T H I S+W E E K Veritable Venice By John Krich A summer resident savors the city's eternal spirit -- and contemporary contradictions > Australia by horseback By Pippa Gordon Here's a novel way to see Queensland -- and to share a mother-daughter journey D E P A R T M E N T S Road Warrior By Don George Adventures of the Business Traveler The Surreal Gourmet By Bob Blumer L'eau de vie: Cognac with every meal Mondo Weirdo Hippos in the night Readers' Tips and Tales Lost in the Sahara - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Your virtual travel agency - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - LA S T+W E E K Tuesday, Sept. 16, 1997 Lost in the Sahara By Jeffrey Tayler A simple overnight trip becomes a battle for survival A N D Dunescapes By Pamela Roberson A desert portfolio A full list of all Wanderlust articles

HERE'S A NOVEL WAY TO SEE QUEENSLAND -- AND TO SHARE A MOTHER-DAUGHTER JOURNEY. BY PIPPA GORDON | i never expected to be riding endurance horses through Australian national parks with my 14-year-old daughter, Caitlin. But there we were on lean, athletic, sweating horses -- a feisty mix of Arabian and thoroughbred -- deep in a lush rain forest. I was ecstatic. We were on the homestretch of an all-day, 30-mile trek led by our host, Bob Sample, a horse breeder and champion long-distance rider. With Bob and Caitlin setting the pace at a fast trot, I almost didn't spot the snake until I was upon it. But there at the side of the trail was a five-foot-long yellow slithering creature. I shouted to alert the others. Bob quickly dismounted and without a second thought scooped up the snake, a python, which he assured us was not poisonous. Caitlin was not convinced. He presented it to her, suggesting she hold it, but she declined. When he released the python we watched it glide up a tree, and Bob explained that it was rare for a snake to emerge this early from its winter hibernation. I'm not averse to snakes -- my uncle kept a snake pit on his South African farm -- but I was not inclined to linger. I'm a horse person, and I was here to ride. Growing up in South Africa, I spent my childhood cavorting with my girlfriends bareback on ponies, exploring the veld and competing in show jumping. But in my late teens I became disillusioned with the "horsy crowd" who weren't exactly leading the charge against apartheid. They were more concerned with hunting hounds than political prisoners. I withdrew, emigrated to the United States and had nothing to do with horses until I had two children of my own. I introduced both to riding, but my son was more interested in football and soccer. My daughter, however, took to it -- not in the all-encompassing, competitive way I had ridden, but as one of her many pleasures. In San Francisco, we ride twice a week in Golden Gate Park, leasing a horse that Caitlin and I share. One rides while the other bikes alongside. It's not steeple chasing, but it's fun and a good way to be together. Last summer we decided we were ready for something more daring. Enticed by brochures from an outfit called Equitour, we became captivated by the notion of a riding vacation in some far-off place. Without any real idea of what we were getting into, we flew to Australia. In Brisbane we spent two days adjusting to life down under. Then Bob, who runs Horse Trek Australia, picked us up and drove us north toward the Conondale mountain range in Queensland. Though only an 80-mile trip, this was an instant immersion in rural Australia. Along the way we passed volcanic outcroppings with aboriginal names, bought custard apples from a roadside fruit stand, ate spicy pumpkin soup and samosas in the arty village of Maleny and saw kangaroos in the tall grass. At dusk we arrived at Bellbird, the 90-horse stud farm operated by Bob, his partner, Vanessa, and his 24-year-old son, Brook. Vanessa ushered us through a courtyard past a fish pond with huge lily pads and stag horn ferns to our plain but comfortable guest rooms. Next morning I awoke to the sight of yellow cockatoos on the lawn under the palm tree outside my window. A thick mist was rising in the valley and beyond it was the Kennilworth National Forest and the mountain range we would be exploring on horses. There was only one other house visible from my room -- a typical Queensland corrugated iron roof building, set on short stilts to allow cool air to circulate. Behind our guest rooms was hilly terrain with a paddock for some of the young horses and grazing ground for deer and wallabies. We had breakfast in the main Bellbird house -- a low-lying, unobtrusive, airy space. After our morning meal of fruit salad, custard apple, cereal, locally made yogurt, toast with ginger marmalade and strong coffee, we drove a short distance down the dirt driveway past a pond and organic strawberry fields to the stable. This was not the typical whitewashed line of stalls with half doors and horses' heads peering over them, but a simple structure to house the saddles and bridles, keep feed and confine a horse while being shod. In the stable's enclosed courtyard we were each matched with a horse -- I with Caprice, an 11-year-old mare that had won the Tom Quilty cup, Australia's 99-mile endurance ride, and Caitlin with Letitia, a slower paced mare. I felt flattered to be on such a famous steed and reassured that Caitlin would be safe on this first ride. "We work with horses' natural instincts," Bob said before we set out, explaining his philosophy of riding. "We want to create a relationship of trust between horse and rider, not dominance." This was evident in the tack our mounts wore. Instead of bridles with bits, our horses were simply fitted with snug halters and rope reins. In fact, Bob rode Cavalier only using a "loop," a hula hoop-like device placed around the horse's neck. During our six days at this stud farm and training ground, we went for daily five- or six-hour rides along myriad wooded trails in an 80,000-acre reserve. We stopped near streams or water holes in dry riverbeds ("billabongs") for lunches that Vanessa had made and Bob