At a remote ranch, taking in the thundering of hooves
The hooves of more than a hundred horses pounding the hard-packed snow didn’t shatter the silence of the cold December morning — they filled it.
Their thunder brought life to isolated Vista Verde Ranch, located 25 miles north of Steamboat Springs.
Wearing their thick winter coats in shades from umber to charcoal, the horses made their daily run from pasture to corral. They approached with clouds of hot breath rising into the cold air and left with tails streaming in their wake.
In all Vista Verde has 120 horses, including four Percherons who pull the hay out to pasture, a miniature horse named Morris and three Mustangs from a wild-horse rescue program. The horses going on the morning ride are caught and saddled up while the others run back to the pasture.
Meanwhile, guests full from breakfast — eggs and bacon, biscuits and gravy or pancakes bearing the VVR brand — headed to their cabins to bundle up for their morning’s adventure.
Vista Verde, which was first homesteaded in 1936, has roughly 600 acres to roam on snowshoes, horseback or cross-country skis. If guests want to explore beyond the Ranch’s 40-plus miles of winter trails, they have direct forest access in every direction. In addition to being in the middle of the 2 million-acre Routt National Forest, the Ranch has permitted access to the 160acre Mt. Zirkel Wilderness Area.
For my first outing, I went for a ski along a fork of the Elk River. Since I came with altitude-adjusted lungs, my guide and I chose a bit more ambitious route than the group of skiers from sealevel states.
I can’t believe I just wrote “my guide.” Apparently it takes little time being pampered to consider oneself aristocracy. That I had Shannon to myself isn’t unusual at the Ranch, which prides itself on a 1:1 guest-to-staff ratio. Vista Verde, which includes nine private log cabins and three lodge rooms, has a capacity of 45 guests during family times and 30 during adult-only weeks. And did I mention there is a hot tub on the deck of every cabin and lodge room?
The conversation between Shannon and I was the only noise as we skated along in the dry, light powder. Although thick blue ice was closing in on the river, there were still pockets of bubbling water around the biggest boulders.
We stopped only to take photos of the nearby Continental Divide and to examine animal tracks in the snow. Shannon thought they were feline, since the tracks were in perfect alignment; over beef stew at lunch, one of the wranglers suggested fox, since we could see footpads in the snow.
Casual lunch with the staff was a stark contrast to the formal wine-pairing dinner the night before. My daughters reluctantly went to a different dining room for more kid-friendly fare. “But I eat duck!” my youngest protested as a friendly kid-wrangler took the girls off for their burgers and pasta.
Apparently that tendency toward aristocracy runs in the family.
Warmed from our hot lunch, the family headed out for an afternoon trail ride.
“Our horses don’t plod along nose to tail like you see on some trail rides,” pointed out Jessie, the wrangler for our group of four. “They each have their own personalities and we encourage them to express those personalities.”
It turns out she didn’t need to tell us that, because the horses showed us themselves. My horse, Scotch (short for Butterscotch), wanted to lead. My husband’s horse, Ringo, kept trying to turn around. And my daughter’s horse, Derby, liked to run, preferably off-piste.
Back at the stable I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Scotch, so the wranglers let me relieve her of her bridle and saddle and walk her down to the pasture.
When I finally took off her lead rope and watched her run across the snowy pasture of this beautiful, remote place, I was overwhelmed to be witnessing the grace of true belonging.