A Lifetime With Arabians, printed in Arabian Horse Times

Looking back to January 2010

A LIFETIME WITH HORSES, by Sheila Varian

A Lifetime W ith Ar Ronteza, Part II

abians

by Sh eil a Va ria n Last month I began the story of Ronte za, who first brought me notice reined cow horse eve in the open horse nts all over Ca lifo world and in the Arabian world as rnia and somewhat into Nevada. There well. (See December was, however, one 20 09 issue, page 196.) A daughter of place I had not sho wn—the Grand Na *Witez II and the tional Rodeo at the Faronek daughter Ronna, Ronteza wa Cow Pa lace, against the greate s the second horse st reined cow horse I trained in the spade bit, and her s of the day. I did know it at the tim record in reined cow n’t e, but all the competitors horse classes was amazingly good. Sh affectionately referred to winnin e was such a good g the re cit as ize “W n, inn alw wil ling to try to un ing the World.” ays derstand when so often I wasn’t sure what I was ask ing With the missile thr . But I believed in eat, I can’t say tha her, and being the great mare that she t it didn’t occur to my mother and was, she always did me that maybe we her best. This month, we contin shouldn’t be going any where. But Oc ue her story. Let me tober had arrived; set the scene. my dad was happy stay home and ma to n the ranch as lon It was October, 196 g as we phoned home reg ularly. So late in 1. We had moved that fate-f illed mo to the ranch in Arroyo Grande, thr nth, there we were, mom and I, travel ee miles from Ha lcy ing nor th with Ro on, only a couple of years earlier and nte za loaded in our tw o-horse Miley tra we had Bay-Abi, but iler. That week wo he had not yet been named U.S uld be the worst and best week of my . National Champio life up to that tim n Sta llion. We were just beginning e. to assemble a band of broodmares for him, and earlier Going into it, the in the year, my mo only thing I knew ther had written to Patricia Lindsa for sure was that those few day y in Great Britain, s would be long and ask ing for help in purchasing a mare demanding. I knew what Ronte from Poland. As Po za needed most wa land was in the process of disbandin s not training but conditioning, so for g their state studs, months that had bee Miss Lindsay was able to arrange for n my priority.

Every day after I fin us to buy not one, ished teaching sch but three wonderf mares—*Ostroga, ool, I had saddled ul Ronteza and jogged *Naganka and *Ba dow n the hil l to a chantka—who wo be the foundation big hay field across uld from our 21 acres. of the Varian progra With a loose rein m. By aut umn, we were an xiously on her spade bit, I let her pick her ow awaiting their arriva n speed and we tro l. In the “outside world,” the Cuban tted lap after lap.

Through those mo Missile Crisis was nths, I had felt her in the headlines; emotions were run getting stronger, happy to go far the ning high everywher r and trot longer. e, as people feared that a nuclear attack Then the week bef hau lin ore g Ronteza to San could come at any Francisco, my old time. friend Wayne Vaughn had inv ited me up to his mothe Despite all of that r-in-law’s ranch in the Coarsegold/ going on, I was foc Oakhurst area to used on a goa l: San Francisco’s Cow Pa work cattle. For tw days, Ronteza and lace, where the mo o I sor ted cattle, pic st impor tant reined cow horse show in king out heifers and pushing them into the countr y was hel ano the d r eve fie ry October. ld, simple work in Although I never which she was always suc told anyone, not eve cessfu l. No matter n my parents (although they had how ner vous I might be, Ronteza probably guessed) was completely con , I had dogged ly been working tow fident that there was nothing that ard competing the could get by her. re for five years. In that time, Ronteza had gone from a you ng hackamore horse as a 3- and That October was 4-year-old to carryi cold and damp, as ng a shanked bit with a bosal and tw only San Francisco can be at that tim o-rein through her e of year. Right the fift h yea r. sixth year, she wa By her re on the ocean, with the Pacific win s straight up in the ds sweeping over bridle, showing in half-breed bit. As the peninsula, a it is a bone chillin a 7-year-old, she wa g cold that leaves s a finished spade bit reined cow horse you per pet ual ly uncomfor table. Le . In that time, she t me tel l you, when had competed in there is no sleep in a dank little ho tel room that saw its better days ma 270 | AR AB IAN ny HO RSE TIM ES

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A Lifetime With Arabians Ronteza, Part II

by Sheila Varian Last month I began the story of Ronteza, who first brought me notice in the open horse world and in the Arabian world as well. (See December 2009 issue, page 196.) A daughter of *Witez II and the Faronek daughter Ronna, Ronteza was the second horse I trained in the spade bit, and her record in reined cow horse classes was amazingly good. She was such a good citizen, always willing to try to understand when so often I wasn’t sure what I was asking. But I believed in her, and being the great mare that she was, she always did her best. This month, we continue her story. Let me set the scene.

