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joflasherYesterday, Anne, her friend Karen and I rode in the Nashoba Valley Hunter Pace up in Groton. It was WONDERFUL. To start with, its right around the corner from our barn. Seriously, part of the pace uses trails I ride on normally.
At one point, we were sliding down a steep incline coming into a log jump and I looked up from the footing in time to see that we were surrounded by the brightest yellow birch trees you can image. Seriously, if I'd seen a picture of that hill side, I'd swear it was photoshoped. It was almost perfect. 70 degrees, the trees at the height of their color, the horses (mostly) being good. That was my first time riding in the fastest division and I think we did okay. We spent most of the time trotting, with a good deal of canter/gallops on the clear stretches and a few stretches of walking when the trails got too crowded.
At one point, Tisa decided she really NEEDED to get ahead of Karen's horse midway through a line of 4 jumps on a straight away. Karen was in front, me next and Anne was bringing up the rear since her horse was getting too excited and she wanted to use us to pace him down the line. Now I ride cross country in the same snaffle bit I school dressage in. 99% of the time its more than enough to keep her in hand. That time, not so much. She ran a good 1/2 mile before I got her stopped, which was hair raising given the jumps and and turns in the way. At the end, Tisa got herself thoroughly chastised and spent the next 30 minutes sulking. Chastising Tisa from the saddle involves growling mean things like "Shame on you! You don't do that!" in a menacing voice and occasionally shaking the crop where she can see it. I swear, she huddles down like a sorrowful puppy when she gets growled at. Karen managed to keep pace a little ways behind me (and was white as a sheet by the end) and Anne pulled Crosby up when Tisa took off. No real harm done and the rest of the pace was uneventful outside the standard excitement of galloping cross country over jumps.
Besides the run away part and one serious refusal (which in retrospect was my fault since the log jump had lots of fluffy branches sticking off of it making it look about twice as big as it really was), Tisa was perfect. We jumped, we followed, we led. She worked in a frame for a long stretch of trotting along the Groton Rail Trail. She allowed other horses to run up into her without even laying her ears back. She stood around the parking lot for an hour to keep Karen's herd bound boy calm. At the end of it all, I threw the lead rope up over her neck, pointer her at the trailer and she loaded herself to go home.
I can't think of a better way to spend an autumn day.
On the downside, I could have done without the three hours of volleyball practice. Riding the pace and then playing ball all in one day made my knees distinctly Not Happy.
At one point, we were sliding down a steep incline coming into a log jump and I looked up from the footing in time to see that we were surrounded by the brightest yellow birch trees you can image. Seriously, if I'd seen a picture of that hill side, I'd swear it was photoshoped. It was almost perfect. 70 degrees, the trees at the height of their color, the horses (mostly) being good. That was my first time riding in the fastest division and I think we did okay. We spent most of the time trotting, with a good deal of canter/gallops on the clear stretches and a few stretches of walking when the trails got too crowded.
At one point, Tisa decided she really NEEDED to get ahead of Karen's horse midway through a line of 4 jumps on a straight away. Karen was in front, me next and Anne was bringing up the rear since her horse was getting too excited and she wanted to use us to pace him down the line. Now I ride cross country in the same snaffle bit I school dressage in. 99% of the time its more than enough to keep her in hand. That time, not so much. She ran a good 1/2 mile before I got her stopped, which was hair raising given the jumps and and turns in the way. At the end, Tisa got herself thoroughly chastised and spent the next 30 minutes sulking. Chastising Tisa from the saddle involves growling mean things like "Shame on you! You don't do that!" in a menacing voice and occasionally shaking the crop where she can see it. I swear, she huddles down like a sorrowful puppy when she gets growled at. Karen managed to keep pace a little ways behind me (and was white as a sheet by the end) and Anne pulled Crosby up when Tisa took off. No real harm done and the rest of the pace was uneventful outside the standard excitement of galloping cross country over jumps.
Besides the run away part and one serious refusal (which in retrospect was my fault since the log jump had lots of fluffy branches sticking off of it making it look about twice as big as it really was), Tisa was perfect. We jumped, we followed, we led. She worked in a frame for a long stretch of trotting along the Groton Rail Trail. She allowed other horses to run up into her without even laying her ears back. She stood around the parking lot for an hour to keep Karen's herd bound boy calm. At the end of it all, I threw the lead rope up over her neck, pointer her at the trailer and she loaded herself to go home.
I can't think of a better way to spend an autumn day.
On the downside, I could have done without the three hours of volleyball practice. Riding the pace and then playing ball all in one day made my knees distinctly Not Happy.
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Date: 2007-10-22 08:45 pm (UTC)I remember that pace, and sliding down that decline on a huge Percheron, who surprisingly did it very nimbly.