Learning to ride sidesaddle...and to be a better horsewoman

 

I discovered sidesaddle a few years ago: the riding school where I was taking lessons was offering trial days where you could try it, so I did. That first time, I was riding an elderly, rotund chestnut pony called Isis, on a rather ancient (and not very comfortable) saddle. And I loved it. I loved it so much that I started going to the weekly sidesaddle class the riding school had set up. 

Why did I love it so much? Well, first because sidesaddle seemed to fit my body-shape so well. Despite looking difficult and impressive, riding sidesaddle is actually easy-peasy and quite secure. And it can be incredibly more comfortable for riders who have more stiffness or weakness on one side than on the other. On most saddles, you have both legs on the left-hand side. “Off-side” saddles (relatively rare) exist, where you have your legs on the right-hand side. When you ride side-saddle, you have to carry a whip on the side where there are no legs, to have an additional aid, though a well-trained, responsive horse can very well be ridden without it. 

So yes, I found sidesaddle comfortable. I was also very attracted to the historical side of it. And, added to all this, riding sidesaddle gives you the opportunity to ride in a dress with a long flowing skirt and feel like a princess. This might sound like a silly reason, but to a teenage girl it’s not. At the time, being able to feel elegant, and even beautiful, while riding a horse was a great confidence booster. Little did I know when I first started to ride sidesaddle that it would be instrumental to a huge change in my journey with horses. 

I went to the lessons. For a few years, I rode Isis. It was the first time in my (short) riding career that I was able to ride the same horse every week and build a sort of bond with him. I progressed with my riding. I learnt to use my seat a lot more than my legs, which came in very useful when I rode astride: those two ways of riding are complementary. What you learn will using one can be transferred to the other and vice-versa, enabling you to acquire different riding skills. 

Because I was so keen on sidesaddle riding and because the saddles provided by the riding school were neither very secure nor very comfy, I acquired my own, an antique (1920s or so) English hunting saddle. It was the first time I actually owned a piece of riding equipment and that saddle became my most precious possession. 

Sidesaddle is a traditional way of riding and I learnt it in a very traditional manner. When I had acquired a good enough technique, I was able to “upgrade” to a double bridle with a curb bit and use a spur. I felt at the time that being able to use those tools was a testimony to my skills as a rider. Now, of course, I know better and I cannot think of Isis, and of all he had to bear, without a pang. 

The technical aspect of this type of riding had become quite important for me. I also enjoyed the challenges it raised, especially when I started jumping. I became obsessed with having the horse in a frame, with perfecting dressage moves… I ordered my horse around, held him tightly, dictated his every movement. Because I was convinced that this was what a good rider did. I did want to be a good rider. I guess I even wanted to be the best, in a way. And I completely missed the point: what’s important is not being a good rider, but being a good horseperson. 

Then it all started to change, because of two things. 

The first was that a beginner rider, just starting sidesaddle, needed a horse. Isis was the most appropriate one and I thus had to change to another horse. Part of me was sad, because I loved Isis, another was quite pleased to have the opportunity to “upgrade” to a younger, more sensitive horse. I discussed the subject with my instructor and it was agreed that I should ride a sweet Dutch Warmblood mare. 

Except that this didn’t happen. The instructor forgot about our conversation and I was attributed a sour, aggressive, headshaking mess of a French trotter called Québec. Like any self-respecting, spoilt teenager, I had a tantrum. Another rider suggested we swapped horses. My pride got the better of me and I rode Québec. That day was a turning point. And that headshaking mess of a horse would teach me more than I could ever have imagined. 

The second thing was, shortly after this change of horse, my decision to take part in a friendly jumping competition – sidesaddle of course. I rode a horse I barely knew. I became too competitive. And I was dumped in the sand, with a badly broken wrist and a shattered confidence. 

I got back into riding as soon as I could. And I did go back to doing sidesaddle. Still on Québec, the headshaking trotter. Who did not accept the bit. Who could not be ridden with spurs. The traditional way of riding which I thought was my goal just could not fit him. Unlike Isis who patiently bore his rider’s mistakes and submitted to almost everything (with the occasional bout of cheekiness), Québec did not. Québec demanded to be listened to. And because I rode him after my fall, when I still could not really use my right hand, and was feeling very nervous, I had to trust him more than any other horse. 

After a series of incidents with other horses, he more or less became the only horse I trusted. I was for quite a long time, petrified of jumping. Petrified of falling. Petrified of the horse spooking, bolting. Would I have gone on riding if there hadn’t been Québec? Maybe not. But Québec was there, and I went on riding. 

Québec did not like being touched. He did not like being stroked. He did not like being groomed. He did not like people, he did not like other horses. There were not many things he actually liked, apart from eating. I found that he went better with a sidesaddle than with an astride one, probably because there was less contact with the legs and he preferred being ridden by seat. However, he hated the bit. Hated it so much that I ended up asking the instructor if I could just use a rope halter. Then the headshaking was gone. Then I had a much happier horse. 

I switched to bitless through necessity. But it opened the way to more reflections, on what was right for the horse, on the real effect of bits. It taught me than listening to your horse, instead of forcing him to do what you want, actually provided results. And it was an important step to making a friend out of this angry, aggressive horse. I guess that’s also when I stopped being simply a rider and started becoming more of a horseperson, because I was, maybe for the first time, truly listening to my horse. 

Gone were my ambitions to have the horse in a frame and do fancy dressage moves. I still enjoyed sidesaddle, but more for the way it helped me communicate with my horse. I still liked the sensations it procured and I really enjoyed the progress I was managing to achieve with Québec. For the first time, I was developing a real relationship with my horse. Not like the one I thought I had with Isis who, in truth, just saw me as another rider among many. A more significant one. 

So, in many ways, learning to ride sidesaddle led me on a widely different journey than I would have expected. Because it taught me to ride differently. Because it allowed me to communicate with my horse in another manner. Because going to those lessons allowed me to meet the horse who, I think, made a better horsewoman out of me. A horse who started off as a challenge and ended up becoming a friend. 

Though Québec had become quite good with me, his behaviour with other riders, on the ground especially, didn’t improve. He was also becoming increasingly stiff and was losing all the jumping competitions he was taking part in. The riding school decided to sell him. And I became his new owner. 

Now, with my horse in semi-retirement, I hardly ride sidesaddle any more. Though for a long time it seemed to be Québec’s preferred mode of being ridden, the saddle is now too long and too heavy for his aching back. Will I ride sidesaddle again? If I have other, younger, riding horses in the future, I will certainly teach it to them. As I’ve said before, this discipline allows you to ride using mainly your seat. And it’s a good skill for a horse to have, especially since sidesaddle can enable riders with certain disabilities to ride. Nowadays, both men and women ride sidesaddle, either out of taste or out of necessity.