A Birthday Trip to the Little Book Cliff Wild Horse Range

If you know me, you know I am a certified horse girl since day one. I have loved horses as long as I can remember, and my first memory of ever feeling embarrassed is when I asked a wrangler at a state park if I could get a horse’s autograph because he looked like Spirit (the stallion of the Cimarron, of course). The first time I visited my best friend in her new hometown, Grand Junction, Colorado, I planned for us to check out the Little Book Cliff Wild Horse Range, as mustangs are some of my favorite horses.

We arrived at an empty dirt parking lot on a mostly cloudy day that was perfect for a hike. My only goal for the day was to see a horse from any distance away; if I got to see one, I would consider that a success. There was a dirt path leading up a reasonably sized rocky hill. As we climbed the hill, we saw horse poo, and while some people would be grossed out, I felt the chances of meeting my goal growing. Finally, we crested the hill and were looking down into a massive valley, and what did we see down at the bottom? At least three horses!

Now, I know I said my goal was to see them from any distance, but I am nothing if not greedy, and branching to our left was a trail that led down a hill like I have never seen. I was a camp counselor, which involved a lot of hiking, and my parents took us hiking often as children, but Nebraska is not known for her mountains, and this was a length of descent like nothing I have experienced. Walking downhill is no big deal (even if it was so steep that there were times when I was sliding on the small rocks of the trail). The big deal would be the climb back up; this fact multiplies when you consider that I am highly sensitive to the oxygen difference at altitude. But sometimes… greed wins, and we began our descent.

We talked softly as we walked, but it seemed unnecessary to lower our voices as the horses were unbothered by our presence. As they came into better view, I realized that we were walking down to two separate groups of mustangs. One consisted of a stallion, five mares, and three foals, and the other, much closer to the trail, a young stallion, one mare, and their foal. The two herds were separated by a small winding stream that they seemed to be using as a boundary line.

The smaller family allowed us to get very close and observe them. The stallion and mare grazed, occasionally lifting their heads to look at us, and the foal, curious, walked a bit closer to us, stopping often to do the goofy foal grazing stance. Foals are not born with the anatomy to comfortably graze; their legs are too lanky and their necks too short, so they have to widen their front legs to reach the ground. It’s very fortunate that they come into the world like this, if you ask me, because it’s so funny to watch!

After taking some pictures and absorbing the beauty of this incredible adventure, we decided to leave the horses to the rest of their peaceful day and started our climb. It was intense, breaks were taken laughably often, and I considered my decisions, but only until we made it up. I felt a surge of pride as we reached the top of the ridge once again. I did something very tough, and it created a memory that I will never ever forget. The endorphins were doing their work, and I was just elated, realizing that this was my best birthday in years.

There was a perfect sitting rock, where we could watch the horses from a distance for a bit longer. So we did, and we even got to see the two stallions fight when the younger one attempted to cross that boundary stream, which I narrated National Geographic style for Rachel. I left the Little Book Cliffs that day with sore legs, a full heart, and a deeper appreciation for the kind of beauty that asks you to work for it. If you ever find yourself near Grand Junction, I can’t recommend this place enough. Just remember to pack water, take your time, and never underestimate a determined horse girl on a mission.