My mare, Muñeca, stood steady but her ears lay back as I regarded an unexpected problem. For her this was to be a one-way trip to her brand new stable and our new home in another lakeside village.
Now this long anticipated ride by way of the lake beach was shaded with concern. Before us was a rushing, gushing river about 7 meters wide making its way down the beach and into the water. Normally there was a tiny odorless stream emanating from a septic treatment plant down the lake but nothing like this. Even with the rain, something must have been out of control!
Swimming with my horse off the OLD POSADA pier when the lake was high, bathing her, trotting in the shallows, throwing up droplets that sparkled like diamonds, watching bronzed, muscled fishermen pull in their nets heavy with fish, riding between lacy layers of nets hanging on racks in the sun, charales drying. All these things developed familiarity with the lake but the river was new to my experience.
Rather than change to the longer, busy highway trail, I urged Muñeca to go through the river but the fragile edge kept breaking away and she refused to go forward. Her eyes rolled in fear.
My husband and I lived on our vessel for a number of years and I remembered a similar situation when a strong river met the force of the ocean. To avoid the turbulence we often went out to sea and around. I decided to do the same. Go out into the lake and around to the other side. Away from the confluence, the water was calm but the bottom still was not compact. Muñeca was very nervous but we got past the point of no return and went ashore on the other side of the river. Whew, I thought, now it's clear riding all the way home. I leaned forward and caressed my mare's neck in praise. We cantered with joy.
But I was wrong about the way being clear. About 4 kilómetros farther down the beach we came upon an arroyo that I had simply forgotten. It, like the other river, was churning and running fast. It was the summer of 1981 and we were 2 weeks into the rainy season! We were trapped and we were alone. The upper beach was fenced with 4 strands of barbed wire.
The lighthouse at the Roca Azul development that used to stand in the water seemed to mock my predicament. I rode in close to the fence. I could crawl through but then, what would I do with my horse? Riding intently along the fence line, I found a place where the 4 barbed wire stands had been cut and repaired, probably to let a field machine through.
I re-twisted the wire, mounted, and rode through the Roca Azul bottling plant grounds where naturally carbonated water occurs, all the while calling loudly. There was no one to hear. Well, no matter. A gate to a cobbled road lay between the plant and the highway.
But we were not home yet! An impressive padlock on the gate almost made me cry. A heavy rock wall backed by 4 strands of barbaric barbed wire ran the length of the bottling plant's frontage. I dismounted and sat down on a log. I resigned myself to waiting for help and let the bridle down so Muñeca could graze on some wild grasses. Then I heard the bright, syncopated clop clop of a horse's hooves and I knew help was at hand as a strong young horseman appeared on the cobbled road. Happy to assist, he had the rock wall and fence down in a jiffy.
With no more obstacles we were on our way. New home, new stable and corral, here we come!
