September 10, 2014
A moderate two hours of hunting and I have been fighting to stay awake the past four hours. My brain is pooped. I feel like I carried Frankie around the fixture rather than vice versa. Emotionally I guess I did. A shower helped but I did have a bit of a shock when I thought I was bleeding under my arm. It was a just piece of red fuzz from my polo shirt.
Having finally cracked my ten-year-old Wintec leathers through to the nylon core (probably still strong enough but not confidence inspiring), I purchased the only pair I could find yesterday—in black. No way am I going to buy leather ones for a hundred dollars only to swim in them all summer long. The fact that they were not more traditional brown didn’t bother me. Riding a glow-in-the-dark pale horse with bubble gum-pink skin and transparent eyes, no one is going to notice the color of what my stirrups are hanging from. Sporting his new hunt bridle, I figured at least he would look the part. My philosophy: even if you fail miserably it is somehow better if you are dressed appropriately.To read more, a subscription is required. Log in or click here to subscribe.