Riding a Dressage Test in a Driving Rain Storm
Some competition days begin with calm preparation and end with a tidy test sheet tucked into a folder. This was not one of those days. The forecast had promised showers, but the weather at the venue quickly became something much more serious: steady, cold rain that blew across the arena and soaked everything within minutes.
Archie and I were entered for a dressage test as part of an eventing competition. I had spent weeks working on rhythm, straightness, transitions, and keeping my hands quiet. None of that preparation included riding while rain streamed down my helmet, splashed off the boards, and made every movement feel slightly less predictable.
I have ridden in wet weather before, but this was the first time I had to perform a full dressage test in a driving rain storm. The experience tested my riding, my concentration, and my ability to trust the work Archie and I had done at home. It also gave me a much clearer idea of which parts of our preparation were genuinely reliable.
Preparing While The Forecast Changed
The morning started with the usual competition routine. I checked Archie’s tack, groomed the mud from his legs, plaited his mane, and went over the schedule several times. At that point, the rain was light enough to ignore. I packed an extra waterproof jacket, spare gloves, and a towel for Archie, assuming they would be useful later but hoping they would remain in the lorry.
As the first riders began warming up, the wind strengthened. The clouds lowered over the venue, and the surface of the warm-up arena became dark and glossy. Rain began tapping against my helmet before turning into a continuous hiss. I could feel the familiar pressure of show nerves building, yet the weather added a practical concern: how much of Archie’s concentration would I be able to preserve?
I shortened my preparation plan. Instead of trying to school every movement, I focused on the essentials: forward energy, regular rhythm, soft contact, and accurate steering. In difficult conditions, there is a temptation to ride more defensively and hold a horse together with the reins. I knew that would make Archie tense, so I reminded myself to keep my leg supportive and my hands forgiving.
Finding A Rhythm In The Warm-Up
The warm-up was crowded, wet, and louder than usual. Waterproof coats flapped, hooves struck shallow puddles, and several horses reacted to the movement around the edge of the arena. Archie looked at the rain collecting on the fence and became slightly shorter in his neck. He was not frightened, but he was waiting for reassurance.
I spent the first few minutes walking and allowing him to look without making the weather into a crisis. Then I moved into rising trot, riding large circles and changes of rein. My goal was to make the rhythm feel ordinary. Every time I became tense, Archie became less fluid, so I concentrated on breathing out through the corners and keeping my shoulders low.
The canter work required the most patience. The wet footing made me reluctant to ask for too much impulsion, while Archie needed enough energy to avoid becoming flat and distracted. I used short periods of canter followed by quiet transitions, aiming for balance rather than brilliance. The best moment came when he lifted through his back and started to feel like the horse I had ridden at home.
I also had to accept that our warm-up would never look perfect. There was no point chasing a polished outline if it cost us relaxation. Before going into the arena, I wanted Archie attentive, moving forward, and confident enough to listen. That became our standard for the day.
Adjusting To A Wet Arena
The judge’s arena looked different from the one I had walked earlier. Rainwater darkened the boards, and puddles had formed near some of the corners. The letters were visible, but the white markers appeared blurred through the curtain of rain. I knew the test movements, yet the arena felt smaller because I was thinking so carefully about where Archie would place each hoof.
| Riding priority | What the storm made difficult | Adjustment I used |
|---|---|---|
| Rhythm | Wind and rain interrupted Archie’s focus | Kept my leg steady and avoided sudden rein corrections |
| Straightness | Water and reflections distracted him near the boards | Looked ahead to the next letter and rode from my inside leg |
| Transitions | Cold, wet conditions encouraged hesitation | Prepared earlier and used a clear, supportive aid |
| Contact | Rain made the reins slippery and my hands tense | Relaxed my fingers and checked the reins between movements |
| Accuracy | Blurred letters and puddles affected confidence | Memorised the pattern and aimed for the centre of each marker |
The table of priorities in my head was simple: ride the horse first, then ride the test. I could not control the weather or make the surface dry, but I could control whether I gave Archie clear instructions. That distinction helped me stay present instead of mentally replaying everything that might go wrong.
The rain also changed my expectations. On a dry day, I might have aimed for more expression in the lengthened work or a sharper transition. In the storm, I wanted obedience without tension and accuracy without forcing the issue. A sensible, positive test suddenly felt more valuable than an ambitious one that unravelled.
Riding The Test Through The Rain
When the steward called us forward, Archie felt alert but manageable. The rain had soaked through my gloves, and I could feel water running down my neck beneath my collar. I paused at the entrance, took one deep breath, and rode forward before I had time to overthink the conditions.
The centre line was better than I expected. Archie stayed straight, although he lifted his head slightly as a gust struck us from the side. I kept my eyes on the judge’s end and resisted the urge to correct every small movement. The halt was not perfectly square, but it was quiet, and we moved off without a dramatic reaction to the rain hitting the arena roof.
Our first trot movements felt cautious. Archie was listening, though, and the rhythm stayed consistent. At each corner I used my inside leg to maintain the bend and allowed my outside rein to guide rather than restrain. I had to ride more deliberately than usual because my vision was limited by water on my eyelashes.
