Hestakaup

The concept Hestakaup is not know today in many countries besides Iceland. It is sometimes translated as Horse Trading, but that is not the same. Hestakaup is when two persons trade horses with each other, and there's no money involved. Here it is connected with a bit of fun, a bit of brennivín, a bit of luck, a bit of adventure, some other goods to trade, no contracts, and a lot of bad horses! The horses that are used in Hestakaup are horses which the owner for some reason considers rather wortless, because of it's bad conformation, bad gaits, bad temperament, or other faults. There is though some sportsmanship and honour involved in this too, because you are not allowed to lie, but you are allowed to be silent. Ill horses are also never seen in Hestakaup, and it is considered bad sportmanship to put a horse in Hestakaup which is dangerous because of kicking. But don't be surpriced if you get in Hestakaup a horse which bucks, bolts, runs through all fences, is a pig-pacer, etc. Most of these horses end up by some of the owners loosing patience with them, and culling them. Sometimes you can strike a tiny pot of gold doing horsetrading, a horse which is put in hestakaup because it's owner hates it because of laziness can be the quiet little horse another person is looking for. Or a horse which bucks wildly in the hands of one owner can be traded and the next owner has a better fitting saddle, so the horse doesn't buck anymore. But that is like lottery, the unlikely rewards are what keep the Hestakaup going. Sometimes questions are asked, one trader asks whether the horse bucks, the other one says "No, never" (and doesn't mention that the horse is impossible to shoe), and sometimes no questions are asked. But the best Hestakaup are where both parties gain. I'll tell you how it can go. A few years ago Bjössi, my father-in-law, who is even more horse-crazy than me (if possible), was talking to Ingólfur from Úlfsstöðum (people here are from farms, just like the horses). Ingólfur was fetching cows for the butcher, and he has horses too. No wonder that the guys start to talk about horses instead of cows when the cow-truck comes. Ingólfur raises beef-cattle too, so they made a trade profitable for both of them: in exchange for 12 calves (less than a month old) from Bjössi, there would come a young unstarted horse to us. Bjössi was been given a choice (which is very unusual in Hestakaup): there would be four young geldings to choose from. Both smiled when they made the Hestakaup with a handshake. A month later an expedition was made from Langhús to look at the young horses at Úlfstöðum. With him on the expedition was one of our neighbours, Símon, because he's got an eye for horses, he's always full of jokes and stories -- and he loves hestakaup. Once there was a man coming to the area selling clothes, not very interested in horses, but Símon made hestakaup with him: in exchange for a four-year-old black gelding Símon would get 14 suits. The day after, Símon was frantically looking for a four-year-old black gelding, because he didn't own one. A few days later he was laughing, because the men's suits he got in exchange were all rather crazy, in big or small sizes, light blue, pink, yellow etc. Also along on the expedition was another of our neighbours, because then we'd never run out of something to laugh at. (You should see him when he gets something "in his little toe" -- that is, a bit of alcohol. He sings beautifully then.) I went too -- I think I was invited because I'm blond (then the guys have even more to laugh at). And of course Bjössi was the leader of the gang. When we came to Úlfsstöðum, Ingólfur had lots of landi, which is in my opinion much better than brennivín (landi is homemade moonshine, and this was a good one). So, we started by spending a few hours appreciating Ingólfur's fine landi, telling stories, and teasing each other. After that, we spent more time looking at Ingolfur's farm (he had just bought it). After that, it was getting near dark, so we decided to get it over with and choose the horse. We looked at a couple of pintos, a bay, and a black horse. None of them were looking very promising -- except the black. This was really a handsome fellow, great neck, spring in the trot, and half a step of tölt in transitions-- Hey, this was our guy! He even trailerloaded for us. After having him for two months, trying to start him under saddle, he had proved himself one of the very very few horses of which I can say nothing except that the horse was mean (including kicking without warning regularly). After he had posed a serious threat to us at least once a day over this time, we decided it was sure more fun for both him and us if he grazed on eternal fields rather than on ours. Ingólfur fetched him on the same truck as when he fetches cows, and even though it wasn't his fault (the hestakaup was fulfilled and he didn't know the horse was a kicker), he wanted us to choose another horse instead. Now Bjössi went again with the same committee (except I stayed home), but chose against their advice because, as he said, "Look how it went last time." He came home with a big chestnut, which we had for a year. There was really not much wrong with him. He was easy to start, had good trot, learned to tolt with lots and lots of action, spook free . . . but too lazy to tolt except in the company of 30 other horses. Alone or with just one other horse you had to work on him all the time or he'd just trot. We used him in several grouprides and he always looked fabulous there. We called him Hópreiðar-Rauður (Groupride-Red). So, in the end we gave up waiting for a bit of goeyness, and in the horse corrals at Laufskálarétt the last fall, Bjössi saw Ingólfur again in the distance. Bjossi yelled to him, "Hey, I've got a chestnut for you." He got the answer back, "Yes, I've got a bay for you." And they shook hands. Ingólfur didn't know much about the bay, as he'd gotten him in a Hestakaup just two hours before, except that he was from Húnavatnssýsla, and he'd never seen him. Ingólfur put on a bit of a funny face when he recognized the chestnut again, but at least that horse had had a year of training now, so he had made a good deal. The bay turned out to be 11 years old, a rather good riding horse, bad in the mouth (badly trained), hard working, courageous, without one step of tölt in him. Nothing that couldn't be mended (he had one to two steps of tölt in him after a month here), but difficult to sell because of his age (almost certain that there are spavin changes in x-rays at that age). So, he got soon sent to a friend of ours, Stebbi from Keldulandi (this landi word does not mean moonshine, even though Stebbi makes terriffic moonshine), who also loves hestakaup, and he was asked "to do something with this horse." This friend of ours recognized the horse instantly, he had once gotten him in Hestakaup, and called him Hlaupastingur (that means the pain you can get in your stomach when you run), because he always got hlaupastingur in his stomach from riding him, as the horse only trotted. Well, after Stebbi had gone to a dance the next Saturday, Hlaupastingur had turned into a palomino gelding at Akureyri. I said that this had to be a bad horse. No one would put a horse of that color in Hestakaup unless something was wrong. Well the story that followed the palomino was that he'd "been ridden by a middle-aged lady who couldn't get him away from the barn, so he was maybe not very experienced." Well, Bjössi asked a friend in Akureyri, Óli, to have the horse for a few days and try him out. In those few days, the horse managed to run with him once through some very fancy fence (making the owner of the fence equally angry). Another time, when Óli was driving horses with a pal, Frikki, the pal rode the horse, and the horse ran with him through the herd of horses, over a fence, and past two farms before stopping at the third. Needless to say, Frikki is used to riding all kinds of horses, and also, needless to say, he wanted "next time to encounter this horse in a stew." But the middle aged lady that owned the palomino is obviously quite a courageous rider. So, Óli traded the palomino again. Well, the day after trading him he called Bjössi and asked him if it was okay that he had traded the palomino and gotten a black mare instead. Bjössi couldn't say much, the hestakaup was made, and it was of course okay anyway. So, now there is a brown mare waiting at Keldulandi for us to check out. She hasn't learned to tolt yet, and she's not the prettiest thing on earth, but she hasn't shown any bad habits in those two weeks she's been there, not even under saddle, with unexperienced riders on, and she's just young. I'm looking forward to joining the committee going to Kelduland. I know it will be a fun day with riding, stories, cake (and something else homemade), and maybe some Hestakaup.

