The day my dressage stirrup leathers finally gave me away

I had spent the morning worrying about the usual things: whether Archie would warm up quietly, whether I had packed enough hay, and whether the weather at the grounds would turn from crisp to blustery before our test. The stirrup leathers were not on my list of concerns. They were attached to the saddle, the buckles looked secure, and I had ridden in that setup plenty of times.

The problem became obvious during a simple sitting trot. Archie was working nicely through his back, but I felt as though my lower leg was searching for the right place. My knees kept creeping upwards, my heels were not settling below my hips, and I was working far too hard to sit still. At first I blamed myself, then the saddle, then the uneven footing outside the indoor arena.

It was my coach who noticed the real issue. She watched me ride one circuit and said, “Your stirrups are too short for dressage.” That was the moment I realised my stirrup leathers were too short for dressage, even though they had felt perfectly normal while jumping and hacking around home.

The change was only a few holes, but it altered everything. My position became quieter, Archie’s rhythm improved, and I stopped trying to manufacture a long, elegant leg. It was a useful reminder that tack settings are not universal. The length that helps me fold over a show jump can make my dressage position tense and crowded.

The setting made the problem easier to miss

At home, I had been riding in the same general saddle arrangement for several weeks. We had done flatwork, pole exercises and a few small jumps without any obvious disaster. Archie is fairly forgiving, and when I shortened the stirrups for jumping, I usually left them there for the next ride. That habit had become automatic.

The show was held at a regional equestrian centre outside Canberra, where the cold morning air made everyone move briskly while preparing horses. The warm-up arena was busy, with riders trotting in different directions and coaches calling reminders from the rail. I was concentrating on steering, transitions and keeping Archie relaxed, so the uncomfortable feeling in my legs did not immediately register as a tack problem.

Dressage also exposes small inconsistencies in a way that ordinary schooling sometimes does not. There was nowhere to hide from the long diagonals, the square halts and the sustained sitting trot. In jumping, I could get up off the saddle and allow my leg to shorten around the fence. In dressage, I needed my seat, thigh and lower leg to work as a longer, connected line.

Why jumping length was wrong for flatwork

Jumping stirrup length is generally shorter because it allows the rider to lift out of the saddle, keep the centre of gravity forward and maintain a secure base over fences. My jumping length gives me enough room to fold with Archie without catching him in the mouth or losing my balance. It feels familiar, particularly when I am riding a course at a show.

Dressage asks for something different. A longer stirrup can help the rider allow the hip to open, lengthen the thigh and keep the heel beneath the hip rather than tucked back. It is not about dropping the stirrup as far as possible or forcing the leg down. The useful length is the one that lets the leg hang naturally while the pelvis remains balanced over the horse.

Mine were short enough to make my knee angle too closed. I was gripping with my thighs and using my stirrups as if I were preparing for a jump. That created a chain reaction: my seat became less independent, my hands became busier, and Archie received mixed signals from my lower leg. The tack was not the only issue, but it was helping create the issue.

The first adjustment felt strangely long

During the warm-up, my coach asked me to lengthen both leathers by two holes. I expected to feel stretched and insecure. Instead, I immediately noticed that my knees had room to soften. My heels did not magically sink, but they no longer had to be pushed down from a cramped position.

There was an awkward stage while I adjusted. My first attempt was uneven, with one side longer than the other, and I had to dismount to check the holes properly. That is not an elegant thing to do when other riders are circulating around you, but it is better than trying to solve a crooked position while mounted.

When I remounted, Archie walked away with a looser feel. At the sitting trot, I could allow my pelvis to follow instead of bracing against the saddle. The difference was subtle rather than dramatic, but subtle changes matter when a horse is being asked for accurate transitions and straight lines.

How Archie responded to the change

Archie is sensitive to tension in my body, particularly when I become determined to “look like a dressage rider”. With the shorter stirrups, I had been trying to hold myself in position. My calf was inconsistent, my thigh was gripping, and my seat was not following his movement as freely as it should.

