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I’ve always been a city girl. Growing up in downtown Chicago, I only applied to universities in large cities, and once declared Carmel, California—a small ocean town of retired actors and millionaires with a slew of art galleries—the most boring place on earth. This is why it’s so surprising that my favourite place in the whole world is in northern Wyoming.  It’s the only place a city kid can really feel like they know and understand a horse.

My family travels 1,500 miles every summer to ride horses in Wyoming’s Bighorn Mountains, an isolated extension of the Rocky Mountains. The Bighorns are not easy to get to. The trip involves a flight to Billings, Montana, then a long drive through Montana’s rolling yellow hills. Risk-taking travellers can hop on regional airlines’ prop planes to nearby Sheridan, Wyoming, but frequent storms and high mountains make for a bumpy ride and many cancelled flights. Alternatively, you can road trip on the I-90 across the Great Plains, and then onto US-16 to ascend the Bighorns, which are visible from the grassy lowlands 100 miles away.

The natural elements of the Bighorns are both stunning and devastating. Temperatures can change 50 degrees farenheight overnight. During the summer, hailstorms are common and snow dusts the wildflowers on cold mornings. The dry air on a hot day is akin to a day in Flagstaff, and the wind at the top of the Hunter Mesa forces horses to bow their heads in mercy. The dry air and wind took their toll in 1988, when a fire destroyed much of Bighorn’s forests. As a frequent visitor, it has been astonishing to witness the growth of a new forest, patches of wildflowers amidst young trees, and the return of wildlife to the once singed territory. But patches of grey remain at higher altitudes.

My family has always stayed at Paradise Guest Ranch, but cheaper options abound. Day rides, hiking, and camping are easily accessible.

Paradise’s riding, staff, and scenery are superior, with over 100 horses and a few dozen log cabins nestled in a valley. Snowy peaks, a yellow mesa, and rolling green hills surround the ranch. Guests spend the day riding or hiking the ranch’s trails and getting to know their horses. The high altitude and clear skies allow for incredible stargazing. Once the riding is over for the day, the horses stampede out of the corral and up towards the mesa, where they graze and sleep until the wranglers herd them in at dawn. The wranglers aren’t playing the part of cowboy for the guests, but instead are horsemen and women from the surrounding area. They care much more about the horses than their riders.

These horses are nothing like the burned-out pony you may have ridden as a kid, or the rule-abiding horses in equestrian. Raising them together builds a camaraderie evident even to an inexperienced rider. They look out for each other, and riders wonder if they’re secretly engaging in conversation during trail rides. The riding seems effortless: the horses know how to cross a creek without tripping, how to smoothly jump over a fallen tree, and when there might be a moose up ahead.

That said, riding a horse at Paradise Ranch is not an easy ride, and this is reinforced by the wranglers. Riders must be just as attentive to the trail as to the horses, and not get caught up in the majestic scenery. These horses aren’t docile: they’re smart enough to know the dozens of trails surrounding the area and are always ready to gallop for an experienced rider.

The trails in the Bighorns take riders and hikers through constantly changing scenery. After riding for a few hours in a homogeneous forest, one may come upon a bright red canyon, interlaced with green grass.

My most unforgettable experience came when a wrangler let us race through a valley. He promised us that once we started the ascent up the other side, the horses would become exhausted and eventually stop. (Note: this wrangler broke just about every rule in the book, but everyone survived.) I tied my reins in a knot and let them fall on my horse Modak’s neck, knowing that my guidance was useless; he would know if he had to stop or make a turn. I leaned forward, grabbed his mane, and gave him a hard kick.  

There’s something about being alone in the mountains with a horse, with the howling wind in the distance, that allows the rider and the horse to understand each other. It’s the stuff of epic western movies, but inexplicably unique to each traveler. Being alone with one’s thoughts in such a tremendous landscape lends itself to relaxation, and an incredible feeling of smallness.

If you go:

Paradise Ranch provides guests with an unforgettable experience: they can learn to ride, herd cattle, or just take in vistas while reading a good book. These experiences, however, don’t have to come with the price tag of a week-long ranch vacation. The Bighorns can easily be experienced as a lone road or camping trip. Go to bighornmountains.com to plan your trip.