by Kate Lattey
“Fine, but I’m coming with you. Wait here while I tack up Bits. Here,” she says, passing me Meadowlark’s reins.
I stroke the chestnut mare’s blaze as Steph disappears back into the barn, and Abby rolls her eyes at me, leading the big bay horse over to the mounting block.
“Don’t mind her Jay, she’s always like this. It took years before she’d let me ride any of her ponies, and she’s even more precious about her horses. They’re all easier to ride than mine, so I don’t know what she’s so worried about, but that’s just how she is and there’s no changing her.”
I lead Meadow to the mounting block and apprehensively check my girth and stirrups before I mount. Meadow stands quietly as I settle myself into the saddle and run my hand down her slender neck. Her mane and tail are flaxen, a lighter colour than her rich chestnut coat, and she steps smoothly across the ground. I’ve often watched Steph jump her at shows and wondered what she was like to ride, and I can’t believe I’m actually getting to find out first-hand. Even if Steph doesn’t really want me to.
She’s back a few minutes later with a gorgeous dark bay mare, and we head out on our ride. I soon discover that Abby is right – Steph’s horses are beautifully schooled. Meadowlark is responsive to every touch of my hand and leg, every shift of my body weight, and her paces are balanced and seemingly effortless. When we pick up a canter, she floats across the ground, her small curved ears pricked forward, her mouth soft as butter, and I hold the reins carefully, trying not to do anything wrong. At first, Steph spends a lot of time looking over her shoulder and watching me, but after a while Abby gets her engaged in conversation, and she forgets to check on me every five seconds, allowing me to relax and enjoy myself. And Meadow is a joy to ride. I need to get Finn to feel like this, I decide. Riding Zoe has helped, but she feels so big and wide and foreign to me in comparison to my own pony. Meadow, on the other hand, feels like everything that Finn could – and should – be.
As we ride on and I listen to Abby and Steph chatter away to each other, I can’t help reflecting on how lucky I am to be here. If Abby hadn’t stopped by the Harrisons’ truck last year and told me that she’d been admiring Finn – which was a miracle in itself, considering the way that Finn had jumped that day – I would never have met either of them. They would have just been two familiar faces in the show ring, people that I would aspire to ride like one day but never dreamed of talking to. But as this amazing week has gone on, I have come to realise that I don’t just want to learn to ride like Abby. I want to be like her. I want to be that open and friendly with people, even people that I don’t know, to be that trusting and full of optimism. She goes through every day with a positive outlook and never lets things get her down, and as I watch Steph throw her head back and laugh out loud, I wonder if that’s what she sees in Abby too.
My first week at Abby’s rolls seamlessly into the second, and I’m kept busy as I continue working on Finn. As well as the flatwork lessons, I take her out on rides over the farm, which we both love, glorying in the freedom of a long gallop.
“Can’t do circles forever,” Abby tells me. “But when you do, you’ve got to make them count. You can canter twenty circles and teach your pony nothing, or you can canter two circles and train her to be adjustable and strong – depending on how you ride. Finn hasn’t read the manual, so she’s relying on you to help her out. It’s your responsibility to teach your pony what she needs to know and give her the tools to cope with what she’s going to face in the ring.”
I agree with her, but she’s still only letting me do flatwork, and I’m itching to jump Finn in a lesson. I’ve learned a lot from riding Abby’s horses, and I’m immensely grateful for the opportunity, but the days are running out and I’m desperate to improve Finn’s jumping. I eventually get up the nerve to suggest a jump lesson to Abby, but she just shrugs.
“The jumping isn’t your problem. It’s getting her completely focused and rideable between the jumps that will make the difference for you. When you go into the ring, you might take one hundred and twenty strides on course, and only twelve of those are jumps. You have to learn to ride the distances, not the fences. Get the in-between sorted out and the fences will come easily.”
I sigh. “Okay.”
“Be patient. If you do the work, you’ll get the results. Just keep plugging away at it.” She grins at me. “But I’ll tell you what. Get the rest of those saddles cleaned before dinner, and you can put her over a fence or two in the morning.”