After lengthening the leathers, my aids became less busy. Archie began stretching into the contact during the working trot, and our walk-to-trot transitions felt less abrupt. He was not suddenly transformed into a polished Grand Prix horse, nor was I suddenly riding perfectly, but there was more room for the communication to work.

The canter showed the clearest improvement. I often lose the feeling of sitting in the canter when I am tense, and short stirrups had encouraged me to perch. With the longer length, I could keep my upper body tall without pinching at the knee. Archie’s stride felt more open, and I was better able to follow it rather than interrupt it.

Finding the useful length at home

After the competition, I did not simply decide that a particular number of holes was the answer forever. My leg length, saddle, boots and the shape of the horse all affect how a stirrup setting feels. The same hole can feel different in a close-contact jumping saddle compared with a dressage saddle, and leathers from different brands may have different hole spacing.

At home in Victoria, I spent several rides checking the position rather than changing it every five minutes. I started with my normal jumping length, then lengthened gradually until my leg rested comfortably without forcing my heel down. I checked that I could still rise comfortably in the trot and that I could shorten the leathers quickly if Archie became playful.

A useful test was to look at my lower leg when I was relaxed, not when I was posing for a mirror. My ankle needed to sit roughly beneath my hip, my knee needed to remain soft, and I needed enough bend to absorb movement. If my stirrup was constantly falling off my foot, the leathers were probably too long or my leg was not stable enough yet.

What I changed in my tack routine

I now check stirrup length before every dressage ride, particularly after using the saddle for jumping. It takes seconds to compare the holes on both sides, but it prevents the familiar mistake of climbing on and assuming everything is ready. I also keep a small note in my tack cupboard with my usual flatwork and jumping settings.

Travelling to competitions has made this more important. At Australian shows, especially those involving a long float trip, I may unpack at dawn in a strange yard, share a warm-up with unfamiliar horses and work from a timetable that changes during the day. It is easy to focus on bridle checks, boots, numbers and dressage tests while overlooking something as ordinary as stirrup length.

I have also stopped treating the saddle as a fixed object once it is placed on Archie. Before mounting, I check the girth, saddle position, stirrup symmetry and whether the leathers have twisted. If we are competing at a larger venue such as SIEC near Sydney, I allow extra time for this because rushing makes small mistakes much more likely.

The lesson I took into training

The biggest lesson was not simply that dressage stirrups are longer than jumping stirrups. It was that position should support the horse’s movement rather than imitate a picture. I had been trying to achieve a visual idea of a long leg while still riding with a jumping setup. The result was tension, not elegance.

My coach also reminded me that longer leathers are not a shortcut to a correct dressage seat. If the rider lacks strength or balance, dropping the stirrups can make the leg swing, the toes point down and the seat become less secure. We worked on transitions, two-point position and no-stirrup exercises so I could develop stability rather than rely on tack adjustments.

At home, I now alternate between focused dressage sessions and practical riding. Some days Archie works in the arena; other days we hack past the eucalyptus trees, ride over poles or practise a few transitions in the paddock. The goal is for my position to remain useful in different situations, not just to look correct for one test.

Preparing differently for the next test

At the next competition, I arrived with a much calmer plan. I checked the weather, gave Archie time to settle after the float journey and changed the stirrups before mounting. The grounds were busy in the way Australian competition grounds often are, with riders moving between yards, marquees and arenas while someone nearby prepared a camp stove and a kettle.

I rode a few minutes of walk before asking for trot, paying attention to whether my hips could move and whether my heels were sitting naturally. I did not keep lengthening the leathers in search of a perfect position. Once they felt balanced, I left them alone and concentrated on Archie’s rhythm, the corners and the accuracy of our figures.

The improvement was not measured by a spectacular score. It was the absence of that crowded, hurried feeling. I could sit through the test without fighting my own legs, and Archie received clearer aids. Since then, a stirrup check has become as ordinary as checking the girth: a small part of preparation that can make the whole ride feel more organised.