Video Blog: 8/8/13 - The End of my Common Riding Season

Above is the helmet cam footage. Sadly, with such little cantering to choose from, and poor light as it was overcast, this isn’t as good a video as many of my others, but it still gives a nice flavour of the day nonetheless J

Today saw the last ride of my first ever Common Riding season, and for most riders in 2013. It’s been a fun one, with ups and downs, thrills and spills, and new riding territory entered. This last Common Ride was to be my biggest to date – not only in size (literally hundreds more horses than I’ve ever experienced before) and also my longest by nearly a couple of hours, with 7hrs spent Common Riding and 8hrs in the saddle in total. Sadly, it was a ride that left an overall taste of frustration in my mouth, but was a wonderful experience in so many other ways. Stick with me, while I try to get through it all!

I arrived in town with my friend, and while she spotted Ripper quickly, I clocked Frankie long before I saw Abbie. A little part of me dared hope that she was for me: that fate had meant that I was to have this quirky, characterful little mare today. A short walk later to put my lunch in the lorry, and I soon saw Abbie looking glorious – shining, plaited, and looking slim and fit after a busy Common Riding season, that started for both of us at my first ever ride in June, and that will be ending in a few weeks for her when she does the final ride of the season. Immediately I then knew that Abbie was for me; as the yard’s most subscribed ride of the year, I took an educated guess that Frankie was not here because someone loved her – Frankie was here because she was all that was left. It would turn out later that I was right, but I knew it deep down long before I saw any proof.

With so many riders to mount up, the yard staff got us on board an hour early. Normally I’m quite happy on a grazing horse, just chatting, but Abbie was a royal pain in the bum. Rather than put her head down and eating in one spot, she would take a bite and start walking off. She was hurting my back by tugging on the reins, and I didn’t want to be tired before I even set off. So, I’d direct her where I wanted on a short rein, then hold the buckle before she’d tug, allowing her to eat and me to socialise. She kept taking the mickey on that long rein though, and was so agitated by such a long wait that she just couldn’t stand at peace. We went through a cycle of eat, wander, long reins, short reins, and I was darn right grumpy by the end of it. It was 10am, it was hot, I was hungry and tired, the nerves were building because of the delay, and Abbie seemed incapable of eating in one spot like every single other horse I could see. I know impatience does nothing but harm when dealing with a horse, but I couldn’t avoid it. I did however tell myself that it was only temporary, and I would be a happy and praise-giving rider once we set off. Gosh wasn’t I glad to hear the Cornet’s horn!

Off we paraded through town, and despite it being 10:30am on a Thursday morning, the town was full of people. Unlike some other rides, these were not silent people either – they were laughing and cheering, egging on the Official Party to start their chorus of “Huzzah!” cheers. I also had people calling my name – fellow friends and ride leaders from the yard, who were here as spectators today, earning a few bob on the field by holding horses. Despite trying to get my OH to come to our local Common Ride and catch me on the beach, he refused, so this was the first time I’d heard my name called and received grins and waves at a Common Ride. I was touched, and certainly don’t want to ride near home next year without someone there!

From the first town, we rode behind a police escort to the next, crossing the border from Scotland into Northumberland. I have never ridden in England before, so was looking forward to my first English experience; I’d also never ridden from one country, to another, and then back again on horseback before!

Going through a couple of towns, then getting on to main roads surrounded by fields, all the riders and all the horses were getting worked up about the first canter. I always need the first canter to settle my nerves, and test out my stirrups. I knew that I was even today as I was using my own, brand new leathers, but I didn’t know if I was short enough; I was looking forward to getting myself sorted and settling down! I also met a girl who introduced herself to me thusly: “Hi, I’m the girl that trampled you when you fell off the bay pony.” I had no idea I’d been trampled while I was out cold on the grass; I’m quite glad I didn’t know at the time either! Still, I’m alright, and her and her pony were fine; no harm, no foul.

Much to everyone’s frustration and disappointment, we fed through a gate into a field, and we were made to walk. Not only do fields mean cantering and galloping on a Common Ride, but slowing or stopping to file through a gate is also a sign to a horse that you’re going to take off once you’re through safely. Despite being flat with an uphill finish, the Official Party didn’t even approach a trot. Abbie was snorting and bouncing, but was not disobedient. I could see a pony to the left of the exit gate though, dancing and prancing, napping and reversing, and doing some beautiful but unplanned dressage moves; I knew long before she turned to show me her face that it was Frankie. I was still with my friend at this point, and quickly told her “That’s what she was doing to me, but add in trying to buck me off for good measure!” I was also talking the man down, even though I was too far away to ever be heard. “Don’t aim for the gate, aim for the other horses – she’s fine when she’s in the queue again.” It took him several minutes before he got her facing the right way and going forwards, and I wondered if he was having a miserable time. I love that little horse, and all her quirks; she was merely expressing her forthright opinion that this field was for galloping, and her rider is a pillock for holding her back. I find that funny, because I know her; I bet it’s not so good when you paid the same cash as someone else on an obedient horse, and you don’t know the mare well enough to be amused!

