My Story…

Before I get started… I’d just like to say I loathe talking about myself in this detail but apparently (according to my mentors) it’s necessary for me to tell my story…

When did I begin riding horses? My dad put me on a Shetland when I was a toddler and apparently I’ve been hooked ever since. My uncle and cousins had horses when I was little and used to sit me in front of the saddle on their giant Thoroughbreds. One of my earliest memories is watching my older brother go on a trail ride with my cousins, watching them all ride off down the driveway and being really disappointed I wasn’t allowed to go. My dad looking down at me, holding my hand, telling me I could go when I was older. I was only about four years old but it’s still a clear memory.

Over the years my uncle and cousins taught me to ride a bit. Just basic foundations. From what I’m told I was fairly natural and riding on my own by four, thanks to a shetland named Rain Baby. My mother paid for riding lessons at a local riding school when I was eleven years old. If you are familiar with the Yarra Valley in Victoria, Australia you will have heard of Wandin Riding Academy. When I was a student there it was an incredibly large riding school at it’s peak. I absolutely LOVED my Saturday morning lessons with Jacquie and Bridgette. I always rode a pale coloured palomino gelding named Pally. Haha..original name.. not! Pally was apparently a tricky horse for some of the students but I never had a problem with him and I wished he was all mine. He’s the first horse I jumped over 1m high and the first horse I got to scoot around on a little cross-country course. Another fond, clear memory of where my love for riding was created.

After my lesson I would unsaddle Pally, hose him and dry him off, feeding him piles of carrots and sitting in denial that I had to leave him, go home and wait another entire week for my next lesson. I’m not sure why but at some stage my lessons stopped and I was allowed the free-lease of a chestnut Arab gelding named Blaze. Blaze was owned by my mum and step-dads friends who had said I could ride him. Again, Blaze was apparently quite a difficult little horse for most riders. He was only about 14hh, cute as a button and I loved him. Every weekend my mum or my step-dad would take me to their friends property to ride. Looking back on these times it’s fairly wild how little eleven year old me was just dropped on a 20 acre property with a packed lunch and left to ride relatively unsupervised. Especially on a pony who had been known to be difficult. Blaze and I became great friends. He would neigh and come galloping up the paddock when I called him. I’d spend hours grooming him, teaching him tricks and jumping him over the ditch at the bottom of his paddock to gallop as fast as we could back to the top. Memories of warm sunny days lying in the grass with Blaze grazing next to me, also make me smile.

About this time, my best friend from primary school was also riding horses. Lisa owned a pony in Chirnside and there was another pony where she agisted who was up for lease. I stayed at Lisa’s house after school most afternoons until my mum came and got me when she finished work. I’d often go to her pony’s paddock with her. Naturally, I ended up leasing the other pony at her agistment named Charlie. Charlie was more educated than Blaze and could really jump. I’d still ride Blaze and visit him but Charlie became my number one. Lisa and I were wild. When I look back at what we got up to as 11 to 12 year old kids, I giggle as there is no way I would let any child in my care do the things that my little bestie and I got up to.

We would ride our ponies up the side of Switchback Road, on the footpath. This road was quite busy and fairly sketchy for two little kids to be free-roaming on their ponies. We had three favourite destinations which all required riding on Switchback Rd for a stretch.

The first destination was the park behind the local shops. It had a big open area we could canter around on and pretend we were dressage super stars. It also had picnic tables we would jump our ponies over. Yes… we were dead set fearless!!

The second destination was a 300 acre paddock of private beef farming land. Despite the large sign on the gate warning trespassers, we’d ride through those paddocks racing each other over the hills smiling and laughing, free as little birds. It was always a huge thrill as there was one steer in the herd of cattle who always hated us riding in his territory. Yes it was a steer and not a bull (in case you’re wondering). This steer could be 50 acres away with the herd and he’d see us, stand square and stare, deciding if that was the day he would chase us. Occasionally he said to himself, “Yes, I am going to chase those little tresspassing brats out of my paddock!” And indeed he would! It probably wouldn’t have been so bad if it was only this steer chasing us, but as soon as he started cantering towards us, the entire herd of cattle, about 50 of them, would join the pursuit. Lisa and I would get up into two point and gallop our ponies as fast as their little legs could carry us, back to the gate to get out. We had a few close calls but always managed to get out just in time. That steers face and silver coloured eyes burning into my soul from the other side of the gate, is also a well retained memory… perhaps not as nice as the others!

The third destination was the local golf course. I know…we were soooooo naughty! I now defend my actions by saying I didn’t truly understand the gravity of the damage we caused to those golfing greens by galloping our ponies around enjoying the perfect footing that allowed extra speed! We would regularly get chased off by golf carts and jump over the gate into the fire trail and through a secret short cut back out to Switchback Rd.

