Earlier this week, Chelan Kozak’s legendary event horse Soweto passed away. Soweto dominated some of the biggest 4*’s of his time in the 90’s, and he retired from 4* competition in 1999. Chelan wrote this tribute to her amazing horse. Fair warning folks, it definitely has a chance at drawing some tears. As always, thanks for writing this Chelan and thank you for reading.
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From Chelan:
One Last Wild Ride
It was 1989 and I had traveled to New Zealand with Canadian Event Rider Nick Holmes-Smith to find the horse of my dreams. I had already looked at several horses to no avail. At the time, I was riding a black, leggy, show jumping gelding who had never done cross-country before and who was a bit hot. In New Zealand, it is commonplace to jump 4-foot wire fences. At this show jump farm there were no cross-country fences to speak of so I had been jumping from paddock to paddock over wire and board fencing. I must admit that the wire jumping unnerved me but I had already been called a chicken and teased, so I pressed on. When Nick and the vendor suggested that I gallop up an impossibly steep incline and over a wire fence at the top, I obliged. So did Soweto. Although they were kidding, and surprised that we made it alive, Soweto did it easily. This turned out to be a reoccurring theme throughout his career.
Nick actually cautioned me about purchasing this leggy, black, half-wild creature. He said that it would take a long time to get his dressage and his feet were too small so he would be tough to keep sound. He also figured that the horse would go like hell cross-country. He was right.
This wet behind the ears kid came home with her new black Ferrari. I actually needed a few years before I was ready for a Ferrari; perhaps a Subaru would have been more appropriate for my first advanced horse. It seemed pointless to start “Hershey” out less than Preliminary. In that first year together we did Prelim in the spring and were Reserve Canadian Champions at Intermediate that autumn.
1992 was a really tough course at Rolex. It was my first time there as a competitor and as they say, ignorance is bliss. It never actually occurred to me to be scared out of my mind, although the course was extremely difficult with few options. My parents are not horsey and, in her wisdom, my mother was very nervous. So to make herself feel better she went to watch some of the more experienced riders at the infamous Lynch’s Leap. Unfortunately, Steven Bradley and High Flying Brent did nothing for her confidence. I think my mother also needed to be rescued by helicopter ambulance.
When the dust settled, after the second day, many had not made it to the end and of those that did, only four did so clear and within the time. This green Canadian rider, on an amazing black horse DID. An unfortunate rail in stadium kept us from qualifying for the Barcelona Olympic team. At that time, one had to be in the top third of FINISHERS. Since so many were wiped out after XC, that became one expensive rail. If the event world had never heard of Soweto before, they sure had now! But no one ever seemed to know my name. There was always a lot of “Oh, you’re the one with that lovely black horse!” Yes, I was the one who fielded numerous offers of crazy sums of money. The answer was always the same – “He’s not for sale”. Even when I spent years living in a camper, basically starving, we kept him. There are some things money can’t buy.
I learned a hard lesson about shoeing for event horses that year when Soweto bowed a tendon, likely due to overly long toes. So, we did not get another chance to shine at a Three Day until Rolex 1994. Again the course was tough and again it felt simple to be clear and fast. We were the highest placed foreign riders and secured a spot on the World Equestrian Games Team for Canada.
Our first TEAM experience was exciting, nerve wracking, fun, full of dreams and full of stress. Again, the course looked big and tough. Again, Soweto made it seem effortless. He is so incredible to ride but you must be prepared to just let him be in charge. He likes to be pointed to the jump and the rest, as they say, is history. It has always been unusual for me to entertain the long routes. Certainly back then, he was a complete tear-away cross-country, whose turning skills left much to be desired. In actual fact, long routes were not an option, because he was not really all that broke. We did every fast route at the Worlds and our Team finished 10th, qualifying Canada for Atlanta in 1996.
Hershey has always exercised his option to be in whatever paddock he chooses. Not surprisingly, he never stays where he is put unless it suits him. The lead up to the 1994 WEGs was no exception. Every day, without fail, he would jump out of his paddock. He rarely galloped off, usually just grazed quietly on the other side. The grass IS greener there, apparently. It was fun to measure his take off and landing spots and realize that his scope over jumps was unreal.
One day, things got entirely out of hand, as he jumped in with the brood mares and babies and tried to savage one of the foals. Hershey hates dogs and perhaps he thought that foals were a lesser life form too. Unfortunately, the stress of the risk of injury of the foals, not to mention the risk of injury to a horse bound for the WEGs, meant that Hershey was banished to indoor arena turn out. His first day was one to remember. Inside of five minutes, he had jumped out of the window! I could not believe it – the bottom ledge of the window was five and a half feet from the ground. The opening was less than four feet and in addition, the window that he chose to exit from was the only one with a clear landing side. So much for the fact that animals do not have the power to reason. He has actually never received so much as a scratch in any of his escape antics.
