Holy shit, those ponies are for real! We defied the no tenting order and camped in the park. Bad move. There were already three or four tents set up so Blue Stem thought it’d be alright — monkey see monkey do in attack pony land is never smooth strategy. A wild pony showed up at dusk but seemed fairly docile so we thought it’d be ok. When I went to bed he was grazing peacefully 20 or 30 yards away. After retiring at my usual 8 o’clock, I was awakened at 2 am by a thundering galloping noise seemingly circling my tent. It was loud and scary and made worse by all of this loud snorting and neighing under my rain fly. I swear it sounded like all hell was breaking loose. I clutched my trekking pole wondering if I should exit my tent and face down the attacking ponies or bear down and wait for them to trample, crush, or carry my tent away with me in it. I opted for the more courageous second approach. After awhile the commotion died down and they galloped off.
Fucking ponies. We all resolved not to ignore tenting bans and that Juan Gone’s tenting advise should never be followed. What do Mexicans know about vicious ponies? Nothing. You may be laughing about about aggressive ponies, then get your ass over to the Grayson Highlands and tent with them. I dare you. In the meantime, paybacks a bitch, I’m looking for a foal tomorrow to cull from the herd and barbecue. We’re hungry, wish us luck and happy trails.