Atop the mountain, one of our first discoveries surprised us. Lakota was dogging his own band. A large, dark bay stallion was keeping Lakota away from his mares and yearlings. It took a few minutes to recognize the tall, dark stranger. It was Grijala, the 5 year-old bachelor son of Conquistador and Cavelitta (Freedom Fund Bands). Young, but mighty looking, Grijala was a bachelor no more, not for the moment at least. He had traveled from the Forest Service and stolen the remainder of Lakota’s band. But, Grijala had paid a price. His once flawless, dark coat was a mass of scars and he had suffered an injury to his back leg that caused him to limp.

Grijala

Grijala with his wounds & Lakota's yearling daughter, Kohl.

Yet, it was Lakota who looked like he got the worst of the fight. He had a huge, nasty-looking gash on his neck that appeared life threatening to me. I first met Lakota in 1994 when he was a young bachelor and I was an inexperienced wild horse filmmaker. While watching one band after another trail over a hill and out of sight I decided to follow and stumbled upon the large, sparkling, spring-fed waterhole. I remember the day as clearly as if it was yesterday. I standing all alone above the spring-fed waterhole, watching and filming a big band coming down to water, lost in the beauty of it all. Suddenly, I had the feeling someone was standing right behind me and I turned quickly—too quickly. The grullo bachelor was only inches away and when I spun around, so did he, kicking dirt all over my camera and me. He charged away up the hill and out of sight. This was my dramatic introduction to handsome Lakota.

Lakota

Each day we tried to find Grijala and the band, and Lakota. Unless Lakota gave up dogging his family, we feared Grijala would finish him off. One more bite on that neck wound would surely be the end of Lakota. Each day, we noticed his wound was just a little less open. And each day, Grijala seemed a little less lame. Neither stallion made a move to fight. Still, I fear that day will come—if it hasn’t already.

Lakota's wound

Nearly every day, we were entertained by the bachelor bands. For a good time, I recommend hanging with the bachelors, for they are bound to stir things up. There are three factions on the mountain—the Forest Service gang of tough looking young males (Garay, Hernando and Inali) and the horse range gang, led by Cloud’s 6 year-old brother, Fiddle (Fiesta). The Fiddle gang features Jasper (Flint and Feldspar’s two year-old son), the Indigo Kid (three year-old son of Electra and Prince), and four year-old He Who (son of Felina and Morning Star). The third group contains the lurking twosome of Galaxy and his pal, Gringo. Among all of these wonderful, beautiful males, my favorite is the youngest—fun loving Jasper. If he were a human boy, I feel like he would be wearing a perpetual, ear-to-ear grin. Colorful Jasper is having the time of his life as a carefree bachelor.

Indigo Kid and He Who

Each evening it seemed the bachelor boys showed up near the giant fence and when they did, they put the band stallions on high alert. One gorgeous evening we watched the dun band stallion, Baja, play with the forest service boys for a half hour or more before returning to his family. Fiddle, on the other hand, spends a lot of time playing with his own band and treats these young bachelor buddies more like mares than male companions. He snakes them away from the approaching band stallions and defends them from the other bachelors. It’s interesting, familiar behavior and is generally a precursor to serious quests to steal mares. Before he won a mare, Cloud’s brother, Diamond, treated Cloud the way Fiddle is now treating Jasper, Indigo and He Who.

Nearly every day, we saw Morning Star’s band with the newest foal on the mountain, little Lenape, a Shaman and Cedar granddaughter. When I say she is “little”, I mean little— a delicate dun, the color of her mother. Lenape is the great granddaughter of Raven and Grumpy Grulla (of the Freedom Fund) and, like her great grandma, does she ever have attitude! Case in point: we parked the Durango one evening near the hideous fence and while Erin, Lauryn, and I hiked to take pictures of Electra and her family, we turned when we heard hammering. It sounded like someone hammering on a piece of tin. Morning Star’s family (including lovely Shadow) had surrounded my car. We watched the older horses sniff the windows and doors and eat mineral filled dirt off my running boards. Then I saw the source of the noise. “Fragile” Lenape was raising her spoon-sized hoof and striking my license plate and front bumper with all her might. The photo below makes her look oh so innocent, but beware the “destructo” filly. Only when I hustled back to the car did the band move off, except for “destructo” who gave the Durango a couple of extra thumps before trotting off to her mother! Erin and Lauryn, meanwhile, were laughing their heads off, doing absolutely nothing to defend my poor Durango.

That same eventful evening, we watched Hera, the four-year mare in Prince’s band, walk up to the huge wooden fence, stick her head under a rail, and begin scratching the back of her neck. Not ten seconds into her vigorous rubbing and the rail came loose, clattered toward her feet as she backpedaled at top speed. I think she was shocked that the seemingly sturdy fence was not as stable as she thought. Again we all had a good laugh, and put Hera right up there on our list of Pryor horse heroes!

A lone bachelor trots the fence line looking for a break

On our last full day, I spent 6 hours sitting at the spring-fed waterhole waiting for horses to come and drink. Erin and Lauryn had gone off in separate directions, trying to locate Cloud, or Bolder, or Flint’s families. . . or any of the horses. It’s strange how you can see 80 horses at nearly one time and then not a single horse for the better part of a day. Anyway, I decided to quit staring at the water—I’d already filmed innumerable shots of birds bathing. So I turned around to look into the forest instead. Maybe, I thought, I could get a shot of that red squirrel I had seen collecting cones in the Douglas firs. That’s when I saw something moving in the trees. A small, cinnamon colored bear ambled into a clearing near the base of the dam where I sat. Ever so slowly, I reached up and grabbed the handle of my tripod and panned the camera toward the bear. He smelled me and stopped. I looked through the lens and focused as he turned to leave. He stopped and I rolled. I got him glancing back and loping off into the trees. Gotcha! I thought. I sat very still and waited, but he didn’t come back. I regretted that I had blocked his route to water and that I hadn’t set up my camera farther away so I might have seen him get his drink. It was the same little bear Ann Evans and I saw the month before.

