The Five Brooks Trailhead at Point Reyes National Seashore was familiar. I’d parked there many times, gathered my pack, laced my boots, and headed down the trail. I thought I knew the place well. But the first time I arrived with Cash, a steady 26-year-old cinnamon-chestnut quarter horse who’d helped me learn to ride, gave me an entirely different map. Suddenly I noticed infrastructure that had been there all along: horse trailers at the lot entrance, a mounting block near the trailhead, hitching rails at the edges of the clearing, a weathered water trough at the far end. I had seen all of it before, but that morning I fully understood their purpose.

We were maybe a half-mile in when Cash stopped. It was quiet, just a stillness: a breath held, ears forward, weight shifted back the way a horse does when it is sorting something out. I steadied my own breath and looked ahead. Around the bend, a woman was coming up the trail with two large dogs on long leads. One of them had already spotted us, and it had gone stiff-legged, doing that thing dogs do when they are not sure what they are looking at.
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