Evening Ride

I have this problem: I keep making careful plans, and then I get in the car to drive to the barn, and it’s beautiful. Then I make the last turn, and I look down across the fields and the mountains and the light is just so and I pull up to the barn and I just physically can’t stand the idea of riding inside.

So we go outside, and we play in the fields, and I regret nothing. So maybe it’s not really a problem…

Yesterday: got up 3 hours early, worked 2 hours at the food coop for the member/worker program, did 9 hours at the day job, got home, did 2 loads of laundry, took the pup to the dog park, then settled her in with dinner and headed back out to the barn.

On a whim, I put Tristan in his jump saddle, because doing the everyday tack blog hop made me remember how much I love it. It’s just such a classy saddle.

The most majestic of donkeys.
It also provided a different kind of exercise for me, because its stirrups are set to jumping length (though not XC length) and I have been riding almost exclusively in my dressage saddle. Immediately a different feel.
We worked up and down the big gallop hill, mostly at the walk, but a bit of trot at the end. This horse, you guys. He hadn’t been worked in 5 days while I was visiting family, and last night I asked for a trot in an open field and he listened perfectly: strong into the bridle but took a half-halt from my core, moved out happily and cheerfully once he got the idea. There was a time asking for more than a walk would’ve resulted in a flat gallop and bucking fit.
We wandered a bit, and then I realized that there were pretty new jumps set up in the outdoor ring. And I was in my jumping saddle. And there were some straightforward crossrails set up on the diagonal.

So how was I supposed to resist that?

I asked for an easy trot, bridged the reins, and he practically stumbled over the first crossrail. He shook it off, and I didn’t want to end on that note, so we circled back around to the other crossrail. I asked for trot a little further out to get a good establishing forward rhythm – which was totally ruined when he realized we were jumping again and went WHOOOOOOOOO.

Or, as much as Tristan goes like that anymore. Basically he got strong in the bridle, a little more upright, and tried a few canter steps. It was a lovely jump, though, and I felt secure in my seat if a little overly defensive. So then of course we had to do them in succession, two on the diagonal.

I was just supposed to walk away from that?

Jump 3 was suuuuuuper strong and long, and I got way left behind and had much too strong a hold of his mouth, which he let me know in no uncertain terms was unappreciated. He landed nose down and crow-hopping, I yanked his head up and said oh hell no, and put him back together.

Jump 4 was perfect. Strong and smooth and nailed a lovely bouncy canter on the correct lead off the landing.

I called it a day on that, and we walked around the ring for a few more minutes, and he did not want to be done. He locked on to every jump we went buy and when I dropped the reins took me to the base of an oxer. I think he wants to jump again!



After our hack last night, we galloped up the hayfield hill. I’ve been using the hill as a fitness measure, and last night he was still pulling hard at the top. Good boy!

He was excited and happy enough to jig all the way back to the barn, and as we were passing the outdoor there was one tiny cross rail set up, and, well, I gave in to temptation.
He jumped it neatly, out of a lovely bouncy canter stride.
Good. Boy.

jumping · lesson notes

Bonus jump clinic!

One of my biggest adjustments when moving to Flatlands was not getting to jump whenever I wanted. I’ve always been at barns where there are jumps out all the time, and if you want to jump, you just go over and play. Don’t get me wrong, I understand completely why we only jump in lessons, but because of my schedule (evening lessons, often with flat-only riders) it means that I don’t jump very often unless I make a really committed effort to ride in every extra jump clinic offered.

Which is why I was utterly delighted to arrive last Tuesday night and see jumps in the indoor. It gave me enough of a shot of adrenaline to stay in my car and be responsible and work on grad school research instead of going in and puttering around the barn.

Tristan wasn’t entirely thrilled to see me; some days he just doesn’t want to play. But he warmed up quite nicely, if sticky bending left. We did lots of transitions, alternating, and focusing on our new rules about the canter transitions: no more corners, no more popping the bend to the outside and flinging through them. If I have to manhandle the bend, then that’s what I do. It’s really making a difference. So much of what I do with him is channeling: no, you can’t do that, you can only do this, and eventually he starts picking the right option. He’s not a horse who’s shown the correct way once and goes with it. He has to have every avenue of escape closed off, systematically, every time.

Anyway: line of three jumps, and two angled to the right.

____                        \


____                       /

We started figure-eighting over the angled jumps at a trot, and almost immediately found our first challenge. Tris was, per usual, seeking a long spot, which meant that I was taking my leg off too soon, not waiting as much as I should’ve, and then folding far too much in the air – riiiiight on the edge of leaning forward, but not quite. T. pointed out the revelation moment: he was suckering me into leaning forward. When he first said that, I was a little skeptical; I tend to place my leaning habit squarely on my own shoulders. But come round again, with T.’s voice telling me to sit-and-wait, sit-and-wait, leg-leg-leg, hips-to-hands…and there it was. A moment a half-stride too early when I felt Tris brace up through his back and leave his hocks out behind, and I wanted so badly to lean forward and say go, go ahead, take the jump from here. And I didn’t. It was an unbelievably frustrating feeling to fight, like resisting the temptation to scratch a particularly annoying mosquito bite, but I held back, kept my leg on, rode him up…and he went to the base of the fence.

