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The survival seat I use is a normal easy forward seat
position with a light grip of my knees and my weight on my stirrups. If, when jumping a
wall or hedge, I see a drop on the other side at the height of the parabola, I let my
horse fall away from me in front, allowing the reins to run through my fingers -to the
buckle if necessary! As the horse lands and gathers, I bring my weight forward in a fluid
movement, draw in the reins and pick up the horse's rhythm as he strides out. That is, in
theory. Often, depending on the take-off or landing, who cuts me off, who fell on the
other side,or numerous other problems, I can be anywhere between my horse's tail and ears
if I'm lucky, or, if not, on the ground next to him. Our lone fox was going well and, by
changing direction constantly, he would lose the hounds for a spell as they overran the
scent, then off we would go again. I looked around to see that most of my group were
holding up well, although Donna and Simon were both far back, tiptoeing through the
broken-down walls, their faces pale and set.
My horse was a big galloper with a great jump in him, and was really enjoying himself.
A large solid wall appeared in front of us, four feet high; I picked up speed and pushed
him on. Suddenly, from my left appeared Mr. De-acceleration and, true to form, began
slowing up immediately in front of me. Frantically, I pulled on the reins and, at the last
moment, just managed stop my horse from jumping on top of him. We ended up crammed against
the wall in a refusal. There is a beautifully expressive Anglo-Saxon word one can use at
times like that, and I used it loudly and with feeling. Hearing the displeasure in my
voice, my horse decided to remedy the situation and sprang over the jump from a
standstill. I dismounted over its neck, landed on my feet still grasping the reins, and,
all in one motion, was pulled back into the saddle again. To this day, I still wonder how
I did it. |
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