ver since I was a young girl, I have loved horses. I was fortunate enough to spend my teenager years working at a local trekking stables. That time brings back lots of wonderful memories, but there is one memory in particular with a Highland pony called Victor that I will never forget.

Victor and Harry, both grey Highland ponies, had been at a show. We had a tradition at the stables of riding the ponies up to the field as a herd at the end of the day. We would let off all the horses (about 25 in total) and then jump on one of the last ponies out of the gate to herd everyone up to the top field for the night. Both Victor and Harry were back late that day and had missed the usual routine. It was dark by that time, and as it is in the North of Scotland, it was really dark. We fed them both and put on their jackets – it was a cold winters evening.

We decided it would be easier to ride Victor and Harry up to the top field – rather than losing them in the dark. We led them both up to the mounting block and jumped on. However, it soon became clear that our gentle plod to the top field was going to be something quite different. Harry and Victor realising that they had been left behind by the herd were keen to join the other horses. All we had to hold onto were the horse’s manes and the top of their coats because they were going to bed for the evening we did not keep their headcollars, bridle or saddle on, so the ride up was bareback.

As soon as the gate opened both Harry and Victor took off at a gallop. The ride up to the top field was over a dirt track with twists and turns, uphill and downhill, and small streams over which the horses would jump. It was about a mile. I had ridden this route many times before but in the dark it was quite different. I remember the cold air touching my face as it rushed past, the sound of Victor’s hooves and the snorting of his nose as he galloped faster and faster to catch up with Harry in front. I was desperately trying to remember what the route was like – where the sharp turns were, and where the track snaked sharply downhill so that I could adjust my body to move with Victor. I couldn’t see anything…and it felt like I was flying. In the dark, all that remained was the trust in my Highland pony Victor to get me to the end safely, which he did.
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It has been many years since that experience with my Highland pony Victor, but I can still fondly remember the feeling of the wind and thundering of hooves as we rode through the night. ​