The transitions became the most important part of the test. I prepared earlier, using my seat and leg before the letter rather than asking at the last moment. This helped Archie understand what was coming. A couple of transitions lacked polish, but they were obedient, and we recovered quickly. In ordinary weather, I might have considered them disappointing. In that arena, they felt like small victories.
The canter work was where I felt our partnership most clearly. Archie stayed forward through the corners and did not become hurried. When the rain blew directly across the arena, he tightened for a few strides, but he came back to me when I closed my fingers and supported him with my leg. I thought about a difficult cross-country round I had written about in the fence that scared me, and how confidence often comes from continuing calmly rather than waiting to feel fearless.
The final centre line arrived sooner than I expected. I straightened Archie, softened my hands, and asked for the halt. It was slightly crooked, but he stood still. I saluted through the rain, lowered my hands, and felt a wave of relief that was much bigger than the movement itself deserved. We had completed the test without losing our partnership.
What The Marks Taught Me
The score sheet reflected the conditions without excusing everything. Our marks were mixed, with some generous comments on rhythm and submission and lower scores for accuracy and transitions. The judge noted that Archie had remained willing and that I had kept riding when the weather made the test difficult. Those comments mattered to me more than a single number.
The most useful criticism concerned preparation for the transitions. I had prepared early enough to stay obedient, but sometimes I had become too careful. Archie needed me to maintain impulsion rather than simply prevent mistakes. The storm had exposed the difference between quiet riding and passive riding. I had been calm, but at moments I had also held back.
Another lesson involved my equipment. My gloves became slick, and I spent more attention than I should have checking my grip. My waterproof jacket restricted my shoulders slightly, and the hood on my coat made it harder to hear the steward clearly. None of these problems caused a serious issue, yet small distractions matter when the test requires accuracy.
Archie’s response was the part I was proudest of. He did not offer the most expressive work of his life, but he listened, stayed in front of my leg, and kept trying. For an eventing horse, that reliability is precious. Dressage is often judged by precision and quality, but a difficult-weather test also reveals how much trust exists beneath the movements.
The Care After We Finished
Once we left the arena, the focus shifted immediately to horse care. I removed Archie’s bridle, rubbed his face with a dry towel, and changed his damp saddle cloth. His back felt warm and relaxed, which reassured me that he had not been working against the contact. I walked him for longer than usual and kept checking his legs and expression.
The rain made everything more difficult after the test. Wet rugs were piled over rails, boots filled with water, and the lorry became a cramped changing room for muddy clothes. I was cold enough to shake while trying to write notes about the test, but I did not want the details to disappear under the general exhaustion of the day.
Later, when Archie had dried and was eating hay, I looked at the score sheet again. My first reaction had been to focus on the marks we had lost. With more time, I began to see the test as useful information. We had maintained a connection under pressure, but we needed stronger preparation for transitions and better systems for managing wet-weather equipment.
The experience also changed how I think about competition nerves. I had assumed the hardest part would be staying composed when the rain became uncomfortable. In reality, the challenge was accepting that the ride would not look perfect and choosing to keep communicating anyway. That is a lesson I can use in every phase of eventing.
Changes I Am Making For Future Shows
A single wet dressage test cannot provide a complete training plan, but it highlighted several practical improvements. I want Archie to experience more variety during schooling so that rain, wind, movement outside the arena, and unfamiliar footing do not feel like separate problems. I also want to improve my own preparation, especially when conditions make me tense.
The adjustments I am carrying into future competitions are:
- Practise transitions from a forward, active trot rather than slowing down before every change.
- School in light rain and wind when the footing is safe, keeping the session short and positive.
- Pack several pairs of gloves, along with a towel that can stay dry in a sealed bag.
- Test waterproof jackets and riding layers at home so they do not restrict my shoulders or alter my contact.
- Walk the arena carefully and choose clear visual targets when letters or boards are difficult to see.
These changes are small, but they are the kind that make a competition day more manageable. Good preparation does not guarantee a perfect test. It gives both horse and rider more choices when circumstances become uncomfortable.
I am also learning to separate a disappointing mark from a disappointing ride. Some movements were below our usual standard, yet the overall performance showed that Archie could stay with me in conditions that neither of us enjoyed. That is meaningful progress, even if it does not appear in every box on the sheet.
A Wet Ride Worth Remembering
Riding a dressage test in a driving rain storm was uncomfortable, untidy, and far more mentally demanding than I expected. It was also one of the clearest tests of our partnership so far. Archie did not need me to pretend the weather was easy. He needed me to remain clear, supportive, and consistent while everything around us became distracting.
I will remember the sound of the rain, the slippery reins, and the moment we halted at the end of the centre line. More importantly, I will remember that confidence is often built during the rides that do not go exactly to plan. Archie and I finished with useful lessons, a stronger sense of trust, and another experience to carry into our next event.
Follow along with Party Pony Eventing for more honest stories from the warm-up arenas, dressage tests, show-jumping rounds, and cross-country days that shape our partnership.