Blog 8. Ben Freeth’s Ride for Hope - Reaching the Atlantic Ocean at last…..

29 September 2025

We rode west and as we got closer to the Ocean the cool air coming off became cooler.  The horses were excited.  I could sense a thrill running through them and I had to hold Warrior in on the canter because once he got going at a full gallop he became difficult to stop. 

Getting to the ocean was another joyous moment. 

Warrior was amazed.  He has never seen anything like it.  He gazed and gazed at it but try as I might there was no way he was going to get his feet wet.

I was laughing and laughing as I was talking to him, trying to coax him into the shallow tongue of a foaming wave but he wouldn’t have anything of it. 

Eventually I dismounted and took my veldskoens off and then peeled my wonderful - but terribly smelly - merino wool socks off my feet (from merino farmers in Tasmania where our daughter Anna had worked and where I too had worked many moons ago). 

I got lost in the thrill of it: all that vast and endless ocean of water after the vast and completely waterless desert.  And here we were exactly between these two vast and separate worlds with Warrior desperately wanting to keep his feet in the world he knew and skipping backwards with fast ballerina-like steps, whenever the other world came surging towards him. 

Eventually I got him down on the wet sand after a wave slipped back to its own.  The next wave surged forward and I held Warrior long enough to wet his four feet while he desperately pranced backwards. 

It was a precious moment.

“I might be a desert Warrior but I am not sure about this sea horse lark.”

Warrior was amazed.  He has never seen anything like it.  He gazed and gazed at it but try as I might there was no way he was going to get his feet wet.

I was laughing and laughing as I was talking to him, trying to coax him into the shallow tongue of a foaming wave but he wouldn’t have anything of it. 

Eventually I dismounted and took my veldskoens off and then peeled my wonderful - but terribly smelly - merino wool socks off my feet (from merino farmers in Tasmania where our daughter Anna had worked and where I too had worked many moons ago). 

I got lost in the thrill of it: all that vast and endless ocean of water after the vast and completely waterless desert.  And here we were exactly between these two vast and separate worlds with Warrior desperately wanting to keep his feet in the world he knew and skipping backwards with fast ballerina-like steps, whenever the other world came surging towards him. 

Eventually I got him down on the wet sand after a wave slipped back to its own.  The next wave surged forward and I held Warrior long enough to wet his four feet while he desperately pranced backwards. 

It was a precious moment.