It seemed like forever before we cantered, being taunted by fields and not being allowed to go. Finally, we came to a stubble field, and despite it not being overly long, I could see the Official Party galloping up it. I was so ready for this! Abbie was bouncing, but we were behind two little black cobs that weren’t going anywhere fast. With plenty of room at the gate, we went through and Abbie sped off – we were both happy to be going, although quickly the pace went down a gear as we were behind steadier neddies, and I didn’t want to pull out for an overtake when I could hear so many horses behind me. This gallop was so good for both our souls though – Abbie was letting out all that pent up energy from having been ready to go for hours, and I was enjoying the wind in my hair, and knowing that I felt steady on my little horse. I had high hopes of this turning into a good one! Turns out I was right to pass the cobs too – one of them napped at the gate, spooked and threw off its rider; definitely glad I was in front of that debacle and not behind it! Pony was caught at the end of the field though, and the rider straight back on – neither were hurt, thankfully.

There were one or two very small canters, but overall the pre-break ride was a let down. We were walking and trotting across fields that, on any other Common Ride, would have been canters. I can only imagine that it’s because of the record breaking size, that the OP and Marshals were being conservative and holding. However, I think that all the holding was winding horses up and causing more stress and risk than actually letting people take control and go as planned. This was never as striking as when we reached The Orchard, where the potential was so firmly wasted.

I had heard months ago that one of the fastest and most picturesque gallops of this whole Common Ride was on the grass towards the manse, with the orchard trees lining each side. I was riding with folk who were representing other towns as visiting Official Parties, and they were saying the same: “Through this gate is The Orchard gallop – it’s the best bit of the whole ride!” Well, this was not the best part, although sadly, it could and should have been. Unlike all the years before, where the gate was used as a natural filter because it limits horses to filing onto the grass in ones or twos, the leaders held. They held and held and held until hundreds of us were on The Orchard before going, meaning that we had to hold steady so that we weren’t up the backsides of the people in front. Being in the middle, I ended up having to hold out in trot to find space. My friends cantered on the outside, but I knew from other Common Rides that The Marshals can get on your case about that, so trotting is what I did, and I regret it. In fact, I regret not being at the very back of the 460 odd riders: they were so strung out by that point, that they were getting at least steady canters over fields that we were forced to walk on.

Things were also compounded by two falls on The Orchard – one horse spooked, which set another off, and the second rider was peeled off by a branch as his horse dived for the trees; the almightly crack of the wood breaking rang out along the grass. Thankfully both riders were fine, the one that hit the tree was winded so was seen to on the floor for a while, but it meant The Marshals were shouting “Steady up, but keep moving forward.” I have no problem whatsoever with slowing for fallers, and was not in any way cursing them; all this merely compounded the misery of wasting this opportunity. Finally, we got to the wide gate later down The Orchard and I could let Abbie go, but by then most of the stretch was over. It was official – we had missed out on the best gallop of the ride because the leaders were being so cautious. Quite how the extra 130 or so horses called for cutting out a wide, straight, safe gallop I don’t know. It did rather set the tone for the ride though: frustrating capable riders by the leaders assuming we couldn’t hold for gates safely when we could see lead horses taking off up to 10mins before it was our turn, at the most strung out points of the ride.

Shortly after this, we could see the cars parked and various tents up at Flodden. The battlefield was on the top of the hill, and I was hoping for a run up towards it. After many more fields of walk, we finally came of the road onto an uphill field: with space to go, Abbie and I tore through the gate and it felt glorious to be moving again! Upon reaching the top, I realised that my stirrups were about a hole too long to make downhill work comfortable, and I felt like I’d dressage length leathers when we were going down any undulations. Having just realised my stirrups weren’t quite right, we were also approaching a blind gate that called for at least a 90o turn. Abbie however, the usually submissive and giving little horse, was not listening and would not slow; it turned out that the gate was more a U-turn, almost doubling over on ourselves, and we motorbiked around it at pace. It was a horrible feeling, being a little unbalanced at that speed, but we straightened up and went for it again in no time. Finally, we had a proper gallop of decent lengths; it made for a much nicer note to go to the break on!

A little further up the road, The Cornet collected the town flag and we passed The Memorial on the hill. It was moving to see so many pay tribute, but it was hard to look too much at it, as the OP had cantered up the hill, but The Marshals were holding the rest of us riders. There is just no easy way to explain to a horse why other people can go and they can’t! I also had a flash of just how much work Frankie would be on a day like this, and just what a good job I did do with a difficult little horse when I took her Common Riding.

Finally, we could hear the roar of the crowds, and the cheers going up. We were at Flodden, and we were to gallop past the crowds and onto the break. I waved for most of that gallop, totally buoyed by the cheering, and touched by the number of people that had come to welcome us ‘safe oot’, and to observe the remembrance ceremony there. The noise was like nothing I’ve experienced before, and might never since. I also went past a face I recognised from far away, in a blue checked shirt: it’s someone I loved from my childhood days, when Mum let me stay up late once a week to watch Soldier Solider with her – Robson Green! He had a TV crew there, but I never got to ask them what for. I guess it’s a local show, as we were in Northumberland, as it certainly wasn’t for Extreme Fishing – we could see for miles around, and not a drop of water was visible!