My mind, it was blown. I said as much to T., and he laughed at me, because he’s good like that. Now that I knew what it felt like, I could catch it more and more – at least on single jumps. Coming to the gymnastic line, it all fell apart.

Tris is 15 hands, with maybe an extra half inch if his feet are long, or he stands up straight. His stride is on the short stride, and he does not always appreciate being told to lengthen it, especially in the canter – combination of laziness and lack of education. So we come to a line of three jumps, each a one-stride distance, and for now the first is a crossrail and the rest are poles…and oh my, we demolish ’em. I stick my legs out in space, plant my hands on his neck, lean for all I’m worth, and he lands in a canter and after one stride does a ridiculous trot through the canter poles. Sigh.

So our focus from then on is as it always is: leg-on, leg-on, hips-to-hands, DON’T-LEAN. T. has me canter him in to the crossrail to try and build up a head of steam, and slowly, slowly we start to get it. I keep my heel down and my lower leg more on, and Tris agrees to play ball and thinks about his footwork in the canter. The jumps go up, and I keep kicking, and again there’s that need-to-scratch feeling but I shove my heels down and keep my legs on and sit and wait…and they almost get good. They don’t get glorious, but they get more rhythmic, more balanced.

Only one minor disaster of the day, when I lose my focus and thus my channeling, and my point-and-shoot pony…goes where I point him. To the right of the third jump, after a bad approach to the first, a serious drift at the second, and a glance off the right standard of the third. I could’ve yanked him back for it, and I know him: he would’ve jumped it. But I didn’t slow everything down enough, and I didn’t want to punish him for my idiocy. I swore, loudly, the moment we landed the second jump and I knew it would happen, and then we went through again, and made that $#@$@# line straight.

All in all, it was one of those educational lessons, where you’re wrung out and tired but there was progression. One major bright spot: his canter is so much better, more adjustable, more steerable. I could sit deep and bring my hips to my hands and turn him with my outside aids and all of a sudden I had this little bouncy ball underneath me (or at least the seeds of it) and I could do what I wanted with it. T. even praised our canter, which…never happens. Guess that flatwork is paying off.

clinic notes · jumping

MLK Day Jump Clinic

I’m going to really try and make an effort to get more video of myself riding so that I can analyze what I’m doing right and wrong.

With that in mind, thanks to Hannah, here are two videos from a jump clinic at the barn on January 16, Martin Luther King, Jr., Day.

This first video was our first real course of the day. We’d warmed up with some trotting figure-8s over the jumps in the right-hand side of the frame as crossrails, and I was pleased with the way we held our lines and the energy we carried forward.

Here are the things I liked about this round:
– good rhythm throughout
– my lower leg was generally pretty darn good
– for Tristan, this is REALLY supple and adjustable
– the overall picture: I haven’t watched video of us jumping in a long time and I was surprised by generally how businesslike and harmonious we were

Things I didn’t like about this round:
– losing the connection on the landing side, which usually meant that our lead changes through the trot were sticky and didn’t flow
– my upper body position: I was a bit too hunched over
– for a few of the jumps, I didn’t pick my line early enough

Second video is just two jumps, but they’re the tail end of a course I’d just flubbed, and I asked to do these two jumps again. Landing off the center jump is sometimes tricky if you don’t have in your head where to go next. The first time, I didn’t until we landed, and lucky for me Tris was quick on his feet and followed me right when I realized. This second video was my requested re-do.

Things I liked:
– our turn off the center jump was much better this time around
– that last jump was actually rather nice
– my hands, actually: not the softest release ever but following

Things I didn’t like:
– we lost some steam going into that first jump coming around the turn for it, which meant that he put in the long spot and cracked the pole with a hind leg. A little more consistency of pace and a half-halt through the corner would have set us up much better.
– my upper body, again, in the flat portions.

Other things I need to keep in mind from the jump clinic:
– Landing, landing, landing! Always have something in mind, always stay focused, finish out the course with a canter circle even if it’s the last jump. It’s time for the habit of standing in the stirrups and loosening the reins immediately after the last jump to go. Stay down in my stirrups, keep him connected, and be ready.
– I mentioned my “slowing down the jumps” theory to Tom (in short: the better you get at jumping the more slowly the round goes for you which gives you more time to feel and correct each small piece) and he agreed, and added a piece. He said that rounds slow down because your flatwork keeps getting better, more organized, and more automatic, and so when you approach a jump with all of those things in line you can really work on all the small pieces of the jumping effort itself.
– Pay better attention to leads. I pulled back for a simple change a few times when I didn’t need to, just because I assumed that Tris had landed on the wrong lead and in the choppiness of my lack of connection on the landing I couldn’t tell immediately. Slow this down, pay attention for a stride, and then change the lead only if I NEED to.
– More jumping! If we’re going to get out this summer, jumping is our missing piece right now and I need to make a personal commitment to attend every jump clinic I possibly can, and seek out other opportunities as well.