WHAT'S THE BIG DEAL WITH WILD HORSES?

They run free in this vast land because we protect them here. Even though many of us have never seen a mustang we still want them preserved.
But why? Why do we care about horses most of us will never see? What feelings do these horses stir in us?

I saw wild horses last week!

Early Monday morning we left town, my husband and I, and drove south to Spruce Mt.

The Bureau of Land Management oversees wild horse herds in the state of Nevada, home to over 50% of the wild horses in the U.S. Many of these animals live in the spacious valleys between mountain ranges--this "basin and range" topography—mountain ranges separated by wide, open valleys. That’s where the horses are, the wide, open valleys and surrounding hills.

We drove through Secret Pass, in the Ruby Mt. range, and dropped into the Ruby Valley and Clover Valley basins. White clouds hid mountaintops, already dusted white. It had snowed the day before; but the dirt road we took from highway 93 wasn’t muddy so we kept driving toward the mountain, watching. This country is home, along with wild horses, to pronghorn antelope, coyote, mule deer, elk, sage grouse, and chuckar partridge. Vegetation is mostly white sage, grass, and bitter brush, with Utah Juniper and Pinion Pine in the draws and on mountaintops. The valley was surrounded by snow capped mountains of the East Humboldt, Wood Hills, and Spruce Mountain Ranges.

Our good friends from Belgium stand on the porch at our house and ask, "How far is that mountain out there?" "About 50-60 miles," my husband says. "In Belgium that would be solid buildings; here, there’s nothing but open country."

Open land is mustang country.

Finally we spotted a small herd of 5-7 horses ahead of the van. The horses saw us, right away stopped eating, and turned to face us. Horses are curious creatures. We’ve had horses at our place, and every time one of us walked out the back door the horses walk to the fence to watch. They prefer being in a group, and they’re innately curious.

The black male stud pushed at his group of mares and they trotted away, stopped, and watched us. Nearby were two male horses, expelled from the group. The stud must have earlier given notice it was time to form their own herd, but they were reluctant to be on their own and kept inching closer to the main group. As flight animals they’re vulnerable to predators. Either the stud or an older mare will discipline young stallions acting up in the herd by exiling them for a time until they mend their ways. But these two were old enough to challenge the stud so he banished them completely from the herd. The stud was big and black, except for a wide, white blaze down his face and white feet. John said he looked in good shape and would make someone a good horse. "I wouldn’t mind having him in my string. He’s a nice one."

The stud pushed his mares again and they trotted away from us a short distance, then stopped, turned, and stared. Wary, on guard. It’s the male’s job to watch for danger for his little band of mares and colts. But there are no young colts this time of the year.

The stud keeps other stallions away from his territory by marking strategic spots with piles of his dung. We passed several of these big piles on the way into the valley.

With binoculars we can see many other small groups of horses along the distant valley wall. They’re far away, but we guess there might be as many as 150 in this valley.

John has another thought. "If we drive the van up the road a bit toward the horses they might cross in front of us, and we can get a closer look."

We get back into the van, and bump over the ruts. The horses notice us approaching fast, and the stud urges the mares into a gallop this time. The small band rushes alongside the road. We’re closer. He turns the herd to outpace us, and they gallop triumphantly across in front of us, heads high, manes and tails streaming.

The wild horse: Is this not our symbol of complete freedom with no constraint? Autonomous control in life, not victims, but independent from chain and corral.

We’re transfixed.

John grew up on a ranch in northern Nevada. His horse was a little black mustang off the desert that runs between Idaho and Nevada. "To see that animal run wild does something to my heart. It’s like being part of an adventure. That little horse Tramp raised me. He’s part of me."