So what if the last time I rode a horse was 20 years ago? Riding a horse is just like riding a bicycle, right? Wrong! And when we’re talking Icelandic horses, it’s a whole different animal altogether.
Late-April in Reykjavik, and the temperature is hovering around four degrees Celsius, with a wind off the Atlantic to freeze the whiskers off a Viking! Just standing by the water, looking out over the wind-whipped crests, conjures up the excitement of what the first explorers coming to Iceland must have experienced in the bitter biting cold.
A perfect day for whale-watching – not! Unfortunately, while Iceland offers a wide variety of outdoor excursions, many are “weather permitting”. So, searching for Moby Dick was out that day. Plan B involved a visit to Laxnes Horse Farm, just a twenty-minute drive outside of the city of Reykjavik, for an afternoon of horseback riding in the countryside. Open since 1968, the farm offers two treks daily, one at 9:30 a.m., and the other at 1:30 p.m., each lasting three hours. The staff even provides pick-up service from the hotel to the property. Custom-made tours can be booked on request.
Being a novice, I had nothing too challenging in mind – a little cantering, trotting, maybe even a gallop along the Icelandic hills. Little did I know what lay in store.
Laxnes sent over the driver right on schedule, and the ride to the farm took little more than the time advertised. Two other tourists, a married couple from Denmark, joined the group, so we were a cozy three. Anticipation of getting back in the saddle after so many years ran high. The only problem was the weather, which became increasingly ominous as our truck entered the hills and the wind began whipping occasional snowflakes over the road. The passing scenery looked softer and more verdant than the majority of the country’s terrain, made up of solidified lava and looking like the dark side of the moon. My day before included a visit to the Blue Lagoon, a natural cloud-blue mineral spring in the middle of nowhere, heated by natural volcanic activity and, because of the sulfuric content, smelling strangely like boiled eggs gone bad. Still, worth an afternoon dip!
But now, traveling along the rugged mountainous surroundings, with evergreens and ever-growing patches of snow, the land seemed more familiar. Yet, a bit more wild.
Arriving at Laxnes Horse Farm, we climbed from the truck and suited up in the changing area. The friendly staff assisted in choosing our riding gear, which included protective blue coveralls. Not exactly fashionable, but the all-weather material felt durable and warm. Gloves and a smart black riding helmet completed the ensemble, and we were ready to commence. Out into the stables, our guide for the afternoon took the group to meet the horses. In actuality my equestrian experiences could be counted on one hand, but I sallied right up like an expert and took the reins of a beautiful rusty-brown gelding. The animal looked little bigger than a Shetland pony — until I climbed on! Up in the saddle, I felt a sudden mix of both familiarity and fear. My sense of balance had been taken away, and owing to the special saddles for the horses, I had nothing to hold onto except the leather reins, made more challenging by the bulky riding gloves. The guide cantered past and our trek began out of the farm and into the icy Iceland hills. Once my horse began to move, my stride returned slightly, although the motion remained unnerving. I steeled my legs to my charge, and held on for dear life!
Clomping down the first incline presented no real challenge and things were going fine, until we had to forge our first stream. The frozen waters made for great scenic impressions, but riding through the currents on horseback made me think twice. The Danish couple had no problems and seemed right at home. So, on we went, the dark rapids splashing and lapping at my gelding’s hooves as he clattered over the rocky ground up the opposite bank. Breathing a sigh of relief, I readjusted my hold on the reins and relaxed a bit.
Up into the snowy hills we went, and the scenery became more and more rugged. Our horses were hard-pressed to mount some of the steeper inclines. We pressed on – up hill and down dale, across the wintry mountains we rode. Coming to a picturesque spot alongside a rushing stream, our guide requested that we stop to give the horses a rest. I finally got up enough courage to ask for some tips on maintaining balance and improve my rusty horsemanship skills. He said it was probably better to start on an Icelandic horse without a lot of knowledge, since horses from Iceland are different from other breeds, and thus ridden differently, responding to altered commands and gestures. For instance, signaling the horse to go faster may be a command to stop for non-Icelandic horse. He related a story of a German tourist who was an expert rider in her own country, but was nearly thrown when trying to translate her experience to the horses from the Laxnes. The anecdote gave me little comfort in my own lack of knowledge, but I remounted determined to master the art. Off again, we took a slightly different route to circle back to the farm. The snow fell harder now, and my face felt like a block of ice, complete with icicles in my beard. The trail, now covered in white, had become slushy and slippery and the riding became cumbersome for the horses. Just a bit further and we’d be back in the safety of the warm farm… My horse began to gallop slightly and I braced myself for a hard ride to the finish. I was keeping up with him, when we began to cross the last bridge of our journey. Suddenly he bolted, knocking me off balance and nearly tossing me from the saddle onto the icy ground! I grabbed hold of the edge of the saddle and struggled to catch myself before I was completely thrown into the rushing river just off the bridge. Thankfully, I managed to readjust my position as we came back to solid ground. The Danish couple, approached me and asked if I was all right, having seen the near tumble I took. Assuring them I was fine, I took a deep breath and wondered if this had been such a good idea. But we were back at the farm now, and I had survived intact – a little sore and maybe a bit humbled out of my cowboy fantasy.
As with the rest of my visit to Iceland, I had to chalk up my riding experience as being unique and educational. But more than a little scary!