Arriving at Flodden:

My commemorative Flodden Common Ride badge:

As I expected, the man riding Frankie hated her! There were some people only riding to lunch time though, due to time restrictions or not fancying the faster afternoon, meaning that Jeffry was free. I was not surprised when the man switched to Jeffry, or that he ended up loving him; like Frankie, he will tow you along in a gallop, but will stop when everyone else is, and while he won’t slow up early despite your requests, he won’t go into diva mode at the mere suggestion. Abbie was a pain to hold while I was trying to have lunch, and a little part of me wanted to ask for Frankie. However, Abbie was being glorious when we were on the go and was really enjoying herself; I couldn’t take that away from her. Besides, while Frankie is fit for an old girl, what turned out to be 7hrs of work might have been a bit much anyway!

Mounting up again for the second half, I found myself hoping for more cantering; I couldn’t take a whole afternoon of the same degree of frustration, especially not now that my stirrups were a little shorter so I could take on any ground. I don’t know what switch flipped with the OP and Marshals, but finally they were allowing gates to be natural filters and for us to go! There were some glorious fields, including The King’s Hill. I loved that stretch, but noticed that I couldn’t really see the field’s horizon past a certain point. Out of uncertainty I slowed Abbie, and sure enough it was a sleep hill. I walked and trotted Abbie down it, although she objected to the slow pace all the way down. One of the people I hack with was on Hugo though, and as he’s done the ‘mad’ Common Rides, he cantered down the hill like it was a mere plateau. I soon heard some ladies who could not hold their horses and ended up following him: “I can’t believe we just cantered down it – The Marshals always make us walk!” Everyone was smiling though, and all safe. That would go on to happen a few times, we’d be heading down a field in walk, some of the advanced crew would canter down, and it would upset the horses. As time went on, I found myself allowing Abbie to strike up into canter further and further up the hill, but I’m still not a big fan of cantering down even though I’m capable of it, not when walking is still an option! lol.

The afternoon’s ride was not frustration-free however. While we’d get a good couple of fields, we’d then walk a few golden opportunities (some literally, with the stubble fields a beautiful shade of harvest gold). We’d then be allowed to go, but on a field fringe; unlike my smaller Common Ride with Frankie, we were not belting along these fringes. Rather, it was all collected and steady work to avoid an avalanche of horses piling up.

I also experienced something new: wanting this ride to be over. Towards the end of the ride, my joints were aching – my gammy ankle from falling off was the worst, but my knees and hips were not immune either. I usually love one more gallop on the way home, but this time I prayed for no more, especially as what turned out to be the last canter was a long strip of adjoining field fringes, that constantly undulated and tried out every joint I had, and even my little toes were not hurting from the stirrup iron pressing against them. I was sore, and I was tired; I was not however alone, and many official riders from other towns expressed the same feelings, and they have vastly more CR experience than me. I was glad to walk most of the way home: turns out that 7hrs of Common Riding (8hrs in the saddle including the early mount up and waiting) is LONG, even when you’re Common Riding-fit.

Just when I thought that the ride was going to end on a low note however, we crossed the border back into Scotland and back our original town. I thought the crowd on the way out had been a sight to behold: at 6ish in the evening, the sun out, the streets contained even more people and even more noise. It felt like we were the cavalry, coming home from the battlefield to a hero’s welcome. Later on, I heard pedestrians describe us in the same way – that they could only imagine seeing so many horses all together if it was the cavalry itself. All the photographs of me coming home contain a Cheshire Cat’s grin – I was beyond delighted at the welcome we had, and party atmosphere that radiated from everyone there. The yard folk were still there, still calling my name and waving. Being close to the pipe band, I could feel the drums resonate in my throat, and enjoyed the feeling and noise of the band being one of unadulterated celebration, and not sectarian nonsense (I come from N.I., so parades behind bands with crowds and bunting equalled Orange Lodge marches for me growing up). Thankfully the photos don’t show it, but I welled up and shed a few grinning tears on the way home, I was so taken aback by it all. I cannot express how annoyed I am with myself for not getting the reception on film either!

Grinning all the way home:

So, while it was a day of frustration, of wasted opportunities, of a wound-up horse that wouldn’t settle and fought me on gates, it was also a day of emotion, of pride, and one that I will never forget for so many good reasons. Without the reception in town, my Common Riding season would have ended damply; instead, it ended in rapturous cheers and endless smiles. It’s another 8 months until Common Riding starts again, and I miss it already.

I am more than ready for my September riding holiday in The Lakes now. I’ve already booked my weekend hack, and will be buttering up the staff to get some practice in on a big horse like Buddy. Bring on the next riding adventure – I need my fix already!

Hack track: 24.2 miles covered, with a top speed of 27.4 mph. I wish I’d a proper gallop on good stirrups that I could have kicked on for!