What a wondrous place—not just because of the wild horses, but because of moments like this. It’s a place of quiet reflection and great discovery. First-time visitors have often told me that coming here was the best day of their lives. Let me share Erin’s experiences as well as Carla’s & Grass’, for it was the first visit to the mountaintop for all three.

We named the newborn foal that Erin writes about in her story, “Leo,” (it is the BLM’s “L” year. The “A” foals were born in 2000 and so on). Leo was only a few hours old when we found him and I share her sense of wonder and excitement at experiencing a foal’s first day. Leo is the third foal for Felicity. Her first is Ingrid, mother of little Lynx. They lives in Cloud’s band. Leo’s father is one of my personal favorites, 16 year-old Custer, the bay roan son of Shaman and Sitka. Little Leo is his only living offspring. I pray Leo will survive and roam free for the rest of his life in this spectacular place.

Newborn Leo and mom, Felicity

On our last evening on the mountain we found Bolder and Cloud and their families on a high hill beyond the snow-fed waterhole. Sykes Ridge was bathed in orange light as I hiked closer. That’s when Bolder quite unexpectedly attacked Cloud and they fought briefly. I was unprepared for this kind of ferocity from Bolder and I wondered what was up with this. In a few minutes, I figured out the reason for the ruckus. Bolder had stolen lovely Adelina from Flint and he was warning other stallions to stay away—including his imposing father, Cloud. In my opinion, Adelina (named for Congressman Raul Grijalva’s granddaughter) was the reason the 2009 roundup was halted. The filly had been born several weeks before the roundup started. Many people knew of her late birth and quite a few people, myself included, had photographed her tottering around in the trees atop the mountain. We cringed at the thought of the helicopter driving she and her mother down the treacherous trails to the desert 5,000 feet below. I think the BLM knew it was dangerous and opted to stop the roundup rather than risk her death.

I look forward to returning to the mountain, to see if Bolder can hang on to his young mare. Something tells me he can. He is an amazing stallion—gentle and calm with his family, but quick to defend them against any threat. I can tell his father respects him, and that speaks volumes to me.

Happy Trails!
Ginger

The official Cloud Foundation website.

Admiral

Climbs High

With a sick feeling, I drove over the cattle guard and into the horse range. I have done this at least a hundred times. But, this time was different and horribly sad. Foolishly, I hoped Admiral and his son were still alive. Maybe I’d spot them in their usual places around the little lake that leads into the Bighorn River or near Crooked Creek and the cottonwood groves where I first saw the colt I named Climbs High.

It was late in the afternoon in May of last year. I drove over the cattle guard and saw a flash of bright red in the trees to my left. I could just make out a horse getting up. The red that caught my eye, backlit in the late afternoon light, was afterbirth. A mare had just given birth! I grabbed my camera and silently slipped closer. The foal at the feet of the dun mare, Seneca, was just minutes old and still covered in the birth sack. His mother was licking the sack away. I noticed the older dun mare, Hightail, watching the new foal. She stood with Admiral and Seneca’s yearling son, Jesse James. Admiral, their band stallion, casually grazed a 100 feet or so away, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. But, for me, something very special had happened.

I watched the mare lick the newborn, defend him from a curious Hightail, and then gesture and “talk” to him, telling him to get up. She nipped him gently on his back and he responded as if by magic. The wet lump jerked and then struggled to get his wobbly legs under him. He fell a few times, before rising, legs trembling. I could see he was a boy. Minutes later, when he was barely dry, Seneca surprisingly started walking up the steep hill behind the trees. The colt dutifully followed her, with the rest of the family trailing behind. I marveled at the strength of the dark bay newborn. He had not even nursed, but he was climbing a mountain!

I walked around the base of the tall hill, hoping to see them emerge on top. The wind picked up as I struggled to walk higher on the rocky slope. Then I saw them—mother and son. The colt was finally nursing.

How Climbs High got his name

In the Indian tradition of naming a child for a deed or trait, I began calling the colt Climbs High. I watched him that summer, growing ever stronger, rough housing with his precocious brother only to run back to Seneca when the play got too rowdy.

Climbs High survived the exceptionally rugged winter, and became a sturdy yearling. He loved to graze and travel with Admiral, perhaps pretending he was a big stallion like his powerful father. Sadly, he would never grow up, for his life was taken, as was Admiral’s in one careless, senseless act. I miss them both and hope we can adequately repay the joy they brought so many visitors by encouraging the park service to erect bigger and better signage, warning drivers that there are wild horses here and they may travel near the roadsides.

It was 2am on Sunday morning when the drunk driver struck Admiral as he stood near a stud pile just a few feet off the right-hand side of the paved road. Then the speeding truck went on to plow into Climbs High, some 100 feet beyond.

Lauryn, Erin and I traveled back to the paved highway at the tail end of our trip to the Pryors to search for the bodies of Climbs High and Admiral. We spotted Hightail and Seneca on a high hill with two bay horses. If I had not known better, I would have thought the little family was miraculously reunited. But, through our binoculars and spotting scope, we could see the young bays were Seneca and Admiral’s two-year old bachelor son, Jesse James, and his four-year old bachelor friend, Hickok.

Father and son, May 2011

We searched near the scene of the crime and found the remains of Climbs High first and then, some distance away, Admiral. The Park Service had drug their bodies out of sight into a gully behind tall bushes. Although difficult, actually seeing their dead bodies brought some closure for me. Now I can imagine father and son wandering in peace in some special place where they will always be together.

