Margaret River Horse Riding Tour: What to Know Before You Go

Wining, dining and horseriding – Helen Martin saddles up to see another side of the Margaret River region.

Five hungry sheep are gathered under vines as sunrise slants through gum trees in the winter mist. Over their bleating, a growing rumble says there’s action afoot and suddenly 34 horses are thundering towards me. I briefly consider fleeing before they swerve into a holding yard, huffing steam, ready to be saddled up. In a small paddock nearby, one chestnut gelding watches on dolefully. “He’s in solitary,” says Fiona Flugge, who, with husband Paul Brennan, owns and runs Jesters Flat, an equestrian farm in Western Australia’s Margaret River region that also has its own vineyard. Freckles has overindulged and is putting his health in jeopardy so “we have to get the guts off him”, says Brennan.

Ah, Freckles. Who could blame him? The grass looks irresistible in this glorious corner of the continent. Danny, an 11-month-old kelpie, barely lets his paws touch the ground as he runs in chaotic shapes around the horses. “He thinks they love him; they think he’s an idiot,” says Brennan, the third generation of his family to run this property in bucolic Rosa Brook, about 40 minutes’ drive south of Busselton.

I’m on a three-day fully hosted Margaret River ride offered by Sunshine Coast-based company Globetrotting, which organises horseriding holidays with partners like Jesters Flat in more than 20 countries around the world. Our group of eight (plus guides) will pass through marri and jarrah forest and the picturesque karri trees of Boranup before having a go on a polocrosse pitch. In summer, there’s a beach ride and swim but instead we’ll wander among vineyards and dismount for a long-table lunch. The trek caters for all levels of experience. “Five or six hours’ riding a day is a lot for most people,” says Flugge. “It’s a holiday so we make sure people enjoy it.” Enjoying it is as easy as… falling off a horse, which you probably won’t do. It’s an immersive, sensory experience. On Frida, I’m at the perfect height to feel casuarina needles brush my face and spot red-tailed black cockatoos as they startle. I can reach out to squeeze the strange antennae sprouting from the top of drumstick grasstrees.

Lost in the rhythm of our walk through the Rapids Conservation Park, I’m watching Australian ringneck parrots flit around the canopy when guide Michelle pulls me out of my reverie. “How cute are these trees?” she says, pointing to vibrant explosions of strappy leaves. “They’re called snottygobbles.” Their berries are food to the Noongar people but Frida’s taste leans towards leaves.

Each rider has been expertly matched with a horse according to our experience, size and skill. Former jockey, now racing manager Susanne is on Stacey, who she reckons is “a cracker”. Sustainability professional Mel has Molly, a part-Arab grey mare. It’s been a long time between rides for me so I requested a calm, obliging steed. I’m the least experienced in the group but even at the back of the pack, Frida delivers an exhilarating canter on request. I’d be lying if I said my thighs didn’t feel it but beyond the first few steps after a jelly-legged dismount, I’m not left walking like a wishbone.

On our second morning, rain has worked its sparkly magic in the Boranup Karri Forest. Hooves kick up a damp, earthy scent, tall trunks throw a silvery lustre and I spot the blur of a kangaroo leaping through the vivid green undergrowth. Later, we see so many emus in one paddock that someone jokes it could be an emu farm.

“Two hours ago you knew nothing about polocrosse, now you’ve each played a chukka,” says Brennan, as we sit around the Jesters Flat fire enjoying a glass of red. A former national and international player himself, he’d given the group a demonstration, outlined some basic rules then let us loose with team bibs and a racquet each. Jolly excellent fun. But we can’t toast ourselves for long – masseuse Rosie awaits.

We’re staying 10 minutes’ drive away at Moonrise Farm, where fires roar, local wines are liberally poured and Vicci, who lives nearby, turns out generous home-cooked meals such as beef, mushroom and red wine pies (with pastry horseshoes on top), plus apple and rhubarb crumble. During the warmer months, guests glamp in bell tents at Jesters Flat.

“This tastes like real salad sandwiches used to, from country takeaways,” I announce after hungrily chomping into a lunchtime doorstopper with the perfect amount of butter. Call me a sandwich detective because they’re from Darnells General Store, where Brennan’s family has had an account since it opened in 1932. “We’re number eight,” he says. “Yeah, it’s annoying we weren’t number one.”

On our final day, we’re riding along a country road when a Fabio-like stallion puts on a flamboyant gallop along the fence line, tossing his mane. A flirty hustle from Frida gets her into full viewing position and the stallion repeats his magnificent performance.

Before long, we’re walking between winter-spent vines amid the faint fruity smell of past harvests. “That’s our lunch spot,” says head guide Emma, pointing out a drift of smoke curling behind yellowing cottonwood trees. We find Alex Scott, the moustachioed co-owner of Dirt Temple Wines, on the tongs at a charcoal grill, turning a beef bavette with fennel and broccoli, and pouring glasses of Moonage Daydream, a pink pét nat. Impossibly, it’s time to farewell our horses and Mel’s now so attached to Molly she needs a moment. “We often get tears,” says Flugge. Frida lifts her big, beautiful head from the grass to accept my goodbye cuddles – and one more carrot.