It was October, 1961. We had moved to the ranch in Arroyo Grande, three miles from Halcyon, only a couple of years earlier and we had Bay-Abi, but he had not yet been named U.S. National Champion Stallion. We were just beginning to assemble a band of broodmares for him, and earlier in the year, my mother had written to Patricia Lindsay in Great Britain, asking for help in purchasing a mare from Poland. As Poland was in the process of disbanding their state studs, Miss Lindsay was able to arrange for us to buy not one, but three wonderful mares—*Ostroga, *Naganka and *Bachantka—who would be the foundation of the Varian program. By autumn, we were anxiously awaiting their arrival. In the “outside world,” the Cuban Missile Crisis was in the headlines; emotions were running high everywhere, as people feared that a nuclear attack could come at any time.

Despite all of that going on, I was focused on a goal: San Francisco’s Cow Palace, where the most important reined cow horse show in the country was held every October.

Although I never told anyone, not even my parents (although they had probably guessed), I had doggedly been working toward competing there for five years. In that time, Ronteza had gone from a young hackamore horse as a 3- and 4-year-old to carrying a shanked bit with a bosal and two-rein through her fifth year. By her sixth year, she was straight up in the bridle, showing in a half-breed bit. As a 7-year-old, she was a finished spade bit reined cow horse. In that time, she had competed in 270 | AR ABIAN HORSE TIMES

reined cow horse events all over California and somewhat into Nevada. There was, however, one place I had not shown—the Grand National Rodeo at the Cow Palace, against the greatest reined cow horses of the day. I didn’t know it at the time, but all the competitors affectionately referred to winning there as “Winning the World.”

With the missile threat, I can’t say that it didn’t occur to my mother and me that maybe we shouldn’t be going anywhere. But October had arrived; my dad was happy to stay home and man the ranch as long as we phoned home regularly. So late in that fate-filled month, there we were, mom and I, traveling north with Ronteza loaded in our two-horse Miley trailer. That week would be the worst and best week of my life up to that time.

Going into it, the only thing I knew for sure was that those few days would be long and demanding. I knew what Ronteza needed most was not training but conditioning, so for months that had been my priority.

Every day after I finished teaching school, I had saddled Ronteza and jogged down the hill to a big hay field across from our 21 acres. With a loose rein on her spade bit, I let her pick her own speed and we trotted lap after lap.

Through those months, I had felt her getting stronger, happy to go farther and trot longer. Then the week before hauling Ronteza to San Francisco, my old friend Wayne Vaughn had invited me up to his mother-in-law’s ranch in the Coarsegold/Oakhurst area to work cattle. For two days, Ronteza and I sorted cattle, picking out heifers and pushing them into another field, simple work in which she was always successful. No matter how nervous I might be, Ronteza was completely confident that there was nothing that could get by her.

That October was cold and damp, as only San Francisco can be at that time of year. Right there on the ocean, with the Pacific winds sweeping over the peninsula, it is a bone chilling cold that leaves you perpetually uncomfortable. Let me tell you, when there is no sleep in a dank little hotel room that saw its better days many

A Lifetime With Arabians years before, when there is little to fill a day and only one horse to care for (and no place big enough to let that horse stretch her legs in a long trot)—a week goes very slowly.

I didn’t know any of the other competitors well enough and was too shy to spend time visiting. The stock horse/ reined cow horse world has habitually been dominated by men. Its history in California traces back to the 18th and 19th centuries, when the vaquero grew to such great prominence on the haciendas, roping, gathering and driving cattle. A California buckaroo had a lot of time to train horses. He was good with his hands, and he was stylish and proud; well-bred horses were his pride and joy. From his job/life work, the vaquero trained the horse to help with the cattle and then showed off how well he had trained his horse with Sunday competitions. At the Cow Palace, the Reined Cow Horse competitions continued the tradition from the huge Spanish land grant ranchos. In October of ’61, 10,000 San Franciscans paid nightly to cheer the bucking horses and bulls, the clowns and ropers, the Saddlebreds and the Reined Cow Horse Championship.

