In Wyoming: Horse and Rider Learn Together

By Gretel Ehrlich

Ray Hunt is a leather-faced cowboy who says he'd rather have a horse than a human as a friend. Every day he stakes his life and livelihood on that idea. He refuses to call what he does "breaking" a horse, claiming there is no word that adequately describes the relationship. His smile is a hard beam that penetrates the dustiest corral. Raised on a farm in the days of horsepower, Ray tells me he has picked prunes, fixed fence, driven heavy machinery and cowboyed -- anything to make a living -- but it was always the horse that remained dear to him. "People think the horse is dumb and they're smart. Well, I haven't met a human yet who compares to a horse." ^

A Ray Hunt clinic lasts five days. Mornings, he works with green colts -- young horses that have had little or no handling. Afternoons, he works with those of us whose horses have been ridden 15 or 20 times or more.

In these five days an untouched colt will accept being caught, haltered, led, saddled, ridden, and will have learned the rudiments of the sliding stop, the spinning turn and a smooth backup in an atmosphere so tranquil and trusting, one has to look hard to see how these lessons were learned. Accused of performing miracles, drugging his horses and hypnotizing them, Ray does quite the opposite. He uses almost no prods or external devices at all -- except for his orange flag, which he shakes at the colt's head to make him turn -- no snubbing post or hobbles. He explains, "Oh, I just work with the mind."

The first morning of the clinic, held at the Snake River Ranch at the base of the Teton Range, a small crowd gathers to watch the colt class. One tall, black-haired cowboy mumbles that he thinks it's all bullshit. Ray's eyes sparkle. "People come to me and say, 'I'm having trouble with my horse,' and the horse is saying, 'I'm having trouble with this person,' and I believe the horse every time."

From a wide alleyway where six colts and a mule have withstood an early downpour, Jay, a lanky cowboy from northern Wyoming, turns a wild-eyed sorrel horse into the corral where Ray is waiting on his gray mare. The colt's body is rigid, and he lets out the kind of snorts that make a cowboy take a deep seat on frosty mornings. "A horse has a mind," Rays says, watching the colt. "He gets scared and bold, sure and unsure, sick and well. He says, 'Maybe. I don't know. All right . . .' and too often we don't listen." Then, with one rein, Ray pulls his mare's head around until her nose touches his knee. He rubs her forehead, a gesture that has become a trademark of Hunt clinics. "She knows my mind, and I try to understand hers, and she knows I'm her friend."

Then he throws a loop around the sorrel colt's neck. The horse runs, then plants his feet and struggles. Ray holds the lariat tight -- not with a "fighting feel," but patiently, until the fear subsides. As soon as the colt moves forward, Ray rewards him by throwing slack in the rope.

"When the mind is troubled, the body is troubled," Ray says over and over. Now he ropes the colt's back foot, and another fight ensues. When the colt leans away from the rope, his hind leg is suspended in air. "There's a change," Ray says and lets the lariat go loose. Belatedly, we see that the colt's neck and shoulder have relaxed. "I try to make the right thing easy and the wrong thing hard," Ray explains.

After the colt has rested for a few moments, but before he can "start making plans," Ray drapes the rope over the sorrel's tail and rump, under his belly, between his legs. "He's not afraid of his mane and tail," Ray says with a grin. "He was born with them. But he's not sure about me or this rope. It's natural for him to protect himself. In his world, he's not doing anything wrong."

When Ray tries to rub the colt's neck and head, the colt strikes. Ray grins. "He can't find anything good about the human yet. But I'll just keep presenting it to him. I'll keep fixing it until he finds it."

Another hour goes by. Each time the colt strikes, kicks and bites. Finally, the horse allows Ray's hand to touch his neck, though later, as Ray puts the saddle on, he strikes out with a front leg. After a long three-hour session with this one horse, Ray turns to us and says quietly, "You have to look inside the animal to see where the harmony is. It's not a miracle. It's just there, and you have to bring it out."

By the end of the first day Ray has worked with all seven animals. He teaches them to be caught, by making it uncomfortable to run from him and easy to approach him. Yet in the process, he allows the horse the dignity of escape. "You can't just come in and kidnap a horse. They'll always fight back if you do," Ray says.

Now it's the second day. The colts that have been caught and saddled only once in their lives will be ridden today. Ridden, with no bridle for control. Ray explains, "Getting people to ride their colts with nothing on the horse's head keeps a human humble. It forbids them from trying to control the horse, and the horse feels that. Boy, does he feel it. And that's the beginning of trust."

Jay, the cowboy who owns the sorrel, steps on first. The horse strikes at him, but Jay swings on smoothly as the colt jumps sideways, exhales loudly and finally stands. Nothing to it. For the first time Jay smiles. When he relaxes, the colt does the same.

Peggy, Demian, Elaine, Les and Chuck step on their colts. The horses jump and stop and run into one another like bumper cars, but no one gets hurt. Later the riders are allowed to use halter ropes. They pull their horses' heads around and rub them. "The softness comes through the horse's mind, goes through the body to the feet and back up from there," Ray says.

In the next days the colts are ridden with snaffle bits. A responsiveness begins to show. As Ray talks, we understand we are in the presence of a man whose words carry over to every part of our lives. When he speaks of surrender, he doesn't mean yielding to tyranny but giving in to respect. When he talks of the "life in the body moving through," he is referring to the results of the riders' self-discipline. When he mentions "finding a soft feel" in a horse, he's talking about friendship and trust. Quickly, any notions we might have had about human dominance over the animal disappear, and we stumble on the equality that truly links us -- animal to human to animal.

All day Ray talks enlightenment, and we ask questions about how to back a horse, how to get his hindquarters around, how to make him back smoothly. He makes it clear that the dark corners of our own minds -- the doubt and divisiveness -- have to be explored first. To back a horse properly, then, is to back off our own aggression and impatience. To know where the horse's feet are at all times, which ones are in the air and which on the ground, is to know the cadence of human thoughts and actions, how they link up and come apart and why. To use discipline without aggression on a horse who won't "turn himself loose" is to learn that making peace isn't a do-nothing stance but guts, timing and precision, coupled with tolerance. By not blaming the horse for his self-protective instincts, we learn not to blame the world for everything that goes wrong with us.

On the last day of the clinic we all ride in a lush pasture not far from where a billowing cloud on the Grand Teton looks like a pillar of smoke. We make mistakes. My roan colt gets scared because I'm scared, and he tries to run off. Les' chestnut mare slips and falls on her because Les has been too demanding. Chuck's mule and Elaine's colt pull away because they've been too imprecise, too lenient. "The horse is a mirror. When I see your horse, I see you too," Ray reminds us.

At the end of the day Ray gathers us around. He looks sad, not because the clinic is ending but because he is sending us into a world that barely remembers the worth of a working horse.

At last Ray says, "I try to face life for what it is. There's a lot of heartache, but that's a good thing too. I believe in nature. I believe in life." Then he beams a smile so strong and ironic it could knock me off my horse, and rides away.