Memoirs: A Horse Girl Rides Tackless

There are few things in this world that I have loved as long or as unconditionally as I have horses and riding.  When I was in middle school, there was a period of time where I could not take lessons, so I improvised.  My Oma lived near two older, Arabian ponies, the very same ponies that I first touched and sat upon as a three-year-old child.  I brought my brushes and a lead line and (with permission) gave those old horses the grooming of their lives. After a couple visits, I grew tired of just brushing them.  Obviously, I wanted to ride, too.  I poked around the barn looking for a saddle or bridle, but there wasn't much to be found.  I vaguely remember a dusty, Western saddle, which I could never have lifted at the time, and a loose bit hanging on a hook, but this was far from workable gear. So I did what any determined, horse-crazy girl would do; I decided to ride without tack.

First, I tied my lead line to the gelding's halter.  I wanted to ride him, because he was the more feisty of the two.  I saved the mare, the sweet Littlebit, for my sister to ride, if the experiment went well with King.  King enjoyed being brushed and fed carrots, but he wasn't completely on board with the whole riding thing.  He probably hadn't been ridden in a good ten years and did not show signs of missing it.  It took some coaxing to get him to stand on the low part of a slope, so that I could climb on.  I had never mounted without a block or a stirrup, so my first attempts were very awkward and probably hilarious to a bystander.  I wonder if the owners could see me from their house?

Once on King's back, I was cautious.  I patted and talked to him, trying to show the old boy that I just wanted a little time on his back.  I must have gotten on him a dozen times and just stood there, content to just sit, but eventually I wanted more.  One day, I took the lead line-reins and turned King around. Then I gave him a little nudge with my heels.  Unsurprisingly, he wouldn't move.  I tried several times, each time more insistence.  King had obviously mastered the stubborn pony routine long ago and was not the least persuaded by my efforts.  After careful thought, I formulated a better plan.  I slid off his back and walked him by hand away from the paddock gate and the mare (who was actually his sister).  I positioned him on the low part of the hill, so that I could (more) easily hop onto his back.  I knew before I got on, that my plan was going to work.  Suddenly, there was life in the old horse's eyes and a new anxiousness.  He wanted to be back at the gate.  I grabbed mane flung my leg over and clucked.  My pony cantered up the hill eagerly and stopped at the mare.

Victory!

I had done it! I had ridden King without a saddle or a bridle and survived!

And so began many happy visits where I rode King up the hill to his sister.  I dare say, he grew to enjoy our short jaunts, because he became less and less ornery.  I was even able to ask him to wait for my signal to run up the hill and later on, I was able to steer him around the paddock in his halter. He did try to buck me off a couple times when I urged him to walk away from his sister, but thankfully my young legs were wrapped tightly around his barrel and my butt never left his back.  I always rewarded him with carrots when he was compliant and eventually I had my sister riding the mare, so walking away from her was no longer a problem.  I learned a lot from those short, bareback rides and I think of them fondly.

I was reminded of what it is like to ride in a halter a little while ago.  I had not sat on my horse in many, many weeks.  I looked at his blanketed back and the thick rope lead line.  I looked at Harley and asked, "Are you up for a walk? "

Thankfully, he was.  I felt like a kid riding my pony again, but without any anxiousness about how he might behave, because this was Harley, and I knew he would be a good boy.  We walked around the yard and the riding ring, paying visits to the other horses and just enjoying one another's company. Harley snorted with happiness and I felt that twinge of excitement at being on my horses back tackless.

Memoirs: A Horse Girl and a King

There are lots of different types of horse girls.  Some grew up riding their first pony or friend's horse, some were born into a farm setting where learning to ride was like learning to walk, some rode lesson ponies with supervised instruction like dance lessons or piano lessons, and others only dreamed about ponies by reading books, watching movies, or drawing horses of every shape and size.  I was a combination of the last two.

I was fortunate enough to have riding lessons funded by my parents beginning at age seven.  I only rode during the nice parts of the year, like spring and fall, unless I begged for the occasional ride during the off-season.  I once made my Mom drive me to a scheduled off-season private lesson in a blizzard.  Since we lived in a valley, this required that we drive up and down a very steep mountain.  I am sure that it was not a full-blown blizzard or the rode would simply not have been passable, but it was definitely snowing and there was a good accumulation on the ground.  I was determined not to miss the lesson, because it was scheduled with an instructor who was usually overbooked and unattainable for me.  There was a reason she was overbooked.  She was very, very good at teaching horses and riders.  I felt my riding improve in one lesson as she schooled me on a snow-white horse named Cloudy, whose soft, white mane stood up from his neck before toppling over to one side like a short, fluffy cloud.  I remember learning how to perform a decent canter depart and his big, bounding strides.  I thanked my Mom profusely for driving me to that lesson and did not beg for another.  That ride carried me through to the springtime.

