Back in the Sattel Again

I started riding horses again. Actually, I started riding last spring, but then took the summer off before returning last week. I wasn't too sure I wanted to return.

After my old instructor took his Icelandic horses and left last winter (see earlier post), the stable, conveniently located 5 minutes away by bike, was taken over by a woman who breeds American Paint horses and teaches Western riding. I had hoped that another instructor with Icelanders would take over, because I really enjoyed riding them. Icelandic horses tend to pace more often than trot, which means no bouncing and therefore no posting. Just a smooth, comfortable ride.

I also didn't want to ride Western, because I've always thought that there was no technique involved--just sit in the saddle and pull the reins left or right. But then, I wasn't too crazy about going back to English either. I definitely don't want to jump, and dressage sounds like too much work. But, like I said, the stable is only 5 minutes away, and the return trip home is downhill all the way!

Well, I was wrong about Western. My new instructor has me riding through slalom not only forwards but backwards too, and I have to make the horses sidestep around the entire arena, which is not easy. Her horses are also trained to respond to shifts in weight and changes in leg pressure. To speed up, I need to shift my weight forward, and to slow down, back. To turn right, I need to press the horse's left side with my left calf, and the opposite to turn left. I use the reins only if the horse doesn't respond to my legs. So much for just sitting in the saddle.

Although I'm learning a lot about riding, and I'm learning Deutsch too, because my new instructor speaks very little English, I still miss my old instructor. "Just get on the horse and ride," he would say, and I truly miss that attitude. I also miss his horses, not only because they paced, but because they were a little wild. They were very sweet to humans, but very playful with each other. When they were running together in the arena or in their paddock, they reminded me of a herd of Mustangs, even though Icelanders look nothing like Mustangs. The Paints, in contrast, are very well-behaved.

And, it seems a little ironic to me that I moved to Germany to ride American horses and in the very American Western saddle.