Why I Always Walk the Show Jumping Course Twice

At a horse trial, the show jumping phase can look deceptively tidy. The arena is fenced, the jumps are brightly painted, and the route is printed clearly on the scoreboard. Compared with cross-country, it appears contained and predictable. Yet this is often where small decisions become expensive: a rushed turn, a missed change of leg, an unbalanced approach, or one stride that disappears because the rider did not understand the line.

I walk the show jumping course twice because the first lap is for seeing, while the second is for solving. I need to notice the shape of the arena, the distance between fences, the likely rhythm, and the questions the course designer is asking. Then I need to turn those observations into a practical plan that my horse and I can actually ride, especially when nerves, heat, noise, and a busy event timetable enter the picture.

The First Walk Gives Me The Big Picture

My first walk is deliberately unhurried. I begin by finding the start flags, the finish flags, and the direction of travel. That sounds basic, but a show jumping arena can feel different when it is crowded with riders, officials, flower boxes, sponsor boards, and people moving around the outside. I want the boundaries to become familiar before I think about individual fences.

Next, I trace the full track in order. I look for the first fence, the likely pace after landing, and the way the course develops. Is the opening line inviting or does it ask for immediate accuracy? Does the route use a long side of the arena before turning back across the middle? Is there a related distance, a rollback, or a fence that will arrive soon after a change of direction?

At this stage, I am gathering information rather than making dramatic declarations about what my horse must do. I count strides where appropriate, but I also notice the quality of the canter that the distance will require. A related line may be standard on paper and still ride forward if the landing is close to the corner. A single oxer may demand a more contained approach than its position suggests. The course map gives me the order; walking gives me the feel.

This is also when I consider the day itself. At a venue outside Melbourne, the ground may be soft after overnight rain, while an event near Sydney can turn warm and dusty by late morning. Around Brisbane, humidity can affect how quickly both horse and rider tire. I check the forecast through the Bureau of Meteorology, note where the sun will be, and think about whether wind could move fillers or distract a green horse.

The Second Walk Turns Information Into A Plan

The second circuit is slower and more analytical. I walk each approach as if I am already riding it, then pause at the landing side to imagine the next decision. I want to know where my eyes should go, where I need to support the shoulder, and whether I should land in a particular lead before the next turn.

I pay close attention to combinations and related distances. Rather than memorising a number and hoping it works, I think about the canter required to make the line comfortable. If my horse has a naturally short stride, I may need a positive but balanced rhythm. If he gets strong when he sees a colourful oxer, I need to establish control before the first element rather than trying to repair the canter between fences.

The second walk is where I identify the places I might be tempted to interfere. I know my own habits: tightening my fingers after a fence, looking at the ground during a turn, or making a late decision when a distance feels unfamiliar. Naming those tendencies gives me something useful to do. Instead of vaguely telling myself to “ride well”, I can use clear cues such as soften after the landing, keep the outside rein through the turn, and look early at the next fence.

I also decide what can be allowed to change. A plan is not a rigid script. If my horse lands on the wrong lead, I may balance and organise before asking for a change. If a distance walks as six strides but rides naturally in seven, I want to stay with the rhythm rather than chase a number. Good course walking leaves room for judgement while removing unnecessary surprises.

Walking Helps Me Ride The Horse In Front Of Me

Course walking can expose the difference between the horse I imagined entering the season with and the horse I actually have on the day. Fitness, confidence, balance, experience, and temperament all affect how a track should be ridden. A technically perfect plan for a bold, adjustable horse may be completely wrong for one that needs time to understand a fence.

That is why I return often to the idea of riding the horse I have. When I walk a course, I am not trying to prove that my horse can produce someone else’s ride. I am working out how to make the questions fair for our partnership. Perhaps we need a little more space before a combination, a quieter approach to a filler, or a committed ride out of a turn so that he does not lose balance.

