One school will insist that your heels be down at all times while many insist that your toes point downward and conform to the horse's belly when bareback or riding without stirrups.
When you're past the age of thirty, it's interesting how important safety becomes to the mix of riding clues and tips. Securing that seat and perfecting that trot comes long before dreams of jumping and cantering through the pasture, hair flowing behind you.
In fact, the difference between being a kid and riding and being an adult and learning to ride, is that when you're a kid and galloping across an open field, you're thinking purely of how wonderful the air feels, how thrillingly fast you're going, and how much it feels like flying.
When you're an adult and galloping across the open field, you're thinking of how wonderful the air feels, how thrillingly fast you're going, how much it feels like flying and that, with just one pothole, it's wheelchair city...for life.
To learn to ride, it's pretty important to have a horse to ride, at least occasionally. But book-learning has its place. You can read and imagine and fantasize the exercises over and over in your head until, when you finally do them for real, you honestly feel you've done them before.
In many ways, this can be the best way to learn. You can't get hurt in your mind so you approach the actual contest with more confidence. After all, you've done it so many times in your head.
The bookstores, and most particularly the tack shops, are full of good how-to books that are well worth investing.
This book will only touch briefly on the how-to's of sitting astride a horse. You can read a lot and you should, but proper instruction and a horse to ride are the ways to master riding.
Talking while you're riding is often good because it tends to help your breathing and it's also very calming. As we all know how insanely telepathic horses are, talking can also help to calm them.
In fact, singing tends to relax both parties too. I find "Shanendoah" is a good song choice. So is "Yesterday". Heavy metal tunes, however, will do little to nothing to impress your horse or induce it to be calm.
Your position on the horse should be:
1. Heels down
2. Toes in
3. Legs back
4. Hips pushed forward
5. Seat bones felt
6. Back relaxed
7. Shoulders straight
8. Neck relaxed
9. Eyes forward
10. Hands still
Alright, it's not that simple. And if you do none of these things and can still stay on consistently (plus have fun), great! An old newspaper photo of Jackie Onassis riding to foxes with her son, John, showed her leg forward and her heels not down. Obviously Jackie O. knew how to ride so perhaps failing to have picture-perfect seat isn't as bad as armed conflict in the Middle East. It's at least possible.
To indicate to the horse that you want to move forward, you should lightly squeeze him with your calves. (In some cases, this requires an accompanying stick of dynamite.)
Turning him differs depending on whether you are riding English-style or Western. In the case of Western, you neck-rein by pulling the reins in one hand, across the horse's neck in the direction you wish to go.
English-style requires that you pull back on one rein only--the one closest to the direction you wish to turn--and touch the horse behind the girth with your opposite leg.
To stop, you apply pressure to the reins and sit down solidly in the saddle. Yelling "whoa!" doesn't hurt either. Some horses won't stop when you ask them to and then it's necessary to ask them a little more emphatically. This is done by various methods. Pulling harder on the reins is one way. Steering them into a side of a barn is another way popular with many frustrated riders.
Now that you can balance yourself, keep yourself more or less in position, walk, turn and stop, you should be aware of the horse's other gaits. Each has its own pleasures, benefits, nuances.
The trot is a pace of two-time where the legs of the horse all move in diagonal pairs almost simultaneously. (Got a clear picture of that?) English-style riding asks that the rider post, or rise to the trot, which is a way of relieving the horse of some of your weight at a point when both the horse's inner legs come together under him. (This rising up also helps relieve the rider of the typically-jarring effects of this particular gait.)
It's all managed by heaving yourself out of the saddle and settling softly back into it in a sort of one-two, one-two, up and down action.
The heaving action--which comes from your knees--is done by thrusting your hips forward, much as if you were shoving a book onto a table with your pelvis (as you no doubt do from time to time, right?) Keep your elbows in, with your hands--although steady--moving back and forth with the horse's head.
The trot is not typically the most comfortable of gaits.
The Western counterpart to this gait is called the jog. The horse handles his part the same as his English cousin, but the Western rider simply sits to the trot and lets his big, comfy saddle absorb a good deal of the shock of the gait. There's not a whole lot of information on what this does for the horse.
A "canter", which is the English-style term, is an exquisite gait, very smooth and comfortable to ride. It is a pace of three time in which the near hind foot hits the ground first, then the near fore and off hind hit together, and finally the off fore leg--which, in this case, would be the leading leg. Got it? Now, of course, if the near fore leg leads, then the off hind leg will hit first, and the off fore and near hind will thump down in unison. But you probably already deduced that.
To manage it all, the rider sits up very straight, or fractionally forward, heels down, toes in, hands quiet, eyes forward and rides with the horse. The rider's seat should feel glued to the saddle and the hands should move back and forth with the horse's head.
Called a "lope" in Western lingo, the horse behaves much the same, but the rider usually tends to lean very far forward, arms akimbo, while emitting piercing, drawn-out sounds such as "Yaa-hoo" and "Yee-hah."