carried in his saddle bag. Each ride was different. We tried a variety of horses -- with Caitlin progressing to Baladier, distinguished by his exuberant gait and sheer delight in life. Usually the three of us rode alone. Occasionally, local riders joined us. But always I was filled with admiration for the ability of the horses. They were fast, with remarkable acceleration and stamina, and were foot-sure over the rocky paths. My first impression of these horses was how skinny they were; Caitlin referred to them as "Kate Moss-types," with their ribs showing. But I came to realize these were a special breed, perfectly adapted to feats of endurance. We were able to gallop two miles up steep hills and maneuver down sharp inclines. It took my breath away. Each day we crossed Booloumba Creek ("many stone" in Aborigine) and rode into the hillside forests of pines and eucalyptus -- and sometimes into patches of tropical rain forest. This was not a single-file saunter with the person at the back enveloped in dust. It was an energetic, free-for-all ride to the crest of a ridge. Before a "run," Bob would explain the terrain ahead: "Watch for the low branches as you turn the corner. Stay to the right. Avoid the vines and the thorn tree on your left. When you get to the fork at the top, take the right. If you're ahead, wait for me there." Away we'd go, with Caitlin on Baladier often taking the lead, sometimes with her feet out of the stirrups, arms outstretched, savoring the freedom. Goannas, long lizards with large claws, scrambled up trees as we approached. We startled white-faced Hereford cows on forestry roads and passed controlled brush fires that left our clothes smelling smoky. There were birds everywhere, most memorably the kookaburras with their monkeylike laugh. Male whip birds uttered a single "whip" call answered by the double "whip-whip" of the female. Arriving home on sweaty horses, we unsaddled them, hosed them down and turned them loose in a large paddock. Then it was tea time. At dusk Caitlin and I sat outside our rooms watching a wallaby with her baby joey. Early winter sunsets (this being the other side of the equator) made for long evenings. Sometimes we screened videos or talked with other guests. Dinners were mainly vegetarian, prepared by Bob or Vanessa, who were exceedingly self-reliant. We discussed our favorite Australian movies --"Love Serenade," "Shine," "Muriel's Wedding" -- or ate silently, tired at the end of a long day. One doesn't have to be an experienced rider to appreciate Bob's farm. Just before we arrived, a group of Japanese men who had ridden only in a small, enclosed ring were delighted to be riding outdoors in vast, unspoiled territory. While we were there, three Swiss students came just to hike. And a woman from New York who turned up on crutches with a knee injury didn't let that stop her from riding over some of the same strenuous ground we covered. One day Vanessa drove us to the coastal town of Noosa Heads, with its impeccably white beach and aquamarine waters. Sauntering through a local park, we spotted a koala in the branches of a eucalyptus and watched a school of dolphins cavorting in the bay below. We enjoyed the excursion, but all we could really think of was the prospect of our night ride that evening -- something I'd never done in all my years of riding. By 6 o'clock it was dark. Our horses were saddled and impatient. Stars blinked. Venus was bright. But there was no moon. After crossing the creek we disappeared into the near total darkness of the forest. A few fireflies sparkled. The only other illumination was Bob's flashlight, which he used sparingly to point out a dangling vine in our path or warn us of some other potential hazard. The next two hours were intense, an adrenalin rush, a feeling of excitement that approached the jagged edge of terror. It was like being on my first roller coaster ride. Totally thrilling. We rode without talking, engrossed by the immediacy of the experience. "You can really feel your horse," Bob had told us, "when you're not distracted by the view around you." Caitlin shot past me on her mare, Lexia, as we galloped in blackness through the forest up a steep, rocky hill. Emerging into a clearing, we gasped at the canopy of stars and grinned at each other. Ian, a local who had joined us, pointed out the Southern Cross and finally broke the silence: "Love night rides. Done a lot of them. Each night is different." They tend to understatement, these Aussies, but they relish risk and exertion. The week passed far too quickly. At the end, it was hard to leave. Caitlin and I spent the final day fantasizing about stealing the horses, or at least forever abandoning our urban life in San Francisco. The riding had been so exciting and absorbing, we had forgotten to argue about hair dye and MTV. Of course there were moments when we bickered, usually over clothes, and Caitlin would stalk off to her room and the comforting isolation of the Smashing Pumpkins on headphones. But most of the time, horse-trekking in Australia reminded me of how brave and mature my daughter is, how necessary riding is to my life and how unlikely it is that my husband will agree to sell our house and move to the Australian outback. On the endless flight back to California, I began plotting my next escape -- riding across the Okavango swamps in Botswana. Sept. 23, 1997 Pippa Gordon lives in San Francisco with her husband and two children. ________- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - This Queensland ride, as well as many other rides around the world, can be booked through Equitour. For more information, visit the company's Web site, call (800) 545-0019 or fax (307) 455-2354. Are you a rider? Have you explored other places -- near or far -- by horseback? Share your tales and tips in Table Talk. ________- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - MOTHERS WHO THINK | How did 14-year-old Caitlin describe this same adventure? Check out her story in Salon's Mothers Who Think section.

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