Riding Through a Heavy Rainstorm at a Horse Trial
The forecast had promised scattered showers, the sort of weather that usually means a waterproof jacket, a slightly muddy warm-up, and a few drops on the lorry windows. By the time Archie and I arrived at the competition, however, the clouds had settled over the venue in a solid grey sheet. The rain was already falling steadily, and every rider unloading their horse was making the same calculation: would the ground hold, and would the schedule survive?
I had entered Archie in a combined event with dressage, show jumping, and cross-country. We had prepared for fresh grass, bright sunshine, and the usual competition nerves. We had not prepared for water running down the arena boards, visibility changing by the minute, and a cross-country course that felt completely different from the one I had walked earlier.
The experience became one of the most memorable competition days I have had with Archie. It was uncomfortable, tiring, and at several points genuinely difficult, but it taught me that riding in bad weather is less about being brave and more about making careful decisions. A heavy rainstorm affects the horse, the rider, the footing, the equipment, and the plan all at once.
Arriving Under Dark Clouds
We reached the venue early enough to give Archie time to settle before the first phase. The car park was already soft, with trailers leaving deep tracks in the grass. I put his quarter sheet on while he stood on the lorry, then checked his legs, picked out his feet, and walked him around the parking area before tacking up. He was alert but sensible, watching umbrellas flap and listening to the constant drumming on the trailer roof.
The first challenge was keeping everything dry enough to use. My gloves were damp before I mounted, my dressage test was tucked inside a plastic sleeve, and the spare saddle cloth I had packed suddenly seemed much more valuable than it had that morning. I used a towel to wipe the saddle and girth area carefully because wet grit can cause rubs surprisingly quickly.
The organisers had shortened the gaps between some classes to keep the day moving, so there was little opportunity to relax between phases. I checked the notice board repeatedly for changes. The cross-country briefing included a warning about slippery take-off and landing areas, and riders were reminded to avoid standing water wherever possible. That single instruction changed the way I thought about the whole day.
Dressage in the Downpour
Our dressage test began with rain falling hard enough to blur the far end of the arena. Archie’s ears were pricked, and he was looking at the movement of people behind the boards rather than concentrating fully on me. I spent the first few minutes of warm-up riding large, uncomplicated figures and keeping my contact steady. There was no point chasing an impressive outline if his attention was elsewhere.
The arena surface was holding up reasonably well, although the track was becoming wet and deep in places. I decided to stay away from the worst patches and focused on producing a calm, accurate test. In ordinary conditions I might have asked for more expression, but the weather made relaxation the priority. Archie needed to trust my aids even when rain ran down his neck and splashed beneath his feet.
We finished with a score that was respectable rather than outstanding. A few transitions were late, and our free walk lost some of its usual swing because Archie was reluctant to stretch into the rain. Still, I came away pleased. He had not become tense or resistant, and I had kept riding instead of allowing the weather to dominate every movement.
After dismounting, I loosened the girth, removed the bridle, and walked him under cover. His coat was soaked despite the quarter sheet, so I rubbed him down with several towels and gave him a small hay net. Keeping him warm without making him sweat became a balancing act. He needed comfort and recovery, but I did not want to put a heavy rug on a wet horse.
A Changing Show Jumping Arena
By show jumping time, the rain had intensified. The arena was enclosed by a low rail, but water was streaming across parts of the surface and collecting near the entrance. The warm-up fence had been moved to a firmer patch, and riders were taking turns carefully rather than jumping continuously. I watched several rounds before mounting so I could see where horses were losing confidence.
Archie warmed up quietly, though he slipped slightly behind at one corner. I shortened my reins, sat more securely, and used my outside aids to support him without gripping. The aim was to keep his rhythm consistent and avoid asking for a bigger effort than the footing allowed. In a storm, a neat, balanced approach matters far more than producing a bold-looking jump.
Our round was steady. Archie jumped the first few fences with plenty of room, then hesitated briefly before a related distance where water had gathered. I kept my leg on and allowed him to look without pulling him away from the fence. He made it over cleanly, but the moment reminded me that horses process wet footing differently from dry ground. A surface that appears manageable from the saddle can feel uncertain when the horse is placing each foot.
We had one rail down near the end of the course. I had become too focused on keeping Archie straight through a slippery turn and failed to give him enough support at the base of the next fence. It was frustrating, but I was more pleased with his attitude than disappointed by the score. He stayed rideable, listened after the mistake, and finished without rushing.
| Competition factor | What I noticed during the storm | How it affected my riding |
|---|---|---|
| Ground conditions | Wet patches and deep areas developed quickly | I chose balance and rhythm over speed |
| Visibility | Rain blurred fences, boards, and distant movement | I looked for the next question earlier |
| Horse focus | Archie watched umbrellas, puddles, and footing | I used quieter aids and familiar exercises |
| Equipment | Gloves, reins, saddle, and paperwork became wet | I packed more spares and protected essentials |
| Recovery | Archie was tired from concentrating on every step | I allowed extra walking and monitored his legs |
| Rider confidence | The weather made each decision feel more serious | I relied on the course walk and basic principles |
Walking a Waterlogged Cross-Country Course
The cross-country course looked completely different when I walked it again after show jumping. Earlier, the grass had been wet but firm. Now the rain had softened the top layer, created slick slopes, and filled the shallow dips between fences. Some take-off spots were still good, while others had become darker and more slippery. The course designer had removed one combination and altered the approach to another fence.