One exercise that's particularly good for developing that all-important seat, although less good for impressing any members of the opposite sex, is to walk your horse in a circle while you perch over him, your rear end out of the saddle, your hips thrust forward--as if frozen in mid-post.
This position is called "two-point". It's used when you're in a mad gallop and you want your horse to go even faster, or when jumping an object, or possibly when trying to unsnag your scarf from a tree. As it requires much inner-thigh tensing and knee-gripping to avoid toppling back into the saddle--or over the pommel--it's an excellent way to build up your riding muscles. Chances are, you'll never work them in any other activity other than riding, so if you can't ride for long every day, this is a good exercise to help you get your "riding legs."
Once you've mastered the rudiments, and maybe that's only in so far that you're not afraid in spite of your inexperience, you can begin enjoying the reason people ride in the first place.
That reason can be as simple as being out on a crisp Autumn day in the middle of the country, your friends with you, your dogs frolicking happily below you and the feel of your horse under you: alert and relaxed.
Some of the best conversations you can have happen when you're walking quietly on horseback with only the sound of rustling leaves as background music. If you have a gentle horse, and often (but not always) this means old and decrepit, you can enjoy these treasured trail rides right off the bat.
In many cases, however, as a horse tends to get strong or a little more willful when he's away from the barn and out of the ring, it takes a more experienced rider to successfully maneuver him around bushes that may attack him and creeks that threaten to gobble him up.
After twenty years of driving cars, it can be hard to adjust to steering something that has a mind of its own.
After years of inattentive, preoccupied turning and stopping in your Toyota, you're put in a situation where the fundamentals are the same, but your Toyota
now has an opinion about which direction you go.
It's easy for the green rider to glide into feeling that the horse is simply a lumpy, less responsive Toyota. This feeling, I feel compelled to add, is a dangerous one.
As much pleasure as riding is--even in its dullest moments--there is the downside and unfortunately, with riding, that's meant quite literally.
Falling hurts and falling is bad and falling is definitely to be avoided.
And falling is unavoidable.
Unless you're going to only trot and then only in the ring, and canter only briefly, and then only once in a great while, sooner or later, you will probably experience that truly sinking feeling of sliding off your horse unexpectedly.
If it's a bad fall: over your horse's head at a canter or as he slams to a halt--and it happens--then you'll probably have just enough time to pray you don't land funny. If it's a normal fall, you'll still know you're going off, but you'll probably only end up with the wind knocked out of you.
In either case, it's terrifying and unnerving. There can be few things braver than remounting your horse, with hands trembling so bad you can barely grip the cantle, after you've just been dumped. Yet, girls not eight years old in front of hundreds of people at horse shows all over the world do it regularly.
After their pony has balked sharply enough to unseat them, or after they've momentarily lost control of the beast to land themselves in the azalea bushes, these girls have to signal that they're okay, stand up, straighten their little jackets and march back over to that damned pony and not only get back on him, but, in many cases, finish the course--knowing they've blown their chance at placing.
It's an act of bravery and only someone who rides knows quite the extent of it.
When you get to the point where you've taken a few minor spills and can actually accept that it's a part of riding and don't let it stand in the way of your continuing to ride and continuing to take enough risks to improve your riding, you're well on your way to becoming a solid equestrian.
On the other hand.
Taking risks is scary. If you get hurt, or almost get hurt, or see somebody else get hurt, you can easily develop a fear that will put you right out of the game
In several of the how-to books you'll read on riding, you'll find that losing your confidence at some point in your riding career seems to be a thing that's shared even by the greats.
Everyone has a reason why they lost heart,, and in many cases, they also have pat, step-by-step ways that they regained it.
My own particular loss of nerve happened as a result of a not very serious accident on a very expensive animal.
In order to supplement my sagging freelance writing income, I took a job one Christmas season in a tack shop called, optimistically enough, "The Good Rider".
I hoped, along with the extra income, for some riding lessons from the shop's owner, Angel Barnes, who taught upper level dressage at her barn not far from the store and who seemed to have some local repute as a former equestrian as well.
Angel, although a classic horse person in many respects, ("Darling, there are some absolute absolutes in good horsemanship, remember that.") was, nonetheless, a warm and pleasant person and her interest in me increased proportionately with my interest in dressage. That interest, as it happened, was to be brief.
Her little shop was a natty cottage chocked full of tack and books and bits. Neat and tidy, with ruffled curtains in the pretty frame windows and colorful scatter rugs on the floors, it was a warm and welcoming place where people loved to come and visit and sometimes buy.
It was a delightful job. I worked alone most of the time and Angel encouraged my reading or writing when there were no customers in the store.
As a result, I was able to quickly devour all the reading material the little store contained as well as gain the benefit of horse-knowing customers who had time to lean on the hunt accessory case and chat.
Mornings were cold in the shop before its heater kicked in, and I'd pull on leather chaps to keep my legs warm. With no one in the store that early--the first customer rarely made an appearance before ten--I'd sip tea in mugs that said things like: "My Other Car Is A Horse" and "I'd Rather Be Riding", and wander about the store, which was pungent with the smell of leather and grain.
