Hello all, here is a brief introduction of my new column and who I am, as well as a beautiful visual story of “hitting the dirt,” which is in actuality, the life-saving technique used in the event of an emergency while riding a horse.
To clarify, one kicks both feet out of the stirrups, leans forward and promptly dismounts, landing feet together in under 0.0003 of a second. I was very good at it growing up, the fastest actually.
But this particular day, Maddie (my horse) was faster.
Being born and raised here in the Yukon, I have an embedded lust for adventure and a can-do attitude that is partnered with the determination of a stone, a thrill seeking spirit and Type 1 Diabetes. Life has been pretty exciting for this little girl so far.
I am not too sure exactly how I got blessed with the gift of walking ont he edge of danger everywhere I go, but I am definitely missing that part of the brain that tells me “You can’t do this.”
My family tree is littered with members that excelled in strength, endurance, a need for speed, mechanical engineering, music, amazing cooks, farming, weapon specialists, and sharp shooters to name a few. Growing up with a competitive older brother, it’s no wonder I was taking apart carburetors, riding dirtbikes, competing on horseback and having my first job at age ten.
Also flying out solo In my cadet dress uniform at age 13 to represent the Yukon in marksmanship (for my sharp shooting skills). If there was something I wanted to do or try, there were just no filters that existed for being female or a Type 1 diabetic or perhaps even much younger or smaller than everyone around me.
Now at the age of 42, I have lost track of the vast amount of skills I have acquired over the years. But I remind myself of them pretty quickly on the days I am doing everything from changing a hydraulic hose on my loader, trimming my horses feet, tending to an animal wound, putting up walls for a new shed, making a shepherds pie for dinner, going for an evening horse ride and finishing the day by playing my guitar and singing “The Wreck of The Edmund Fitzgerald.”
If I am lucky, I will get to throw in a few hours of fishing which is something I could absolutely do all day, seven days a week if I had the choice.
I have been told my smile is the brightest when I am out with my horses and when I am out on the water with a fishing rod in my hands. I have acquired a vast amount of my skills from trial and error accompanied by my ability to laugh at myself.
This is how the column name A Modern Day Klondike Kate came to be. Now some don’t know, but there were two Klondike Kates. Kate Ryan was a pioneer that came up through Seattle to the Yukon by means of dogsled and horseback, while being a nurse maid to those around her and acquired a position with the RCMP in Whitehorse and was a well respected inspiration to everyone around her. Then along came Kathleen (Kitty) Rockwell, a dancer and vaudeville star during the Gold Rush that in some people’s eyes, almost stole the good name of Klondike Kate.
So please be advised, A Modern Day Klondike Kate is a reference to the original woman of the Klondike with her many escapades (and not the naughty one). Either way, there must have been some entertainment along the way in Klondike Kate’s escapades.
After many years of my own travels and being encouraged by many friends, family and editors, I decided to start my own column. My goal is to not only bring entertainment and knowledge from my own failures and experiences, but enlighten many people to the risks that the Yukon holds if you are not prepared, as well as be a guiding light to the many women out there (you can do anything you put your mind to!).
My sense of adventure, my ability for figuring things out on my own, my ability to laugh at myself when I fail, and my strength to pick myself back up again over and over is where this journey begins. There will be stories about bear encounters, kamikaze trailering missions, wildlife interactions on and off horse back, mechanical engineering in the bush, being busted fly fishing in pink panties, chainsaw, power tool and heavy equipment mishaps and even death defying street bike incidents and feats of strength.
My first story will reflect on having respect for animals that can kill you, but somehow they have enough respect for you that they don’t. Quite honestly this story has to do with my chestnut mare Maddie trying to save her own carcass and leaving mine behind. You will hear a few stories about this stout, fiery and brave chestnut mare who is pregnant with so much opinion that we have to have a conversation about whether we are going to challenge that bear or not.
It was two weeks after I had brought home my beautiful shimmering chestnut dappled mare.
Maddie is a purebred registered Morgan, and the reason I started my Morgan breeding program up here in the Yukon called Goldsmith Morgans. I had spent close to a year riding this horse through many different types of terrain and there was nothing she couldn’t accomplish or do. She blazed trails like no other horse I have ever been on. I fell in love with the breed back when I was 16 and at the age of 35 I had the chance at a “shiny copper penny” of a Morgan mare that was not only built like a “brick shithouse” as they say, but was stealthy and could walk as fast as most horses trot.