I appreciated my lessons, but even at a tender age, I wanted more.  More horse time.  More saddle time.  More experience with these creatures that captivated and inspired me.  I was opportunistic and not shy when it came to horses.  A couple Arabian ponies lived near my Oma's house on a former breeding farm in the middle of the suburbs.  My Dad had taken me and my sister to see them before, but now I had a plan.  Armed with my grooming kit and some nerve, I asked the owner if I could brush her ponies.  She did not hesitate in saying "yes".  I probably resembled my aunts who many years before me had asked her the same question.  Of course back then, there had been an entire herd complete with a stallion and brood mares.  By the time I came along, the farm was reduced to a small lot in their backyard.  The rest of the acreage had been subdivided and developed into housing with multilevel homes and manicured lawns.  Only two ponies remained, a pair of chestnut Arabs with white blazes and socks.  They looked similar enough to be twins and were most definitely siblings, probably full.  The mare, who was the first horse that I ever sat upon, was named "Littlebit" and the gelding was named "King".  Littlebit was very gentle and sweet, so I assigned my little sister to groom her.  I decided to take on the responsibility of grooming King, as he was less tolerant and not affectionate or enthusiastic about our visitation.  Both horses were most likely in their twenties.

Grooming and visiting Littlebit and King became a regular routine when we visited my Oma.  My sister and I were each armed with a grooming kit with all the essentials and we brought carrots.  The horses were well-fed, but looked like they had not received regular grooming in quite some time.  When they realized that our visits included a thorough currying, brushing, and carrots, they began to meet us at the gate.  Even King started to enjoy our company, although I thought that he always tried to hide his pleasure.  I would catch him letting his chin hang while I brushed him, and he starting letting me hold his feet for cleaning without trying to wrench them out of my hands.  True to my lesson barn instruction, I always finished the grooming session with the soft brush, which made King's red coat gleam in the sun.  He was a backyard horse, literally, but the years had been good to him and he was still spirited and handsome.  I always felt like his somewhat distant personality was really an indicator of his protective attitude toward Littlebit, as those two horses spent their entire lives together, side-by-side.  I felt an understanding between us.  Not exactly a mutual adoration, although I really liked him, but there was something there.

Before long, I was no longer satisfied with just grooming King.  I had been daydreaming about riding him and I had a plan.  My Dad trusted us to visit the horses on our own, so I felt confident to make my own decisions about the Arab ponies.  I would like to think that I planned ahead and brought my helmet, but I cannot remember.  Hopefully I did, but I was probably also worried that it would be a dead giveaway to bring a helmet to groom the horses.

My plan was simple.  I didn't have any tack, but I had a lead line and King had a halter.  I fashioned reins and a headstall from the lead line and halter and found some high ground to help me leap onto King's back.  I made him stand on the down slope so that it would be easier for me to spring onto his back.  This took a couple attempts, but from what I remember, King was mostly cooperative as I jumped and scrambled and used his long mane to help pull me up.  Once aboard, I felt elated.  It was the first time that I had ever been on a horse outside of a lesson or guided trail ride.  Feeling like a renegade, I imagined that King was my own horse.  I took it slow, only sitting on his back for a short while and then dismounting.  Mounting from the ground became easier with practice and King did not seem too bothered by me sitting on his back.  The next step was moving forward.

I knew how to ride, but my early riding lessons were pretty raw.  I knew how to use my heels to make the horse go and the reins to make him stop and turn.  I did not know anything about the coordination of the aids, using legs for steering, and the seat.  Since I took lessons at a hunter/jumper stable, I spent most my time out of the saddle, except when walking.  From watching other riders, I actually thought that your seat was supposed to pop out of the saddle at the end of a canter stride.  Riding bareback and without a bridle was completely foreign, but I was on a horse and that was all that mattered. 