I’m fizzing with anticipation I ride Finn into the arena the next day, but my excitement soon deflates when I realise that Abby has put all of the jumps down to cross-rails and canter poles, with only a smallish oxer in the centre of the ring. None of it looks remotely challenging, but Abby soon proves that assumption wrong by making me ride almost the entire lesson with one hand behind my back.
“You have to learn to be still with your body and ride from your seat. You still want to do too much with your hands, so I’m taking one away. Use it to remind yourself to keep your upper body still and soft, and use your legs and weight to steer.”
It’s a lot harder than it sounds, but Finn and I gradually get into a rhythm, and start to work together. By the end of the lesson we can canter the low oxer on a figure eight without getting in each other’s way, and despite the tiny jumps, I feel like we’re finally making progress.
The following day Abby lets me jump some bigger fences, but as soon as the jumps go up over a metre, Finn starts refusing again. I’m devastated, but Abby doesn’t seem overly concerned as she watches Finn skid to a halt in front of the fence.
“She’s going to make an honest woman out of you,” Abby tells me. “You’re still doing it – jumping ahead of her. You have got to sit up and stay still and soft with your upper body until she takes off. If you go forward too early, she quits on you.”
“It’s so frustrating,” I grumble.
“How do you think your pony feels? She’s asking you to do a very simple thing, and you’re not paying attention. She’s a sensitive little mare, and she’s put her hoof down, so to speak. There are horses that you can adapt to your way of riding, and there are horses that you have to adapt your riding to. She falls into the second group, and nothing you say or do is ever going to change that. One of you has to give, and it’s not going to be her. And why should it be? She’s the one doing most of the work.”
I nod, running my hand down Finn’s sweaty neck.
“Don’t feel too discouraged,” Abby says. “Once you get the right ride, you’ll know it and you’ll be away. Trust me.”
I try again, and this time Finn jumps. I grin at Abby, thinking maybe this is it, but when I approach the next fence, another refusal.
“She never stops this much!” I complain. “Do you think there’s something wrong with her?”
“No. Quit worrying about what has happened before and start focusing on what you need to do to make it happen now. Come on Jay, it’s not that hard.”
Maybe for you, I think to myself. I remember Steph riding Finn at camp, flying over the jumps effortlessly from the start. Despite the comments that came later, seeing Finn jump like that was one of the highlights of my life so far. Steph must have been giving Finn the ride that Abby wants me to feel, but I just can’t get it. I bet Abby could though, and I look at her hopefully.
“Do you want to ride her?” I suggest.
She shakes her head immediately. “What would be the point in that? I’m not the one who wants to compete her. I’m not the one who has to learn this. That’s the easy way out, and you haven’t come all the way here to take it. Go again, and every refusal you have from now on is another paddock you have to muck out before dinner.”
I squeeze Finn into a canter, and ride a half circle on approach to the first fence. Finn pricks her ears at the sight of it, and speeds up. I hold her back and she throws her head up, fighting my hands.
“Soften, Jay! Go with her, not against her. It’s not a b
attle, it’s a dance,” Abby calls to me.
I lower my hand and close my leg around my pony’s sides. It’s not a battle. Finn jumps high over the first jump, and I turn her towards the vertical. She stays on the same rhythm and I stay relaxed and soft, determined to work with her and not against her. She flies over the vertical and we land and make a smooth turn to the Swedish oxer. We meet it on a perfect stride and although my body instinctively wants to go forward early, I manage to keep it in check for long enough to let Finn start to jump before I shift my body weight forward.
And now I can feel it, the sensation of moving with my pony, being a part of her. Balanced enough to keep her steady, soft enough to keep her relaxed, decisive enough to keep her confident. She flies over the Liverpool with room to spare, and we make the turn towards the gate. It’s bigger than the other jumps, but I ignore the height and focus on what’s important right now – the communication between pony and rider. We get to the jump at a slightly long distance, but neither of us hesitates. I close my leg, Finn jumps up into my hand and I tilt my body forward, sliding my hands up her neck. Nothing in the world can beat this feeling as we soar into the air, and I realise that Abby was right.