Happy Trails,
Ginger

*If you would like to encourage the Bighorn Canyon National Recreation Area to erect better signage to help prevent this kind of tragedy, click here.

For more photos of Admiral, Climbs High, and the rest of their family, click here.

The Cloud Foundation website.

In this chapter of his story, Cloud is one of two fathers who bring up each other’s sons. Bolder is Cloud’s son by birth – beautiful and golden, but raised by Shaman, a rival band stallion. Flint, dark and determined, was sired by Shaman, but became Cloud’s adopted son. The two sons mature and progress from playful youths into valid contenders for mares and bands of their own. Will one of them rise to take Cloud’s place?

This poignant and engrossing chronicle explores the challenges presented not only by ambitious sons, but also by the harsh mountain weather, deadly mountain lion attacks, and the changing relationships within and between bands of wild horses in the mountains.

The film also touches upon the effect of the on-going efforts of the Bureau of Land Management (the BLM) to administer a program of population control, including infertility drugs and bait trapping, to remove animals from the mountains. It is yet another hurdle that Cloud and his family and the rest of the horses in the Arrowheads must overcome in the day-to-day efforts to survive in the wilderness.

Cloud: Challenge of the Stallions premieres Sunday, October 25 (check local listings).

You can follow the developments of Cloud’s family, along with updates about the BLM measures to control horse population at the Cloud Blog.

If you missed the first two installments, watch Cloud: Wild Stallion of the Rockies and Cloud’s Legacy: The Wild Stallion Returns online.

According to people who live in the area, this winter has been the worst in 50 years—not only lots of snow but sub zero temperatures for extended periods. It’s a hard fact that winter often selects out the youngest and the oldest in all wild species. This is nature’s way of keeping populations in check and allowing only the fittest to survive and reproduce. So, we really didn’t know who among the wild horses might have died during this stretch of unusually challenging weather. Yet, some things never change and we were thrilled to witness the mating behavior of sandhill cranes on our drive out to the horse range. The male leaped in the air and danced around the female, paying no attention to our car and cameras eavesdropping on his display.

Koda Wakan & his mother, High Noon, on the day of his birth 6/10

Once on the range, our first discovery of the trip was a wonderful surprise. We had been told that the grullo foal I named Koda Wakan (sacred friend) on the day of his birth last June, as well as his mother, were missing. When we saw them in the bitter cold of January, the young mare looked awful and we knew she might not live. If she died, we knew that Koda had little chance to survive.

As we crawled up the muddy and intermittently snowy road on Tillett Ridge, we spotted a small band on a low hill—a dun stallion, dun mare, dun foal and another foal—a grullo. Through our binoculars we studied the group and the oddity of one mare and two foals. Then it struck me. The second foal was Koda! He was foraging with the others and the mare allowed him to eat beside her. Through my scope, I could see that Koda had lost all the hair on his neck –a result of stress and starvation? The colt was one of my favorites of 2010, spirited and striped up, small but feisty. Last summer he was fond of breaking into a sprint, bucking and spinning. His love of life was so evident; he never failed to make me smile. I pray his spirit will carry him through this tough time and he will once again experience warm weather, green grass, and a good run across the meadows atop his mountain home. Time will tell.

Snow fell over night so we kept to the paved highway, finding a lovely bighorn sheep ewe near Devil’s Canyon Overlook. Farther down the road we watched the drama of the apricot dun stallion Blizzard and his revolving door of mares. The flashy horse had a different set of mares on each of the three days we saw him. This is beyond odd in my experience.

On the morning of our third day of searching, the mud was somewhat frozen, so we tried Tillett again, determined to drive higher in order to access hiking areas leading to overlooks where we could scan Sykes Ridge. I believed that this was our best chance to see Cloud, Bolder, and Flint’s families. We were stopped by snow but shoveled our way through it and patched up a washout along the way where we could have slipped off the mountain. We made it to a valley that led to a good vantage point of the mid-ridges of Sykes. Near the edge of Big Coulee we set up our scopes and began scanning one ridge after another.

Identifying the shimmering dark dots that were horses was nearly impossible, but when I panned the ridge nearly straight across on Sykes I spotted a pale horse. Cloud I said excitedly to Lauryn and Catherine. He and his family were grazing together and there was a new dun filly in the band—the small three year-old, Ingrid. Aztec and Cloud’s foal, Breeze had survived winter and looked fine from afar. Dancer was there and the Black, but Velvet was missing. Then a blaze-faced grulla mare and her foal appeared at the edge of the forest. It was Flint’s mare and foal, Feldspar and little Agate. I watched, waiting for Flint and Jasper to appear, but they never did—not in the hours we watched. Neither did Velvet. It seemed every band we spotted had some addition or subtraction to their numbers. Was the social unrest of the previous Fall continuing into Spring?

We got a brief, long distance view of Bolder, Cascade and Echo—the pale colt slipped behind a huge rock outcropping within minutes and was gone. Echo is truly Cloud’s legacy—a mirror of Cloud in looks and personality. So far, so good, I thought. He and his mother were the only members of Bolder’s family we saw, though I believed that others were hidden behind numerous rocks and trees—at least I hoped so.

There was no way we could access that part of Sykes to look for them. It is hard enough in summer to get onto Sykes and impossible at this time of year. Should we just go home? I doubted we would see much more than we already had and rain was predicted. When the next morning dawned with only broken clouds we decided to give it one more shot.

After checking for horses along the paved highway, we drove toward Tillett and stopped to glass back onto the faraway flats near the mouth of Big Coulee. In the sagebrush were dark horses and one that was light colored. It seemed impossible, but it was Cloud! He and his family had come all the way down into the desert. Quickly we made a plan as we drove back around to the red buttes at the bottom of Sykes. From there we began hiking.