The horse’s experience matters just as much as mine. A first competition at a new venue can make familiar fences seem strange. A horse that schools confidently at home may stare at a wall, hesitate at a bright plank, or become distracted by spectators standing near the warm-up. I consider where he is likely to need reassurance and where I must stay positive rather than overprotective.

This approach also keeps my expectations honest. I can still be ambitious, but ambition becomes useful only when it is attached to an achievable ride. If the course asks for accuracy, I focus on the line. If it asks for pace, I create the canter early. If the main challenge is keeping my horse’s attention, I stop treating every fence as an examination and concentrate on maintaining our conversation.

The Course Walk Settles Competition Nerves

Walking twice is part preparation and part emotional management. Before I enter the arena, my mind can produce an endless list of possible disasters. I might imagine a missed distance, a refusal, a wrong lead, or a fence that looks larger from the saddle. A physical route gives those worries somewhere to go.

I often walk with other competitors, but I do not copy every opinion I hear. At Australian events, people may arrive from a wide area, from pony club grounds near Canberra to larger venues serving Sydney, Adelaide, Perth, or regional Queensland. Riders bring different horses, different goals, and different ideas about pace. Their observations can be helpful, though my final plan has to suit my horse.

The practical details of eventing add another layer. We may have spent the morning checking studs, plaiting, cleaning tack, and carrying water before grabbing a quick coffee from the caravan or the nearest servo. The timetable can shift, especially when weather affects dressage or cross-country. I use the published competition schedule to work out when to walk, when to warm up, and when to give my horse enough quiet time.

A second walk also prevents me from over-walking in my head. Once I have checked the route and made a few key notes, I can stop rehearsing every fence. I remind myself of the first job: establish the canter and ride to the first fence. Then I deal with the next question when it arrives. Familiarity does not eliminate nerves, but it makes them less likely to control my decisions.

Good Preparation Includes The Australian Details

Australian competitions require practical planning beyond the arena. Long travel is common, and the horse may spend hours on a float before arriving. I think about water, hay, ventilation, rest, and the horse’s routine before I think about a perfect round. A tired or dehydrated horse cannot benefit from the cleverest course walk.

Biosecurity is part of responsible competition preparation as well. Requirements vary between states and venues, so I check the event information for movement records, property declarations, cleaning expectations, and any current disease-control measures. Horses travelling between New South Wales and Queensland, for example, may be affected by different local procedures or heightened attention to biosecurity. I keep equipment clean and avoid assuming that last season’s paperwork still applies.

The local market shapes preparation too. Many Australian riders use a mix of specialist saddleries, feed stores, online retailers, and second-hand networks to source rugs, studs, boots, supplements, and replacement tack. A missing item can be difficult to replace when the event is several hours from home. I prefer to inspect gear before leaving rather than discover at the venue that a girth has stretched or a boot fastener no longer holds.

Heat management is another reason I walk early and twice rather than endlessly. At a summer event near Wagga Wagga or the outskirts of Brisbane, the temperature can rise quickly, and shade may be limited. I wear a hat, carry water, and avoid treating the course walk as a fitness test. I also remember that state animal welfare and transport laws place responsibilities on owners and drivers, so safe travel, suitable breaks, and attentive monitoring are part of competition day rather than optional extras.

By the time I return to the warm-up, I want the course to feel familiar without feeling fixed. I know the lines, the turns that deserve care, and the rhythm I want to create. I know where I may need to make a calm adjustment. Most importantly, I have replaced a collection of coloured fences with a sequence of manageable conversations between my horse and me.

Walking the show jumping course twice will not guarantee a clear round. It cannot change the weather, repair a tired horse, or remove every nervous thought. It does give me a better chance of being present when the round begins. The first walk helps me understand the designer’s questions; the second helps me answer them in a way that respects my horse, my preparation, and the reality of the day.

Make your next course walk count: take one lap to observe, a second to plan, and carry only the most useful decisions into the arena.