On a beautiful Tuesday morning I woke up with butterflies.
On this glorious day, I would finally meet the mounts I would cross Argentina on – excited is an understatement for what I felt.
I packed my belongings and made the 40 km drive from Ayacucho to Estancia El Cardal.
Juan, a kind ranch-hand, welcomed me and walked me to my new horses — two Criollos of the same origin as my heroes Mancha and Gato! I was as excited as a kid in line to enter Disneyland.
“Meet your horses Picasso and Sapo,” said Juan.
Like a balloon too close to the fire, my excitement burst immediately. Sapo, a cute little Buckskin (Dun), the same colour as Gato, had a bite on his back that would clearly prevent me from riding him for weeks. And Picasso, a gorgeous, tall bay with wild eyes like Mancha, pranced nervously, but was tied to a post and hobbled.
“Sapo is 16 years old and very quiet, but Picasso is only 4 and a little wild — you will need to saddle him hobbled until he gets used to you,” warned Juan.
I approached and Picasso reared up at the sight of me. I swallowed a lump of fear and got to work. I started brushing Picasso to get him used to me. It was touch and go. He was skittish as the soft brush glided down his fur, but I kept at it. The first time I climbed onto his back, I held my breath waiting for him to blow up. Luckily, I held the left rein tight, and before he could start bucking, I pulled his nose in toward the tip of my boot and flexed his neck, making him turn in tight circles. After he calmed down I straightened him out and he trotted forward.
For the next four days I spent hours riding Picasso and structured a saddle pad for Sapo that didn’t rub the sore on his back. Slowly I saw signs of trust. But my own anxiety grew.
Before my departure, Don Carlos Solanet, who lent me the horses, took me to meet Oscar Solanet, son of the famous horse breeder Emilio. “The first time Tschiffely came to try the horses, he tried to saddle Mancha without tying (the horse), and when he tightened the cinch, the Criollo took off bucking and threw everything off his back,” said Don Oscar in his father’s old office surrounded by sepia photos of Tschiffely, Mancha and Gato.
“Emilio never thought the crazy Swiss would make it.”
He showed me a signed copy of Tschiffely’s Ride, with a dedication from Tschiffely to Don Emilio, and then took me to the tomb containing the bones of Mancha and Gato and Tschiffely’s ashes. For me, it was like visiting a shrine.
Kneeling in front of Tschiffely’s ashes I asked for strength from the Long Rider. The following morning, with the sun rising, I departed El Cardal. A strong wind started to blow forcefully. Riding Picasso and ponying Sapo, I ducked my head to prevent my cowboy hat from flying all the way back to Uruguay.
The truth is, like every new beginning, I was scared. But like many times before, I swallowed my fear and rode south.
