They come galloping out of the volcanic storm, hooves muffled in the ash, manes flying.
Shutting the last of his 17 horses into an old barn, Ingi Sveinbjoernsson, 56, breathes a sigh of relief.
Only 24 hours earlier he had lost the shaggy Icelandic horses in an ash cloud that turned day into terrifying night, blanketing the wild landscape in glutinous grey mud.
It was a gorgeous summer afternoon off the Atlantic coast of Southern Africa. The humid November wind was blowing up out of the south matching the aggressive current fed by the nearby mouth of the Congo River. I inhaled deeply as I hung over the rail just underneath the helideck of the offshore production platform.
By: Nick DiUlio from Miller-McCune Can the descendants of horses left by Spanish explorers coexist with native plants and animals on North Carolina‘s environmentally sensitive Outer Banks? A study will tell. When a few local residents first came upon Spec during the early morning hours of May 24, they […]
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Straight from the Horse's Heart 
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