Women’s Sports & Fitness, 1998

Copyright 1998, Dale Leatherman

    As a youngster growing up horseless in the Southeast, I pored over Western Horseman magazines and dreamed of galloping through sagebrush on a spirited cowpony. I saw every western movie twice and was inordinately proud to have the same first name as my hero Roy Rogers' wife, Dale Evans.

    This western fixation lasted until I was about 17, when a handsome Cornell polo player introduced me to an English saddle and the joy of jumping horses. I went on to devote more than two decades to showing hunters and jumpers, with no regrets.

    Then I received an invitation to spend a week in the wilds of Wyoming, and the latent cowgirl in me came to life. Before I knew it, I was galloping through sagebrush on a pretty gray Arab--and reeling from deja vu. Our wrangler, Belinda Dougherty, had suggested we "lope" up to a distant ridge, and nudged her mare into an easy canter. The rest of us followed suit, raising a posse-sized cloud of dust. Then Dougherty swerved from the wide cattle track we'd been following and set off cross-country, picking up speed, her mare's tail a bright chestnut streamer. We followed, whooping it up bravely.

    I stood in the stirrups of my western saddle, jammed my Australian bush hat lower over my eyes and gave Grey Wolf his head. This was his turf; he could make the decisions. Through a blur of stirrup-high sagebrush I glanced down at rough ground and gopher holes, then forced myself to look ahead. The little grey Arab deftly zig-zagged, somehow dodging and leaping without breaking stride. His ears were perked and he was obviously enjoying himself. I concentrated on zigging when he did.

    We fanned out across the range, a dusty comet with Dougherty at its head, until we reached the ridge and stopped, the horses stamping and blowing from their run. Grinning, I caught my breath, taking in the pungent smell of crushed sage, and looked around. In every direction lay hundred-mile vistas of sky and open country unmarred by power lines, buildings or roads. There were no people, no vehicles, no signs, no cellular phones. It had taken most of a lifetime, but I was finally living my dream. . .