Cloud looking lean but lovely.

Within an hour we found Cloud and his family still foraging in what appeared to be only sagebrush. On closer inspection we could see that there was green grass peppered about the sage. For the first time on our trip, it began to feel a bit like spring. For most of the afternoon we followed the band. They nibbled up the green grass and went to eat snow in the shelter of the hillsides and in the deep gullies. Feldspar and Agate were still with them, and I wondered where Flint and Jasper were? Something tells me they’re fine and the “Flintstones” will somehow reunite.

Velvet was still mysteriously absent, and I wondered where she was. She and Cloud have been together for eight years and she has never been welcoming to newcomers in this tight family. I’ve seen her lay her ears back at every new mare Cloud brought into the band in the past five years. She is not alone in this. Brumby, Jackson’s lead mare, has left him on numerous occasions in the past year or so after Jackson brought home young fillies, including Cloud and Velvet’s daughter, Firestorm. I hope Velvet will return in time. It doesn’t seem the same without her.

Cloud snakes Feldspar to the rest of the band

Aztec & little Breeze

Cloud looked a little rough, his ribs were showing under his pale coat, but he was alert and in charge. When Aztec led the band up out of the sagebrush and onto Turkey Flat, he snaked Feldspar up the hill to keep everyone together. Both Aztec and Feldspar are thin but their foals look fine. When we left them they were all grazing peacefully.

Late in the day we drove back up on Tillett for one last time. Jackson’s band was foraging near the road. They too showed the results of the remarkably bitter winter. Even burly Jackson looked uncharacteristically lean. Firestorm was very thin but her foal, Lady Jane, looked fine and fuzzy.

Firestorm’s daughter, Lady Jane

As the sun was setting and we were getting ready to leave, we saw something glowing in the valley below. Through our scopes we identified the bright palomino horse. It was Cloud’s mother, Phoenix, with her family. The lovely 20 year-old mare wandered through the junipers and onto a small rise. Winter had not claimed her, or her son, or her grandson, or her great grandson and great granddaughters, and for this I am thankful.

Happy Trails!
Ginger

For three days, Cloud Foundation interns Lauryn Wachs and Catherine Stokes joined me in our search for wild horses. A few were spotted close-up but most were miles off, so much of our time was spent scanning through binoculars and spotting scopes, attempting to identify the dots we saw on the mountain sides and in the desert valleys. Lauryn and Catherine wrote their impressions of being in the Pryors for the first time and then visiting our Freedom Fund horses outside Billings.This is my 16th winter searching for wild horses in the Pryors, and although I’ve been here when the snow was deeper (like the winter of 2008-09 when Cloud’s daughter, Shadow was a tiny late-born foal trying to survive her first winter), this winter is much colder with higher winds then any I’ve experienced in the past. Most certainly horse lives will be lost.

We were relieved and elated to get a distant view of Cloud and his family on the side of Sykes Ridge near the mouth of Cougar Canyon. I could see Aztec and Cloud’s little daughter, Breeze. So far, so good, I thought, but this is just the beginning of what promises to be a long, cold, snowy winter.

Band stability is one key to survival and Breeze’s band is one of the most stable. The fabric of wild horse society began to fray late last summer. Is it continuing into winter? Only part of Jackson’s band was seen. Where are the others? And Trace’s little sister, a chestnut roan three-year old with her foal, Koda Wakan, were spotted all alone. Where was their band? Why were the filly and her grullo colt not with Lakota, their strong and experienced stallion, and his wise old mare, Quelle Colour, and Cloud’s sister, Mariah? It will be harder for them to survive without the guidance and support of their family. Now, more than ever, family stability is essential. It is up to the older mares and the stallions to lead their families to appropriate shelter and places where they can paw through the snow to find food. That senior wisdom is critical, especially in this kind of winter.

I was relieved to see Sante Fe and his entire family of four on lower Tillett Ridge. Even his once-crippled daughter, KanDu, looked fine through our binoculars and scope. Other horses were seen but many were too far away to tell body condition. Even trying to identify them was impossible.

On three occasions we sat and watched Admiral, his mare, Seneca, her foal, Climbs High, and Admiral’s mother, Hightail, a lovely dun mare who is over 20 but looks remarkably youthful. Climbs High is a big, strapping colt. I predict he and his family will see Spring. I hope they all will.

Perhaps the most outstanding job of spotting was accomplished by Lauryn as we drove out of Mustang Flats after sundown. Don’t ask me now she saw a Bighorn Sheep ram a ½ mile out in the dark juniper-studded low country, but she did. The magnificent near full-curl ram seemed frightened when we stopped the car to admire him with our binoculars. Within minutes he slipped away into the shadows and out of sight. One joy of the Pryors is witnessing the variety of wildlife and how beautifully the horses fit into their spectacular wilderness.

Next, we journeyed to near Billings to check on our Freedom Fund bands. All are looking great! Look at Grumpy Grulla—fantastic at nearly 23! The foals are fuzz balls and Catherine and Lauryn loved the attention they got from a very friendly Shane, the dominant stallion in the herd but the one most determined to solicit treats. He developed a special relationship with Laura Pivonka, advocate extraordinaire, who taught the striking Dun that horse candy is yummy!

Even Trigger and his look-alike son, little Pistol, were fascinated by the red treat bucket. But, when both father and son hit it with their front hooves, they rushed backward. Most of the mares wanted nothing to do with us, which is fine, as we want the horses to be free to make their own decisions. Annie and Diablo bonded when they went off being weaned, and now hang out with Bo, who lost his mares to Shane. It’s great that Bo has company now and he certainly acts the proud defender of “his kids.”

