‘IT’S DESOLATE OUT HERE’
Despite overpopulation concerns, volunteers care for Navajo wild horses hurt by drought
Nearly 200 free-roaming horses died this spring in a stock pond near Gray Mountain on the western side of the Navajo Reservation. Relentless drought had dried up the pond, leaving deep mud to trap the horses.
At their house eight miles away, Glenda Seweingyawma and her boyfriend, Paul Lincoln, could smell the carcasses. Other horses started searching for water, they said.
As the days went on, Seweingyawma and Lincoln watched more of the animals die in their community. In early June, four collapsed in their backyard on the same day. Another 25 animals stood by, fatigued and dehydrated.
Some of the most extreme drought
conditions in Arizona have wiped out stock ponds and other water sources for livestock on the Navajo Reservation. Herds of free-roaming horses, thousands by some estimates, compete for dwindling water and forage.
Navajo Nation officials warn that feral horses have overpopulated the reservation beyond the ecosystem’s ability to support them and have attempted at least once to forcibly reduce the population.
But Lincoln and Seweingyawma were heartbroken by the animals’ plight. They decided they couldn’t watch the animals die as the drought worsened.
On that first day, they filled a bathtub and a few 5-gallon buckets with water behind their house.
They have been hauling water and hay to the horses every day, sometimes twice a day, for over a month. They do it to save the horses and to help their community.
The horses look healthier every day, Seweingyawma said. And new horses keep showing up.
Lincoln and Seweingyawma will continue helping the horses until the monsoon storms relieve them from the job.
“Come this way, please,” Lincoln yelled one recent day at dark rain clouds far away. But clouds like these seem to have skipped over Gray Mountain recently, he said.
Lincoln and Seweingyawma walked through the brown dust two miles from their house on a recent Saturday morning, their footprints surrounded by hoof marks and horse manure. The wind kicked up a spiraling column of grit at least 60 feet tall.
“It’s desolate out here,” Lincoln said. Gray Mountain sits about 47 miles north of Flagstaff along U.S. Highway 89.
Around 20 horses watched as he and Seweingyawma unloaded bales of hay from the bed of their truck and scattered it in piles nearby.
They flipped over an empty water bin to dump out dust and debris before filling it again. A lizard underneath darted away, clenching a cricket in its jaws.
It would rain here two days later, but not much and only for a short while. “Basically it was just a dust storm,” Lincoln said later.
This is where Lincoln, Seweingyawma and other volunteers built an oasis for the horses. Normally the horses roam the surrounding mountains, nearly all of them unbranded and without owners, Seweingyawma said. But the drought brought them down to look for food and water.
Volunteers care for around 90 a day. People across the state have pitched in, coordinating on the Facebook page Gray Mountain Horse Heroes. The groupfeels like a family, Lincoln and Seweingyawma said.
Those in the area stop by to drop off bales of hay and volunteer their time. And a Gilbert non-profit, Wildhorse Ranch Rescue, has donated truckloads of water and two 2,500-gallon water tanks, among other supplies.
The volunteers feed the horses around 12 to 15 bales of hay and 2,000 gallons of water a day, Lincoln said. They feed them Bermuda hay because alfalfa is too rich for the animals’ diet.
When they are not living off hay and water that volunteers truck in, the horses consume enough food and water to strain the ecosystem.
“If we don’t take action now, the overgrazing will have major impacts on drought conditions that we anticipate in both the short and long-term,” Navajo Nation President Russell Begaye said in a February statement.
Around 50,000 to 70,000 feral horses roam the Navajo Nation, according to a statement from his office. In a day, one horse eats about 32 pounds of forage and drinks about 10 gallons of water.
The horses are a concern for ranchers because they compete with cattle and sheep for the same forage, said Grey Farrell, a member of the Navajo Nation and an educator at the University of Arizona’s College of Agriculture and Life Sciences program in Tuba City. He teaches livestock management, among other topics.
Generally, people who don’t depend ongrazing livestock are those who support saving the horses, he said. It’s a complicated situation.
“There’s too many animals for the land to support,” he said.
Horse overpopulation has been a problem for a long time, he said. “It’s never really quite been addressed.”
In February, President Begaye canceled a horse hunt meant to reduce the population, acknowledging that it’s an emotional topic. But he called for action, referring to a Navajo Division of Natural Resources plan to control the population through other options such as trapping, castration, birth control and adoptions.
Nature has a way of thinning them out, Farrell said. Drought is one example.
While some ranchers complain there are too many, no one wishes death upon them, he said. That’s no way to treat animals.
When they die, they shouldn’t be left on the range to rot, he said. It’s a public health issue.
Officials spread hydrated lime and buried the nearly 200 horses that died earlier this year in the stock pond near Gray Mountain, according to a statement from the Navajo Nation president’s office. But Lincoln still smelled the carcasses at home.
For other horses, Lincoln and Seweingyawma’s help came too late. Lincoln has euthanized several with his .22-caliber rifle. They were suffering, on the brink of death.
“And it’s not fun,” he said. “I can tell you that.”
Before he shot them he prayed, blessed them and offered them a final drink of water. “That way they say their spirit will go,” he said. “They will go on a safe journey.”
Both Lincoln and Seweingyawma feel a close bond to the horses. They’ve named several.
“The horse to the Navajo is probably the most sacred animal,” Farrell said.
If she didn’t give them water, Seweingyawma said, she would feel as though she was abusing them.
They will miss the horses when the monsoon storms come and assume the caretaking duties, but they eagerly await rain for the horses’ sake.
Environmental coverage on azcentral.com and in The Arizona Republic is supported by a grant from the Nina Mason Pulliam Charitable Trust. Follow the azcentral and Arizona Republic environmental reporting team at OurGrandAZ on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.