Natalie O'Reilly and Gus, with Mike Tweed as their keen pupil. Photo / Carrie-Ann Bunn
After trying boxing, ballet, singing, medieval fighting and rink hockey, Mike Tweed tackles something a little closer to home for his latest instalment of ‘I’m new to this’.
I’ve been with my horse-mad partner for close to six years.
While I’m now an expert at picking up mounds of grassy poop and putting them in a wheelbarrow, I’ve rarely dared sit on one of her equine companions.
My beloved, Natalie, is a riding coach, so who better to put me through my paces?
I was about to find out what all the fuss was about. There is a lot of fuss about horses, believe me.
After a short drive out of the city, we arrived at a paddock filled with cones and poles, and in one corner stood my trusty steed, a big, bay standardbred called Gus.
He seemed friendly enough, and stayed perfectly still as his owner stretched each of his legs.
I tried to follow suite, throwing a few leg kicks in the air to limber up. Gus looked at me quizzically.
“Don’t worry, mate, you’re in safe hands,” I said.
He was, of course, but they weren’t mine.
Before I climbed on, Natalie made sure my helmet fitted correctly. A snug fit was important, so I was instructed to tip my head upside down and cradle the helmet, ensuring it didn’t slip straight off.
Getting the right length for your stirrups was also a must.
“As a rough guide, they should be from your finger tips to your armpit,” Natalie said.
She led Gus beside me as I stood on a mounting block, and with a push and a swing of my leg, I was aboard.
“Sit central in the saddle. Keep your legs directly underneath you, with some weight in your heels,” she said.
“Don’t pull on the reins, that is telling him to stop. You want a light contact.”
That was a lot of information. But I was ready, or so I thought.
I gave Gus a nudge with my boots and said “Hey, ho, let’s go”.
Then, “Ho, ho, ha”.
Natalie said it looked like I was trying to tickle him, and instructed me to give it a bit more.
Gus began to move. Then, he stopped. Then he started, then he stopped.
Horses are obviously powerful beasts, commonly weighing more than 500kg, and it doesn’t take much to be reminded of that.
My mind began to wander off. He lowered his neck for a mouthful of grass, and because I had gripped the reins tightly, I was almost catapulted off his back.
Lesson learned. I needed to be fully switched on at all times.
Natalie told me to stop leaning and turn my core to the left or right – “Sit up and point your belly button where you want to go”.
“Always stay relaxed, and try to maintain a balanced position.”
After a while, my steering improved, and Gus began to go in the right direction. We managed to do a loop of the paddock without him stopping for a feed or wandering off in search of a scratch from his owner.
We went over the poles, and, to my surprise, managed to weave through the cones.
How much credit could I take for this? Probably not much, but it still felt good.
There were some strong words of encouragement and waving of arms from Natalie, but I felt I got off lightly.
“You’re not a natural, but I think you did pretty well, considering,” she said.
“Considering what?” I thought. But, this was not the time to ask those sorts of questions.
There was to be no trotting, cantering or galloping, and that was fine by me.
I still have memories of riding a horse at a school camp as a very young Tweed.
The horse spooked and bolted, and I held on for dear life. It was a terrifying experience.
Again, horses are powerful beasts.
Maybe next time, Gus. For now, it’s back to the poop scoop and wheelbarrow.
A special thanks to Carrie-Anne Bunn for letting me ride Gus.
Mike Tweed is a multimedia journalist at the Whanganui Chronicle. Since starting in March 2020, he has dabbled in everything from sport to music. At present his focus is local government, primarily Whanganui District Council.