Happy Trails and Happy New Year!
Ginger

Just inside the boundary of the horse range, near Crooked Creek, we spent time with the stocky bay colt I named Climbs High and his family. I was able to photograph Climbs High at the base of a high hill when he was a few minutes old this past May.

Even before the colt was dry, he followed his mother to the top of, not just one high hill, but two! Hence his name. I am amazed at the toughness of these newborns and the fitness of all the horses, despite sparce desert rations.

We braved the snow on Tillett Ridge road on our second day, driving up a ways and then walking out a mile or so to the edge of Big Coulee canyon to glass onto the ridges of Sykes where we hoped to see Cloud. Unable to see a single horse, I panned my spotting scope down onto the distant flats near the mouth of Big Coulee. I could make out shimmering, unidentifiable shapes of horses in the desert. Then, in the shadow of a dark horse, I spotted a colt lying in the snow. He was cryptic, but unmistakable. It was Cloud’s grandson, the white colt I call Echo, the son of Bolder and his black mare, Cascade. Watching precocious Echo, born in April of this year, has been a déjà vu experience for me—like flashing back 15 years when my journey with Cloud was just beginning. That evening, Makendra, Lindsey, and I made a plan to try to access the area, hoping Bolder and his family might still be in the same location. The next morning we were out early for what would be a long, memorable hike.

It was a beautiful winter morning as we set off on foot across a wide flat and dropped into a small canyon that wound toward what we hoped would be the sagebrush flats at the mouth of Big Coulee. Red canyon walls soared above us as we followed a highway of horse tracks in the snow. About an hour later I was elated when we saw the sagebrush flats ahead. From the sage we hiked up onto Turkey Flats. What we eventually found while hiking in the flats was a pale horse. It was Cloud and his family!

We walked closer and could see that all were in excellent health and seemed content as they moved snow with their sensitive noses and pawed to uncover sparse, but highly nutritious, tufts of grass. The baby of the family, Breeze, a dark filly who is the daughter of Aztec and Cloud, has sapphire blue eyes that will likely darken as she grows. What a furry doll. Cloud was his usual busy self, occasionally snaking the family to keep them together and pushing them in the direction he had chosen.

Since the death of his powerful lead mare, Sitka, he has assumed the duties of both lead mare and band stallion. We sat down a ways off, hoping to have lunch with the family, but Cloud had other ideas. He signaled them to walk on, following behind as they meandered off in the direction of the red buttes. Later in the day Lindsey spotted horses running in the distance and I recognized the sooty palomino before he disappeared around a rocky hillside. Bolder! As we hiked closer I realized we had found not only Bolder and his family, but also Flint and his band. How lucky, I thought. But something was amiss.

Flint whinnied for his family but stood with his new mare, Sequoyah and her son. Bolder’s acquisition must have taken place within the past 24 hours. When I had glassed down onto the desert flats from Tillett Ridge the afternoon before Flint’s three-some were not with Bolder’s band. Flint whinnied again and Bolder turned to give him a dirty look.

Nearby Echo and Cascade expelled puffs of steamy breath as they grazed and glanced over at Flint on the nearby hillside. Then Echo turned to stare at me. His dark eyes framed in white were riveting. I pray that this true legacy of Cloud will live forever free. I know he is a target. Although he is not famous like his grandfather, he possesses that magnetic Cloud spirit which has inspired so many to fight for wild horse freedom.

In the dying light, we left the bands, not sure of what might happen. I like to imagine the “Flintstones” are all back together by now. What a privilege to spend time in the presence of any wild horses, let along those I have known for their entire lives. Such is the case with Cloud, Bolder and Flint’s entire bands—I have known each and every one of them since they were foals. And I fear for their future. At the current rate of removals, Dr. Caroline Betts, Associate Professor of Economist at the University of Southern California, “predicts rapid extinction in 11 years” of all wild horses and burros!

16 years ago, when I just first stepped into the world of wild horses, I was blown away. I began my filming knowing absolutely nothing about their social ties and how complicated their lives and relations might be. At that time I could find no books or papers about wild horse behavior. Luckily, I had a teacher named Raven. By the time his son Cloud was born, the black stallion and his mares had impressed upon me the importance of family—it means everything to a wild horse.

Wild horses are unique among our hooved wild animals in that they alone live in a family unit with a father present 365 days a year. I have watched these gallant males fight and battle to keep their families together, overcoming injury and incredible odds. I have seen young stallions obtain mares and start their own families, mares demonstrate incredible loyalty to their stallions and their herd mates. I have laughed as the foals played. I have cried when they lost their lives to mountain lions. But I have reveled in knowing that here wild nature was calling the shots, making a stronger wild herd while nurturing their main predator. The hardest part for me is watching them lose their freedom in the roundups. In 2009, I filmed Cloud face off with an offending helicopter at close range, and later attempt to return to the capture pens to rescue members of his family who were not to be set free.

Many of you may not know that the Billings BLM threatened in a recent newspaper article to remove Cloud and his few remaining offspring from their Pryor Mountain home in Montana. I am pleased to report that both the Director of the BLM and the Chief of the Wild Horse and Burro Program have told us that there are no plans to remove Cloud.

We continue to work to preserve Cloud’s legacy. 15 year-old Cloud has only one son, Bolder and four daughters. His brother, his daughter and five of his grandchildren were removed in 2009. We are working to protect his few grand foals as well—especially Echo, his pale palomino grandson who mirrors Cloud in both looks and spirit.

My wish for the New Year is that Echo and all wild horses and burros can remain in the wild, keeping what they value most, their freedom and their families.

Happy Trails!
Ginger

Why does the government conduct roundups that affect Cloud and his family as well as countless other wild horses? What’s at stake for the mustangs of Montana and other Western states and what happens to the animals auctioned off? Use the guide below to find out more about this longstanding controversy.

