Horseback riding at Canyon de Chelly

Horseback Riding Through Canyon de Chelly

By Beverly Lehnhardt | Sedona.biz     

Years ago in northwest Pennsylvania I was a “Can-I-get-a-horse,-Daddy? We-can-keep-it-in-the-garage. Please-please-please?” kind of a kid. I loved the animal's graceful, muscle-rippling, hoof-pounding magnificence and never tired of watching them graze or frolic across the green pastures. As I grew up, horseless (my parents’ resolve never once wavered on the issue), I rode as frequently as I could—which wasn’t often—and soon realized that perching atop a large, spirited animal with a mind of its own wasn’t as easy as it looked. I regularly ended up on the ground, jarred and marred, but thanking the good Lord that Pennsylvania is a lush green state with earth softened by frequent rainfalls.

Upon moving to Arizona, however, staying on the horse became paramount because there are no soft spots between the sharp-edged rocks and prickly cactus.  I have since met with great success, and this has made me more confident, even leading to the purchase of a cowboy hat and boots. The ‘wannabes’ have nothing on me!

Two years into my Arizona residency, some friends and I decided to visit Canyon de Chelly. 

Canyon de Chelly

Canyon de Chelly is an 84,000 acre National Monument established in 1931 that encompasses four canyons: Canyon del Muerto, Black Rock Canyon, Monument Canyon and Canyon de Chelly.  It is part of the Navajo Reservation and is administered jointly by the National Park Service and the Navajo Nation.  The Navajo people still live there and farm the monument's fertile valleys like their ancestors did centuries ago.

The plan was to tour the canyon by bus—open-sided, comfortable, and up-close; however, as we approached our destination, I spotted numerous signs advertising horseback riding tours. “What a perfect way to see the canyon!” was my thought as we checked into the motel.

I made a few calls and discovered there was a riding stable a mere ¼-mile from us with an opening at 9:00 the next morning—the exact time of the bus ride. It was Fate! I booked the ride and informed my pals that I would tour by horseback while they rode the bus, and we could meet up afterwards.

Horses roam the Chinlee wash at Canyon de Chelly

Elated, I awoke early the next morning to bright sunshine and blue skies and dressed quickly in jeans and sneakers (when packing for the weekend, I had no idea I’d be riding, so brought no boots or hat). My friends dropped me off at the stable on their way to the bus and I happily waved good-bye, little dreaming that I was in for the ride of my life…

As I checked in and forked over payment for a three-hour ride, I discovered the stable was on the Navajo Reservation—I’d be riding an Indian pony named Blackie and my guide, Freddie, was Native American. It never once occurred to me that the normally strict rules and regulations governing rider safety would have little impact here. Also, the names are changed to protect the innocent—not that I think Blackie would’ve minded…

A large group had gone out earlier, so Freddie and I set off alone. About 5 minutes into the ride, Freddie asked if I’d like to run. My previous experience with ‘running’ had consisted of about a ¼-mile (or 1 minute) canter but, feeling adventurous, I gave him a big smile and an enthusiastic “Yes!” He returned the smile and kicked his horse in the sides. The animal lunged forward with Blackie right on his tail. With few options, I leaned into my horse’s neck, grabbed a handful of mane, and apprehensively eyeing the rock-strewn canyon floor, raced the wind.

It had been a rather wet spring and much of the soil was moist—some downright muddy—and in a few places the water was nearly horse-belly-deep. As we galloped, puddles disintegrated into myriad rainbowed droplets and gobbets of mud rained down upon us. I stuck to my horse, exhilarated and astonished at the previously unimagined feeling of being one with the animal. The magic of the day was absolutely perfect.    

After about 10 minutes, we finally slowed to a trot, then a walk, letting the horses catch their breath (the horses?!).  My jeans were soaked to the knees, I had mud in my hair and between my teeth, and I was having a blast! So when Freddie kicked his horse again, I was ready—off we went on another wild, wet, and mucky flight.

White House ruins at Canyon de Chelly

This oft-repeated pattern—run, trot, walk/run, trot, walk—soon brought us to the halfway point where we dismounted and ‘shopped.’  A small group of Native Americans had set up tables of beautiful silver and turquoise jewelry, pottery, and other unique pieces of artwork. However, I had planned on riding, not shopping, and had nothing but muddy lint in my pockets, so after a brief respite and a drink of water, I hauled myself back into a saddle that suddenly seemed much less comfortable.

Freddie and I began the running-trotting-walking thing again and I realized that my body had had enough! I brought Blackie to a dead stop and diplomatically (or not!) suggested we either run or walk, since trotting was totally out of the question. With a look of compassion (or was it psychotic glee?) Freddie nodded—and kicked his horse into another mad dash!  At this point I figured pain was pain and it couldn’t get much worse…

Eventually we met up with another group of riders that had left almost an hour before we did.  This helped explain my hindquarters.

We all rode together the last mile and as we filed into the stable area, I felt many emotions: elation at the unique experience; sadness that it couldn’t go on and joy that it was finally over; and something akin to love for my mud-splattered, sweat-stained, equine friend. I also had the not-so-sneaky feeling that I was going to hate them all tomorrow.

I wearily trudged the ¼-mile back to the ‘bus stop’ to meet my friends and found they had yet to arrive. Spotting a low stone wall, I carefully stretched out on top of it to await the bus. I dozed off and was suddenly startled to recognize nearby voices. As I tried to sit up, the excruciating pain made me decide to stay on that wall until hell froze over; however, my friends had other ideas. They cheerfully rolled me off and helped me hobble to our room where a toothbrush, a hot shower, and clean clothes made me look human and mud-free again—although it was nearly a month before I felt human again.

It was a l-o-n-g ride home and my posterior—as well as the rest of my body—had never hurt so badly, but would I do it again? You betcha—in a running-trotting-walking heartbeat!

From Sedona, Canyon de Chelly is located in the Four Corners region of Arizona approximately a four hour drive northeast of Sedona (240 miles) at Chinle, AZ. For more information go to Canyon de Chelly.

To read about the Navajo/Hopi land dispute, click here.

[Home Page] [Travel Home Page]