At night, sleeping was impossible. Every time I shut my eyes, my imagination would take over and I would be riding Ronteza, spinning and sliding, sliding and spinning, spinning and sliding. I lay awake feeling every move she would make that I knew so well. I could not break the pattern; when I lay down to sleep, my mind took over and I rode every pattern I had ever seen. I practiced for hours in the dark in the little hotel room that was cold in a way no burping gas heater could overcome. My mother left me alone, and although we were together, she evidently knew much better than I what was going on inside of me.

Eliminations for the Light Weight and Heavy Weight horses were held on Thursday morning, with Light

The Cow Palace itself is a giant, quonset-like building (the California Livestock Pavilion, where the rodeo is held), surrounded by halls where the animals are housed. I was so superstitious that when I had to go into the Pavilion, I wouldn’t walk past the Ronteza at the Cow Palace: In the most important competition of her career to date, window in the foyer where she was not going to let any steer get by her. the beautiful Bill Maloy saddle that would be awarded to the winner of the $1,000 Weight horses going first. In those days, patterns could Reined Cow Horse Championship was displayed. I would be anything the judge thought up, and they were given turn and walk all the way back around the arena rather to you just before you rode into the arena. Ronteza was a than walk past that saddle. Today they would call that Light Weight, even though she had developed into a stout staying focused, but then it was just an instinct not to Arabian. At 14.2 hands, with deep muscling down her allow distractions to disrupt my mind. I just stayed quiet hind legs, she was not tall—but she never felt small to my and single-minded. I took good care of Ronteza, cleaned six-foot height. I had to qualify in the top five horses to her stall three or four times a day, made sure her water be able to ride Friday night in the Light Weight class. As was clean and her hay was fresh. I brushed her and told I recall, there were about 30 horses in the Light Weight her nursery rhymes, which always comforted her. division and a similar number in the Heavy Weight class.

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A Lifetime With Arabians I took my time saddling Ronteza. The more time I took with the grooming and saddling, the more relaxed she would be. Having shown Ronteza for the past three years, I had learned that getting her “up” for a competition didn’t require excitement; saddling was Ronteza’s warmup. She didn’t like to gallop or do spins to sharpen up before a class. I would take half an hour to saddle, lead her to the arena, and then show. When we were waiting for our call to go in, I sat in the saddle and we stood in the back, behind the other riders, perfectly still. We had to have been the personification of paralysis; our two hearts ka-thumping away, we were both motionless, waiting. If she was going to be “on,” I would feel her heart pounding through the fenders of the saddle.

up going the wrong direction. Riders were being called in by number and my mind was blank. The only thing that saved me was a stroke of luck. As a little kid, I had dropped an iron on my left wrist and the outline was scarred; in my mind, I just kept repeating ‘left is toward the scar, left is toward the scar.’

Then my number was called and I rode into the brightness of the legendary Cow Palace arena. As we loped into our figure eights, everything felt soft and right. I began to relax and concentrate on smooth, round figure eights. Not a leg-broke horse, Ronteza made a change of lead when I thought about changing directions; I thought, and she followed smooth as glass.

We were moving as one.

Riding a good bridle horse has always been like a song to me.

The movements my horse and I make together are the melody that floats through the air. I’d hummed through most of our training sessions, and as I set up for our run down and slide, I could hear the melody in my mind. Ronteza flew down the center of the arena, her head quiet and still, her mouth waiting for the touch of the rein to set her hindquarters in the ground. She made a beautiful, deep slide and I thought about the scar on my arm—left, Sheila, spin to the scar.

