12/27/2024
He was a man who spoke softly but carried wisdom forged in the saddle. A man whose words were measured and deliberate, as if he knew each one carried the weight of a lifetime’s understanding. Ray Hunt didn’t just train horses—he transformed the way people thought about them.
Born in 1929 in Paul, Idaho, Hunt grew up in a world where horses were a necessity, not a novelty. They plowed fields, moved cattle, and hauled wagons. They weren’t companions—they were tools. But even as a young man, Ray saw something deeper in the horse’s eye. There was a question there, an unspoken dialogue waiting to be understood.
Ray’s journey into the world of horse training wasn’t immediate or linear. Like many of his generation, he worked hard and learned by doing. In his early years, he followed the traditional methods: force, dominance, and brute strength. If the horse didn’t obey, you made it obey. That’s just how it was done.
But Ray Hunt wasn’t satisfied with “how it was done.” The harder he pushed, the more resistance he felt—until a man named Tom Dorrance crossed his path.
Dorrance didn’t see horses the way most men did. He didn’t see them as animals to be broken, but as partners waiting to be understood. It wasn’t about forcing the horse to submit; it was about giving the horse a reason to trust. “Feel,” Dorrance called it, and Ray Hunt listened. He listened to the horses, too.
Hunt became a student of this new philosophy, but more than that, he became its most vocal advocate. His mantra was simple yet profound: “Make the right thing easy and the wrong thing difficult.” To Hunt, training wasn’t about punishment; it was about creating a space where the horse could make its own decisions—and choose to follow the human.
Ray’s clinics became legendary. He didn’t sugarcoat his words or offer quick fixes. “You need to think like the horse,” he’d say, “because the horse is already thinking about you.” He taught patience, presence, and respect—for both horse and rider.
But perhaps the most revolutionary idea Ray Hunt championed was this: the horse is never wrong. If the horse didn’t understand, it wasn’t the horse’s fault. It was the human’s. “It’s amazing what the horse will do for us,” he said, “if we treat him like he’s one of us.”
And that’s the part most people miss. Ray Hunt wasn’t just teaching horsemanship—he was teaching humanity. He was showing people how to listen, how to be present, and how to respect another being’s point of view.
Over the decades, Hunt’s influence grew. He traveled the world, spreading his philosophy to cowboys, ranchers, and hobbyists alike. His clinics weren’t about creating perfect horses—they were about creating better people.
Ray Hunt passed away in 2009, but his legacy endures in the hearts of those who understand the quiet magic of a horse’s trust. His teachings live on in the clinics of trainers who follow in his footsteps, in the soft eyes of a horse willing to try, and in the patience of a rider willing to listen.
Ray Hunt didn’t just change the way we train horses. He changed the way we see them.
🎨 The Art of JOHN RALPH SCHNURRENBERGER
https://www.jrsfineart.com
Breeders of fine Arabian horses
