In 2019, Lisanne Fear skied miles into Wyoming's backcountry with no intention of coming back.
She wanted to see the Sacred Rim in the Wind River Range one last time before ending her life.
Yet all the while, a dog named Lou was at her side. The look in his eyes made it feel as if he were speaking aloud.
"Don't do it," he seemed to tell her.
She skied out that night, but she wasn't out of the woods.
Months later, alone in her Pinedale apartment, she sat down to write instructions for settling her affairs after she died.
She worked through her list of pets and where she’d like them to go. But when she arrived at the name of her adopted mustang Phineas, she couldn't go on.
The horse had come from a herd in Nevada. She’d trained him, lost him, gotten him back, and built a bond she couldn't imagine breaking.
Staring at his name on the page, she pushed away from the desk.
"I just remember starting to write Phin's name down, and I had to push back from the desk, and I cried about it and couldn't figure it out,” said Fear. “Finally, I was like, 'I'll come back to this later.'”
She never finished the note, because she decided that as long as Phineas lived, she would too.
‘My Space To Speak The Truth'
Her love for Phineas eventually grew into something larger.
Fear, a sixth-generation Pinedale resident, set out in 2021 to raise awareness for America's wild horses by riding a clique of adopted mustangs 5,000 miles across the United States, from Delaware to California.
The 14-month journey across the American Discovery Trail drew national attention and is now the subject of a feature-length documentary.
But the version shown on screen is not the entire story.
Fear spoke with Cowboy State Daily about the struggles that unfolded behind the camera, including the friendship that ended, moments when both people and animals were in danger, and the emotional fallout that lingered after the ride was over.
The conversation served as a preview of a forthcoming memoir, which explores parts of the journey that never made it to film.
“While I was on trail, [I felt] like I was being told what I couldn’t say, and … I felt like a puppet a lot of the time,” she said.
“I feel like my book is finally mine – it's my place and my space to speak the truth.”
When Lisanne Fear sat down to write a suicide note, she couldn't bring herself to part with a mustang named Phineas. That decision led to the Pinedale, Wyoming, woman's 5,000-mile ride across the U.S. Above, she rides on an Illinois ferry. (Lisanne Fear) 
When Lisanne Fear sat down to write a suicide note, she couldn't bring herself to part with a mustang named Phineas. That decision led to the Pinedale, Wyoming, woman's 5,000-mile ride across the U.S. Above, a stop at the St. Louis Arch. (Lisanne Fear)
‘People Couldn’t Believe It’
On April 12, 2021, two years after her epiphany at her desk in her Pinedale apartment, Fear stood beside the Atlantic Ocean near Lewes, Delaware.
With her were seven mustangs, a dog named Kayuh, and her best friend Hannah Catalino, a horse trainer from Montana.
She recalls that moment as dreamlike, but it didn't take long before the hardships of a cross-country ride reared up.
Some days, Fear rode along highways with semitrailers passing close enough to touch. Other stretches took her through forest trails and across desert basins. There was also the less cinematic work of finding places to sleep.
She’d aim to put 20 miles behind her, then start knocking on doors in search of a place to stay, bringing her story to hundreds of strangers’ doorsteps along the way.
“I would walk up to people’s houses and knock on their door, and when they answered, I’m standing there in my cowboy getup like, ‘Hey, I’m riding my horses to California, and I’m looking for a place to stay.’” Fear said.
“So many people couldn’t believe it. They were like, ‘What are you doing?’"
With only a few exceptions, including a gruff West Virginian with a 12-gauge at his side, people seemed eager to put her up or find someone who would.
She’d pitch a tent and set up a tree line or electric fence for the horses.
“Most people said, ‘Yes, put your horses up, do whatever you need to do, but then come tell us all of what you’re doing and what you’ve experienced so far,’” she said.
The spirit of good will was infectious. Somewhere along the way in West Virginia, she decided seven mustangs and one dog were not enough.
She came across a puppy who needed a home and adopted it on the spot. Fear built a custom kennel for Zende — the mutt she jokingly called an “Appalachian jumping dog” — to ride on top of a pack horse.
Spirits were high, but both her morale and her friendship with Hannah soon began to fray.
When Lisanne Fear sat down to write a suicide note, she couldn't bring herself to part with a mustang named Phineas. That decision led to the Pinedale, Wyoming, woman's 5,000-mile ride across the U.S. (Lisanne Fear) 
When Lisanne Fear sat down to write a suicide note, she couldn't bring herself to part with a mustang named Phineas. That decision led to the Pinedale, Wyoming, woman's 5,000-mile ride across the U.S. Here, she rides through a drive-thru in Missouri. (Lisanne Fear) 
When Lisanne Fear sat down to write a suicide note, she couldn't bring herself to part with a mustang named Phineas. That decision led to the Pinedale, Wyoming, woman's 5,000-mile ride across the U.S. Through it all was her faithful dog, Lou. (Lisanne Fear)
A Friendship Ends
Crossing the Dolly Sods Wilderness in West Virginia’s Appalachian region, a mule named Abilene escaped and fled into the mountains.
Fear hopped on another horse and chased the mule for miles through the woods before it finally threw a shoe and slowed enough for her to get a hold of its lead.
The mule didn’t want to return.
“She kept doing this thing where she’d pull back and it felt like my arm was yanking out of my socket,” Fear said. “I was pretty banged up from my mule dragging me across all these rocks.”
Abilene recovered, but it was also the beginning of major fissures in her relationship with Catalino.
The pressures of the trail exposed different expectations about responsibility and decision-making. Eventually, in Ohio, Fear asked her friend to leave the journey.
