Icelandic Horses - That’s so Raven!

To my readers:  Today’s entry was going to be the first in an ongoing series called “Legends Of Pitts.”  In looking at the article I feel that it needs a little “fine” tuning and frankly I only want to give the very best to anyone who spends their valuable time reading this.  :)  That being said, please enjoy part three in my ongoing Icelandic Expedition Series which I know has been finely tuned for your reading enjoyment!

Thank you!

Christopher R. Pitts

Icelandic Horses - That’s so Raven!

[In July 2013, Kristine and I took the journey of a lifetime to Iceland (Kristine’s choice and not mine.)  Here, now in March 2014 I am beginning to recover from my experience.  What follows are my memories as dictated by my therapist to help in my recuperation.

In Iceland you can count the number of animals that live there on one hand  First you have the sheep.  As anyone who read my last Iceland blog knows, they are everywhere.  Then you have the birds.  The different species of birds don’t count here because, well because they are birds.  And even though they are “supposed” to be different species they all look like seagulls.  Then you have a few cows.  Then a very small population of grey foxes.  The foxes attack and eat the sheep (As do the Icelandic people.  Being a sheep in Iceland is not easy.)  Foxes are not native to Iceland.  No one knows how they got there.

I like to imagine one of the cave dwelling criminals taking the bladders of the sheep that they stole and ate and building a small inflatable boat.  Then taking the boat over to North America snagging a male and female fox, floating back to Iceland, and then releasing the foxes and yelling “Take that!” just prior to skulking back to their cave.  I wouldn’t put it past them.  After all Iceland gave birth to Bjork.

And lastly the Icelandic Ponies.  I am not sure why people outside of Iceland started calling them ponies.  The people in Iceland don’t call them ponies and they really don’t like it when anyone else calls them that.  Truth be told there is nothing “pony” about them.  They are big!  Big even for horses!  And they are strong.  They have to be because 99.327% of Iceland is made up of volcanic rock.

In Iceland, if you are a horse, you will never leave Iceland.  The Icelandic people guard these horses zealously.  Foreign horses take note, horses from outside of Iceland are not allowed into Iceland.  If a horse leaves Iceland for whatever reason that horse will never be allowed back.  If say a horse swims far out to sea, well you get the picture. The horses, like most of the people in Iceland can trace their lineage all the way back to the vikings.  Those are the same vikings who landed here, got off the boats, and said “This looks like a great place to live. Let’s stop here!”

The same day as the hellaciously wet hike, Kristine and I booked a Horse tour.  In hind sight, this was a terrible idea.  However, we had no idea that our hike on that particular day would be in a hurricane.  We arrived at the stables soaking wet.  Our hosts were very sympathetic to our plight and were very accommodating. They did everything in their power to make us comfortable and welcome.  Not a word was spoken when I sat on the floor in a corner and the water from my clothing made a small lake in their lobby.

To gear up for your Icelandic “HORSE” ride the first thing you do is put on bright hunter orange rain slickers and less than comfortable Napoleonic War issue cavalry helmets.  The slickers aren’t so much for the rain as they are protection.  If you are wearing hunter orange you are less likely to be shot in any of the ongoing clan wars in that can erupt in Iceland at any given moment.

Let it be noted before I continue, that I love Horses.  To me they are second only to dogs in the animal coolness hierarchy.  I love riding horses. I loved riding my Icelandic horse.  From head to toe he was magnificent!  Black as coal.  His name was Hrafn which is Icelandic for Raven.  

In thinking about riding horses I was thinking a casual stroll across the flat Icelandic lava wastes.  You know, maybe see one of those elusive foxes eating a sheep or something.  Nothing in Iceland is ever that easy…

Our guide was from Sweden.  If she hadn’t been in Iceland that summer taking tourists for horse rides I am sure she would have been working her “day job” which is the whip person on one of those Romans sailing barges.  No matter how fast Raven and I went, it was not fast enough for her.  And she had no problem letting us know!  Had she a whip, I know I would have felt its sting.

And it wasn’t flat either.  It was torturous! It was crazy rocky and muddy! It was uphill both ways. At one point we crossed a raging river and again in the “I am not lying.” category I swear Raven was swimming!  The whole time we kept hearing our guide yelling “Klep, Klep, Klep!  Push that horse!  They are bred for this!  Klep! Klep! Klep!”  I had spurs on, but why would I kick such a noble steed?  To this day I don’t know what “KLEP” means, but it is a word I have come to hate.  Sometimes I hear it in my sleep, and often I awake in a cold sweat.

Raven was a great horse.  At times I swear that horse was up to his belly in mud and he trudged along loyally.  Through everything that female Simon Legree pushed us through Raven and I went on willingly and loyally.  I kept leaning forward to tell him what a good horse he was, and that it would be ok we were going to get through this!  We were Rohirrim!  Both bred for this!

I like to think that in that three hour ride Raven and I formed an inseparable bond.  That years from now, when I have healed completely and can actually return to Iceland without the imminent danger of a nervous breakdown I will return to those fields.  Raven will be there not forced to carry big guys like me through hell, but to breed an even better Icelandic horse.  I will step into the field and our eyes will meet in a glance of caring and respect.  I will pet his neck and give him a sugar cube or two.  And and a Granny Smith apple.  And then we will saddle up and ride into the sunset in search of our female nemesis.

How will we find her you ask?  After all these years?

We will just listen somewhere off in the distance for the “Klep! Klep! Klep!”

AND when we find her she is going to get an equine noogie!  :)

AND NOW!  GULLFOSS!