National Geographic: The Noble Horse

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He gives us his all.

Speed.

Endurance.

Power.

Yet his wild spirit

burns bright.

Spark of ancient myth...

pride of king and conqueror...

...he was the backbone

of civilization.

History was forged

to the beat of his hooves.

Even now, he still lays claim

to the heart

- with all the bold beauty

that is the horse.

Summer

sets off fireworks in the

mountains of southern Montana.

Spurred by heat and hunger,

wild horses converge

on the cool green heights,

and sparks begin to fly.

Stallions spar

and court young mares

in a drama as old as the hills.

The mustang has become a symbol

of the American West.

But some say he's a newcomer

to these parts,

even a trespasser.

The truth

is tangled in the long and

winding history of his kind.

It began some

in the forests of North America.

Living on leaves,

a creature the size of a fox

walks the underbrush

on padded toes.

In time,

forests give way

to grassy plains.

Legs grow long,

and toes become nimble hooves

in a body

built for speed.

About a million years ago,

the first true horses

spread across land bridges

to Asia and Europe.

Their numbers swell,

then slowly decline

perhaps due to climate change,

or the impact of a

two-legged predator.

To Ice Age hunters,

the herds must have seemed

inexhaustible.

But by 8,000 years ago,

horses were extinct

in the Americas

and dwindling elsewhere

into memory and myth.

Then somewhere on the steppes

of Eurasia,

at least 4,000 years ago,

the horse inspired someone

as more than just a meal.

It may have begun

as a shaman's ritual,

or a reckless teenage prank.

But some brave soul

took a quantum leap

and changed the world forever.

The horse utterly changed our

sense of distance and speed.

He carried us forward

in space and time,

and made our world smaller.

Great equestrian cultures arose

and thundered across antiquity

Today, most have vanished.

But here on the steppes

of Mongolia,

little has changed

since the time when the horse

became a way of life.

Nomads still measure

their wealth in livestock

and move vast herds

with the seasons.

Small but hardy,

Mongolian horses endure

a harsh climate,

and grow a thick winter coat.

When pasture is meager,

they can survive

on very little.

Mongolian nomads also

herd sheep,

goats and cows,

but horses

are their greatest pride.

Revered,

they are largely reserved

for riding

and one other important role.

Mongolia's national drink,

called airag,

is fermented mare's milk.

Life in the saddle begins early

in keeping with a local proverb:

"A Mongolian without a horse

is like a bird without wings."

In July,

thousands of nomads

set up camp on the edge

of the capital city,

Ulan Bator.

They come to celebrate Naadam,

an ancient religious festival.

National competitions of

traditional sports are held,

including two days

of horse racing.

One of the country's top

horse breeders,

Khen Medekh

traveled over a week

to take part in what will be

his 30th Naadam.

From a herd of 400 head,

he has brought

his 12 fastest horses.

Also in tow are

his grandchildren

for good reason.

Riders must be under 12

to compete at Naadam.

Training, however,

is no child's play.

It's what Khen Medekh lives for

Horse training is a passion.

My father was a great trainer

and he passed that on to me.

It's the same for

most Mongolian people.

We compete at Naadam

to see who has the best horse,

and because we're so proud of

our horses.

A fine racehorse

is a symbol of good luck

and happiness.

On the day of the first race,

preparations begin at dawn.

Hats and bright silks

will help families

spot their little jockeys

at a distance.

The distinguishing mark of

a racehorse

is a leather tail wrap

always wound clockwise.

Forelocks are also bound.

Khen Medekh enhances

the look with a charm

bearing Mongolia's

national emblem.

He has high hopes for

this young stallion.

With an offering of mare's milk

Khen Medekh's wife

invokes the sacred powers

of nature

to bless horses and riders.

A circle of incense purifies.

A drop of airag protects

from harm.

An ancient Buddhist chant

rings out for luck.

Some 500 riders will compete

in the first race.

Parents on horseback

swell their ranks.

By tradition,

they circle clockwise

at a staging area

near the finish line.

But the running of the race

is not yet at hand.

The starting point lies

more than 15 miles away

in the open steppe.

To reach that point at a walk

will take the racers

some three hours

which leaves time to kill

for everyone else.

Nomads like Khen Medekh

take the moment to catch up

with old friends

and trading partners.

For people who live much

of the year

in relative isolation,

there's also

the irresistible allure

of new faces.

For now,

small talk belies the drama

that's erupting miles away,

as 500 horses reach

the starting point

and the race begins.

Long before they can see

the racers,

spectators crowd

the finish line.

According to myth,

the dust kicked up

by winning horses

showers happiness

and prosperity

on all those it touches.

Front-runners have been

galloping for nearly 30 minutes

By Western standards,

this might qualify as

an extreme sport

but these are the descendants

of Genghis Khan,

who forged the largest land

empire ever known

on horseback.

The blue sash of victory

goes to the first five horses

A flash of green tells

Khen Medekh

his granddaughter has placed.

But a riderless horse

sends him off in search of

his youngest grandson.

After an initial flurry,

racers trickle in for

another hour.

Herd instinct alone will keep

a horse going

even one that lacks the fitness

and conditioning required

for a long-distance run.

For some,

the strain is too much.

When a horse dies

on the racetrack,

the trainer is dishonored.

But the child who has lost

a beloved pet

reaps only heartbreak.

A fall near the starting point

dashed the hopes of

Khen Medekh's grandson.

His horse is safe,

his bruises minor.

But his six-year-old pride

will sting

until the races are over.

Naadam concludes in

the National Stadium,

with a parade of champions.

Khen Medekh is twice a winner.

His grandchildren take

two of his horses

through their victory laps.

A herald sings the praises of

the winning horses;

medals and mare's milk

do them honor.

But for each little rider,

the highlight is a kiss from

the President of Mongolia.

No other nation makes more

of the horse.

Fiery steed,

faithful servant,

he is all good things to

the Mongolian people.

In return,

they may succeed in saving the

last truly wild horse

on earth

Before the rise

of civilization,

his kind ranged throughout

Asia and Europe.

Alert and aggressive,

they were elusive prey

with their camouflage of

tawny coat,

their upright,

two-toned mane.

These horses were already rare

in 1878,

when Russian explorer

Nikolai Przewalski returned

from Mongolia.

He carried a skull and hide

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