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Sami Muirhead: galloping into unexplored territory in the Australian Alps

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Sami Muirhead: the good, the bad and the comfy

The most curious question I have been asked in many years was lobbed my way this week. My daughter wanted to know what the most More

You can officially call me ‘The Woman From Snowy River’ after I survived a three-day horse trek in the mighty Australian Alps.

My friend Tricia invited a group to ride through the Snowy Mountains high country, complete with snow-capped ranges and thick Australian scrub.

A bunch of top-shelf women gathered to celebrate Tricia’s birthday.

“How hard could this riding caper be?” I thought.

I had never ridden a horse before.

You can take that smug look off your face right now, dear reader.

Turns out it was very hard.

There were 12 of us and 11 were crack riders. I was the 12th.

In the saddle, I squeezed as hard as I could with my thighs and tried to not fall off Pedro (a massive brumby crossed with a thoroughbred).

Pedro hated me and could smell my fear. I hated me, too.

I hated how my sitting bones were hurting more than anything had hurt in my life. I hated my horse’s big teeth. I did not like how my knees slammed into tree trunks because I didn’t know how to steer the brumby away from them and how the gum branches whipped my face.

But the biggest pain of all was the fact my new jodhpurs were way too tight and women know the agony of pants that cut into your stomach.

Picture: Shutterstock.

I was slipping and sliding as we painfully bumped along.

Pedro clearly was disgusted that he had to heave the curvy, tall, uncoordinated girl.

We ploughed and picked our way up a very steep mountain. On and on it went, with me trying to stand in the stirrups and hold on to Pedro’s mane.

The nature was breathtaking.

We finally made it to the top of the range and camp, which was a tin roof and a burning fire.

After some serious whiskey shots, it was time for bed.

Tricia was ecstatic with our whole situation and said to me: “Doesn’t sleeping in a swag feel like a wonderful cocoon?”

I replied immediately: “It feels more like a coffin.”

Turns out I am not a horse rider or a camper.

On day two, one kind friend swapped her jodhpurs with me as she had a pair with an elasticised waist.

Oh, the bliss!

I did love the trip in the end. Memories for life.

But next time I am voting we go to Fiji for sunsets and cocktails.

Pants will be banned.

Sami Muirhead is a radio announcer, blogger and commentator. For more from Sami, tune into Mix FM.

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