I despised slow lethargic horses in the past that were not enthusiastic about their job. Well I got more than I bargained for with my western cattle cutting Morgan with heritage bloodlines back to 1789 and with an attitude.
Normally when you purchase a new horse, it’s a very good idea to get them used to the general area by means of walking them on a lead. I lived in a new country subdivision that was bustling with production. I had spent about two weeks getting her used to the green belt behind us and common sense escaped me that day as I was too busy getting excited in anticipation to finally jump in the saddle and get blazing some trail. Being around these animals since the age of seven and being on horseback through thousands of miles of trail, you would think I would’ve learned how to sit still for a few minutes and assess the current day and what challenges lay ahead.
Yet again, my sense of adventure got the best of me. Saddled up I set out on a beautiful afternoon with my Maddie hot to trot. We had already done a lot of riding together just not in this particular area.
Following the greenbelt behind a few houses while riding the ridge of a cliff, I could hear chain sawing and equipment operating in the distance. The lay of the land made it difficult to discern where the noise was coming from, and I could tell by Maddie’s ears and the tension in her body that she was also trying to figure out where the monsters were coming from.
This should have been my first que. As I was following the ridgeline littered in old cut stumps and log piles with the sun beaming down on us, Maddie came to an abrupt lock up, with ears perched forward on her giraffe-like neck. I could hear what she was concerned about. Rustling in the woods on either side of us accompanied with voices. You could hear them, but you could not see a thing in all of the low lying willows. This was my second que, that I should have performed the maneuver called “hit the dirt” which as previously stated, I have always been very good at. Not today. I waited two seconds too long. Just then a backhoe came roaring around the corner and because of the lay of the land the machine was at low idle, you didn’t see it until it came around the corner about 150 feet up the trail.
Because Maddie and I had not built up trust between one another yet and instead of looking to me for guidance, she took to turning herself into a 20-foot-tall stone dragon and then her western ranching lineage came out in full force.
There was no longer time for me to “hit the dirt” as she had spun completely 180 degrees on her heels and was at full gallop ripping back through the trail, jumping every log pile in our way and I was desperately trying to find a safe dislodging location but there were far too many trees, stumps cut at a wicked angle and log piles.
While I was riding out my “rodeo” and contemplating my life’s decisions, I quickly remembered there was a 30-foot sloughed-off cliff coming up. Well Maddie remembered too and she made the lovely, abrupt brake stall at the edge of the cliff and I was gracefully launched over her and approximately 15 feet away from where she stopped. During this unplanned flight over the cliff I had a lot of time to go over childhood memories, and realizing this was not my idea of living out my superwoman status. I saw a lot of jagged stumps go past underneath me and when I contacted the dirt, I hit hips first on the downhill side, and slammed my helmet against the ground, (thankfully it protected my fragile eggshell head). Looking back at where I landed, I noticed I happened to land in the only spot that was not dense with cut stumps. I know I am likely going out of this world in an epic and exciting crash, but I just was hoping it wouldn’t be as a Rita shishkabob. Either way, my years of dirt bike crashes had well prepared me for turning into a ragdoll before I hit the ground followed by my famous profanity.
I laid there for a brief moment and did a systems check. The only thing that seemed to be not so great was my collar bone, despite the doctor stating it was the equivalent of a 60km an hour car crash. I picked myself up, opened up my little LG flip phone and alerted the family that Maddie was on her way home. I had about a kilometer to walk, while holding my right arm and asking myself whether I am cut out for this anymore. Horses really do have a way of making you self reflect.
A quick trip to emergency saw no broken bones despite feeling like I had a broken collar bone and cracked ribs. I do truly believe I was gifted with titanium in my bones and future stories will help to paint the picture. Up to this point I lived by the rule “you are either in the hospital or you are at work.” Even being pumped up on the little magic house pills like Tylenol and a whole concoction of drugs, I still could not move for a few days. I Iicked my wounds and revised my training plan and Maddie and I have had thousands of miles of amazing Yukon adventures to date.
I just make sure my feisty red dragon has a say now in our adventure for the day.
