Fran Griffith in Argentina
The horse in front heaved itself over the ridge and stopped. Rollo (our gaucho guide) turned round and suggested that now might be a good time to don our ponchos - the weather and conditions were only going to deteriorate. As the wind was already gusting with icy ferocity at what seemed like 50 or so miles an hour straight off the glacier (but in reality was probably a great deal less), we followed his suggestion with alacrity! BHS eat your heart out - no reins, flapping ponchos and a ridge with a sheer drop of 100s of feet - these little Criollo (pronounced Criojo in Argentina) ponies proved their worth time and time again.
The chosen mount of legendary Gauchos, the Criollo horse is the symbol of equestrian cultures in Latin America. This tough little horse is exceptionally easy to handle and is prized for its hardiness, endurance and strong physical condition. The Criollo is a direct descendant of the horses brought to the New World by the Spanish conquistadors during the 16th century. Many of these horses escaped or were abandoned, and rapidly returned to the wild in an environment perfect for their development, the Pampa. For the next four centuries, the Criollo breed adapted itself to the vast South American plains through the pitiless process of natural selection. This adaptation to the rude conditions of life on the Pampa was determined by selective factors acting on wild populations, which permitted them to develop qualities of physical hardiness and resistance to diseases.
To speak of the Criollo horse is also to speak of the Gaucho. His horse is indispensable - it is said that a Gaucho without a horse is the same as a man without legs. All their daily activities were and in many cases, still are, accomplished on the back of a horse.
At the beginning of the 20th century, one man, assisted by a few friends worked to develop the registry of the Criollo breed in Argentina; Dr. Emilio Solanet. Around 1910, Solanet, a professor at the School of Veterinary Medicine and Agriculture in Buenos Aires, brought together a number of Criollos from the west of the Chubut province (Patagonia, Argentina) that exhibited the characteristics he was looking for. He carefully selected 15 mares that would form the original breeding stock of the Argentine Criollo breed. Solanet raved about the power, frugality, endurance, intelligence and longevity of his Criollo horses and before long a raging controversy developed between the fans and sceptics of the breed. To decide the issue, Solanet offered two of his horses to a Swiss school teacher who wanted to make an incredible journey on horseback from Buenos Aires to New York. Aime-Felix Tschiffely made Mancha and Gato famous and wrote their names in the history books of the world forever.
Once our ponchos were on we continued along the ridge, before climbing ever higher up narrow tracks that clung precipitously to the rock face and provided panoramic views over the Andes Mountains and the valley below. This was not a ride for those who suffered from vertigo and I trusted blindly to my little mare's surefootedness. As we scrambled on to the summit the wind buffeted us, shrieking in its intensity and sleet flakes lashed our faces. The view was truly spectacular but the weather conditions to severe to linger and take photos so we hastened over the summit and started down in the relative shelter of the other side of the mountain. Some 40 minutes later we reached a grassy upland meadow, with a small outcrop of trees, where we stopped for yet another delightful lunch.
I was on a two-week trip to Argentina, trying out the various holidays featured in Equine Adventures 2008 brochure (it's a tough job but someone's got to do it) and was at the end of week two on a pack-trip into the Lanin National Park arranged by Estancia Huechahue. My companions on the pack trip were 3 amazing English ladies, all experienced riders. Debs the youngest of the group, was 62, her sister, Hope, was 72 and their friend, Althea, 77! I had experienced a few concerns about the prospect of sleeping on the ground using only my saddle, before I'd reached Huechahue but these were quickly stifled once I met my companions. I was 22 years younger than Althea and if she could do it - well then so could I! Indeed my concerns had proved groundless, the tents provided had stood up well to heavy rain and extreme wind on the first night and the bed made up of saddle blanket, leather and felt saddle underlay, sheepskin and 4-seasons sleeping bag was both warm and surprisingly comfortable.
The food was surprisingly good too. Huge hunks of beef, along with the tents and carafes of wine had been packed onto a packhorse and led up into the mountains by Salvador. Cooked over a log fire and washed down by mugs of red wine the Argentinean beef was tender and flavoursome if a little overcooked for my tastes until I remembered the magic words 'muy rosa'. After three days of riding through temperate rainforest filled with thick bamboo groves dotted with thousand-year-old monkey-puzzle trees; of camping in lush meadows and climbing through freezing volcanic landscapes; three days of riding with the back-drop of the perfect conical snow capped Lanin Volcano in the distance and three days of washing in freezing mountain streams we returned to the comforts of the estancia for a welcome hot bath and 3-course candlelit meal. The pack trip was: - physically challenging - perhaps; creature comforts - limited; worthwhile - unequivocally yes - as Althea so succinctly put it that evening - I wouldn't have missed that for the world!
My trip had started ten days earlier in Mar del Plata where I had gone to stay at the Maison d'Apart Hotel and have a go at learning polo with Carlitas and Kim Gonzalez of Play Polo. Unfortunately the weather was inclement (heavy rain) so we weren't able to get onto the polo pitch as the ground was too greasy but this didn't stop me having a great deal of fun.
I was met at the airport at Mar del Plata by Kim - bubbly, blond and British - who took me though to the hotel and then after checking if I wanted to ride (no, after 35 hours of travelling) took me on a short tour of the town and for a light lunch at a cafe overlooking the beach. Dinner in Argentina is eaten late - 9PM is considered early, so there was time for a short siesta before meeting up with Carlitas, Kim and fellow-guest, Sue to go out for dinner. Carlitas took us to one of his favourite restaurants where vast quantities of steak were washed down with equally vast quantities of Malbec.
