a time.  

Always a perhaps overly cautious competitor I kept Poncho in the Novice divisions hunting an elusive win, until the year I got pregnant with our second child. Brent, who would have weighed about 50 pounds more than I, took over the reins and set about to prove to me that I was holding the horse back.

And to my surprise and great joy, he won that competition in Intermediate with my hubby aboard and we never looked back!

It wasn’t until 2002 that I finally got the courage to try a 50 miler.  By then, Poncho had been doing 25 milers for 8 years. He placed 7^th at that ride and in 2005 I tried again to do a 50 but his heart just wasn’t in it.

In 2008, Alberta hosted the Canadian Long Distance Championships. One of the events added to the line-up was a Ride n Tie.

Ride n’ Tie’s aren’t common in our area – we had only done a demo Ride n Tie in 1996, the summer our first son was born – it was a good reason to get back into shape….quickly. Requiring one horse and two riders per team ride n' tie teams start out together: one on the horse, one on foot. The horseman rides ahead and at predetermined spots chosen by each team, or just when they choose to, the rider dismounts, ties the horse and continues on foot. The other teammate mounts up when they get to the horse and eventually pass their teammate on foot again. This piggyback format continues throughout the race.

We decided to pull 23 year-old Poncho out of semi-retirement to condition him for the Ride n Tie.  With our culminated age between my husband and I and our horse we were a hundred and eight years old and the oldest team there by a long shot. But we were flying!! Poncho absolutely loved it; as soon as I got on him he was ready to go.

Close to the finish, and on foot for the last stretch, I could hear the cheers and I glanced back to see Brent and Poncho hunting us down. I caught Brent’s eye and I knew the chase was on – he wanted to beat me to the finish line…our own little extra competition – it was a photo finish at the line!

We placed 2^nd overall – two minutes behind the winners. What an exhilarating and exhausting accomplishment; a true fitting finish for the culmination of a distance career that spanned fourteen years.

Poncho celebrated his 30^th birthday last summer. We shared some carrots amid the August afternoon. His muscles are a bit flabby now from lack of work, but so are mine. He lives with his equine buddies and has nice big fields to run in and lay around in the pasture.

I am so very proud to say that because of him, I am a better horsewoman. He taught me so much of what I needed to learn.  

My family has been so blessed to be a part of this fabulous gelding’s life. Because of him, Peruvian horses will always be a part of ours.

by Julie Suhr

The one hundred mile, one day Tevis Cup Ride is recognized as the toughest endurance course on earth. Starting at Lake Tahoe, it challenges horses with 17,000 feet of climbs and 22,000 feet of descents in altitudes between 8700 feet and 1500 feet. Its heat, rocks, and river crossings test the physical fitness of a horse as no other ride in the world. I forced this challenge on my Peruvian Paso mare, *Marinera, on two occasions.

This small blue roan mare from Peru, without a buck, rear, shy, or stumble in her repertoire, brought me to the finish line both times. I may have been a good rider, but I was not a good horsewoman and there is a vast difference. The burden carried on her back was offset by her stamina, physical fitness, and courage. She finished 22nd out of 92 entries in 1966 and 24th out of 125 in 1968. I’d give anything to have had the knowledge I have at this time. I could have done much, much better!

In 1968 *Marinera finished 3rd out of approximately 60 horses at the Castle Rock Challenge 50-Miler and won the award for Best Conditioned Horse, defeating some of the sport’s biggest names. She was lame only once in the 24 years I owned her, after climbing a very steep hill with a gang of riders going much too fast. After about six weeks of rest she was fine. To the best of my recollection, none of my other Peruvians was ever lame or injured despite being ridden many hundreds of miles in rough country.

*Marinera’s progeny inherited her longevity. From this computer desk, I can look out at my barn, paddocks, and pasture and see where she lies with her daughters, Danzarina and Carolana—who lived 30 and 24 years—and her grandson, Carioco—who lived 24.

I had *Marinera for 24 of her 30 years during which she was the trainer and I the student as she taught me to become a horsewoman. She showed me what it was to be thirsty, hungry, too cold, and too hot—but not give up. It was a privilege to own her. Many horses have passed in and out of my life, but *Marinera is my email address as well as the name of my ranch, my publishing company, and the street where I live. If I had to describe her with one word, it would be gallant.

I think *Marinera was an exceptional Peruvian from the point of view of endurance racing, but I also think there are more *Marineras out there. I hope the lucky people who have them enjoy the breed as much as I did.