[RC] Fw: Riding out in the worst snowstorm since 1772 (was Pictures) - Conclusion - Flora Hillman
Continued....
The snow and wind hit me with
a fury like I'd never experience before. My bandana flash-froze in less than 4
seconds, and, cardboard-stiff, slipped down to my chin. For the few
brief seconds it took to pull it back up, I felt as if my whole face was being
pelted with flying bits of razor sharp glass. It was beyond awful --
it was close to unbearable.
I ducked my head until I
could only see my pommel, the frozen bandana now flash-freezing my cheeks,
my gloved hands covering the exposed parts of my face while I tried to
parry the force of the stinging snow with my helmet and visor. Unable to
even look up, I put my pony on autopilot. He bowed his head
too, his steps quick as he hurried his walk to get home all the
sooner.
I didn't dare let him trot --
I tried that once for only a few strides, and the effect of the blinding,
blowing blizzard in my face and eyes was agony, rendering it impossible to
see. So I insisted my pony stay at a walk, which (bless his dear heart) he
did. A hurried walk, nonetheless, but still slow enough that I could open my
eyes and see the road every few paces.
The snow was settling in
crystallized dust mounds on the polar fleece blanket, and in
every the nooks and crevices around the pommel of my saddle.
Snow-turned-ice covered my pony's head, whiskers and neck, and his long
mane had transformed magically into thick strands of pure crystal. Slowly,
we were being enveloped in white to the point where the blue fleece of the polar
sheet was now competely white. I kept my legs tight against the saddle, holding
the ends of the fleece under my legs so that they remained protected, but
the wind howled and raged so violently that one end managed to rip free
from the grip of my calf.
I felt my thigh scream in
agony as the bitter wind lashed the top of my britches. I snatched
the flapping ends of the fleece, and hastily tucked them around my legs
again. My cheeks were now frozen to the bandana, which was frozen itself
into an unbreakable wave of cotton. Home was only a mile away, but in that
blizzard it could have been a million.
We managed to make it as far
as the big farm with the 4 horses when my pony suddenly jumped in a
slight spook, and turned his head to look behind him. Surprised, I looked back
too, and saw we were not alone. The two horses and two Welsh ponies had
finally decided they were bored with standing in their shed, and had galloped up
the hill to the fenceline to watch me pass by. Unable to resist, I stopped
my pony and pulled my camera out, snapping shot after shot as the
critters played silly antics, galloping around in the deep
snow.
My pony, however, was more
interested in getting home. I finally acquiesced, and we mutually agreed
to trot the final 1/2 mile to home. Cold has no meaning like trotting
directly into a blizzard headwind, but home was in sight. We turned onto
the main road, passing the tumbled piles of snow where the stuck car had been,
and less than a tenth of a mile later, we were turning into our own
driveway. The roaring sound of our farm tractor met us, and I could see my
husband way up near the house busy -- for the 5th time -- pushing the snow
off the drive and into ever higher mounds of snow against the
fenceline.
The drive was a clean as a
whistle -- for the moment -- but that pony and I spent not a moment to admire
the nice job. Still at a trot we hurried up to the stable, waving
hello to the man on the tractor as we passed by. The barn doors were
wide open, the aisle still filling with windblow snow, just about
coving a bag of carrots waiting next to my pony's halter. I
dismounted, patted my guy for a job well done, and led him out of the
blizzard. With one big pull, I closed the big barn doors behind
us.