The next day Carlitas and Kim collected Sue and me from the hotel at 9:30 and drove us through to the club. A string of polo ponies were waiting patiently at the line and Kim introduced them all to me and told me a little of their history. It was easy to see that all the horses were exceptionally well cared for and much loved! As a novice polo player (I had never tried it before) I was mounted on Ceniza (which means ash in Spanish), a beautifully behaved little grey mare. I was shown how to hold the reins correctly for polo (always the left hand as you need the right hand for the mallet) and told that the horses only responded to neck reining and didn't understand direct rein commands. Once Kim was happy that I understood and wasn't going to pull Ceniza about we all set off through the park to the beach, accompanied by 4 grooms and a whole string of extra ponies.
The ride through the grounds is excellent in its own right, we wended our way under magnificent eucalyptus trees thronged by parakeets, across open park fields where we were squawked at by burrowing owls and dive-bombed by lapwings. The beach was shrouded in mist and the surf was up. We walked down to one end, turned and did a steady canter back. Sue swapped horses, I stayed on Ceniza. Back along the beach - this time with transitions, canter, stop, canter, turn on the haunches, canter, stop, canter. Then canter circles, stop, turn, other lead. All too soon we were heading back to the club house for lunch and the inevitable siesta.
During the afternoon we should have tried some stick and balling but as it was still raining we headed back to the beach, complete with mallets, to learn how to swing the mallet without hitting the horse. The next day brought yet more rain, so we spent the morning on the beach, perfecting slide stops and turns on the haunches before opting to spend the afternoon doing some sight seeing.
Most people would spend at least 2-weeks with Play Polo so a couple of days of rain wouldn't mar their holiday, unfortunately I was only able to spare a couple of days but I was able to get in a little bit of stick and ball on my final morning before leaving for the airport. Sue stayed on for another 10-days and won a tournament at the end of her stay!
From Mar del Plata I flew via Buenos Aires to Cordoba, where I was met by Kevin Begg of Los Potreros and driven out to the estancia. On the fifty minute drive from the city of Cordoba to Los Potreros, a 6,000-acre working cattle ranch sprawling across the low hills of the sierra Chicas in northern Argentina, the smoky light pollution gradually gave way to a flawless indigo sky. We approached the estancia via a complicated system of gates, fences and unmade roads, which underscored just how remote this place was. It has belonged to the same Anglo-Argentine family for four generations. However it was only after the economic crash of 2001 that Robin and Kevin Begg decided to go in to tourism which is just about all that's sustained parts of Argentina in recent times.
The family provide guests with an unforgettable holiday and first hand contact with the rural traditions of Argentina and set a high standard of professionalism in accommodation, food, and guiding, taking care of the guests with unrivalled personal attention to detail.
The ambience at Los Potreros is evocative of an English country house party, hosting up to 14 visitors on-site with accommodation elsewhere for larger parties. Furnishings, fittings and artwork reflect the rustic origins of the farmhouse. Kevin and his English-born wife Louisa make a point of joining their guests - whether at mealtimes, on riding excursions or for polo.
Their horses are all bred on the estate and used for working the cattle. Some are Pasos Peruanos, others native Argentine Criollos, and the rest crossbreds. All are small, sure-footed and responsive. The Pasos Peruanos are of ancient Peruvian descent, quite different to many Western horses, which often possess some Arab ancestry. The unique quality of the "Peruvians" is that they have the pre-Moorish Spanish paso, an extraordinary gait that enables them to walk at the speed of a canter. The ride is smooth and feels like you are sitting in a portable armchair, and is perfectly suited for long distances or for beginners.
Ten minutes' drive from the house is a polo field and a stick and ball ground. Polo is an optional activity at Los Potreros, with one afternoon a week assigned to teaching and playing (subject to weather conditions). Lightweight mallets and helmets are supplied, together with quiet horses accustomed to novice players. Louisa or Kevin Begg introduce the game, demonstrating how to hit a polo ball without doing injury to one's horse, oneself or to other players whilst impressing the importance of the ball's right of way. Students then practice strokes at the walk before progressing to slow practice chukkas.
Rotated between cattle work and trail riding, the horses are placid, sure-footed and responsive to the slightest neck-rein signals. Much attention is given to providing extremely comfortable saddles - leather overlaid with sheepskin. First aid kits are carried on each outing and guests are always accompanied by an English-speaking member of staff.
On my first morning we rode to a magnificent waterfall some two hours ride away. After a steep climb down the gorge a couple of my fellow guests braved the icy water whist the rest of us looked on. Then out of the gorge for a further ride back across the rolling hills to the estancia for lunch. In the afternoon we rounded up the mares and foals bringing them down from the hills so they could spend the night in corrals safe from pumas.
Each night, after a magnificent dinner I'd make my way across the lawn and follow a path lit with candles to my cabin where the log stove would be lit and the smell of wood would be scenting the room. Before I went inside I'd stand in the silent night, watching for shooting stars. With the moon nearly full, the shapes of the trees and hills were silhouettes against the night sky and the only sound would be the lowering of cattle and the rustle of pampas grass swaying in the wind.
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