The concept Hestakaup is not know today in many countries besides Iceland. It is sometimes translated as Horse Trading, but that is not the same. Hestakaup is when two persons trade horses with each other, and there's no money involved. Here it is connected with a bit of fun, a bit of brennivín, a bit of luck, a bit of adventure, some other goods to trade, no contracts, and a lot of bad horses! The horses that are used in Hestakaup are horses which the owner for some reason considers rather wortless, because of it's bad conformation, bad gaits, bad temperament, or other faults. There is though some sportsmanship and honour involved in this too, because you are not allowed to lie, but you are allowed to be silent. Ill horses are also never seen in Hestakaup, and it is considered bad sportmanship to put a horse in Hestakaup which is dangerous because of kicking. But don't be surpriced if you get in Hestakaup a horse which bucks, bolts, runs through all fences, is a pig-pacer, etc. Most of these horses end up by some of the owners loosing patience with them, and culling them. Sometimes you can strike a tiny pot of gold doing horsetrading, a horse which is put in hestakaup because it's owner hates it because of laziness can be the quiet little horse another person is looking for. Or a horse which bucks wildly in the hands of one owner can be traded and the next owner has a better fitting saddle, so the horse doesn't buck anymore. But that is like lottery, the unlikely rewards are what keep the Hestakaup going. Sometimes questions are asked, one trader asks whether the horse bucks, the other one says "No, never" (and doesn't mention that the horse is impossible to shoe), and sometimes no questions are asked. But the best Hestakaup are where both parties gain.

I'll tell you how it can go. A few years ago Bjössi, my father-in-law, who is even more horse-crazy than me (if possible), was talking to Ingólfur from Úlfsstöðum (people here are from farms, just like the horses). Ingólfur was fetching cows for the butcher, and he has horses too. No wonder that the guys start to talk about horses instead of cows when the cow-truck comes. Ingólfur raises beef-cattle too, so they made a trade profitable for both of them: in exchange for 12 calves (less than a month old) from Bjössi, there would come a young unstarted horse to us. Bjössi was been given a choice (which is very unusual in Hestakaup): there would be four young geldings to choose from. Both smiled when they made the Hestakaup with a handshake.

A month later an expedition was made from Langhús to look at the young horses at Úlfstöðum. With him on the expedition was one of our neighbours, Símon, because he's got an eye for horses, he's always full of jokes and stories -- and he loves hestakaup. Once there was a man coming to the area selling clothes, not very interested in horses, but Símon made hestakaup with him: in exchange for a four-year-old black gelding Símon would get 14 suits. The day after, Símon was frantically looking for a four-year-old black gelding, because he didn't own one. A few days later he was laughing, because the men's suits he got in exchange were all rather crazy, in big or small sizes, light blue, pink, yellow etc.