How did the roundups get started?

For decades, wild horses that came too close to cattle or sheep on public grazing lands were targets for capture or slaughter. Airplanes or cars were used to round up horses that got in the way of domestic livestock. Water holes were contaminated with poison to kill them off. Outraged by the gratuitous destruction of the horses, Nevada resident Velma Johnston (known as “Wild Horse Annie”) launched a national campaign to encourage states and the federal government to protect the wild horse as a symbol of the American West. In 1971, Congress responded, passing the Wild Free-Roaming Horses and Burros Act that authorized only agents of the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) to gather the horses as part of their work in preserving federal lands

Why not just let the horses run free?

Some animal activists think they should run free. They argue that the West’s wild horses, which number roughly 47,000, are greatly outnumbered by privately owned cattle and sheep that also graze on public lands. They portray the Bureau of Land Management as a special interest group for ranchers.

Needless to say, the BLM disagrees. According to the bureau, the roundups, known as “gathers,” are used to keep herds from multiplying beyond a sustainable population. State BLM offices estimate that wild horses repopulate at the rate of roughly 18 percent per year. Apart from the mountain lion and black bear, wild horses have few natural predators. The BLM claims that without their intervention, wild horses would die from starvation or dehydration as they compete for limited range and water resources with other wild animals and livestock. Drought, disease, and fire are also cited as justifications for a roundup.

The Wild Horse and Burro Freedom Alliance, however, points out that wild horses have diversified grazing habits and usually only briefly enter cattle-grazing areas for water. They note that even after massive roundups of mustangs, grazing areas are not necessarily improved for cattle.

How are roundups carried out?

Since 1976, the BLM has used helicopters. Flying at low altitudes, bureau agents drive the herds for miles to an area where they are then loaded onto trucks headed for a holding center. Agents may bring in an entire herd and then winnow out adoptable horses or take in a band out of an entire herd. Depending on its size, a roundup can last for several days or several weeks.

The bureau maintains that helicopters are the most humane way of driving these wild animals across plain and mountain ridge to the centers, but animal activists disagree. The Fund for Animals argues that the sound of the helicopters can spark panic in wild horse herds and place undue stress on the animals — particularly in late winter or during droughts. Of particular concern are mares that are pregnant during the roundups. Foals, unaccustomed to running long distances, can also suffer various limb injuries that make them unsuitable for adoption.

Once at the holding area, wild horse specialists separate the animals according to sex and age. Mares with foals are kept apart. The bureau states that it makes “every effort” to reunite mares with lost foals. Agents then decide which horses are eligible for adoption, which go into a federal rest home, and which are returned to the range.

How many horses does the BLM roundup each year?

Totals and the frequency of the roundups vary according to the target area. Local BLM officers decide upon the figure based on periodic studies meant to indicate how many horses can co-exist with native wildlife and domestic livestock and still have adequate access to water and fodder. Some horse advocates question this practice and argue that the 1971 act and a subsequent 1992 regulation does not empower the Bureau of Land Management with decision-making powers about the removal of wild horses. They claim that only the Secretary of the Interior can make binding decisions on wild horse removal strategies. In fiscal 2003, the BLM removed 10,091 horses from public ranges.

Where Cloud lives, in Montana’s Pryor Mountains, 6 to 12 stallions were captured in late September 2003 to keep the herd at 140-150 animals, according to the Casper STAR-TRIBUNE. Roundups in this part of Montana occur once every 3 years.

How does the BLM choose what horse to keep or not?

In theory, it’s a question of what characteristics — sex, age, genetic stock — the BLM’s local wild horse specialist thinks will best help a herd maintain its “appropriate management level” or AML. An AML is a target population for a herd that guarantees that there will be adequate vegetation and water for livestock and other wildlife without undue stress on the environment. In some locations, these criteria are determined with the help of wild horse advocates.

Horses under five years old are sent to a facility where they are vaccinated, wormed, and freezemarked (branded with an iron chilled in liquid nitrogen) before being offered for adoption.

Horses that are over 10 years old are defined as ready for retirement and are transferred to government-run long-term holding centers to receive permanent care. Horses between the ages of 5 and 9 are returned to the range. The bureau says that “under normal circumstances,” unadoptable horses are returned to the range.

How are wild horse adoptions managed?

In 2003, about 6,185 wild horses were adopted, according to the BLM. Adoption fees are usually established by competitive bids at an auction — the minimum price is $125, the average is $185. Any person who can pay the fee, is at least 18 years old, has no prior conviction for inhumane treatment of animals, and can demonstrate to BLM inspectors that the horse will be adequately cared for within the U.S. is eligible to adopt a horse. Individuals can adopt up to 4 wild horses per year. Candidates to adopt a horse must sign a statement that says that they will not sell the horse to a slaughterhouse, for use in a rodeo, or for any commercial purpose.

Adoptions, however, may not continue for long. In November 2003, the BLM announced that rising costs may force the program to end. Instead, horses would be kept in holding centers that are cheaper to run. It costs $445 per horse per year to keep a wild horse in a holding center, while arranging for the adoption of a single horse can run as high as $1,400, the Reno GAZETTE-JOURNAL reported.

Is there any other way to control wild horse populations other than auctions?

BLM officers also use the fertility control agent PZP (porcine zonae pellucidae), a vaccine derived from pig cells. Captured mares can be injected at close range, or a dart gun can be used for those who are still free. The vaccine is effective 90 percent of the time and, according to a 2001 study by the UC Davis Center for Equine Health, does not produce any side effects in the horses. PZP, however, requires two injections, which can make using it on an entire herd a logistical challenge. The vaccine lasts for two years.

