Velvet and I breathed in the dry, dusty heat of the Nevada desert and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Surrounding us were around 200 wild mustangs – some grazing contentedly, some with fiery eyes, gambolling, prancing and kicking up the dirt. I leant forward to stroke my horse’s arched neck, whispering her name to keep her calm, and wondered if she might be sensing that visceral call of the wild, a call from her past when she, like the other mustangs all around us, would have galloped freely across the vast, open ranges of the Wild West.

Wild mustangs were introduced to America by the conquistadors in the 16th century. By the 19th century, they were playing a vital role in the country’s history, carrying intrepid pioneers and California gold rush miners to their fortunes. As recently as 100 years ago, some two million mustangs roamed these lands. Now they are viewed as destructive pests damaging the environment and depleting the prairies, with the US government asserting that today’s population is around 70,000, is rising unsustainably, and must be controlled to protect the range. 

Velvet is one of the lucky ones. Along with 600 other horses, her home is Mustang Monument in north-eastern Nevada, a luxury eco-resort on a ranch which, at 900 square miles, is around the size of the Lake District National Park. It is owned by ardent animal lover and philanthropist Madeleine Pickens, who seeks to preserve equine heritage through her foundation Saving America’s Mustangs. She hotly disputes the government figures, believing they are greatly exaggerated to justify mass killings. 

Pickens has had a rough ride. Mustang Monument opened in 2014 in the heart of cattle-ranch country where livestock roams on public ranges, sharing them with wild mustangs: the debate around the conservation of mustangs is entrenched and bitter. Campaigners believe the relationship between influential ranchers, their lobbyists and the government’s Bureau of Land Management (BLM) is too cosy and the survival of wild mustangs is at stake. 

In 2016, trespassers sabotaged a remote area of Pickens’s ranch, cutting the fences, destroying the water supply and causing the deaths of several horses. This, and bureaucratic battles with the authorities, affected her deeply. Feeling the need to step back a while, she closed Mustang Monument – but this year she is back: her not-for-profit eco-resort reopens on June 1, though I was lucky enough to stay there ahead of the launch.

My first sighting of the mustangs was all it took to understand Pickens’s passion. We rode on an open wagon piled with hay, pulled by two chunky black and white draught horses, and soon found ourselves encircled by around 150 wild mustangs. Palomino, grey, roan, bay, dun, paint, chestnut, white, buckskin, brown and black – a mesmerising, rich palette of horse colours scampered around us. Some were feisty, wild-eyed, biting or kicking would-be infiltrators to their groups, with ears back and manes so long they looked like dreadlocks. Others were calm, serene almost, waiting patiently for their food. 

“They were rags and bones when we first got them,” said Clay Nannini, Pickens’s ranch manager. “But they’re looking pretty healthy now.” 

Using helicopters, the BLM regularly rounds up wild mustangs on the ranges, causing terror and injury, then keeps the horses captive in publicly funded corrals or holding stations. Some 46,000 mustangs are currently being held this way, waiting to be adopted or to die. Many are eventually sold on to slaughterhouses in Canada or Mexico and the adoption process has struggled. 

“After [the financial crash of] 2008 people couldn’t pay their mortgages, so they sure as hell weren’t going to adopt a mustang,” Nannini explained. Pickens’s sanctuary, with tourism at its heart, is one solution.

“Americans don’t think of mustangs as their heritage,” Pickens told me. “They have this habit of picking up a new toy and running with it, abandoning the old ones. I’m doing what I can to change that, to save this heritage and tell the story, even if it’s just one small piece of it. But tourists will spread the story and make it work. They will be the messengers.” 

If Pickens brings passion to the wild mustangs’ plight, Nannini brings pragmatism. A rodeo champion, he is everything you imagine a cowboy to be, with wry humour, entertaining tales and an easy manner. “Ranchers don’t like change, I don’t begrudge them that,” he stated matter-of-factly of their difficult neighbours. “The horses affect their livelihood.” 

Nothing gives a sense of these horses better than riding them and the following morning, with some trepidation, I embarked on my first hack. I’m no expert, having grown up pony-trekking on Welsh cobs but barely ridden since. I’d heard mustangs were feisty, and assumed I’d be riding a quieter quarter horse. 

Instead, I was introduced to Velvet, a brown and white “paint” mustang as soft as her name implies with endearing chocolatey eyes. Her huge Western saddle engulfed me: with its intricately embossed leather, vast stirrups and a horn to hold on to at the front, I began to believe I might just make it as a cowgirl. 