The small barn across the road became home for my two horses. Congratulating myself on my cleverness, I strung electric wire above the fences, making it five feet high. With a casual look over his shoulder, Soweto popped over it from a trot and quietly ate grass on the other side. I raised the fences to double strand, SIX-foot electric wire. We called it Jurassic Park. I won that round but over the years, Hershey has been out of his paddock more than he has been in it.
It is every event rider’s dream to ride Badminton. Luckily for me, I was able to do so in 1996. As usual, my whole family was there for moral support and to help out. Of course, my sister Shaye would not have missed it. She has been Hershey’s nanny from the beginning. I was living my dream and intended to go for it.
After I walked the cross-country course for the first time, I almost got sick. The jumps were gigantic. The fence measuring stick at Badminton is much taller and wider than anywhere else in the world.
I was quite early on in the order, which turned out to be very unlucky. The water jump claimed eighteen undeserving victims that day. Soweto and I got soaked. I have a photo taken the split second before we landed and went straight under. It is picture perfect. Many speculated that a hole had developed on the landing side of the short route. Later in the day, most riders chose the long route.
Soweto’s patience for me if I am dumb enough to fall off is ZERO. He always bolts away and this instance was no exception. The BBC cameras loomed in on the face of the soaking wet rider from the Colonies as her horse’s black butt scorched away down the galloping lane. My response to this dilemma – I said quite clearly to the backside galloping away “Oh F*#@”. Meanwhile in the vet box my Dad, Jason, Shaye and other supporters were watching on closed circuit TV. They all uttered the same expletive at the same time – “Oh F*#@”. In the owners tent, in front of the closed circuit TV, with a triple rum and coke in each hand, at 10 a.m., my Mom found herself part of our heathen group – “Oh F*#@”, she said. I am sure that raised countless eyebrows with the coiffed British ladies in the tent.
I did get back on my bar of wet soap and managed to finish, hanging on to the mane for dear life. Mom met me at the end and said, “Are you OK – I can’t believe what you said on British television”.
The next day we redeemed ourselves by going clear show jumping, along with only seven others. My supporters cheered and clapped, politely.
Then it was on to Atlanta, later that summer. Unfortunately, the program we had to follow in the final days before the Games proved far too rigorous, and he was footsore. He was unable to start cross-country. I was bitterly disappointed and so was Soweto.
By 1997, Soweto was getting more rideable cross-country and I was learning how to ride. That year we had a super go at Fairhill and again in 1998, thus qualifying us for the Pan Am Games. Unfortunately, a freak breathing problem, which turned out to be an allergy prevented us from finishing the inaugural four star at Kentucky in 1998.
Upon arriving at Rolex in 1999 Hershey got off the truck with his head held high (his favourite pose) – much to my dismay in the dressage ring. He immediately relaxed as if he were home. “It is about time we got here” he seemed to say. At sixteen plus, Soweto was truly amazing to be out there doing his thing. I love that horse like a family member and would never intentionally hurt him. It seemed silly to retire a sound happy horse that still loved his job. So, out we went out of the start box, intent on a clear, quick round.
It was one of those rare rounds where everything just happens as it should. I have gone clear cross-country plenty of times before but this one was really off the scale. My old man outdid himself that day – jump after jump seemed easy. We were flying without wings and loving every second of it. He felt full of running and we were on time until two-thirds of the way around. At that point was the first time ever that he did not land off a cross-country jump and pull me on to the next. He did not feel tired so much as his feet did not want to hit the ground quite as quickly. Assuming that the rock hard footing was taking its toll, easing off a little and incurring some time penalties, seemed the only thing to do. He still felt exceptional at the jumps, leaving the ground and staying two feet above where he needed to be, just because he can.
At the end, we were both ecstatic. He recovered well and seemed very pleased with himself. For about four hours, I felt like I owned the world. As it turned out, I was just renting it for a while. It was to be my last cross-country ride on my truly great horse.
Later that evening, we discovered tendon trouble, which led to Soweto being withdrawn. Since it was the same leg and the same place as in ’92, you could say that we had seven years on borrowed time. It was not what had been planned and we were all inconsolable. Soweto was the worst. He was throwing himself at his stall door on Sunday morning, as if to say “Hurry up, we are going to miss vet check”. He got progressively more distressed as the day wore on, banging at his door, pawing, and throwing his buckets around his stall. It broke our hearts to see him so upset. He was angry at me, I am sure — “Mommy, why aren’t we getting ready for show jumping?”
I have mused over what might have been for this horse if someone with more experience had bought him or if he had been my third or fourth advanced horse instead of my first. He never won a Three-Day; he never won a medal at any Major Games. Instead, he taught a young, green, twenty-year-old kid the most valuable of lessons.
