Like falling off a horse

So I said I'd talk about one of my more spectacular falls, didn't I. This one wasn't particularly astounding, but it was somewhat amazing simply because of the amount of awful and awesome luck we had.

I was riding a horse, a three-and-a-bit year old bay stockhorse gelding named Viking (he had the most ridiculous ears--they curved out to either side, hence the name) who'd only been under saddle for about six months. Viking was an amazing horse--he was almost completely bombproof, could run forever, practically exploded over every fence the boss tried him on. He never bit or kicked or bucked, he stood quietly and picked up his feet for the farrier, and he tolerated small screaming children without so much as an ear flick. This was partly due to damn good training, and partly due to him having the most solid, quiet personality I've ever seen in a horse.

The only fault we ever had of Viking was that he was terrified of live snakes. A dead snake, snakeskin, or a garden hose wouldn't freak him out, but if someone picked it up or the wind blew it so it looked like it was moving, he was off like a shot, and it took a lot to get him to calm down again. We never put customers on him in summer, for this reason, and he was used a lot more in arena lessons than on trail rides just in case.

One day in early winter we were in the arena, working with cavaletti (poles placed on the ground to encourage the horse to lengthen his stride) when my eye was drawn to what looked like a green rubber band wrapped around a fence post near the heater. As we circled the arena and came towards it, I realised it was actually a tiny green snake--the kind of cute little snake I would have stopped to coo over had I been on any other horse--and it was waking up from a nap. Markhor, who was with us, noticed it the same time I did.

"Oh, sh--"

And then Viking noticed it, and he was so very out of there.

For those who've never been on a bolting horse--it's like sitting on your couch, and suddenly your couch turns into a hurricane. It is never comfortable. I jolted around for a few minutes, trying to circle him back and calm him down, then just sat down, held on, and tried to figure out where the hell he was going.

Where he was going, it turned out, was straight over the fence and down into a disused paddock overrun with lantana. I somehow managed to keep my seat over the jump and through the bush. I think this was the point where the cuts on my legs and arms (some of which later required stitching) were obtained, as were the cuts on Viking's haunches and flanks, and it's probable that this was also where the white, nylon girth holding Viking's saddle on, was torn. To recap: a very young, dependable horse has just taken off with me on his back, jumped over a four-foot fence and down into a paddock filled with extremely sharp bushes, injuring both of us, and cutting the strap that holds his saddle securely onto his back. My position was fairly precarious.

Viking jumped another fence and ended up in the large paddock most of the older horses lived in. At this point, I was hanging onto his reins and his mane with one white-knuckled hand and the saddle horn with the other. Eventually, he began to slow down of his own accord--I managed to get a proper grip on the reins again and got him to angle back towards the arena, and to transition from a lunatic gallop to a slightly more controlled canter. Markhor had come the long way around on her horse, Mini, a Clydesdale of epic proportions, and came up on Viking's outside to stop him from deciding to peel off suddenly, and another instructor, Roo, had seen him bolt and had come down to open all the gates on the way up to the smaller, indoor arena.

I managed to get Viking to a fast trot before we entered the arena, then to a slightly shaky walk, then a halt. I released my death grip on the reins and shifted slightly in my seat, and then came clean off the horse--with the entire saddle still with me. That was about the time we realised that the girth was broken, and that both I and the horse probably needed some medical attention.

Viking got about five stitches. I got about thirty. Doesn't seem fair, really. I can't say I learned any particular lesson from this one, except for maybe Nylon Girths Are Crap, or possibly Skydiving Is Safe And Relaxing. All in all I feel quite short-changed. And I never did get to see that snake again.