Showjumping clinic

I took Dingo to a showjumping clinic today.  It was supposed to be a cross country clinic, but either due to lack of interest, or wetness of the cross country course, it ended up being a showjumping clinic.  Never mind.  If the pony is to compete, then any clinic is a good clinic.

Well we arrived without any issues, I saddled up and then I looked at our arena.  It was indoors.  Dingo had never been in an indoor before.  (Well, he actually had.  Back in February when I took him to a dressage day.  But we only did a short warm up in there.)  He took it all in his stride, though.

The instructor made some interesting points in the lesson.  Some to which I nodded wisely, and some which were quite new. 

Firstly - confidence is everything.

Secondly - if you feel things are not going right, and you do nothing, then your worst fears will come true.  Do something.  As long as you do something, chances are you will change the situation for better.  But, never, ever, do nothing.

Thirdly (and this was the new one to me, and my favourite) - do not jump from a standstill.  If your horse stops at a jump then show your displeasure, then take him around again and make him do it from canter, and make him jump it.  In fact, the coach went as far as saying that you don't jump from a trot either.  Nor from a walk.  The reasoning being that in a competition you will be jumping from a canter, so train your horse to jump from the canter always.  If they sometimes stop, then you will never know whether they will stop or whether they will jump, and so you can't be confident.  See first point.

Fourthly - if something goes wrong, then it's your horse's fault.  But you have to correct it.  Which might not look pretty.  When you've finished your jumping round, you might want realise that it was actually your fault, and you might want to apologise to your horse.  But while you're jumping - it's your horse's fault.

We jumped a warmup jump.  Then we did a little course - a mixture of grade 5 and 4.  Then he added a second part of the course at grade 3.  Dingo did the first part of the course, and we had fun doing it.  He did a great job of it.

I skipped the grade 3 part though.  I have every confidence that Dingo can do the height.  But to me, he just wasn't travelling well enough on the day.  And I kept thinking that if he jumps funny, then there is just not enough neck to land on.

It took me all afternoon to work out that what I should have done is sat back more, and looked up more and treated the upcoming grade 3 jump as though it was a grade 1 jump.  Next time.

The instructor was really happy with Dingo and with my riding.  He really thought I should have done the second part of the course.

Inside the square

These days we seem to be so focussed on looking outside the square for solutions to our problems, that we forget to sometimes look inside the square. That is, just look at the ordinary, the proven methods. Follow others who already successfully do what you want to do.

Today we went to Tonimbuk to watch the cross country phase of the Horse Trials. Horse trials (eventing) is what I want to do, and the cross country phase is what attracted me to the sport in the first place. The flowing, bounding feeling of galloping accross fences through the bush and paddocks. It's great! When you get it right, it's great. When your horse is madly galloping out of control, it's damn scary!

We rock up in the middle of the pre-novice XC. This means the jumps are about 1m high, and some of them are starting to ask some serious questions of the horse's bravery.

The first thing that hits me about the event is that I love it. The second thing that hits me, is that the horses don't really need to make that much of an effort to jump these jumps. And the third thing that hits me is that the elite level athletes, the Olympians, are competing together with the new kids on the block, the aspiring young talents, and the old Jo who just likes to go around a cross country course on the weekend.

In horse riding, it is the horse that is the athlete. And so each elite rider has horses at all sorts of levels. Which means that us aspiring eventers can watch these elite riders on their green horses and work out exactly how they get them to the top.

The last thing that strikes me is how many familiar faces I see. There's an old friend who's just finished his cross country. "Hi Will. Good luck!". There's my farrier sitting and officiating at jump number 3. "Hi Clancy". And there's a couple of friends from Uni officiating at the bank complex. A long conversation ensues about the fires, horses, coaches, physical intelligence and logical riding.

As I watch horse after horse going over the jumps, I can clearly pick the elite riders from the amateurs. The elite riders' horses are relaxed and bowling along. They prick up their ears before a difficult jump, and then fly over, with a genle pat and a good word on landing. The amateurs are walking a fine line between in control and out of control. Sometimes they issue harsh words of encouragement, as their horse looks to dive sideways and avoid that scary looking jump. Each successful jump is rewarded by a "good boy" or "good girl" shriek. I am not saying that I could do a better job than these amateurs. But the difference is stark.

By the time I walk away I am super inspired. But not just that. I walk away with a clear vision of what I need to teach my horses in order to partake in this sport.

Showjumping at Tonimbuk

Amazing Dawn

It seems to me that all horse events require you to get up at dawn. Or earlier. Luckily, today's dawn is perfect. Fog lies low in the valley. As the sun rays creep over the mountains, the clear sky takes on amazing shades of yellow, orange and blue - like the intense colours seen on those Australian outback vases.

