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6 minute read
Musings on the Art of Dismounting
By Didi Arias Illustration by Didi Arias
I“ ncoming!” was the cry, and in a flash, my new student was gone. I quickly stepped to the far side of the horse I had been lunging, thinking I would find him there; instead, I saw the little chap high-tailing it across the arena, headed for the bordering trees. Apparently, he had leapt from the saddle to take cover from an unseen enemy, and as he streaked away, he continued to shout his one word warning. When I caught up with him, I asked him what prompted him to jump off the horse and run away, half knowing the answer as I asked, recalling that his father was then abroad in a dangerous zone in the Middle East. Excited and breathless, he explained to me, in all seriousness, that his Dad told him that when situations got dangerous it was OK to bail out and run for cover.
“I don’t think he meant during your riding lesson”, I assured him.
“Well, I didn’t know that trotting would be so scary and it sure seemed dangerous to me!” he replied in justification of his actions, eyes growing bigger and bluer as he re-lived those first strides.
As is oftentimes the case when teaching children, I struggled to keep a straight face.
That little boy’s dad had a sound idea, as hopping off the horse can be the sensible thing to do when faced with a difficult or dangerous situation. Oddly, many riders are not taught the safety/emergency/quick/ flying dismount; this I know as fact, having never been taught it, nor had the seasoned students that I asked who had previous riding experiences elsewhere. Why this is so overlooked I do not know: maybe because it can be tricky to teach in group classes, or perhaps the instructor assumes that the rider already knows it or perhaps doesn’t feel that there is actually a need to know it? One instructor I spoke to on the subject suggested that in an effort to keep students happy, the focus is oftentimes only on the progress of their technical skills, and not enough emphasis is being given to “the safety stuff.” There isn’t just enough time to teach it. Of course, there are those instructors who feel that if you have any backbone at all you will deal with all troubles from the saddle and not wimp out by bailing. I think they call it “Character Building.”
As I’m a big believer in “the safety stuff”; I like to know that all my riders can get off the horse quickly and safely should the situation deem it wise. Whether a simple and quick dismount or a controlled emergency departure from a moving animal is necessary, it all begins with the teaching of slick and tidy dismounting techniques and of course, lots of practice. No matter what their age or level, I want them to be able to deftly and safely get off the animal as quickly as one, two, three, so I include dismounting drills into my riding program, the level of difficulty (standing vs. moving) depending upon rider ability. It is not just
the kiddos that enjoy these sessions. One adult, lower level dressage student said that this is one skill that has helped her feel more in control and relaxed in the saddle, plus she feels that she trusts her own body more. Another admitted that she is less worried about falling because she knows she can hop off if necessary and this gives her a feeling of greater control.
Knowing the how is, of course, paramount, yet the student also needs to understand the when. The rider should not make it a practice to part company from the horse at every perceived little danger (or for that matter, to avoid certain work). I once gave a lesson to a rider who was very unclear as to which situations were risky enough to consider an emergency dismount, a fact that she proved by jumping off her confused mare not once but four times during a lesson. The only thing she didn’t do was shout “incoming!” as she did so. A novice rider in her sixties, she had recently taken up the sport while vacationing in Australia, where apparently it is normal—according to her—to leap off every time you felt out of control or in danger (this includes if the horse moves its head at a fly, buckles a fetlock, sees a crocodile, snorts, or for that matter, breathes). This woman had the talent to shoot out of the saddle faster than you could say “Bob’s your uncle”—I swear she had a fighter plane’s ejector apparatus incorporated into the seat of her breeches. Though her flying skills were impressive, much of the hour’s lesson time was taken up not on improving her riding skills but on remounting (where, by contrast, she lacked all physical ability) and on persuading her to spend more time actually riding the horse than leaping off it. I hope the information sunk in, but at times I entertain an image of her traveling continent to content, sampling the variety of horse breeds of the world whilst gaily catapulting out of their saddles.
Good classes get remembered and the good information gets passed on. During a recent, informal get-together of alumni that rode with me as children, we spoke about the lessons and the subject matter that stuck with them the most. Every one of them cited the days when they learned the emergency dismounts, and their smiles broadened when they recalled the ones at canter. One student, now an instructor himself, who had been put in charge of the riding program at a prestigious facility, told us that emergency dismounts are part of his students’ curriculum, too. “I was surprised that nobody seemed to be teaching it”, he mentioned, “Those were the best classes when we were kids!”
After some months of making progress with my young Top Gun, he had now mastered the trot as well as self-control with regard to his overly quick desire to jump off the horse, or so I believed. Then the morning came when he was about to ride his long anticipated, first canter. From the end of the lunge I gave the command and the horse struck off at a quiet and slow pace. Just then I heard the new cry of “Airborne!”; once again, my little rider shot off the horse but this time, instead of taking cover from enemy fire, he stood up, hand to mouth, and giggled.
“I bet I fooled you that time,” he said.
“Yes, you certainly did,” I replied. I saw that there was more work to be done with this one.
About the author: Didi Arias is a Level 3 ARIA Certified Instructor and national dressage judge and teacher, who resides in Almeria, Spain.
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