PrintA working student position is hard to get. It’s not the best way to learn to ride. It’s not the most efficient way. And it’s certainly not the easiest way. But for some people it’s the only way.
To become a great rider (not just a good rider) one has to ride great horses. I’ve heard people say they’re improving because they’re riding all the tough horses—the horses nobody else wants to ride. They will become great at riding those kinds of horses.
If you can’t afford your own fleet of great horses, and most people can’t, then you need to ride somebody else’s horses. You need to become a working student.
Before I left for Germany, I heard it all: instructors told me how tough it can be. Friends warned me that I would be treated like a slave. My mother counseled me about how to get the most out of my time there. My dad’s advice consisted of simply this: Just don’t mention the war! I heard stories, some of success, but mostly of tears and brawls and early flights home.
They told me about the long days, the expensive horses, the spectacular horse shows—unlike anything in Canada, the cheap beer, the autobahn, the cold winters and the colder people.
And it’s all true.
A riding apprenticeship in Germany means 12-hour days wearing long underwear working for somebody who takes you for granted. You start work in the dark, and you finish work in the dark. And if you can’t hack it, there’s a waiting list of people who can. But it also means knowledge. At Mr. Hinnemann’s, I saw horses learning piaffe and passage every day. At Ingrid Klimke’s, I learned flying changes aboard Abraxxis, an Olympic gold-medal winning horse that’s worth half a million dollars. (Seriously!)
Even though I didn’t get as much formal instruction as I’d hoped for, every day I could learn by watching and learn by doing. And the more I learnt, the more I realized how little I knew. I felt as if I were a high school student trying to stay afloat in a Ph.D. program. I’m definitely in over my head, but I’m learning fast. Although I’ve gone under a couple times, I’m keeping my head above the surface.
A Flaw In His Logic
One of the highlights of the last few weeks at Ingrid’s is watching her jumping lesson. Her jumping coach, Herr Giebmanns, arrives looking confident and prepared. He’s in his fifties and looks it. Still young as far as coaching is concerned. He’s worked with Ingrid for two years, and Ingrid likes his matter-of-fact style. During her lesson I set jumps, and I’m able to ask him a lot of questions. I think his coaching is faultless and his grasp of riding theory without equal. That is, until he answers one question towards the end of the session.
Herr Giebmanns likes the rider to be in a slightly forward seat, thus allowing the horse to move more freely. He encourages the rider to ask for more engagement from the horse when it’s being lazy or ineffective. His ideas on rider balance and its relationship to a horse’s movement and balance reflect an inquisitive mind and an excellent eye. He is, without a doubt, an excellent trainer.
That is what I thought when I asked him if he could recommend any exercises for helping riders find a distance to a jump. My dad taught me to count “1-2-3-4-5” for each stride as I approach the jump. And that works for me. However I’ve found that finding a distance is one of the hardest concepts to teach a student.
