Tuesday, April 26, 2016

In the Cross Country start box - "Good Luck"


Riding cross country in a horse trials event is serious business.  Even at the lower grades. The obstacles are solid with a capital S, the ground can be slippery, and the horse has a thousand things to spook at, starting with the jumps judges.  Every rider about to go out on cross country gets some level of nerves, and rightfully so.  A history of events prove that sheer luck might play an important part in a successful completion of this exciting phase.

So, when the starter counts down each competitor, his final words are "3, 2, 1, Go! Good luck!"

At this point, I always thought that there exists a certain understanding between horse and rider.  A partnership based on mutual trust, developed over months and years of training together.  You (the horse) take care of me, and I (the rider) will take care of you.  I have seen countless situations where this is so true, where the horse loses balance and a steadying rein from the rider helps the horse to recover before the next jump.  Situations where the rider loses balance on the first obstacle in a combination, and the horse completes the combination perfectly despite flapping reins and a lack of direction from the rider.

I long for that sort of partnership, that sort of understanding, that sort of trust with my horse.  But recently, I have decided that between myself and Dingo it's not necessarily so.

When that starter says "Good Luck", Dingo grows little devil ears, he rubs his little hooves together, his spirit does a little mini rear of defiance, and the pony whispers "Yeah Mummy ... Good luck, ha ha ha!" as he gallops wildly off towards the first jump with no regard for the feeling on the reins.

Well, for years I have lived in my little world of believing in trust and understanding, while Dingo was rubbing his little hooves together and zooming off on every occasion.  But, recently, I've finally wisened up.  I've realised that our partnership has to be based more on mutual boisterousness, than mutual love.  A kind of respect for each others physical strength and mental power.

So now, our starting line conversation goes something like this:
Starter: "3, 2, 1, Go!  Good luck!"
Dingo: "Yeah Mummy ... Good luck, ha ha ha!"
Me: "Yeah Dingo ... Good luck."  (Followed by a solid check on the reins.)

Sunday, April 24, 2016

Westcoast ARC Horse Trials 2016


Dingo's last competition was two years ago when I got eliminated on him during the Dunolly Horse Trails cross country for jumping a grade 3 jump.  Then I got eliminated again in the showjumping when I fell off before the double.  At the time, I decided it wasn't really working and relegated Dingo to trail riding duties.

However, a sequence of events - Lil getting stringhalt, Echo getting an abscess - put Dingo back in work, and back on the critical path for another crack at horse trials.  So we ended up in Elcho Park, warming up for the dressage phase of the Westcoast ARC Horse Trials.

The judge was running late, and the dressage went to pieces.  Dingo was overbent, flicking his tongue over the bit, and freaking out at the weeds surrounding the arena.  Really Dingo?

Since the dressage judge was running late, we were running late for our showjumping round.  Already coming back from gear check Dingo felt tired.  He jumped well in the warm-up - very well in fact.  The warm-up was on grass with a sandy soil base.  The competition ring was sand.  The minute he put hoof in that sand arena, things didn't feel right - he felt out of control.  I put on the breaks.  We got two refusals at jump one, clear over two, then a refusal at jump three and that was the end of our round.

I left the showjumping ring gutted, and did a few more warm-up jumps to mull it over.  He jumped very well.  Damn that sand.

I gave Dingo a well earned rest and some lunch, and I mulled over the situation some more.  Technically I was eliminated, but could still ride the cross country if I wanted to.  Did I want to?  Should I?  My reflection process was long and boring, but in the end I decided to ride cross country.

After a quick warm-up (which was on sand, and Dingo jumped the warm-up jumps well), we were in the start box, and the starter was saying: "3, 2, 1, go!  Good luck!".  And Dingo responded "Yeah Mummy ... Good luck in trying to hold me back!  Ha ha ha!".  And I gritted my teeth with "Yeah Dingo ... Good luck in trying to get away from me!".  And we were off.  Dingo was off.  Holding him back was tricky ... almost impossible.

