Horseback Through Killarney

By:  Rachel Orenstein

Wednesday, January 11th, 2023

      The sun is rising still. Your fingers are cold from the lingering chill. Winter air sharpens scents of mud and wet grass. A man walking his terrier goes past and you nod to him. He and his dog share an expression of curiosity. You sit up straight atop your horse and hum a Celtic hymn overheard in the taxicab to the stables. 

      Somehow, this is real.

      Between the guides you ride alongside, one from Germany and one from the Netherlands, you enjoy friendly conversation. It is somewhat magical, you think, that people from such different lives could share a morning somewhere mutually foreign, brought together simply by a fondness for horses. The guides teach you to lean back when going downhill for better balance, and you probably over-exaggerate the movement each time but at least they'll know you listen to them. You gaze out across the park and let your body jostle with each step of your steed. 

      The muddy trail is worn by repetition. He knows this path, sweet Rae, and you trust his judgement as he meanders slightly to avoid puddles. You need only lead him with the reins when he becomes distracted by opportunities to graze. His hooves step confidently as he takes his morning stroll and you take in the view. It is easy to appreciate nature from atop a horse. The mutual trust between horse and rider acknowledges emotional similarity - to feel is to be alive, and you both feel free with the wind in your hair.

      The park is coated in dew.  As you round a tree-lined curve in the path, soft sunlight peeks through bare branches. A chirping robin flits to a fence. He's been following you for much of the trail, watching the group. The Ring of Kerry rises in the distance. Its mountains touch grey clouds matching the cool waters below. The just-risen sun tints blue the pink of dawn.

      The park is filled by several herds of deer. Your guides explain there are two breeds - sika, with cute white hearts on their bums, and red deer, the largest land mammal in Ireland. They play and rest in the fields, watching as you pass. They have no natural predators on the island, your guides explain, and it is obvious they understand their safety here. They lack the alert nervousness of most deer. You approach on horses and they hardly move, watching but only to observe. Running but only for fun. They are a bit like the horses in that way.

      It is bittersweet when you bid farewell to sweet, shy Rae (after leading him away from the haystacks) and return your borrowed boots. You are about to hail a taxi back to town but, inspired by the freedom and beauty of traversing nature that morning, you instead decide to take a walk.