With six other guests, I rode up Spruce Mountain along winding sandy tracks, stunned at how responsive, gentle and forgiving of my inexperience Velvet was, despite having once been wild. The distant haze from wildfires and dust gradually gave way to clear vistas of the Ruby Mountains, named after the red glow of sunrise on their snow-covered slopes in wintertime. We passed Sprucemont, a tumbledown ghost town where miners lived from the 1880s to the 1940s, with narrow, rickety shafts descending 100ft or more and piles of stones that once were homes. An eerie silence seeped from the relics, evoking a sadness of times gone by, of hopes abandoned in mounds of rubble untouched for years. 

After a picnic lunch on the mountain, I rode back and was introduced to some of the other mustangs. Mary was a bit of a glutton, grabbing mouthfuls of grass at every opportunity; The Methodist was an imposing, grandiose guy; Marvin was sprightly and easily agitated, always restless; and the unfortunately named Pantyhose, so-called because of his four white socks, was playful and boisterous like a naughty toddler. Velvet, thankfully, stayed calm and unperturbed throughout.

“You see, these were wild – they’re mustangs,” said Pickens, “and yet they are the sweetest horses you could ever get.” Savvy and sassy, she is regularly interviewed on TV and radio as a campaigner for the mustangs’ cause. Born in Iraq, educated in England and France and now a US citizen, she looks younger than her 60-something years and does cowgirl chic with effortless style. 

Her ranch, too, brims with Wild West vibe. The 10 cottages and a new exclusive-use homestead are styled in rustic luxury with exposed wood walls, sumptuous beds, and terraces looking out to the prairies where horses graze. Spacious, funky tepees with leather and wood furnishings and what look like merry-go-rounds of mustangs painted on the canvas will be available again from 2020. A chic dining room has recently been built and the saloon, once an old tractor shed, is furnished with bar stools made from saddles. Elegant candlelit dinners are served on the terrace under the stars, and we went to bed to a distant soundtrack of howling coyotes and a hooting owl. 

The following morning, mesmerised by its raw beauty, we drove for two hours to Goshute Valley, which lies within Pickens’s property. 

“This valley is so big, I always say you could watch your dog run away for three whole days and he still wouldn’t be out of sight,” Nannini said. A distant trail of golden dust revealed not dogs but wild horses coursing through the valley, as integral to the landscape as the cedar trees, the aromatic white sagebrush and juniper, and the rugged mountain ranges. 

Aside from riding, Mustang Monument offers activities such as off-road driving, archery, hiking and abseiling. But, smitten by Velvet, I chose one last ride for my final day. 

We headed to the prairie where the mustangs are fed, planning to drive them passively towards the hay wagon. They didn’t need much driving. Seeing us in the distance, 80 horses galloped off in clouds of dust, manes and tails flying in the breeze. “When one wild horse runs, they all run,” Nannini explained. “Then they ask questions later...” 

Ranch cowboy Ken Barry gave me some advice: “As we get closer to the wild ones, our horses could get a bit arsey, so be careful.” His horse, a beautiful dapple called Dove, seemed wilder than the rest, dancing on the spot, ears forward, sensing the freedom of the wild ones, longing to run. 

Velvet, too, was keen to go. As we approached some water channels, Barry shouted: “Hold on to your saddle horn, Sue. Velvet likes jumping these.” Right on cue, seemingly in slow motion, we flew over the water, with me clinging on and grinning like an exhilarated child.

Eventually, around 200 mustangs surrounded the wagon where the hay had been scattered. We moved closer, quietly watching them feed. Suddenly, something spooked a wild one. He bolted. Whinnying like crazy, others bolted, too, and a thundering drumroll of hooves in their hundreds stampeded, into clouds of dust and a blur of beauty and power. Our horses started neighing, too, scraping the ground and shifting around, sensing the tension but thankfully staying put. 

Gradually, the horses and the dust settled. Now completely encircled by mustangs, we stood in spine-tingling silence, feeling their innate spirit and energy, moved by their sense of freedom. These horses are the very soul of this land, the essence of its dramatic beauty and wildness. Not quite believing I was right in among them on my own mustang, I’d never felt more alive. Quietly, I stroked Velvet’s neck and thanked her for staying so calm and gracious, and for letting me share this moment.

How to do it

Mustang Monument (001 888 979 1422; mustangmonument.com) is open from June 1 until mid-September. The ranch is a not-for-profit foundation, supporting the care and preservation of the wild mustangs. Rates are $900 (£710) per person per night, based on two people sharing with full board and including all drinks. Activities are charged separately. A two-hour excursion on the wagon to feed the horses costs $250 per person. A day ride up Spruce Mountain costs $475 per person. Guests usually stay for three nights, arriving on Thursday and departing on Sunday. Delta Air Lines (delta.com) flies direct from London Heathrow to Salt Lake City, with fares from £925 return.