Over the years, Soweto’s fan club has grown. He is the sort of horse that everyone admires. He belongs to the sport, which is the way that he likes it. His ego is the size of Texas, cultivated by years of Shaye and I telling him that he is the best horse in the world.
After Soweto retired from ADV in 1999, he went on to teach three young riders how to fly, including Canadian Olympian Samantha Taylor who rode him in her first INT event. He was older than each of these girls, and helped two of them achieve their A rating in Pony Club. Soweto bowed that same tendon for the third time and we put him out in a field and let him be a horse. He was still ridden a little after that by a few little girls. He was so kind to those kids, and each of the little girls were elated. Imagine learning to jump on such a horse! One day he turned to Shaye and gave her ‘the look’. She took the saddle off and that was it. He was done with riding, and that was just fine. He wore shoes until the end though, as he had crappy feet, and I did not want him to be sore. I was happy to pay for that and whatever else he required to be perfectly comfortable. It was the least that I could do for him.
I look at our sport now, and imagine him in it. His SJ would measure up- he was a clear round, or one rail sort of guy. In this day and age with omeprazole, a perfectly fitting saddle, shock wave and God knows what else, he would have jumped clean enough to be a good horse. His dressage was difficult even then, so that part would not have carried him to the modern age. Now, ripping it up on Saturday-in this decade? You bet! Every time he did Rolex, Jimmy’s chronicle prediction was pretty much the same- show him the course map, and Chelan will be clear and fast. In his day, he was arguably one of the best XC horses in the world.
The funny thing is that after that amazing last XC ride I only ever sat on him one time again. So many people don’t get that, but my relationship with him was about achieving a certain standard of excellence, and reaching for the stars. He was a total nightmare to hack (he broke my nose once on phase C at FairHill flipping his head around), so it’s not like that would have been any fun! I rode him once at his retirement ceremony, in 2002, three years after our Rolex run. We were at a CCI*/CCI2*. I hopped on him and ripped through the CCI2* water. It felt like putting on your favourite pair of jeans that makes your butt look perfect. He was still amazing at 21.
During the last two years, nearly 29 year old Hershey spent life happily meandering around his enormous run in shed and 10 acre field with his best friend 27 year old Oscar aka “Macky Town” a former ADV Kiwi horse who was owned and ridden by my vet Dr Kleider. Oscar and Hershey used to travel together and compete together ‘back in the day’. The pair of them was like a continuous episode of Grumpy Old Men. Now and then somebody dared somebody to break into a canter, and then there was a flurry of coughing and creaky hocks protested and the boys went back to a brisk shuffle. I could have watched them for hours.
Sadly, a couple of weeks ago, Oscar had to be put down. His condition had been deteriorating, and it was discovered that he had a massive tumour inside his body. I truly believe that Soweto had given up after his buddy was no longer with him. On Thursday, he collapsed and we thought that was it. He rallied and we decided to wait though the holiday weekend to have him see the internal medicine specialist on Monday, hoping that she might be able to help him. Best laid plans fell aside though, when first thing Saturday the fainting episode happened again. We took him to Dr Nick and his heart rate was 78, with more nasal discharge and stressed and laboured breathing. The left side of his heart was shutting down, causing his lungs congestion. He had fluid collecting in his sheath and between his front legs. Things were not working as they should. We had always promised ourselves and him that we would maintain the highest standard of life and living for him. We kept that promise, and allowed him to leave this life as he lived it. He was always dignified, stunningly beautiful, proud, and frankly a little arrogant! If someone he did not know tried to approach him to pet him he would sort of lift his head and look down his long Kiwi nose as if to say, ‘Who do you think you are trying to touch? Do you know who I am?” In his later years, I became more of a pez dispenser for him. Since our relationship had always been about working, and he no longer worked, I was of little direct interest to him anymore, although he would greet me. If I would go to see him and if there were no treats, he would be far too busy with his grass or his friends to give me the time of day. I finally got my lengthily nose smooch though, after he lay on the grass finally at peace, I got down on my knees and kissed his still warm nose, which was a rare situation when he was alive. Nose kissing was for sissies, and he was no sissy.
When our vet approached him with the stainless steel tray of drugs, I took one last look into those wise, elegant eyes, touched his forehead, and said, ‘Thank you’. I said that and I told him I was grateful for him and all that he had done for me. I said it over and over until after he could no longer hear me.
He taught me how to fly, how to believe, how to experience excellence. He got me a red coat, and made me a household name in our sport. Thank you Hershey, my dear, trusted friend for teaching me that the most important thing when you leave the start box is to believe in the four legs underneath you. You taught me to be brave cross-country, more patient on the flat and more accurate show jumping. Thank you for teaching me to be a better horseman and a better competitor. I have ridden other advanced horses and I will ride more in the future. Maybe if I am lucky I will ride another really great horse. In the meantime, I have precious memories of my one last wild ride.
