A wonderful fireplace dinner followed a wonderful ride during a recent horse camping weekend. I felt accomplished, having reasonably handled myself without incident or tack malfunction, and with little adjustment by my smiling equestrian spouse. I thought to myself: “Horse riding is a little like sailing.”
Stay with me. To understand that connection, you have to understand a bit about my wife and our disparate backgrounds and interests. I grew up sailing, so handling lines, sails, anchors, and a maze of blocks and tackles feels like second nature. My wife, on the other hand, grew up riding horses on a large farm owned by her great-uncle. Getting up on a horse is completely natural to her, and she has a keen awareness of horse behavior. That awareness has kept her safe while many of her riding friends experienced trips to the emergency room with various degrees of injury.
She also knows, without thinking, what tack goes where, and how to use it. Me, not so much. Every time we saddle up I feel like I’m relearning from scratch.

“Um, his ears are on the wrong side of the headstall, which explains the glare,” she’ll point out. “And that cinch might be a bit too tight, judging by the bulge in his eyes. Also, maybe move that saddle back a bit.”
“So judgy,” I’ll mutter, a bit defensively. “That’s just where I had it last time, and it worked fine.”
We compared notes. I suggested that she was being a bit picky, and that I never get it just right. She reminds me how, on the sailboat, she’ll tie off at the dock only to have me return and reset every line by two inches forward or back, because “that’s the way it needs to be.”
Good point.
It is a lot like that. The apprentice never really graduates. Especially this cowboy apprentice. Though in fairness, I struggle to remember details much more than she does. And I’m required to navigate my vehicle independently, not as part of a crew, but as a sole operator. Fortunately, she has trained my horse in patience and forebearance. He tolerates a lot of misplaced rigging, imbalance and weight mismanagement.
On today's ride, we passed another couple coming from the opposite direction.
“See that guy,” I said, “Classic unsure husband or boyfriend. He’s smiling, but a little on edge. He tries to look confident in the way he holds his reins, but always with one hand ready to grip the saddle horn. See how his horse looks a little puzzled, unsure if his rider wants him to go faster or slow down, but very sure that cantering (running) isn’t in the cards? I used to look like that once.”
“Ahem,” she replied.
“But I’m guessing his partner was a horsewoman before they met. And now he’s determined to fit in - to get good at this someday.”
And that’s why I’ve learned to swallow any embarrassment, and continue to subject myself to the illusion that SOME day I, too, might become a cowboy - and that my wife might some day take the helm and dock the sailboat just right.
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