Charlie was such a champion in how he looked after me. At the time I didn’t appreciate just how amazing he was. At the time I didn’t really know anything but good ponies and horses.

Throughout my childhood I would still visit my Dad’s side of the family at their property in Sale, VIC. My uncle worked full time but kept breeding Shetlands and some slightly bigger ponies on the side. Every school holidays or long weekend I’d get my step-dad to take me to my uncles. My uncle is a quietly spoken man, fiercely perceptive and kind. He taught me the art of breaking in. If you talk to my uncle now, he says he doesn’t remember a lot of what I re-tell but I remember so much. These days were some of my best days. While I was a kid that had friends, I was odd and never really fit in. I was accepted by the other kids, never left out of games etc, but I always felt I just wasn’t like them. My home life had the common struggles of a split family and my older brothers gave my mum and step-dad a run for their money. So, the days I spent with my uncle, in complete peace, learning how to train ponies to be ridden are days that fed my soul. Probably the best memories I have of my childhood are the days I spent at Sale with my uncle, aunt, gran and cousins. I didn’t particularly fit in with my cousins either, I was a fair bit younger and they were not into horses anymore. But they were always kind and looked after me.

On the days my uncle was at work, I’d go and lie in the big paddock with all the mares and foals. I remember looking at the sky and waiting for the herd to come over to me. Curiosity would always get the better of them and they’d wander over, creep up closer, nibble on my feet, sniff my face and quiver soft muzzles in my hair. Sometimes they’d lay down near by. I don’t remember how many hours I spent just lying in those paddocks, completely alone with a herd of ponies. By this time I was really the only one who handled them. My uncle was really busy with work. I didn’t mind, I’d have pitched a tent and slept out there with them if my Gran had of let me. The foals were the most magical and adorable little beings in existence. I wanted to keep them all! My uncle’s horse was a grey Cob named Storm. He was about 15.2hh I think. I loved Storm with every fibre of my soul. While I had Charlie and Blaze to ride and love, I knew they’d never be mine. I desperately wanted my own horse. I used to torture myself with the fantasy I’d come home one day and Storm would be in my backyard as a gift. That never happened haha but I did get my very own horse.

My Gran and my uncle said I had natural ability with the horses. I didn’t really understand what that meant as a kid. I just knew the place I felt the most belonging, where I fit in more than any other setting, was in the middle of a big paddock with a herd of horses or riding. I didn’t really need my friends or social circles like other kids did. I just craved peace, open spaces and horses.

My mum, although she knew nothing about horses and was terrified of them, decided to rally a few other family members and buy me my very own first horse for my 13th birthday. My mum, step-dad, grandpa and oldest brother all chipped in and bought me Noddy. He was a 15.3hh bay Thoroughbred who had failed as a racehorse. Noddy was 5 years old and barely knew how to trot a circle. My Godmother was a horse rider, so she came with us to trial Noddy. Later in life we all agreed he must have been sedated at the time as when we got him to the agistment paddock he turned into a wildling. He bit my step-dad really hard on his arm the first day we brought him home. There was another girl at the same agistment who knew Noddy and said he had a reputation for being really dangerous. I didn’t care. I was in complete and utter love with him. All my dreams, prayers and wishes had come true. I FINALLY had my very own horse.

My Godmother guided me on what to feed him, which contained herbs that people now use to naturally treat horses for stomach ulcers. In those days no-one even knew horses suffered from stomach ulcers. I think with that diet and the fact I spent every available spare moment I had with Noddy, I turned him from an angry, violent animal into a horse who would come cantering and neighing every time he saw me. The adventures I had with Noddy as a teenager were epic. He did teach me how to ride a hot horse.. He did buck me off causing me to break my nose and my collarbone and for the first time I experienced a loss of confidence. I had the most patient and beautiful coach, Julie, who very quietly got me back in the saddle and confident again. Something I have never forgotten and have remained forever grateful for. Little 14 year old me really needed the calm, solid confidence of super coach Julie. It’s an experience I have tried to pay forward as much as I can and continue to do.

Noddy and I attended pony club every month. At first we made friends with other families there and Noddy would hitch a ride in a friends float. Eventually my step-dad bought an old short wheel base 4WD and horse float. Both second hand, both in need of a bit of work, but both very capable of doing the job. Now we had proper transport, we started to compete in pony club events, travelling all over the state. Noddy was fairly feral in those days but he’s really the horse to taught me how to really ride and what real horsemanship is. I had to everything myself. My mother would tell me firmly “The day you don’t do it yourself is the day he gets sold!” I don’t think she ever meant it, Noddy was part of the family, but I believed her back then. I don’t think it was a bad thing, I learnt so much. I really wish more kids were left to do it themselves these days instead of being wrapped up in safety and having grooms or over helpful parents.

