I first took a lesson. After not riding for six weeks, it was a good idea, but Abby was a massive 16.2 hands and had a big moving trot. Even Eiger's moving trot makes me a tad nervous. Hers??? Whew!
It was good to work hard. By the end, I was doing much better.
Then I went with Loch Lomond Trekking. Super sweet Suzanne and darling cobs.
I've never ridden a cob. They're such traditionally British horse. Tilly was broken to drive and ride . She was massive!!! Broad back. Huge feet. Suzanne said she's a "doer" and can practically live on air. Chuckle.
The moor--pronounced me-ewer (very soft r) was lovely. The sun came out and down below stretched Loch Lomond the largest fresh body of water in the UK.
I learned that a mountain over 3000 ft is called a Munro and Ben Lomond is the most southern Munro in Scotland.
Surrounded by ferns as tall as my pony's tummy, the sun dipping in and out of the puffy clouds, the breeze keeping things from being too warm, I felt swallowed by the Highlands.
I'd done it. I'd found the moment. The moment I'd dreamed of. The moment I'd hoped for. The moment I wanted but thought I'd lost when I couldn't do the big cross country riding because of my appendix.
I'd brought my riding boots, my breeches, sunscreen and bug spray.
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