Ginger Kathrens - Cloud: Wild Stallion of the Rockies, Revised and Updated

Ruth Strother, editor, project manager

Nick Clemente, special consultant

Cover and book design copyright by Michele Lanci-Altomare

Copyright 2001 by I-5 Press

Photographs copyright 2001 by Ginger Kathrens, except as noted

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of I-5 Press, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in an acknowledged review.

Additional photographs reproduced with permission:

Trish Kirby, p. 10; Ann Evans, pp. 31, 69; R.L. Stanley, pp. 53, 83, 94, 134; Lisa Sinke, pp. 76, back flap; Vicki Gratz, pp. 116-117; Linda Crawfis, p. 151.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Kathrens, Ginger, 1946

Cloud, wild stallion of the Rockies : a companion book to the program seen on public television's Nature series / Ginger Kathrens.

p. cm.

Summary: A filmmaker describes her experiences while making a documentary about a wild stallion, from his birth to adulthood, in the Rocky Mountains Region.

ISBN 1-889540-70-6 (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Cloud (Horse)--Juvenile literature. 2. Wild horses-Rocky Mountains Region-Biography-Juvenile literature. 3. Kathrens, Ginger, 1946---Juvenile literature. 4.

eISBN: 9781620080504

Human-animal relationships-Juvenile literature. [1. Cloud (Horse) 2. Wild horses-Rocky Mountains Region. 3. Kathrens, Ginger, 1946- 4. Human-animal relationships.] I. Nature (Television program) II. Title.

SF360.3.R53 K38 2001

599.665'5'0978--dc21

2001002924

I-5 Press

A Division of I-5 Publishing, LLC

3 Burroughs

Irvine, California 92618

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Introduction

I SHOOT MOVIES FOR A LIVING. NOT THE KIND OF MOVIES you see in the theatre, but films about whats going on in the wilderness. These are documentaries youre likely to see on television channels such as PBS.

Lugging film equipment over rugged mountains, through swamps and insect-ridden rain forests is not what most people do for fun. And youd think it wouldnt be fun for me, especially since my equipment weighs more than I do. But I love the challenge of finding out what lives on the other side of the mountain or on the far side of the swamp, then quietly filming it. Nothing could be more exciting to me.

When Marty Stouffer, host and producer of the popular PBS series Wild America , asked me to film a documentary about wild horses in 1994, I jumped at the chance. At the same time, I was worried. Though I grew up on a farm in Ohio and had my own horse, I knew absolutely nothing about wild horses. So I set out to learn as much as I could.

On a trip with my sister to research potential shooting locations, I visited the remote Arrowhead Mountains of southern Montana and saw my first family of wild horses. This band was led by a magnificent black stallion who was named Raven. Years before, probably when he was a foal, he had been named by wild horse admirers. Though he and the band, along with their newborn foal, ran away at the sight of us, I felt an unusual connection to them. In time I was hopeful they might get used to me.

This would be a good location, I thought. The mountains, canyons, and deserts of the Arrowheads would make a photogenic backdrop for a film, and the mostly open country would allow me to spot the wild horses at a distance. I could try to get as close as possible to the horses on two rough four-wheel-drive roads that wind up the mountain ridges of the horse range. Then, I could hike shorter distances with the heavy gear. I could use powerful camera lenses to bring the horses up close without interfering with their daily lives.

As I began filming my program, Raven, his three mares, their foals and yearling son appeared time and again. Strange as it seems, I felt they were finding me rather than me finding them. Was their story destined to become the focus of mine? I learned how to make myself less threatening, watching to see which direction the band was going. Then I positioned myself well ahead of them in plain sight. I sat very still. If they chose to come closer, I reasoned, it would be their decision. Amazingly, they grew accustomed to me hanging out with them. They allowed me to eavesdrop on their intriguing lives, and I fell in love with each and every one of them. I also fell into the magical spell of their homeland, which was once the spiritual center of the great Crow Indian Nation. It was as wild, mysterious, and spectacular as the horses themselves. The summer I spent in the Arrowhead Mountains was a wonderful, unforgettable experience.

In September, the Bureau of Land Management (BLM), which is in charge of managing wild horses on our public lands, had a roundup. Roundups are held to keep wild horse populations in balance with their environment. Animals who are removed are offered for sale. This roundup proved to be tragic for Ravens family. Two of the three foals died in what was a terrible trauma for them and a nightmare for me.

The following spring nothing could keep me from returning to the Arrowheads to look for what remained of Ravens band. I had to learn if this wonderful family of horses could start anew and recapture what seemed to be a magical and joyous time. This is where our story begins.

For two hundred years, wild horses have wandered this isolated corner of the Rocky Mountains, a flat-topped range the Crow Indians called the Arrowhead Mountains.

A Family of Wild Horses

R AVEN LIFTED HIS HEAD AND LOOKED OUT OVER the windswept ridges of his mountain home. For two hundred years, perhaps longer, wild horses have wandered this isolated corner of the Rocky Mountains, a flat-topped range the Crow Indians called the Arrowhead Mountains. Two of the black stallions mares grazed nearby as their filly foals slept on the sunny hillside. The only clue to the presence of the two little fillies was the occasional flick of a stubby tail appearing over tufts of wind-blown grass.

Ravens two fillies had been the first foals born on the mountain. On a crisp, sunny day in mid-March, I had spotted them through binoculars, a mile off, in the desert lowlands near the base of the mountain. Later, when I could see them closer, I named the chunky reddish brown filly Mahogany and her more delicate sister, Smokey. Both had stars on their foreheads like their father and their mothers.