The rest of the pattern was fun and joyful; it was easy now. We The Cow Palace’s Light Weight class: Not everything went smoothly. finished our dry work and rode to the end of the arena to receive our cow. I don’t know the name of the fellow that was At that time, I had one overriding fear. I had lost a sorting the cattle, but later he told me he had made sure $1,000 stake in Monterey in the summer; I had won I got a good steer. Ronteza held the steer at the end of the Light Weight class and then gone off pattern in the ring to show her ranch capabilities of keeping a cow the championship, so I was very worried about going out of the herd. The weekend at Wayne Vaughn’s, cutting off pattern. That Thursday morning we were given our and driving 200 head of heifers one by one from one field pattern, which was figure eights with circles on either to another, had made Ronteza invincible in her mind. end, the run down and slide followed by a full spin to She thundered down the arena wall, caught her steer and the left and a half turn to the right. Suddenly, sitting on forced her body in front to turn it back, setting up her run Ronteza, I couldn’t tell right from left, and when I did back up the wall to catch and turn the steer again, as you the spin in my mind, at the end of the first slide I ended 272 | AR ABIAN HORSE TIMES

A Lifetime With Arabians would on a ranch. She may have been only 14.2 hands and an Arabian, but down a wall, Ronteza was as fast and fearless as any Quarter Horse. Finishing the routine by controlling her cow in a circle, I pulled up and knew we had had a “good run.”

As I rode out of the arena, I was breathing hard and so was Ronteza. Other riders nodded and said, “Nice ride.”

I practically fell out of the saddle, loosened the cinch, and waited to see if we would be called back to ride again on Friday evening. At that time, scores were not called, so you didn’t know where you stood. Not having shown at the Cow Palace before, I didn’t know that the order in which you were called out of the lineup was your placement in the eliminations.

Our Friday night class was scheduled during the rodeo for 9:06. The Cow Palace ran a fast, tight show. When they scheduled your class at 9:06, that’s when you rode, so at 8:15, I began brushing, saddling and reciting my nursery rhymes. At 10 minutes to 9:00, I led Ronteza through the long hallway from the stalls to the arena, squeezing through ropers, rope horses, trick riders, bull riders, bronc riders, and the numbers of people that follow the rodeo crowd. Dick Deller, the judge for the stock horses, gave us our pattern and instructed me to go first.

Immediately, I was flooded with panic that I would make a mistake during the pattern. But there was no time

I didn’t watch the other horses go; I just stood leaning against my honest little bay mare, breathing hard.

When the last horse rode, we were all summoned back into the arena for the announcer to call the five horses forward that would be showing in the Light Weight class on Friday evening.

Ronteza’s sliding stop. In those days, a higher headset was desirable, My number was and this shot was considered the classic image of how to do it. called first … and then four more. There we stood, Ronteza and I, in a to think; our class was called and I rode into the ring. lineup with four of best bridle horsemen in the world.

Ronteza felt just the same as she had Thursday morning.

She didn’t pay any attention to the 10,000 people in the Ronteza and I were so worn out, I didn’t watch the Heavy stands or the cattle driving up the chute alongside the Weight horses go. I pulled her saddle off, brushed her arena, and neither did I—we were in our own land. I down, and then lay down in her stall to come quietly don’t remember what the pattern was, but it wasn’t the back to life. Mom didn’t say much. So perceptive, she same one we’d had in the eliminations. knew I was in another land and needed to stay there. The rest of Thursday crept by. I sat at the top of the stands, I was told later that the crowd really got into Ronteza and shivering, waiting for Friday evening to come and go. I me. I remember everything as bottomless—endless—easy. now wonder where my mother was or where she went. I When we finished our dry work we rode to the end of don’t know. I don’t even remember eating. the arena, where the same old cowboy sorted through the JANUARY 2010 | 273

A Lifetime With Arabians

Good horsemen always recognize a good horse.

Ronteza was the first Arabian and I was the first girl to win a Reined Cow Horse class at the Cow Palace. When our number was called in the Light Weight class, you can see that the guys on their Quarter Horses had no hard feelings.

cattle and picked me another good steer. Ronteza stood tense and quiet, watching the chute, knowing that at any second her steer would hurtle out. Head low, crouched and motionless, she was back at Wayne Vaughn’s, ready to push the cattle through the gate into the other pasture, just as she had the weekend before. Then the chute door opened and a brocko-faced black steer came whistling out.

