Why I Chose a Forward Seat for Cross-Country Gallops

For a long time, I thought a balanced seat was the answer to almost every problem on horseback. It helped me sit quietly in dressage, keep my weight centred over Archie’s body, and stay organised when a show-jumping round became untidy. At home, I was proud of being able to ride with a deep, classical position rather than chasing speed or folding over a fence.

Cross-country changed that confidence. A gallop across open ground asks different questions from a collected canter in an arena. The horse needs freedom through the neck and shoulder, while the rider has to stay secure without landing heavily on the back. I gradually realised that my upright, dressage-influenced position was balanced for one kind of work, but not always appropriate for a long approach, a downhill slope, or a bold jump out in the open.

The change was not a sudden decision after one spectacular fall. It came through small moments with Archie: feeling him shorten his stride when I carried too much weight behind the movement, arriving at fences with less freedom than he had at home, and finishing gallops with my lower back aching. My instructors kept explaining that a forward seat was not the same as throwing myself at the horse’s neck. It was a way of following the motion.

That distinction became important for my confidence. I was not abandoning balance; I was redefining it. A cross-country position needs stability, adjustability, and enough release for the horse to use his body. The result has been a more comfortable partnership on the course, especially when Archie is travelling forward over undulating Australian ground.

The balanced seat I started with

My original position was built around sitting centrally in the saddle. My shoulders were over my hips, my hips over my heels, and I tried to keep an even connection from my hands through the reins. In dressage lessons, this arrangement made sense. It allowed me to influence the rhythm, ask for transitions, and keep Archie’s hindquarters engaged without disturbing his back.

That seat also served me well in show jumping. I could sit up before a related distance, rebalance after a fence, and keep my eyes on the next obstacle. When Archie rushed, sitting tall helped me close my fingers and bring him back to a manageable canter. I believed that the same approach would make me safe across country because it felt controlled.

The trouble appeared during faster work. At a proper gallop, my weight remained too far back for too long. I was trying to maintain the position I used in an arena while Archie was lengthening his frame beneath me. Instead of following his movement, I sometimes blocked it with my seat. He would lift his head, shorten his stride, or lose some of the effortless rhythm I felt when he galloped loose in the paddock.

I also discovered that “balanced” can become a vague word. A rider may feel secure while quietly asking the horse to carry too much weight on the back. Balance is not simply the sensation of sitting straight. It depends on speed, terrain, the horse’s stride, and what comes next. A position that is correct for a collected canter into a vertical may be unhelpful when approaching a solid fence from a forward gallop.

Reading Archie’s movement in open country

The clearest evidence came from watching Archie rather than concentrating on my own appearance. When I stayed upright and deep on a long galloping line, he was willing, but his stride was less open. He often felt as though he was waiting for me to decide whether we were really allowed to go forward. Cross-country horses need clear information, and my mixed signals were making the job harder.

My coach had me shorten the stirrups a hole and ride in two-point for brief stretches. At first, my calves gripped and my knees crept upwards. I folded too much from the waist, which put me ahead of the movement instead of allowing me to hover above it. Archie noticed every imbalance. If I tipped forward suddenly, he became quick; if I sat down abruptly, he lost his tempo.

We worked on keeping my hip angle soft rather than fixed. My seat bones lifted just enough to reduce pressure on his back, my weight came through the stirrups, and my hands moved forward with his neck. I still had a connection to the reins, but I was no longer using them as a balancing strap. Archie could stretch into the contact and keep his shoulders free.

This was especially useful at venues where the course ran across uneven grass. Around places such as Werribee in Victoria, a rider may meet broad expanses, firm patches, slopes, and marked tracks that feel very different from a prepared arena. The ground can change after rain, and the surface may become hard during a dry spell. A flexible forward seat lets me adjust my balance without asking Archie to carry my weight through every rise and dip.

Learning what a forward seat really means

I had previously pictured a forward seat as a dramatic racing crouch. In reality, mine is much quieter. My lower leg stays close to Archie’s side, my heel remains down without forcing the ankle, and my shoulders stay open. I fold from the hip over a fence or on a longer gallop, but I do not collapse onto his neck. The aim is to remain ready to sit up, shorten, or move with him.

The biggest change was allowing my centre of gravity to come slightly forward as Archie accelerated. In a balanced canter, I could remain more upright. In a cross-country gallop, my hips came out of the saddle and my weight travelled down through the stirrups. I kept my eyes ahead and my hands independent, using a crest release when necessary so he had room to stretch over a solid obstacle.

That position made the approach to fences clearer. Before the switch, I sometimes sat down too early because I was anxious about speed. Archie then had to jump from a shortened stride or work harder to lengthen again. With a more forward, following seat, I could maintain the rhythm and make smaller adjustments. I was still responsible for the pace, but I was no longer trying to control every step with my body.

