I never imagined that riding a pony down the length of the United Kingdom would have opened the door to my faith. What began as a long-winded venture in memory of a friend resulted in an experience that laid the foundation for almost everything I do.
It led me to create my own charity, The Big Hoof; it inspired me to write, resulting in my first book, In Green. Reaching Land's End, 57 days after setting off on a rainy July morning, I saw my life and the lives of those around me in a markedly different way. Coming to view the world through the eyes of the horse has brought me to where I am today with Catholicism at its core.
Horses are our oldest and most loyal companions, and the history of the horse directly correlates with the progress of mankind. The world as we know it would look like a very different place if it weren't for our equine companions. But with the invention and distribution of the car in the early 20th century, the role of horses changed.
Now, for many people in the UK, horses are seen either only having relevance for a certain section of society, or as precious, expensive commodities to be kept in a wooden box and summoned for entertainment.
Fortunately, there remain places where horses still live close to their natural state, and it was in one of these environments that I first began to understand them. Now, as a writer, they encourage me to look at and feel what surrounds me, tangible and ethereal, wherever I may be.
At 18 years old, I travelled to northern Mongolia in search of the Tsataan tribe. A friend of mine from school, Leo, was unwell and I had read that these people had healing powers. I wasn't sure if it was true or not, nor did it particularly matter; I just hoped that the journey itself would help my friend get back on track and ease his crippling depression. It wasn't long before the trip turned into an adventure – nothing went to plan.
In order to reach the tribe, living on the north shores of Lake Khövsgöl (the largest freshwater lake in Mongolia), we were advised to ride. With money earned back in the UK, we bought some wild ponies and saddles from a farmer at the south of the lake, and headed north. Apparently the Tsataan were in a taiga forest near the Russian border.
By day five our ponies had been stolen, by day seven they were returned with help from the local police (headquarters to be found in the fishmonger's wooden shack), and by day eight we were told to get lost:
"Everyone now wants your horses. Go east, go where no one can find you. Go into bear country."
Still in pursuit of the tribe, we did as warned, hoping to reach them the long way round. A week later, after no food for two days, we came across a reindeer. At first, we thought we were hallucinating, but we followed it. The reindeer led us to a clearing: a headland, smoke, yurts and ponies.
Despite the chaos, we had stumbled into the Tsataan tribe.
As luck would have had it, they were enjoying a summer holiday on the south-east side of the lake; even mystical tribes need a break. We lived with the Tsataan for two weeks. They didn't cast spells, nor perform any magic, but observing the way they lived with their animals, and their silent form of communication, ignited my true understanding of horses. Beyond what they can be used for or what I had preconceived, this understanding was primarily a spiritual one.
Whatever it was that had been instilled in Mongolia, it inspired me to ride down the UK. By then Leo had died, but my Highland pony and I managed to raise £38,000 for the Cystic Fibrosis Trust in his memory.
After reaching Land's End, I set up The Big Hoof. Just as it was by that Mongolian lake, I was affected by the way the pony brought people together from all walks of life. She was both a magnet and a catalyst, and I wanted to share this connecting spirit with as many people as possible.
I felt Leo with me as I travelled; I felt death as part of life, suffering as necessary to living. Through forging a bond with an animal, I felt a closer link with God. When travelling on a long journey with a horse, I find it is helpful to try and view the world through their eyes. If successful, the surrounding environment becomes intensely alive.
I have come to see this state as being "in green". Trust replaces control; I morph into a little rugged piece of something far greater. A field, some water, a smile, a simple act of kindness: with so little, one becomes full.
When treated close to their natural state, not only do horses call upon the better side of human nature, but they necessitate a vivid form of living: a renewed awareness of everything around; a dispelling of judgement, assumptions and comparison; a readiness for all that may come.
From finding water to trusting in strangers, seeing the world through the eyes of a horse shapes a world of both serendipity and faith.
Photo: graphic by Arcadia
Louis D Hall's book In Green: Two Horses, Two Strangers, a Journey to the End of the Land is out now (Duckworth, £18.99). louisdhall.com