I walked every route slowly, paying particular attention to downhill approaches, narrow fences, and places where horses might land on uneven ground. The colours of the markers were harder to distinguish through the rain, so I memorised the order of the fences more carefully than usual. I also noted where I could safely circle if Archie became uncertain. Having an alternative plan helped me feel calmer.
My coach reminded me to keep my upper body light but not disconnected, maintain a secure lower leg, and avoid chasing the time. That advice was important. A horse can lose confidence quickly if the rider becomes hurried on slippery ground. We decided that a clear, positive round at a controlled pace would be a better result than trying to make up seconds and risking a fall.
There was also a welfare decision to make. The organisers had inspected the course, but conditions were continuing to change. I checked Archie’s legs, watched him walk on the firmest available area, and thought honestly about whether he felt fresh enough. He was tired but bright, with a normal appetite and no sign of soreness. I chose to run, knowing I could retire at any point if the footing or his confidence deteriorated.
The Ride Through the Rain
The start box was almost comically wet. Water dripped from my helmet brim, my gloves had lost most of their grip, and Archie was blowing hard as he waited for the countdown. I gave him a positive first gear rather than trying to manufacture a perfect halt. The moment we left the box, he lifted his shoulders and moved forward with purpose.
The first fences came up well. I kept my eyes on the centre of each obstacle and gave Archie enough freedom to judge the ground for himself. At the first downhill fence, I sat slightly deeper and used my voice to keep the rhythm. He jumped neatly, landed carefully, and continued without needing much correction.
The most difficult question was a narrow brush fence approached after a long, wet stretch. The rain was striking my face so heavily that I could barely see the flag until we were close. I kept my line, closed my leg, and trusted the preparation we had done at home. Archie locked onto the fence and jumped with his usual enthusiasm. The landing was slippery, and he took two short steps afterward, but I stayed with him and allowed him to regain his balance.
Further around the course, I chose a longer route to avoid a churned-up patch beside a log. It cost us time, but it kept Archie’s feet underneath him. That was the point when I stopped thinking about our placing. The job became simple: keep him balanced, keep the line clear, and make each fence a separate question.
We completed the course without a refusal or a fall, although we were well over the optimum time. Archie was blowing heavily but remained responsive, so I brought him back to walk and let him stretch his neck. I was soaked through and exhausted, yet I felt a deep sense of satisfaction. The round had not been polished, but it had been thoughtful and honest.
Looking After Archie Afterward
Once we returned to the lorry, I removed Archie’s tack immediately and checked him from nose to tail. I looked for rubs beneath the saddle and girth, mud packed around the heels, unusual heat in the legs, and any sign that he was favouring a limb. His skin was clean, and his legs felt normal, but I spent extra time drying the pasterns and feet.
I walked him in hand for longer than usual before offering a larger drink and his post-work feed. His hay kept him occupied while I changed into dry clothes and hung wet rugs where air could reach them. I used a fleece cooler first, replacing it once it became damp. A wet horse can become chilled surprisingly quickly after exertion, especially when the wind picks up.
Archie’s recovery told me as much as the competition results. Within half an hour he was interested in hay, relaxed through his topline, and looking for treats. I continued checking him during the journey home and again that evening. The next morning he was moving freely, with no swelling or stiffness, but I gave him an easy day rather than returning immediately to normal training.
The experience reinforced the value of simple horse-care routines. A storm can make everything feel dramatic, but careful checks are still practical and methodical. Clean feet, dry skin, sensible cooling, adequate hydration, and close observation matter more than any quick fix.
What I Would Pack Next Time
I had prepared reasonably well, but the weather exposed several weaknesses in my competition kit. My waterproof gloves were useful at first and nearly useless by the cross-country phase. I also wished I had packed more towels, a second base layer, a spare hat silk, and a larger waterproof folder for paperwork and dressage tests.
The competition also showed me that a weather forecast is only part of the preparation. Ground conditions can change within an hour, especially on busy grass arenas and cross-country tracks. Now I pay more attention to the venue’s drainage, the expected number of runners, and any updates from the organisers before deciding how aggressively to ride.
These are the checks I would make before another wet-weather event:
- Pack several pairs of gloves, socks, base layers, and riding tights.
- Bring extra towels, a waterproof sheet, and breathable coolers for the horse.
- Protect tests, timetables, phone batteries, and medical supplies from rain.
- Walk the course as close as possible to the start time and reassess slippery areas.
- Set a clear limit for retiring if the horse loses confidence or the footing becomes unsafe.
Lessons I Will Carry Forward
The biggest lesson was that rain does not automatically make a competition unsafe, but it changes the questions that need answering. A horse must be fit enough to work on less predictable ground, the rider must be willing to adjust expectations, and the organisers’ decisions must be considered alongside personal judgement. Completing every phase is never more important than protecting the horse.
I also learned that Archie trusted consistency more than confidence theatrics. When I kept my hands quiet, my leg supportive, and my pace measured, he dealt with the conditions remarkably well. When I became tense or concentrated too much on the scoreboard, my riding became less effective. The storm made those differences impossible to ignore.
We drove home with muddy boots, saturated rugs, and a result that looked ordinary on paper. For me, though, it was one of those days that marks a real step in partnership. Archie had carried me through dressage, show jumping, and a sodden cross-country course, and I had learned to make better decisions under pressure.
If you enjoy honest stories about eventing, horse care, training, and the realities behind competition days, follow Party Pony Eventing for the next update from the saddle.