Crownie comes in for a feed, the kookaburras laugh, laugh and laugh.

The Drive

We get away about half an hour late. Where did the time go? Next time I'll get up before dawn. I am calm. We have time up our sleeve. I settle into a weird feeling of relaxed and apprehensive. Then I notice the country side. We are driving through a white wonderland. I flick the temperature button in my car - it's zero degrees C outside. Wow! No, it's not snow. All the rolling hills, all the paddocks, the entire roadside is covered in white, glittering frost. I am fascinated by sparkling gates and signs, by twinkling wisps of grass at the edge of the road, by white furry fence posts. The perfect morning.

The Lesson

We manage five minutes of walking as a warm up (I would have preferred 30, but we know where that went), then we go into the indoor arena. The jumps are tiny, even I could trot over them. I relax and focus on the walk, trot and canter, as indicated by the instructor. We warm up on both reins, then we start with a grid. The grid progresses from a single cross rail, to three cross rails - with a bounce and two strides in between. Crownie keeps trotting over them without a fuss. That's the problem. Trotting. There is no jump. This might be fine at one foot high, but it isn't going to cut it as the rails go up. The instructor gets me to collect her a bit, and then she attempts to duck out. I correct her immediately, and we still make the entire grid. This is good. This is what I have been waiting for - to see how serious she will get about refusing. Not very serious. Good horse. The instructor adds two straight jumps (about one foot high), and we have a course. I am told (repeatedly) to hold my hands down and still and to collect, collect, collect. Crownie responds well, she goes around the course, no refusals, but also no real jump. At the end of the lesson the instructor suggests that she is ready for much more collection, and that we need to do heaps of transitions.

Showjumping warm-up

I do about 30 minutes of warm-up. Serious warm-up. I ask for Crownie to be on the aids and we do walk, trot and canter. Circles. Rein changes. She feels amazingly supple. This is a very different horse to the one I started with six weeks ago. She's like a concertina. I can bend her sideways, I can collect her, and I can extend her. I can't extend too much, or she just gets flat, but a little bit is ok. Same with collection. I am getting some good, solid working paces. Then we relax for the next 40 minutes as we wait our turn to jump. Every 10 minutes or so we do a few circles, get into a nice working trot, and pop over a couple of cross rails. Then we have another break.

The course

Mounted, we walk around the course. It's a nice course. 10 jumps, one double, two or three oxers, a couple of cross rails, two changes of rein. Both the first and last jump towards the arena exit - good. Inviting.

Showjumping - 45cm

We are over the first jump and away. After the second, Crownie considers heading straight for the exit, so the corner (tightish) is very unbalanced, but we manage to jump (yes, jump) three and four. The next jumps just flow, and before I know it I'm heading into jump 10. My biggest problem is to do an elegant turn after the last, without knocking over the organisers. Overall, a very nice clear round. It is obvious that the tight turns need more work.

Showjumping - 60cm

This looks high to me. I know Crownie is capable of jumping it in principle, but, she is untested. We start off in trot, she jumps the first and goes into canter. The corner takes us off balance, we go back to trot, and have a rail down. Next jump, one more rail. Then we're back in canter and the course starts flowing again. Next tight corner - loss of balance, trot, canter, jump. Pop, pop, pop, the jumps feel tiny. Last jump, I get a bit unseated, but we're over and careering into the organisers ... whoa! ... well almost. Overall three rails down, and a smiling rider.

Afterthoughts

I can't believe it. We've survived the day. I am ecstatic. I am shaking. I know, I know, we've only jumped a 60cm freshman's round, and we had rails down, but to me, we've won the Olympics. On the way home I shed a private tear. Cross country, here we come.

Packing for Tonimbuk

We gather up the dinner dishes, and I tell my husband that I am off to feed the horses and pack for tomorrow. He nods with indifference, and returns to bath preparations with our daughter. To him it's just another night. To me, this is the night before the day of reckoning.

Up till now, I have trotted my horse six times over a cross rail, and tomorrow we will do a jumping lesson, followed by two rounds of freshman's showjumping: 45cm high, and 60cm high. Am I mad? Is my horse ready for this? Am I ready for this? Do I really know what I am doing? Every wise horseperson I have listened to, every book I have read, tells me that what I am doing is right. But I have a sinking feeling of despair, a loss of faith, a feeling that I am standing at the gates of doom.

I focus all this energy into packing, as though I was preparing for the end of the world. Bridle, spare bridle. Extra spare reins. Girth, spare girth. Morning feed, lunchtime feed. Hay, hay and more hay. Magnesium orotate, hydrogen peroxide. With a suspicious calmness all items take a logical place in the car, and I feel I have everything. I am not "ready". I am just "prepared". Prepared to face the demons I have created.