The friend whom I had ridden with for the last six months had moved to New Zealand (as it happened), and had left me unenthused about going out to the barn and riding alone.
Some say there is nothing quite like a solitary canter through the woods or field, but for a green rider, the company, comments and critique of other riders is not only comforting, it's necessary. Riding solo in the dead of winter in the riding ring did not have my excitement level high.
The Appaloosa, Lightning, was occasionally available to me and once in awhile, so was Traveler--the neglected quarter horse whose young owner was always on probation--although he'd been lame on and off all fall.
In my reading at the tack shop, I'd read that riding bareback can increase your balance and riding acumen at a rate slightly triple to simply riding with a saddle. (It's doubtful as to how they came up with this figure, but it sounded good at the time.) Another book, of course, warned that riding bareback was inherently dangerous and not, under any circumstances, be attempted.
I began to spend my mornings out at the farm when these horses were available to me and to jog limply around the ring on Lightning or Traveler without benefit of a saddle.
Invariably, I did not look forward to these mornings with any real pleasure. But Lightning had a very smooth trot that made the sessions less awful, and Traveler was so sweet and gentle that even his jackhammer jog was at least bearable. I simply kept my eyes on the prize: by summer I'd be doing somersaults off their backs.
Meanwhile, back at the shop, Angel would ask about my progress and applaud my tenacity. Although she made it clear she never taught green riders, she said she would make an exception for me as I was working for her. The cost of the lesson would, of course, be deducted from my paycheck.
We'd had many long conversations about our horse experiences and I tried not to misrepresent my abilities. I was green, but I was keen too. To Angel's credit, she seemed to derive as much excitement from my burgeoning fascination with basic dressage as I did.
Together, we poured over the many equestrian books in the shop and I was relieved to think I may have found a mentor. It might have been, too, if not for an imposing German Warmblood by the cuddly name of Amadeus.
One morning, on my way home to spend Christmas with my family in Florida, I stopped in at Angel's barn to take the much-touted, talked-about and anticipated lesson.
It was a wet and chilly morning, not a morning normally given to thoughts of horseback riding unless it's the only way to fetch the doctor and the contractions are four minutes apart. But I was keen, and truly keen riders, green or not, don't let a little wetness stop them from enjoying a good hack.
Ha.
Amadeus was, and probably still is, a 17'2 hand German Warmblood. He was a handsome, spirited and highly-trained dressage horse. It would be two years before I felt as confident as I did the day I climbed on Amadeus' back.
Angel had me lunge him first. I'd experienced being lunged while I was living in New Zealand. Doing the lunging is at least as difficult, if not quite so physically uncomfortable. Lunging a horse involves standing in the center of an imaginary circle with a long lunge whip in one hand (depending on which way you're lunging the horse) and a lunging line in the other. This lunging line attaches to the snaffle bit which is connected to the horse's mouth. The idea is to urge the horse forward á la the whip and control him via the lunging line. The horse trots, walks, and canters in a circle around you, obeying verbal commands from you, while you become painfully and inevitably dizzy. (How George Morris does this over and over again without then turning away and walking into the side of a barn, I have no idea.)
Myself, I succeeded in dropping the lunging whip in the mud a few times and
then getting hopelessly entangled in the lunge line. I'm sure Amadeus and Angel exchanged more than a few glances that involved eyes rolling toward heaven.
When she was satisfied that I'd done what she wanted or when it was evident that I could do no more, she gave me a leg up on him.
With no neck strap to hang on to, but my hands resting jauntily on my waist, she lunged us both in a circle at a trot. The mud squished disconcertedly under us as we plop-plop-plopped around the ring, me gripping with my thighs for dear life in an attempt to post with no hands and still remain astride, Amadeus wheezing in time to the post for no obvious reason.
Although physically difficult, the no-hands posting wasn't particularly scary. It was more a matter of concentration, blending the mental and the physical in a coordinated effort to perform the task. Within minutes of my thinking this, Amadeus bucked me neatly and quite completely off him by way of a swan dive over his head.
I missed the fence by millimeters and landed on my hip and derriere. The mud, although making me less attractive for my Christmas homecoming, no doubt saved my bones from damage.
Angel, of course, was horrified and chattered away in concern and possibly even guilt (she'd pooh-poohed my hard-hat as superfluous for the lesson) while she helped me up and led me back to The Beast.
I knew I had to get back on him and I would have paid several hundred dollars not to. Because he was going to do it again and that was as clear to me as the mud on my face.
I looked at Angel and knew I'd have to quit my job, change my name, and maybe have plastic surgery to disguise my appearance if I decided to back out now. Because it's not done. Not unless you're going to give up riding and I couldn't make that decision in the split second it requires that you bound back up into the saddle.
So I shook. Very hard. And my hands shook and my voice shook and my knees shook. And my mind projected an image of me being brought home in a body cast to be propped up next to the Christmas tree and then I allowed Angel to give me a shaky leg up into the saddle.
Horse Crazy Page 6