I nudged King with my heels, but he didn't move.  I tried again and clucked, but King just kept his ears back to me and didn't budge.  I told him to walk, clucked, kicked with my heels and probably also pushed with my seat for good measure.  King took a few steps forward and then put his head down and started to buck.  My smile quickly changed to gritting my teeth.  My legs instantly clamped around his barrel with my feet reaching under his ribcage.  I had a deathgrip on the reins and his mane.  With no instructions to follow and no tack to cling to, I found myself acting on instinct.  I pulled up on the reins which planted my seat firmly on his back.  The more he bucked, the harder I pulled myself onto his back.  King had a funny way of just bucking in place.  He didn't run or twist or spin.  He just bucked in place with his head down until he realized that I was not going to fall off.  He did this quite often when I rode him.  It was something of a ritual.  Usually he only bucked the first time that I got on, but sometimes he had an encore performance in mind.  King kept me on my toes.  When I realized that I could stay on a bucking pony bareback, my confidence soared.  As soon as King stopped bucking, he gave in and started walking forward.  I clucked and kicked him to speed up and he responded by trotting and then cantering up the hill to the gate of his paddock.  Then I walked him back down the slope and we did the same thing again.  There were no circles or jumps.  There was no flat ground, let along an arena!  Basically the only thing that there was to do was ride back and forth, up and down the hill.  I never worried about posting diagonals, leads, or my riding position.  I rode forward against his neck as he leaped up the hill.  Sometimes he made it up the hill so quickly that it made me laugh out loud.  Although it did subside, he never completely gave up on the bucking thing.  However, I still believe that he enjoyed running up the hill.  For a few fleeting moments, we were on the same page and of the same mind.

I may not have learned any of the finer points of riding from King, but his lessons definitely gave me something that I could not get in structured lessons.  King taught me to just go with the horse.  He taught me to rely on myself and trust my instincts.  He also satisfied a very real need to be one with an otherwise unreachable being.  He was not always fun and definitely not easy to work with, but he built my confidence as a young rider and gave me an immense sense of accomplishment in the process.   Every horse girl needs a horse like King.

Bareback Ride and Mud Puddles

I seem to have this inner dare streak.  I looked at the riding ring on Monday, riddled with puddles, and I thought that I should ride bareback.  You know, because while falling would be great, falling into a mud puddle would be much better!

I pulled my bareback pad and fleece saddle pad off the rack and dusted them off.  I only ride Harley bareback with a pad.  I will occasionally go for a walk without his pad, but one time I tried some trot work and I did not like the results.  Although he went well and it was fun to sit the trot directly on his back muscles, he had a small edema over his spine.  Unacceptable!  Let's also say that riding a horse that is less than table-backed is not exactly comfortable.  ;)

If I had $275 laying around, I would love to buy a

Bum Buddy by Skito.  

I especially like that the pad uses a regular dressage girth and the open-cell memory foam is so comfy.

So back to our ride...
...After a short walk/trot warm up, I asked him to canter.  This always brings me back to my childhood.  There were a few periods in my youth when my family could not afford riding lessons and I was not old enough to afford them myself.  Somehow, I still found ways to ride, even if it was the neighborhood pasture puffs with a lead line knotted to the halter.  Even though that was half a lifetime ago, when my horse starts to canter, my body remembers how to stay with him.  He leans into a turn to avoid a puddle and I lean with him, Harley-cycle style.  I let equitation and bending fly out the window as we accelerate down the long side.  I am Alec and Harley is the Black Stallion!

Since cantering is an easier motion, I am surprised that I like trotting bareback.  I find myself sitting in an interesting way.  I kind of sit on my thighs, but with long legs.  My calves hang free unless I need to ask for impulsion and my thighs move with the two sides of my horse.  I barely sit on my seat bones.  By some definitions the rider's upper leg is considered part of the seat, so I guess I am still there.  I really liked how my horse was carrying himself.  I could feel his rib cage expand as he raised his back and he had a pleasant tempo.

Lateral work is a fun way to test my bareback balance and aids.  You simply cannot muscle a horse to move sideways without stirrups or a saddle tree.  Harley followed my weight and leg nudges into a leg yield.  He really listens for sideways, so I am convinced that he likes lateral work.  Then we tried shoulder-in.  He was gliding down the long side very nicely with a soft bend.  I love how his trot improves with a little sideways work.

Then we dabbled with half pass.  The puddles became challenging obstacles to navigate around (Because my former trail horse now finds himself too much of a prince to get his toes wet unless absolutely necessary!), but we managed to thread the needle and get a couple nice tries.  Half pass is interesting.  I found myself really letting my inside leg hang away from him and my outside knee was bent with little nudges from my heel.  I did feel myself on the inside seat bone, but if I went too far one way or the other the movement dissolved.  I had to be careful to also keep contact on the outside seat bone, so that he could engage his outside hind.  It was a tenuous balance, which I had a greater appreciation for because I was giving it a go sans-saddle.

Sooooo...
...I did not eat mud, but those puddles were still a close reminder to keep my abs engaged and move with my horse.  I considered not belly-flopping into one of them a secret victory.

Oh no!  Not your precious toes!