Gitty-up

G and a wrangler ride through the coconut grove on Ratua. Photos by David Lansing.

Yesterday I wrote that my favorite thing to do on Ratua is nothing. Which isn’t to say that there aren’t activities if you want them. For instance, yesterday afternoon I grabbed one of the electric buggies available for guests and went out to circumnavigate the island. That took maybe twenty minutes including a stop at Cap Normand, on the opposite of the island from our village, which has a lovely view of some unnamed little islands a stone’s throw away.

There are also 15 free-ranging horses on Ratua that you can ride and several of us have been talking for days about going out in the afternoon although we’ve yet to make it (you know, things like snoozing on a deck chair on the beach seem to take priority). Until yesterday.

“Are you going for a ride this afternoon?” Frederick asked G. G is a pretty young thing from Sydney who, from what I’ve observed, has wisely used her daily nap time to try out each of the half dozen or so daybeds spread around the resort.

“I’m thinking about it,” she said rather sleepily.

“You’ve been thinking about it for the last three days,” Frederick chided.

“I know, I know,” she moaned. “I suppose it would be nice to go for a ride. Can we go along the beach?”

“Absolutely,” said Frederick.

The thing is, because the horses roam free around the island, snacking on the grass that grows between the orderly rows of coconut palms on the eastern side of the island, one of the wranglers has to spend a good part of the morning trying to lure four or five horses back to Manade Ranch and get some tack on them in case anyone wants to go for a ride in the afternoon. And they’ve been doing this every morning for three days. All for naught. Until Frederick was able to guilt G into going for a ride and then she talked Marguerite into joining her.

I thought about joining them but, to be honest with you, I’m not a big fan of horses. I mean, I much prefer to look at them or bet on them to riding them. But I thought it would make some nice photos—the four of them chasing after wild pigs in the coconut grove and galloping down the beach.

But you know what? These horses weren’t too crazy about going for a ride themselves. Perhaps because they spend their days roaming free and doing whatever they want. G’s horse, a handsome bay, refused to go where she wanted him to go. And Marguerite’s horse just refused to go period. He’d just stop in the middle of the trail and stand there, looking bored to death as Marguerite gently kicked his flanks and implored him with clicking sounds to move forward.

Nope, he seemed to be saying. Ain’t gonna happen. Eventually Frederick was able to get the horse to move on, but then his horse wasn’t much better, drifting off into the coconut grove in search of some succulent sweet grass.

Once we got to the beach, I asked the wrangler if maybe he couldn’t get the girl’s horses to gallop a bit for the camera. He smiled indulgently at me and said he’d give it a try. He smacked Marguerite’s mount on the ass and the horse danced sideways for a step or two before settling back into a slow walk. G’s horse would have none of it; he walked off into the surf as if he was hot and bored.

Oh well. I snapped a few shots of the group on their horses in shallow water, the islands in the background, and then we all headed back towards the ranch. Which is when, of course, the horses decided to pick up their pace. They knew they were headed home. As they galloped back, a pack of wild pigs, wallowing in a muddy pond, scattered while some cows looked on in surprise. Most excitement any of us have had on the island since I fell off the bench and onto the beach at lunch a couple of days ago.