In Montana, where CLOUD’S LEGACY was filmed, a fertility control program has been in effect since 2001. Yearlings and two-year-old mares are vaccinated every year with PZP to prevent pregnancies. In 2003, the Montana BLM began to vaccinate mares that are 14 years old or older. The office says its long-term goal is to vaccinate these animals for the rest of their lives and argues that the vaccine improves their physical condition by reducing the chances of pregnancies at an age when they are less suited to give birth.

Animal-rights activists have extended a cautious welcome to PZP. The Fund for Animals argues that the vaccine is more humane than roundups, but cautions that it should not be used to delay pregnancies in young mares.

What happens to horses that are deemed not suitable for auction?

They are either returned to the range or placed in five long-term, government-run holding facilities in Kansas and Oklahoma. Stallions are gelded and pastured separately from mares. Even here, however, horses can be adopted. Postings on state BLM Web sites often feature the photos of horses up for adoption that have been placed in permanent care. Sick, elderly horses can undergo euthanasia at three centers. Privately run wild horse sanctuaries are another alternative.

Are wild horses endangered animals?

Officially, no. Currently, the bureau estimates that there are some 45,000 horses in the wild, about half of them in Nevada. By comparison, a century ago, some 2 million horses roamed the Western ranges. The BLM puts the optimal number of horses on the Western ranges at 25,000. Worried by the large costs of the adoption program (which takes up nearly a third of the annual BLM wild horse budget of $11.6 million), the BLM wants to reduce the number of wild horses on the Western ranges by half and is also reconsidering its adoption program. Equine population experts worry that reducing the number of horses in the wild could lead to a loss of genetic diversity and, ultimately, the eventual extinction of this living legend.

Several years ago, I received a telephone call from the popular host of the PBS WILD AMERICA series, Marty Stouffer. He had a documentary film assignment in mind for me. “I want to make a film about mustangs,” Marty explained. “Interested in shooting it for me?” I immediately said yes. I hadn’t had a horse since I was a teenager, but Marty thought I knew a lot about horses. I was excited but worried. In my experience, horses just stood around in fields and grazed. How could I make an interesting TV show about that? I was completely ignorant about the complex and fascinating world of wild horses.

Raven

In March 1994, I stood in the chill of pre-dawn on a red desert hilltop ready to start filming. The desert lay at the base of flat-topped mountains the Crow Indians call the Arrowheads, a wilderness home for black bears, mountain lions, bighorn sheep, mule deer, golden eagles, coyotes, and about 175 wild horses

I held my breath as six wild horses wandered from behind a hill and into a sea of blue green sage. I focused my 600mm lens on a newborn foal, with a huge diamond-shaped star, trotting to keep up with his pale buckskin mother. A grulla mare, her black yearling son, and a striking palomino filly followed. Some distance away was the stallion — black as night with a white snip on the end of his aquiline nose. When I stood up and bent back over the camera, the stallion saw me and pranced forward, shaking his head in agitation.

He stared, snorted, and wheeled. In perfect synchrony, his family ran away with the stallion galloping in the rear to protect his family from the deadly silhouette on the hill. It was a moment I will never forget. Even then, I felt a deep connection to the black stallion. I later learned his name was Raven.

After the reaction of Raven’s band to me and my camera, I believed I would need to film from a blind. So, when the snow melted, I navigated the miserable road to sub-alpine meadows atop the mountain. I stationed myself on a cliff above a water hole. Nestled between boulders, I felt confident my camera and I were virtually invisible.

Within minutes, a golden dun stallion named Shaman approached. As his large band drank, the stallion jerked his head into the air, sniffed and looked up. I did not blink. Suddenly, he snorted explosively and the entire band raced away, leaving me alone in my cliff blind. That worked well, I told myself, surveying a horseless meadow. Not only could wild horses see any movement, they could smell any danger. I needed to rethink my strategy.

Over the next few days as I sat in frustration, Raven and his family appeared. Day after day, they seemed to find me rather than the other way around. I began waving at them — something told me to be quietly conspicuous. I watched to see the direction they were traveling and set up my camera ahead of them. Over time they paid me the highest compliment a wild animal can pay a wildlife filmmaker: they ignored me.

By now there were three foals in Raven’s band, the one I named Diamond (who was turning into a blue roan), a solid grulla, and a strawberry roan colt with a huge star. In September, the two younger brothers died in a Bureau of Land Management roundup. It was a tragic loss for Raven’s family and a shocking end to an idyllic summer for me. The following spring, nothing could keep me from returning to see if Raven’s family could recover from their horrible loss.

Cloud

It was late May. I was intently filming a three-year-old stallion trying to breed his father’s newly acquired mare. When the older stallion returned, his son innocently clacked his teeth like a foal, as if to say “Don’t hurt me, I’m little.” Young stallions are usually ousted from their bands at two to avoid in-breeding, and this three-year-old was pushing his luck.

Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of white in the forest. Seconds later, Raven’s palomino mare broke out of the trees with her newborn and led him right past my camera. The colt was just hours old and he tottered to keep up with his mother. He was unlike any foal on the Arrowheads, for he was nearly white. The band was on an uphill trek and I followed. Within a half-hour, they arrived at a snowbank under dense trees. This was their water source until water holes on the mountaintop melted. The colt sniffed the cold whiteness and collapsed in a heap in the shade. As I watched him breathe I counted his ribs. I had never seen a newborn foal. Were they all this fragile? I named the colt Cloud and prayed he would live.

Two weeks later, the frail colt had blossomed, displaying the boldness that would become his trademark. His two sisters were several months older than Cloud, and targets for his teasing, especially when they were sleeping. He would nibble on their manes and pull their ears. He galloped around circular stands of firs like it was his own personal racecourse. Round and round he flew, seeming never to tire.

