Iceland - land of enchanted (possessed) horses

How did I get there, anyway?

After my post the other day about all the ways I could have died, I wanted to slow down a bit, smell the roses - you know, because I am alive and can smell roses. The day I scribbled those drawings of my nine lives flashing past I didn’t have a lot of time, so each panel was hastily scrawled and there wasn’t much (any) time or space for back-story. Or, really, story details. Or, any post-incident-reflection. While leaving things to your imagination is fine, I thought I’d like to slow down and unpack a bit, draw a little more carefully, and dive into a story more deeply.

I asked a friend who reads these newsletters which one I should spend more time with and explore in more detail. My friend, the wise woman that she is, said, “Write about the one experience that changed you most.”

I had to stop and think because near-death experiences have a way of changing one’s perspective. Each brush with the hereafter taught me something… so, which one mattered most?

For various reasons, I decided to go back to 2005 when I was standing in front of the bulletin board at the local second-hand tack shop in Victoria. Back then I was still riding and, as it happens, broke, so I was always at the tack shop looking for bargains. What better place to look for deals than on the always-overflowing bulletin board full of fliers and hand-written notices offering everything from day-old chicks to used saddles to ponies looking for new homes after their humans had outgrown them (or discovered boys, or both).

One poster caught my eye. It was a Help Wanted poster, but not one hoping to find someone to shovel manure or do the crack of dawn feeding at a lesson barn. No - this job was for a co-host for a TV show that was going to travel around the world documenting horse people and horse cultures.

I immediately called the number listed and declared I was the perfect person for the job. I loved horses. Rode. Was an actor. And, loved to travel. To my shock (and delight), I was granted an interview.

As it turned out, though, the producer had already chosen a host (just hadn’t quite got around to taking down the poster) but when he found out I could also organize stuff, I was hired on as the production manager.

There followed a fabulous research project (this was still in the early days of the internet, this advance planning would have been a lot easier today), many emails and phone calls, and I managed to set up three weeks worth of locations, interviews, accommodations, transportation, and other logistics for an intense, on-a-shoestring shoot in ICELAND!! After all, what better first location could you imagine for a show about a culture deeply connected to/shaped by its horses?

The fact I had never undertaken anything quite like this didn’t deter me at all. Actually, that’s not true. I wasn’t a total newbie at organizing improbable horse-related trips. A few years before this Icelandic adventure, I had coordinated a three-week trip across Nevada with a horse to visit places mentioned in a historical novel for kids I’d written about the Pony Express riders. [Note to self: comic-worthy content alert.]

That said, I had never been part of a film crew, had never managed someone else’s trip, had never been a location scout, and no, had never been to Iceland. I did, however, have a healthy dose of my mother’s chutzpah, so when offered the job, I didn’t hesitate to say “Sure! I can do that!”

As you might expect, upon arrival I saw…

All that wild scenery, the sea, the relentless wind, the lack of trees, the shaggy sheep, and the friendly (and freakishly literate) people were nothing, though, compared to the horses.

++++

OK, to prevent myself from rushing and getting overly scribbly again, I’ll stop there for now. This is going to take me more than a couple of days to get through this story… all the more reason for you to come back next time…