It also helped me recover after landing. Cross-country fences do not always arrive in a neat arena line. A drop, a bank, a ditch, or a brush fence can change the horse’s balance. Staying light over the back meant Archie could land and organise himself, while I could sit up quickly when the next question required a turn or a half-halt. The seat became a moving set of gears rather than one fixed shape.

Building the change without rushing

I did not practise a full-speed gallop every time I rode. We began in a secure arena, where I could develop the muscles and coordination needed for two-point without worrying about ditches or unexpected turns. I rode transitions while hovering above the saddle, changed the length of my reins, and practised moving from a light seat to a deeper seat smoothly.

Pole work exposed my habits. Over a line of canter poles, I had to keep my leg steady and avoid tipping forward when Archie increased his stride. If I lost my balance, I returned to walk, reset my stirrups, and repeated the exercise. That repetition taught me that a forward position must come from strength in the core and lower leg, not from gripping with the knees or hanging on the reins.

Outdoors, we started with short stretches of faster canter on good footing. I used familiar tracks and chose areas with plenty of room to slow down. Archie learned that moving forward did not mean rushing, while I learned to distinguish a genuine gallop from an excited, flat stride. We finished before either of us became tired enough to lose form.

This gradual approach mattered in Australia because access to suitable galloping ground is not always simple. Many riders train on agistment properties, shared pony-club grounds, or hired cross-country facilities, and permission to use open fields can depend on weather and local conditions. At some venues, the course is available only on set days. A float trip to a clinic or schooling day can involve hours on the road, so I want the training plan to be productive without leaving Archie flat.

I kept notes after each session, including the surface, distance, weather, Archie’s energy, and how my lower leg felt. My older June competition notes remind me how much detail I once recorded about preparation and travel, and those records helped me see patterns. When I rushed the progression, Archie became tense. When I kept the sessions short and clear, his back felt looser and his stride became more confident.

Using the seat on a real cross-country course

The most valuable test came on course, where there was no perfect arena boundary to help me regulate the canter. I began in a deeper seat while warming up and checking that Archie was listening. Once we moved into the gallop, I allowed my body to come forward, lengthened my reins a fraction, and focused on maintaining a tempo rather than chasing a particular speed.

At the first solid fences, I stayed light but did not abandon the half-halt. That balance was important. A forward seat is not permission to let the horse run on indefinitely, especially when the course includes combinations, water, or a sharp change of direction. I needed to keep my eyes up and my mind several fences ahead. The position gave Archie freedom, while my preparation still provided boundaries.

Downhill work showed the greatest improvement. Previously, I tended to sit heavily because I was worried about losing control. Archie responded by shortening his neck and bracing through his back. With my weight lower through the stirrups and my upper body following the slope, I could stay secure without pulling. I could then sit deeper before the next fence or turn, using the change in position as a clear aid.

At a water complex, the forward seat helped in a different way. Archie needed confidence to step down, splash through, and climb out. I kept my hands soft and my weight slightly forward so he could look and use his neck. Once he was through, I sat up and re-established the rhythm for the next element. The movement between light and deep seats became much less dramatic.

There were still rides when I reverted to old habits. A sudden spook, a strong wind, or a horse overtaking on course could make me sit behind the movement. The difference was that I now recognised the feeling earlier. Instead of clinging or pulling, I could breathe, close my leg, regain the contact, and return to the position that supported Archie.

Finding a position that serves the partnership

Switching to a forward seat did not make my riding faster for its own sake. It made my aids more appropriate for cross-country. Archie could lengthen without feeling trapped, and I could remain secure when the terrain changed beneath us. The seat also reduced the physical strain on my back and legs because I was sharing the movement rather than resisting it.

I still use a balanced, more upright position every time the situation calls for it. Before a technical combination, after a landing, or when Archie needs a half-halt, I sit closer to the saddle. The skill is being able to change position without losing the rhythm. Cross-country riding rewards that adaptability far more than holding one textbook shape from start to finish.

Australian eventing has its own practical complications. A morning competition at SIEC or a regional fixture near Camden may involve an early float departure, a long wait between phases, and weather that moves from chilly dawn to intense afternoon sun. By the time the cross-country phase arrives, horse and rider need an efficient position that saves energy. Good balance is part of horse care, especially when the course is spread over a large property.

I have also become more careful about the language I use when discussing position with other riders. Some people say “get forward” when they mean “stop sitting behind the horse,” while others mean a much more pronounced galloping posture. Clear instruction matters. My forward seat is specific to the pace, terrain, and obstacle in front of us; it is not a permanent replacement for every other seat.

With Archie, the change has felt like a conversation becoming easier. I give him room to travel, and he gives me a more honest stride. We still have imperfect approaches, awkward landings, and days when the ground or the weather affects our plans. Yet when we find that light, organised gallop, I can feel the reason for the switch. Balance is no longer about staying in one place. It is about moving with my horse while remaining ready for whatever the course asks next.