It marked a turning point. They’d begun the trip as best friends, “but we haven’t spoken since,” Fear said.
More challenges followed.
When Lisanne Fear sat down to write a suicide note, she couldn't bring herself to part with a mustang named Phineas. That decision led to the Pinedale, Wyoming, woman's 5,000-mile ride across the U.S. (Lisanne Fear) 
When Lisanne Fear sat down to write a suicide note, she couldn't bring herself to part with a mustang named Phineas. That decision led to the Pinedale, Wyoming, woman's 5,000-mile ride across the U.S. (Lisanne Fear) 
When Lisanne Fear sat down to write a suicide note, she couldn't bring herself to part with a mustang named Phineas. That decision led to the Pinedale, Wyoming, woman's 5,000-mile ride across the U.S. (Lisanne Fear)
Viper Snakes
In Illinois, her psychiatric service dog Kayuh was bitten by a venomous copperhead snake while on a deep ravine trail.
Fear was with a filmmaker who’d been injured by a fall, but together they rigged a line up a steep slope and sent the dog up in a gunny sack to a support crew waiting above.
After the dog was rushed for emergency care, Fear discovered several vipers in the area where she’d planned to sleep.
So she scouted a steep escape route on horseback, then returned for the other horses and the injured filmmaker.
With only red headlamps to see by, she led the group up the narrow, boulder-strewn passage. Her mustang launched from ledge to ledge.
“It became bouldering on horseback upwards,” she said.
At one point, a horse named Pistachio fell from a ledge and rolled down the hill under the weight of a heavy pack.
The herd all eventually made it out of the ravine. It’s an example of the unique competency of former wild horses, she said.
“I don’t know of any other horses that could be trusted, or that would have trusted me if I had asked them to do that, if it hadn’t been mustangs that I had built bonds of trust with,” she said.
Not all difficulties came from nature.
When Lisanne Fear sat down to write a suicide note, she couldn't bring herself to part with a mustang named Phineas. That decision led to the Pinedale, Wyoming, woman's 5,000-mile ride across the U.S. Through it all was her faithful dog, Lou. (Lisanne Fear) 
When Lisanne Fear sat down to write a suicide note, she couldn't bring herself to part with a mustang named Phineas. That decision led to the Pinedale, Wyoming, woman's 5,000-mile ride across the U.S. Through it all was her faithful dog, Lou. (Lisanne Fear)
All Alone
By the time she’d crossed the great American plains heading into Colorado, Fear was largely managing the operation herself.
Tensions developed between Fear and one of the volunteer filmmakers helping on the documentary. It reached a point that she felt uncomfortable and demanded he leave.
It was also at this time that she found herself without any volunteers or friends to drive her support trailer. She would ride the trail during the day, establish camp, then hitchhike back to retrieve the support vehicle.
Crossing into Utah brought another crisis.
She scouted a route headed toward Moab around available water. The night before a long climb, her mule broke through her electric fence, because such fences do not ground properly without adequate soil moisture.
Rounding up the escaped herd delayed her start the next morning.
By the time she reached the waterhole outside Moab after the hot climb, the water was gone, despite her having seen water there three days earlier.
She tied the horses to sagebrush and went back to her truck and trailer. The round trip to refill her water tanks took eight hours.
“I had seen that watering hole 72 hours prior, and there was no water left in it,” she said. “That’s when I decided it was no longer safe to travel solo — across the desert!”
She waited until a friend was able to fly out to help drive a support vehicle the rest of the way.
When Lisanne Fear sat down to write a suicide note, she couldn't bring herself to part with a mustang named Phineas. That decision led to the Pinedale, Wyoming, woman's 5,000-mile ride across the U.S. Through Arches National Park, she got an escort by park rangers. (Lisanne Fear) 
When Lisanne Fear sat down to write a suicide note, she couldn't bring herself to part with a mustang named Phineas. That decision led to the Pinedale, Wyoming, woman's 5,000-mile ride across the U.S. (Lisanne Fear) 
When Lisanne Fear sat down to write a suicide note, she couldn't bring herself to part with a mustang named Phineas. That decision led to the Pinedale, Wyoming, woman's 5,000-mile ride across the U.S. Much of that time was spent camping out, like in this tent in Maryland. (Lisanne Fear)
Through A Dog’s Eyes
When she crossed into California 14 months after the journey began, Fear felt relief, pride, gratitude — and grief.
“By the time I hit California, it was like I was grieving this thing coming to an end,” she said. “But it was so powerful to sit there on the coast and know we all made it alive.”
The ride didn't mark the end of Fear's advocacy efforts.
She's already planning future projects, including a campaign she calls "50 Shades of Bay," which will involve mustang rides in all 50 states.
It’s given Fear a renewed sense of purpose. But when she sat down to write about her experience, some of its most painful moments came rushing back.
“When I tried writing about my experiences, PTSD took me over and basically made me relive all of those bad things,” she said.
A therapist eventually suggested a different approach: write in the third person, as though she were observing the events rather than reliving them.
It worked, but only because she found the right third-person narrator. The memoir is written from the perspective of her psychiatric service dog, Kayuh.
“It was so nice to write about myself through my dog’s eyes, because my dog would never say negative things about me that I say about myself to myself quite frequently,” she said.
The book will be released in December, with preorders signed by both authors. Fear will sign her name. Kayuh will leave a paw print.
Contact Zakary Sonntag at zakary@cowboystatedaily.com
Zakary Sonntag can be reached at zakary@cowboystatedaily.com.