Also along on the expedition was another of our neighbours, because then we'd never run out of something to laugh at. (You should see him when he gets something "in his little toe" -- that is, a bit of alcohol. He sings beautifully then.)

I went too -- I think I was invited because I'm blond (then the guys have even more to laugh at). And of course Bjössi was the leader of the gang. When we came to Úlfsstöðum, Ingólfur had lots of landi, which is in my opinion much better than
brennivín (landi is homemade moonshine, and this was a good one). So, we started by spending a few hours appreciating Ingólfur's fine landi, telling stories, and teasing each other. After that, we spent more time looking at Ingolfur's farm (he had just bought it). After that, it was getting near dark, so we decided to get it over with and choose the horse. We looked at a couple of pintos, a bay, and a black horse. None of them were looking very promising -- except the black. This was really a handsome fellow, great neck, spring in the trot, and half a step of tölt in transitions-- Hey, this was our guy! He even trailerloaded for us. After having him for two months, trying to start him under saddle, he had proved himself one of the very very few horses of which I can say nothing except that the horse was mean (including kicking without warning regularly). After he had posed a serious threat to us at least once a day over this time, we decided it was sure more fun for both him and us if he grazed on eternal fields rather than on ours. Ingólfur fetched him on the same truck as when he fetches cows, and even though it wasn't his fault (the hestakaup was fulfilled and he didn't know the horse was a kicker), he wanted us to choose another horse instead. Now Bjössi went again with the same committee (except I stayed home), but chose against their advice because, as he said, "Look how it went last time." He came home with a big chestnut, which we had for a year. There was really not much wrong with him. He was easy to start, had good trot, learned to tolt with lots and lots of action, spook free . . . but too lazy to tolt except in the company of 30 other horses. Alone or with just one other horse you had to work on him all the time or he'd just trot. We used him in several grouprides and he always looked fabulous there. We called him Hópreiðar-Rauður (Groupride-Red). So, in the end we gave up waiting for a bit of goeyness, and in the horse corrals at Laufskálarétt the last fall, Bjössi saw Ingólfur again in the distance. Bjossi yelled to him, "Hey, I've got a chestnut for you." He got the answer back, "Yes, I've got a bay for you." And they shook hands. Ingólfur didn't know much about the bay, as he'd gotten him in a Hestakaup just two hours before, except that he was from Húnavatnssýsla, and he'd never seen him. Ingólfur put on a bit of a funny face when he recognized the chestnut again, but at least that horse had had a year of training now, so he had made a good deal. The bay turned out to be 11 years old, a rather good riding horse, bad in the mouth (badly trained), hard working, courageous, without one step of tölt in him. Nothing that couldn't be mended (he had one to two steps of tölt in him after a month here), but difficult to sell because of his age (almost certain that there are spavin changes in x-rays at that age). So, he got soon sent to a friend of ours, Stebbi from Keldulandi (this landi word does not mean moonshine, even though Stebbi makes terriffic moonshine), who also loves hestakaup, and he was asked "to do something with this horse." This friend of ours recognized the horse instantly, he had once gotten him in Hestakaup, and called him Hlaupastingur (that means the pain you can get in your stomach when you run), because he always got hlaupastingur in his stomach from riding him, as the horse only trotted. Well, after Stebbi had gone to a dance the next Saturday, Hlaupastingur had turned into a palomino gelding at Akureyri. I said that this had to be a bad horse. No one would put a horse of that color in Hestakaup unless something was wrong. Well the story that followed the palomino was that he'd "been ridden by a middle-aged lady who couldn't get him away from the barn, so he was maybe not very experienced." Well, Bjössi asked a friend in Akureyri, Óli, to have the horse for a few days and try him out. In those few days, the horse managed to run with him once through some very fancy fence (making the owner of the fence equally angry). Another time, when Óli was driving horses with a pal, Frikki, the pal rode the horse, and the horse ran with him through the herd of horses, over a fence, and past two farms before stopping at the third. Needless to say, Frikki is used to riding all kinds of horses, and also, needless to say, he wanted "next time to encounter this horse in a stew." But the middle aged lady that owned the palomino is obviously quite a courageous rider.

So, Óli traded the palomino again. Well, the day after trading him he called Bjössi and asked him if it was okay that he had traded the palomino and gotten a black mare instead. Bjössi couldn't say much, the hestakaup was made, and it was of course okay anyway. So, now there is a brown mare waiting at Keldulandi for us to check out. She hasn't learned to tolt yet, and she's not the prettiest thing on earth, but she hasn't shown any bad habits in those two weeks she's been there, not even under saddle, with unexperienced riders on, and she's just young. I'm looking forward to joining the committee going to Kelduland. I know it will be a fun day with riding, stories, cake (and something else homemade), and maybe some Hestakaup.