Anyway, we competed a lot and I did “ok”. I loved eventing and Noddy’s best phase was cross-country. I don’t think he ever stopped on course, not once. Again, as much as I loved this little horse I didn’t appreciate him at the time. My friends were all getting fancy warmbloods. Their parents were wealthy and they had fancy cars and floats, beautiful brand new saddles from the shop and all the sparkling tack. Everything I owned was secondhand, my saddle was synthetic and I had to catch a bus, then walk a few kilometres to get Noddy’s agistment. I wanted a better chance. I SO desperately wanted a better chance. I hated school, thought my teachers were idiots except for Mrs Harker, who was kind and seemed to see the true essence of each student.

I knew about elite riders taking on working pupils into their operations. I believed that was my ticket to become a better a rider and learn as much as I could. So I wrote letters to every elite level rider I idolised. The one to reply first is who I ended up working for. At the time he was the Assistant Olympic Coach, his brother had just won double gold at Barcelona and I was beyond belief to be offered a spot. I’m not going to say this person’s actual name, because within in the first month of working for him, my opinion of this man and his brother was turned on its head. He was an incredibly cruel man to both horses and humans. I had just turned 18, in a different state and surrounded by strangers. There was two other girls as working pupils and we shared a bunkhouse with some of the other full time workers. Over the first six months we had two lessons a day, did feed run, mucked stables, watered the arena, groomed for my boss and the other established riders. At the time there was 48 horses in the stables. The two other working pupils, stable manager, full time groom and I barely ever slept. We lived on dry wheatbix with jam as there was never enough food provided and we always got to eat after everyone else.

We competed nearly every weekend with a convoy of trucks and floats going to each event or competition. We also completed our Equestrian Australia Level One General Coach’s qualifications. At the time it was a big deal but I remember my boss’s Olympian brother mocking the qualification like Australia were just a bunch of try hard eventers. I’d just sit quietly and watch and listen to how they all talked. It crushed ALL my dreams of every wanting to compete at a high level. I didn’t want to be like these people and I was a bit lost.

The second six months of my time here, I was my bosses main groom. To say the man was a psychopath is an understatement. He used to grab me by my shirt collar and scream in my face, almost touching my face with his. Usually because I hadn’t picked a horse’s feet out to his standard or I’d taken too long at the wash bay. In time I stopped crying and living in fear, as he made me cry every single day for months. Eventually he’d pushed me too far and I started to fight back. I started to stand up to him and tell him he needed to prove himself as he was just a wannabe in his brother’s shadow. If you have ever seen a grizzly bear rage… well that’s response I got. I asked him once why he was so mean to me and he said “I need to toughen you up!” Well… he did that.

I’d like to say my time at this place wasn’t a waste. I did get coached from some of the best people in the country. I did get to ride an insane amount of different horses, handle stallions, get experience in stud work, yearling prep and riding in the auctions. I also got my little horse Noddy to One Star eventing. He didn’t originally travel up with me, but the first horse I’d brought up blew a tendon, so little Noddy was put on a truck and sent up. I was grateful to have my old friend with me again. Noddy was only 11 years old at this stage and in his prime.

There were a few other horses my boss would get only me to ride for him on the flat, or to do their fitness work. I was always a really natural rider on the flat but a terrible jumps rider. I was training in a time when the focus in jump training was ‘seeing a distance’. I have really poor eyesight. I was basically legally blind in my left eye at the time, and could not see a distance to save myself. It wasn’t until I returned home and had showjumping lessons with the great Greg Smith, that I learnt seeing a distance was the least important part of getting a clear round. Greg once made me close my eyes and canter Noddy down to a 1.55m open vertical. I still remember his voice “Canter, canter, canter, fold!” Greg taught me about rhythm and line… if any of my students are reading this you now know where my jumping coaching skills originated from. After lessons with Greg, I barely ever had a rail again.. on any horse.

The horses my boss got me to school on the flat were hot, sensitive, difficult horses to ride. I loved them. One was really fussy about his food, so I’d sit with him every night and hand feed him his dinner, one handful at a time. Another one, reared and flipped over backwards on my boss at a competition in the dressage test. He was furious, stormed out of the dressage arena and threw the reins at me while grumbling he was ‘my’ horse. After I left this place, I was told those three horses were put to sleep.