When Raven thought his little fillies had wandered too far from the band, he gently reprimanded them by snaking them home, laying his ears back and lowering his head. Cloud mimicked his father and, when a little filly came to visit, he laid his ears flat, dipped his head low and chased her away. Everything he did that summer led me to conclude, “One day you will become a great band stallion like your father.”

When summer ended, so did my filming for WILD AMERICA.

Return to the Arrowheads

For nearly two years I filmed throughout the world. But I was haunted by Raven, Cloud, and the family. They had captured my imagination and my heart.

Fortunately I was hired to produce another film that included wild horses, so I returned to the Arrowheads. I was better prepared this time. I had learned that their communication, so subtle one moment and broad the next, was reminiscent of wolves. Each family member had a place in the hierarchy of the band. Parental discipline was clear, consistent, and fair. And the ritual encounters of the stallions were unforgettable. From a distance their high-pitched shrieks echoed through the forests and canyons.

Cloud was celebrating his second birthday on the day I returned to the Arrowheads. I found that Raven had kicked both him and his brother Diamond out of the band. Finding them would prove to be a challenge, for bachelors roam unpredictably and for long distances.

Using binoculars, I surveyed the vast ridges of Tillet where Cloud was born, and across a deep, impassable canyon to Sykes Ridge with its hundreds of rippling fingers and shallow canyons. A white horse! It had to be Cloud. Five hours later, I was on Sykes. Cloud looked up and I waved. Remember me? I was relieved when he went back to playing with a dun bachelor, spinning and nipping at the smaller stallion’s legs. What a beauty. His coat gleamed and his body was well-developed for only a two-year-old.

Over the summer he interacted with the other bachelors on the mountain, running across flower-strewn meadows, dashing just close enough to the family bands to rile the band stallions. Like a gang of rowdy teenage boys, bachelors are freedom personified.

In the fall, another roundup shattered the tranquility of the Arrowheads. Of the bachelors captured, only Cloud was released, because of his unusual color. I searched everywhere for him over the next two months. When the snow began falling, I lost hope of finding him and feared he might be dead.

In the spring I returned to the mountain, not knowing what I might find. If Cloud were alive, he would surely follow the green grass to the top of the mountain. While I was filming a band of horses running to water, I spotted bachelors racing over the hill and Cloud was right in the middle of them. He was alive!

As a four-year-old, Cloud made an unusual decision. He began to dog one of the toughest band stallions on the mountain, Mateo, a burley bay in his prime and built like a sumo wrestler. Never mind that most stallions are at least six when they attempt to start a family. Cloud’s strategy: follow as closely as he dared and get the shorter stallion to chase him. He would eventually wear the bay down and steal his mares. The game lasted all summer. In the end, it was Cloud who wore out, and went lame.

He joined a group of bachelors living far outside the horse range. He went into winter thin, lame and listless. This time, I thought he might be gone forever.

But Cloud appeared the next spring as a five-year-old, and he had changed. He was lean, mean, and determined to start his own family. He fought the powerful blue roan stallion Plenty Coups for his mares. Cloud’s strategy was the same. During one grueling chase, Plenty Coups made a misstep. The stallion hobbled to a halt, licking the blood running down his leg. Then he continued to give chase — on three legs. Days later, when fog sealed the mountain in a gray shroud, I returned home to Colorado, not knowing the outcome of their epic struggle.

Later that summer, I rode my once-wild horse, Trace, to find Cloud. We saw Plenty Coups at a spring-fed water hole. He had lost his whole band, his mares divided among various stallions.

Only a quarter of a mile away, Trace and I located Cloud. Ironically, he was not with a Plenty Coups mare but an older grulla female named Queen. The mare had given birth to a sickly foal and when her band left, she and her yearling son stayed with the foal. Cloud found them and stood quietly by the mare’s side. When the foal died, the mare and son stayed with Cloud. And so, not in a clash of teeth and hooves but in a moment of stillness, the young stallion achieved his goal of starting his own family.

Cloud’s Legacy

Two Christmases ago at sunset I spotted a glow amongst dark junipers on a hill near the mouth of Cougar Canyon. It was my first glimpse of Cloud in winter! In March, I returned to the mouth of the canyon but Cloud was not to be found. So I hiked through the snow-choked canyon and onto the windswept ridges of Sykes. I saw a red dun with a grulla. Queen? Bachelors were dogging Cloud’s mare. If he were alive Cloud would never allow this. Once again, I was seized with fear and worry.

By early June, I had still not located Cloud. Then, near the spring-fed water hole, he appeared! He followed down the muddy slope by a blue roan mare and her yearling daughter. The mare was Sitka, Shaman’s lead mare. I couldn’t imagine Cloud taking her from the formidable stallion.

Equally startling, below the snow-fed water hole, I spotted what looked like a light-colored rock in the grass that I hadn’t seen before. I focused my long lens on the shape. It was a colt with a huge star. When the baby stood, I gasped. It had a white mane and tail. A palomino! Nearby was Plenty Coups’ black mare with Shaman. It was clear to me I was looking at Cloud’s son. Cloud had bred the black mare, perhaps in the fog after Plenty Coups was injured. Yet, the young stallion could not hold on to her.

In July, Sitka foaled and Cloud had his first foal to raise. Though not of his blood, the little grulla would become his son in every other sense of the word. I named him Flint and he would one day need every bit of toughness his name implies.

Predation was high that summer. Mountain lions preyed on nearly a third of the foals and Cloud’s light colored son was a vulnerable target. Marauding bachelors harassed Cloud’s family. A roundup separated families and a wildfire threatened to destroy all the wild horses. Through it all, Cloud survived, as bold and brave as the precocious little white colt who first captured my heart.

–Ginger Kathrens