Jump three was out of control and we were barrelling through the middle of the course when I caught sight of jump four on my left.  We doubled back.  I had to almost stop him to do that switch back to four.  But I did it the right way - I kept his head up.  I didn't let his chin go to his chest.  Over four, and then we got this amazing bouncy canter - forward, yet on his hocks.  I felt I could jump over the moon from that canter.  And from then on, all the other jumps became mere obstacles.  It was no longer a question of whether he will jump them, it was only a question how fast I will allow him to jump, and how elegant I can make it look.  There was no longer a question of control, there was only a question of using my reins and my heels to communicate with him.  It was amazing.  I have never ridden this pony so fast over cross country and yet felt so much in control, felt so sure he would jump everything, felt so in awe of how much power was propelling him forward.  I could now see that this pony easily had more scope.  It was incredible.

In the end, the result - me being eliminated - was immaterial.  I was the real winner.  That cross country ride just changed the way I jump - for ever.  That cross country ride made me realise that the next rung of my horse riding journey was within reach.  That cross country ride was like a thousand clinics rolled into one.

I jumped off my tired pony - and I have never ever seen Dingo that tired - and jumped up and down with joy!

Tuesday, April 5, 2016

To coach or not to coach



My equestrian life (and in fact my whole life) is driven by one big major equestrian goal.  It's to do with Eventing.  At a high level.  A very high level.  (There's more detail to it, but I'm not quite willing to share that with the world just yet.) Everything I do I try to align towards that goal.

For a while now, I have been asking the question "to get to my goal, do I need to coach?"  Do I need to teach other riders?  Will that get me towards my goal?  Or will it be something that distracts me from my own riding journey?  Am I better off just focusing on my riding, my competing, my lessons?  Or will coaching other riders give me more flexibility?  Will it teach me something that lessons on my own horse cannot?  Will it equip me better to compete?  Will it give me another perspective?  An extra dimension?

Well, the answer came rather unexpectedly, and rather like a steam train.

One beautiful sunny day last year, we had organised two instructors to teach at a pony club rally.  One was our usual instructor, and the other was a well respected dressage instructor.  On the day our usual instructor rang in sick, while it turns out that there had a been a communication error with the other instructor and she actually wasn't coming.

So there we were, a beautiful day, eight kids mounted on ponies, and no one to teach them.  I mulled over the issue in my mind.  We must give these kids an instructor.  No one was taking a step forward.  There was no backup plan for this situation.  I wondered how the insurance side of it worked.  I wondered about this and that, and in the end I suggested that if everyone is happy, then I will teach the kids.  There was a resounding "YES PLEASE!" from all the parents.

Gulp.

Eight kids from total beginner and wavering between on the lead/off the lead, to 14-year olds, capable of jumping grade 3, and everything in between.  Talk about being thrown in at the deep end.  Well, as they say "throw me to the wolves, and I will come back leading the pack".  And that is exactly what happened!  (Not that our kids are like "wolves", but you get the drift.)

We started off with flatwork.  I ran the kids through a set of exercises that I do myself to establish a correct position on the pony, and to establish that the pony is travelling correctly.  Within two strides the ponies all improved, relaxed and moved better.  Within two strides!!!  My jaw dropped!  Then we did some other work that was basic enough for the beginners, but still beneficial for the intermediate and advanced riders.

In the second session we did poles and jumping.  Well, at the start of this class two were keen to jump, and the remainder were only going to do poles on the ground.  By the end of the session everyone bar two riders (one was a youngster and a beginner, the other was on an elderly pony that shouldn't jump) was jumping.  Everyone!  In fact, as the jumps went up, I had to step in and tell some riders to stop jumping because it was getting too high for them.

Then lunch.

After lunch we played some games.  It was just a fun relaxing session.  Oh, but so many smiles.  So much team work.  Such great friendship.

All the kids had a really good time that rally.  All the parents were very happy, because they could see amazing improvements in the way the kids were riding.  But most important of all, I had a really good time!  It was kind of like being at a party and doing lots of talking and having lots of fun.  I just loved it.

I think my question has been answered.