The Guy Fawkes Heritage Horse Association Inc.

History of the horses

 

The History of the horses from the Guy Fawkes River National Park spans to nearly 200yrs. The below paragraphs tell the story of how these horses arrived in and subsequently, thrived in the park. The history of these horses is very interesting and explains how the wild horses of the Guy Fawkes came to reach such high populations.

 

 

The wild horses of the Guy Fawkes River National Park, now known as Guy Fawkes Heritage Horses come from an incredibly beautiful area. The Guy Fawkes River National Park is beautiful, rugged and covers more than 62,700 hectares (approximately 155,000 acres) of country near Ebor in the New England area of northern New South Wales, just off the Waterfall Way.

 

 

The Guy Fawkes has not always been a National Park. The area was once inhabited by local graziers and from the early 1800s to the 1940s, horses were specifically bred for the remount trade. The Colony's first exports were "War Horses" and in 1834 the first horses left Australia consigned to the British Army in India.

 

The criteria set down by the Army was "that the horse be entire, sound in wind and limb, over 3 years and under 7 years, over 14hh and under 15hh, 1/2 Thoroughbred, and able to carry 17 stone". 

 


 

A good horse fitting the above description would fetch the breeder an amount of around 10 pounds, the equivalent of a years wages for most farmers. Pastoralists intentionally turned out well-bred stallions and mares in the park,  and a mixture of bloodlines were introduced to strengthen certain characteristics.  Clydesdales were in use in the area for the timber industry and their genetics are clearly evident in many of the horses. Bay horses with white blazes and feathers on their feet clearly show their ancestry. A mob of creamy mares, descendents of Saladin, a sire of historical significance for the Australian Stock Horse Society, were introduced and today the buckskins and palominos are still present, representative of these bloodlines.

 

 

Over 320,000 horses left Australian shores with over 120,000 coming from NSW. The direct links with the horses drafted for use by the Australian Light Horse Brigade of World War 1, has secured the unique heritage value of these horses. The ancestors of these brumbies carried the Australian Light Horse Brigade to victory in the great cavalry charge at Beersheba in 1917.

 

 

In 1972 the main section of the Park was gazetted and the National Parks and Wildlife Service took over the land. The graziers were forced to move from the area and they took most of their cattle and horses with them, but due to the expanse and terrain of the area, the absence of fences,etc  some horses remained. Theses horses were bred to be strong, athletic and to endure the harshness of the Australian bush, and with no local management, it is no surprise that free ranging horses became wild, which resulted in large increases in wild horse populations to the present day.

 

The modern GFHH is a solid, sound and well conformed animal with straight movement. They show incredible stamina, strength and hardiness. Due to their intelligence, trainability and versatility, they are suitable for many different disciplines and can be seen competing in many arenas. Guy Fawkes Heritage Horses are quickly gaining a reputation as a naturally quiet, brave and level headed breed.

Horses from the Guy Fawkes River National Park and their descendants range in height from a large pony to a small hack (Approx 13hh-15hh). They can be almost any colour including true black, with dilute (palimino and buckskin), double dilute (perlino and cremello)  taffy and broken colours often seen. Most commonly, they are bay and any white markings are acceptable. Grey is uncommon however grey has been seen in wild and domestic groups.

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


The Man From Snowy River-

Banjo Patterson

There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That the colt from old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses — he was worth a thousand pound,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
Had mustered at the homestead overnight,
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,
And the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight.

There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup,
The old man with his hair as white as snow;
But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up
He would go wherever horse and man could go.
And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand,
No better horseman ever held the reins;
For never horse could throw him while the saddle-girths would stand
He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.

And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast;
He was something like a racehorse undersized,
With a touch of Timor pony—three parts thoroughbred at least
And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.
He was hard and tough and wiry—just the sort that won't say die
There was courage in his quick impatient tread;
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.

But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay,
And the old man said, "That horse will never do
For a long and tiring gallop—lad, you'd better stop away,
Those hills are far too rough for such as you."
So he waited, sad and wistful—only Clancy stood his friend
"I think we ought to let him come," he said;
"I warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the end,
For both his horse and he are mountain bred.

"He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side,
Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough;
Where a horse's hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
The man that holds his own is good enough.
And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
Where the river runs those giant hills between;
I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen."

So he went; they found the horses by the big mimosa clump,
They raced away towards the mountain's brow,
And the old man gave his orders, "Boys, go at them from the jump,
No use to try for fancy riding now.
And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.
Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills,
For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight,
If once they gain the shelter of those hills."

So Clancy rode to wheel them—he was racing on the wing
Where the best and boldest riders take their place,
And he raced his stock-horse past them, and he made the ranges ring
With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face.
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,
But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view,
And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,
And off into the mountain scrub they flew.

Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black
Resounded to the thunder of their tread,
And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back
From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead.
And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way,
Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide;
And the old man muttered fiercely, "We may bid the mob good day,
no man can hold them down the other side."

When they reached the mountain's summit, even Clancy took a pull
It well might make the boldest hold their breath;
The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full
Of wombat holes, and any slip was death.
But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head,
And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer,
And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed,
While the others stood and watched in very fear.

He sent the flint-stones flying, but the pony kept his feet,
He cleared the fallen timber in his stride,
And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat
It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride.
Through the stringy barks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground,
Down the hillside at a racing pace he went;
And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound,
At the bottom of that terrible descent.

He was right among the horses as they climbed the farther hill,
And the watchers on the mountain, standing mute,
Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely; he was right among them still,
As he raced across the clearing in pursuit.
They lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met
In the ranges—but a final glimpse reveals
On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet,
With the man from Snowy River at their heels.

And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam;
He followed like a bloodhound on their track,
Till they halted cowed and beaten; then he turned their heads for home,
And alone and unassisted brought them back.
But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot,
He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur;
But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot,
For never yet was mountain horse a cur.

And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise
Their torn and rugged battlements on high,
Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze
At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,
And where around the Overflow the reed-beds sweep and sway
To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide,
The Man from Snowy River is a household word today,
And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.