It’s a dance.
* * *
The show grounds at Gisborne are filling up fast when we drive in on Sunday, and I’m quickly getting nervous as Abby smiles and waves to people that I’ve never so much as dared speak to before, greeting them as old friends. Part of me is bubbling with excitement, feeling like I’ve hit the big time and can be a serious contender now that I’m here with a professional, while the other part of me is quietly panicking about the massive expectations that will bring. Maria and I drop the ramp, and Finn sticks her head out, looking around with eyes popping and whinnying loudly to announce her presence.
I lead my pony down the ramp and tie her to the side of the truck, then tell her to settle down while we unload the rest of the horses. By the time they’ve all been settled with haynets and water buckets, Finn has relaxed and is pulling at her hay contentedly. Abby waves a piece of paper at me that she pins up just inside the truck, near the ramp.
“This is the schedule for today,” she tells me, and I come over to look at it. “Very important that we follow it as closely as possible. I’ve highlighted the horses that I need your help with tacking and untacking. Mum will do most of them, but some classes I’ve got doubles, so you’ll need to give us a hand.” She runs her finger down the list, explaining everything at top speed. “I’ve got Rufus and Prince in the metre-ten this morning, then you’re on in the Mini Prix. Then Zoe’s got the Young Rider, Chuck’s doing the metre-thirty speed, Zoe and Prince have a metre-twenty, then you’re on again for the metre-ten before Chuck finishes us off for the day in the Grand Prix.”
“It looks frantic,” I tell her, trying to get my head around where I have to be, and when, and trying not to think about how big a Mini Prix is likely to be.
“Always is, but somehow we manage. But we’d better get cracking. Can you start by tacking Rufus up for me? I’d better get changed then help with Prince’s bridle. He’s still being a prat about it and Mum’s not tall enough...”
Abby’s voice trails off as she hurries into the back of the truck to get herself organised, and I gather up Rufus’s tack and head down the ramp in the early morning sun.
An hour and a half later, I find myself walking the course for the Mini Prix with Abby by my side. I try not to flinch at the height of the jumps, some of which come up to my shoulder, or the spread of the oxers, which Finn could walk through without touching either side. Abby strides towards the last jump and I follow in a daze, trying to take in everything she’s told me as we walked.
“Relax, Jay,” she says reassuringly, squeezing my shoulder. “Get a good canter, ride a good line, keep your pony balanced and the jump is a piece of cake. That’s the secret of show jumping. The only real difference between jumping a metre and a metre-sixty is how much scope your horse has. It’s when you go too fast, or flat, or lose your connection on the turn that the horse will come in wrong, you’ll have nowhere to jump from, and you’ll take a rail. Ride the flat and let the fences take care of themselves.”
As we cross the warm-up to reach my pony, who’s waiting in Maria’s capable hands, I see Tegan trotting past on Ghost, her eyes fixed straight ahead of her, back ramrod straight. We still haven’t spoken since before Cambridge, and while part of me misses her and our crazy conversations, a larger part of me is still mad at her for the way she’s been treating me. Another reason to do well today, I decide, especially as it looks like she’s warming up for the Mini Prix as well.
Abby legs me into the saddle and guides through the warm-up, helping me to get Finn balanced and listening, and then sets me some challenges at the practice fence. Jump it off a nice stride. Now add all the way down and get a deep spot. Come in on the angle. Trot until you’re three strides out. Make a tight turn on landing…
By the time I ride into the ring, I feel as though I’m ready for anything, and I forget the height of the jumps as I canter Finn towards the start flags. My pony responds well to my confidence, taking the first fence in her stride and bending willingly around my inside leg as I turn her towards the second. We have a couple of hairy moments when I ride too forward out of the turns, but this time Finn covers for me, coming home without a single jumping fault for the first time in what feels like forever. And at that height! I glance back over my shoulder, but now that they’ve been jumped, the fences look smaller and far more straightforward.
I’m still grinning as the loudspeaker comes to life.