Ronteza dove for the steer’s head and immediately had control of its mind. Holding it on the back fence to show cutting ability was effortless for her, and the steer responded, turning back hard to get away as she dove on past again to contain it at the end of the arena. Her quick, hard moves bottled the steer, allowing it only 10 feet between turns. No longer directing, I was along for the ride as Ronteza put her heart and soul into being the great mare she so quietly was. Coasting the steer over for the long run down the side of the arena wall, we held up a breath to let it feel a surge of hopeful freedom; it gained speed and ran down the wall as its ancestors had during a stampede. But it had no hope of outrunning this little bay blur who was a horizontal whirlwind, gaining by jumps as she closed ground and then simply locked her hind legs, twisting her neck and shoulders around in front of the steer and forcing it to turn back on itself. Three more times she ran the steer, and three more times she wrapped herself around the front of it, forcing it to scramble back

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around. We were almost done; all that was left was to circle the steer, showing how a game horse would fearlessly push a cow into a small circle to the left and then to the right. But there was trouble in the wind …

An evening at the Cow Palace during the Grand National had thrills for everyone—a Grand Entry, with cowgirls riding fast and recklessly, f lags whipping straight out as they wove back and forth; bucking horses; bull fighting clowns; steer ropers; and then to change the pace completely, a Saddlebred class. That Friday evening, to allow time for the steers to be moved in and penned for the bridle horses, a Saddlebred fine harness class had preceded my Light Weight competition. The high-trotting horses pulling the fancy, four-wheeled show buggies had packed the soft footing into a firm hard surface. As Ronteza drove her steer into its third turn, instead of coming back to the outside of the steer to allow it to run again down the wall, this time I asked her not only to drive the steer back hard, but also to come between the steer and the wall in order to push it out into the final wrap-up.

Ronteza drove grittily and hard, pushing between the fence and the cow. She was galloping all out with her head down, charging for the shoulder of the cow to finish the circle. Suddenly her feet hit the hard-packed dirt

A Lifetime With Arabians

her job, just as she had for the last three years.

As we waited outside the arena, breathing hard and totally spent, the other four Light Weight horses finished their patterns and worked their cows. Then the five of us rode back into the fabled Cow Palace arena for the announcing of the awards.

Ronteza and I accepting our award as winners of the Light Weight Reined Cow Horse competition at the Cow Palace in 1961.

from the harness horses’ buggies and in one motion she was falling, skidding on her side, not able to catch any dirt to stop her sliding. I was standing over her, feet on either side, the reins still in my hands. The rules echoed through my mind in slow motion. Go off your horse and you are eliminated. Ronteza lay flat on her side, her head lifted as she slid to a stop. Standing over her, I technically was still “on.” What seemed like hours to me were milliseconds. She saw the steer still galloping, but now 10 feet ahead of her, and she lunged to her feet, pulling me right along with her, she was so strongly focused on circling her cow. Ronteza drove for the steer’s head and shoulder, pushing in with all her strength to force the circle small and tight. She was so single-mindedly on her cow, so intently doing her job, that she didn’t notice me leaning over her outside shoulder, untangling the rein from the shank of her spade bit. She was simply finishing

On that Friday night Ronteza bested the best of the Light Weight horses.

She was called out number one.

The cheering crowd had locked onto a bay Arabian mare and a tall blonde girl that had fallen while circling their cow, yet without losing five strides had finished their work and been pinned first in the preliminaries and the Light Weight class. We had another day and a half yet to go until the championship, which would include the three top Light Weight and the three top Heavy Weight horses. On Sunday afternoon, we would compete for the hand-tooled saddle—and the title of “Winning the World.” ■

Sheila Varian, of Arroyo Grande, Calif., has bred, trained and shown Arabians for more than half a century. Now in its ninth generation, the Varian Arabians program is a dynasty of her bloodlines, with national champions in nearly every division. She has been a leading breeder at Scottsdale and the U.S. Nationals many times, and in 2008 received the USEF/Performance Horse Registry Leading Breeder Award, a selection made over all breeds. Sheila’s own record includes U.S. and Canadian National Championships in halter, English, park, stock horse, and western.

She is a recognized authority in the equine industry as a whole, and was inducted into the Cowgirl Hall of Fame in Fort Worth, Texas, in 2003. Her techniques for socializing and training horses are based on the “soft approach” of the legendary Tom Dorrance, with whom she was close friends from their introduction in the 1960s until his death in 2003.

For more information on Varian Arabians, and its April Spring Fling and August Summer Jubilee weekends, please go to www.varianarabians.com.

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