Horses at the Blackstone

We found the spot just off a rough gravel spur north of Tombstone Park - nothing fancy, just a flat clearing beside the Blackstone River with mountain views and the sound of running water.

What we didn’t expect were the horses.

A whole group of them appeared the first evening, grazing along the riverbank like they owned the place. They were clearly tame - someone’s horses ranging freely out here - but they had that casual indifference to our presence that suggested they’d seen campers before.

They hung around for two days. We’d wake up to find them outside the tent, or look up from morning coffee to see one standing twenty feet away, just watching. Not bothered, not curious, just… there.

There’s something surreal about wild camping in the middle of nowhere and having a horse wander past your camp chair while you’re reading. Like the wilderness decided to send a delegation to check on us.

We never did figure out where they came from or who they belonged to. But they made good neighbors - quiet, mostly kept to themselves, and didn’t complain about our cooking.