The Romance and the Reality of the Long Trail

When someone suggested that a group of riders ride the length of the Sheltowee Trace during the summer of 2013, I was ON BOARD. The romance of the idea caught me, and I signed up without a thought.

Think of it! Riding on the trails that Daniel Boone and the native Americans travelled to cross  through Kentucky hundreds of years ago.  To be on Kentucky's only Long Trail, riding the ridges, peering into the deep valleys, watching the beauty of Kentucky's mountains change through the seasons.

But the reality was daunting.

I had a horse that hadn't trail ridden much.  Although he showed courage the few times we had taken him on the trail, he hadn't been out much and needed a lot of time to get a depth of experience.

So there was that challenge.  But I trusted him not to be too crazy, as he had seen most of the things in the forest at one time or another with minimal reaction.

The second challenge:  the horse - and I - were out of shape after a winter of relative inactivity.  But the assurance that we would just be walking, and that most of the horses on the ride would also be out of condition reduced my concern about that.  He (Stormy) was naturally athletic, so I felt he could keep up.

But once on the trail, again reality hit: Stormy, due to his lack of trail time, used an inordinate amount of energy just fussing and getting excited about the trip and traveling with unfamiliar horses in unfamiliar territory.  So what little energy he had was used up in nerves and unnecessary jigging both at the trailhead and on the trail as we started out.

Yet still I had confidence that he would be fine, albeit tired.  I even told him early on, "Hey, conserve your energy, it's going to be a long two days!"

Then on day two, reality really overtook the romance completely when Stormy just stopped.

What do you do when you are in the middle of the forest miles from a road, with a group of other riders, and your horse stops?

I know the answer to that now... you wait.  And you wait.  And he catches his breath, then moves on for a while until he stops again.  And you wait.

He was dehydrated, sweating in the unseasonably warm weather in a winter coat that hadn't shed yet.  I was worried about him.  I was sorry at that point that I let the romance carry me away, to the point that I might injure my horse.

I started dismounting at every hill we had to climb, to lighten his load.

My generous trail companions offered some of their own water which was poured into someone's upside-down hat, and he got a small drink.

And half a dozen hills later, we found a puddle in the trail.. filled with frog eggs and lots of mud, but water nevertheless.  Stormy drank deeply and I breathed a sigh of relief.  He perked up and was fine from that puddle-drink until the end of the trail. No more stops and ears once again pricked forward down the trail.

We both arrived home safe and sound, and by the next day Stormy was ready to go out and play with his pasture-mates.  Meanwhile I was still sore, but glad to be back home with my horse in one piece.

We will be going out again on the Sheltowee in a few weeks.  We are working on conditioning, I've ordered a collapsible water bucket, and will be carrying a small amount of water on the trail.

The romance of the end-to-end Trace ride is still alive, but now reality has been given its due and its respect.

Trash or Tourism?

The following was contributed by guest freelance writer, Karen Weber of Lewis County, KY.

“Get Out Kentucky!” is the new battle-cry of our state Tourism Department’s efforts to encourage healthy options for recreation, while drawing visitors to Kentucky’s unique geographical and historic sites. From a relative newcomer’s perspective, though, if I were a paranoid, conspiracy-theory subscriber, I’d say there are equally hostile forces at work trying to thwart the momentum of a traditional southern hospitality’s draw.  As a participant in various outdoor adventure activities, it’s become a personal habit of mine to keep garbage bags in the car, so when I find myself at a trailhead or on a road with cluttered ditches, unsightly trash can be picked up and later disposed of responsibly.                  

Acknowledging there are visitors to our state parks, trail systems, and tourist sites who respect and care for our natural resources, there is also evidence of another mentality of users with seared consciences who toss their waste out of car windows, along trails, and beside streams.  In less than an hour, this past weekend, at one place where a trail crossed a road in Rowan County, I picked up a 30 lb. bag of trash, including beer and soda cans, empty “chew” cans, bottles with black “chew-spit” inside, cigarette wrappers, plastic bags, shell casings,  and even dirty disposable diapers. 

Unfortunately, this was not the end of the blatant disregard for health and safety issues posed by openly discarded waste. Either deliberately, or accidently, a large box of shiny silver roofing nails (with no box in site) had been freshly broadcast across a 4’ x 20’ section of ground where a trail came out of the woods to cross over a single lane road.  The side of an empty plastic milk jug cut-open, allowed the half gallon of retrieved nails to be disposed of safely. These “tire and hoof eaters” could have seriously injured or debilitated trail users or well-meaning service vehicle pulled off onto the road’s shoulder.  

Where do we, as citizens of our communities, start to correct the attitudes of those who cause this too often seen blemish on the natural beauty of our state?

As a substitute teacher, I’ve seen how quickly students from elementary thru high school aged adolescents can trash the floor of a classroom. ( I‘m known for not letting students out of class to go to their next class until their space has been picked up first, since I am neither their mother or maid.)  But is it too much to expect adults, young or old, who are eligible to drive, drink, hunt, and own land in our state to exhibit more responsible behavior by simply picking up and disposing of their trash so it doesn’t become an environmental hazard, as well as an eyesore? One state in the union, I clearly recall, has signs posted as you cross the border into their territory. A friendly welcome sign puts it simply: “Don’t Mess with Texas” --Littering fine $200.  Maybe the state and county tourism advocates around the beautiful state of Kentucky need to start posting similar reminders for residents and visitors alike.  “Kentucky Proud” should not only refer to agricultural products, but to natural resources and recreation areas deserving our care and protection.  Otherwise, we’re shooting ourselves in the foot and progress will only limp forward when it comes to maximizing the economic potential of towns, and becoming a place where others will want to visit, if not make their home.

(Karen Weber is a presently a Kentucky resident, teacher, and freelance-writer.)