“Clear jumping for That’s Final but unfortunately picking up two time faults. Next to go will be Tegan St Paul, riding The Grey Ghost.”
Tegan rides Ghost through the gate and heads off to the opposite side of the ring as I walk Finn out on a loose rein, trying not to feel too dispirited. Clear jumping, I remind myself. That’s what matters.
Abby backs that sentiment up. “You rode super, and she looked happy as out there. Don’t worry about the time faults, you just went a bit wide on the turns, but better to take that time to balance up and jump well, than to try and cut the corners and end up taking rails. That would only damage her confidence.”
“Mine too,” I agree, rubbing Finn’s neck before I kick my feet out of the stirrups and slide to the ground. Abby hurries off to get Chuck ready for his class, and I run up Finn’s stirrups and loosen off her girth, just as I’ve seen Abby do after every class.
“Hello stranger.”
I turn with a grin at the familiar voice, and Alec halts Jack next to me.
“Hi! How’ve you been?”
“Oh you know, same old,” he replies cheerfully. “And look at you, not hospitalised or anything. I take it you made it around the course unscathed?”
“Clear jumping, just a couple of time faults,” I tell him with a proud grin, and he raises his hand for a fist bump.
“Nice! Who would’ve thought it a month ago when you kept falling off and crying about how you weren’t good enough?”
“Oh shut up,” I tell him, punching him on the leg, and he laughs.
“Looks like Abby taught you something after all. You are coming home with us tonight though, right?”
I nod, and he looks relieved. “Aw, did you miss me?”
I expect him to deny it, but he doesn’t. “Hell yeah. I had to exercise all of my ponies by myself for two weeks. Extreme hardship.”
“Poor you,” I reply, pretending sympathy as Finn sniffs noses with Jack, then lays her ears back and squeals. “Shut up Finn, honestly. I thought you two were friends.”
Just as the words come out of my mouth, I hear the announcer once more. “A total of twelve jumping and five time faults for The Grey Ghost and Tegan St Paul.”
We both look towards the gate as Tegan rides past us, fuming and jabbing at Ghost’s mouth. The pony rolls his eyes back at her, then yanks his head down to the ground, pulling the reins ou
t of her hands. Tegan retaliates by raising her hand and giving him a smack across the flank with her short whip, but Ghost has had enough. He leaps to one side, throws in an almighty buck that sends Tegan flying over his head, then gallops away with his tail in the air and a smug expression on his face.
“Yikes. That was dramatic.” I duck under Finn’s sweaty neck and try to see if Tegan is okay, although secretly I’m rather proud of Ghost for telling her off.
Alec snorts, picking up Jack’s reins as he corroborates my thoughts. “She had it coming. She’s been pissing that pony off for weeks. Glad to see it’s got enough of a spine to give her what she deserves.”
He trots off as I watch Tegan get to her feet, push her mother away from her and storm off in the direction Ghost went.
I’m kept too busy helping Abby with her horses for the rest of the day to catch up with my friends again. It’s hard work, and her horses aren’t always easy to handle, but the stress of trying to get Chance’s studs in and Rufus’s bridle on and Zoey’s tail clean is all worthwhile when they go well in the competition arena. Leading Prince back to the truck after his class is far from easy, as the huge black horse dances at the end of his reins and pretends to bite me whenever he thinks I might not notice, but the red ribbon around his neck and the admiring looks of everyone we pass make the difficulty worth it.
Time flies, and before I know it I’m back in Finn’s saddle and waiting to go in the Pony 1.10m Championship. I’m the first rider on the draw, and I get called into the ring by an over-eager steward well before the judges are ready. I walk Finn in seemingly endless circles as they mutter over their papers, looking at the course, which seems much smaller and quite manageable after this morning’s efforts in the Mini Prix. Finally the judges ring the bell to start, and I touch Finn into an eager canter before heading towards the first fence. I’m feeling far more confident and relaxed than I ever have before, and I wonder if it’s Abby’s professionalism rubbing off on me, or whether I’m just too tired to feel nervous any more.