Riding a brush-and-oxer double with Archie

Cross-country riding has a way of making a familiar horse feel completely new. In the arena, Archie can be precise, patient and wonderfully predictable, but a cross-country course asks different questions. The fences are solid, the ground changes underfoot, and every approach carries a little more consequence. My experience riding a cross-country course with a double of brush-and-oxer became one of those schooling days I kept replaying afterwards.

The combination looked straightforward from the ground: a brush fence first, followed by an oxer in a related distance. In the saddle, though, it demanded balance, rhythm and a proper commitment from both of us. It also showed me how much preparation happens before a horse ever steps into the start box, from travelling safely to the venue to checking tack, protective boots, weather and the course map.

Arriving at the cross-country venue

We left early enough to avoid the worst of the traffic, although an early start is hardly unusual for an Australian eventing day. Travelling from the outskirts of Melbourne means allowing extra time for a float, roadworks and the possibility of a slow-moving convoy of horse trucks. Archie had his hay net for the journey, and I kept water ready for the arrival because even a cool morning can become surprisingly warm once the sun reaches an open cross-country field.

The venue was already busy when we pulled in. Riders were walking the course in groups, grooms were unloading horses, and there was the familiar mix of coffee, dust and freshly cut grass. I checked Archie for rubs and swelling before tacking up, then took a careful look at the footing around the warm-up area. Australian grounds can vary dramatically between venues: red, firm soil in some places, heavy clay in others, and sandy surfaces near parts of the coast.

Walking the brush-and-oxer combination

Walking the course changed my opinion of the double. The brush fence did not look enormous, but it was wide enough to discourage a lazy jump, with a solid profile beneath the brush. The oxer behind it had a more substantial spread and asked for a confident second effort. I counted the distance several times and pictured the canter I wanted rather than focusing only on the individual fences.

The line was designed to reward a horse that stayed in front of the rider’s leg. If Archie landed from the brush and drifted or shortened too much, we would arrive at the oxer without enough power. If I pushed too strongly, I could flatten the first jump and create a rushed approach to the second. I marked the take-off points mentally, then walked alternative lines in case the ground became slippery or another rider altered the track.

At this point, I thought about an earlier competition day recorded in my July eventing diary, where the small details around preparation proved just as important as the jumping itself. Course walking is not simply memorising fences. It is working out where to regulate the horse, where to give him room to look and where I need to make a clear decision before the approach disappears.

Finding the right canter

In the warm-up, Archie felt energetic without being silly. I wanted a forward cross-country canter, not the contained rhythm I might use for a show-jumping track. At the same time, forward does not mean flat-out. The horse still needs to lift his shoulders, shorten or lengthen when required and remain responsive to a half-halt.

Our first few jumps were useful because Archie initially wanted to do a little too much with his shoulders. He has plenty of enthusiasm when the fences become interesting, and I could feel him searching for the next obstacle. I kept my hands quiet, supported him with my lower leg and concentrated on keeping my upper body tall. The aim was to arrive at the first element with enough impulsion already established, rather than trying to create it in the final strides.

I also paid attention to my breathing. Holding my breath makes my shoulders tense, and Archie notices that tension almost immediately. I had recently read about the relationship between breathing patterns and muscular comfort in breathing and neck comfort, and it gave me another reason to check my posture. A long exhale through the turn helped me soften my elbows and keep my eyes up.

The first approach to the brush fence

When we set off, Archie settled into the rhythm I had hoped for. The course opened with a few uncomplicated fences, which allowed me to establish the pace and make sure he was listening. I kept my leg on through the turns and avoided nagging. Every extra movement from me risked distracting him, so I tried to ride with quiet consistency.

The approach to the brush fence came across open ground. I could see the take-off area early, but the fence appeared to grow as we got closer. Archie lifted his head slightly to inspect it, and I resisted the temptation to shorten him abruptly. Instead, I closed my leg, kept my eyes beyond the obstacle and allowed the canter to travel forward.

He jumped the brush fence boldly, brushing through the top with his front legs rather than trying to leap excessively high. That was exactly what the fence was there to encourage. I stayed balanced over the middle of him and immediately looked towards the oxer, checking that we were straight and that the line had not shifted beneath us.

Managing the second element

The distance to the oxer came up quickly. I had to make a decision rather than waiting for Archie to solve the combination alone. He landed from the brush with good energy, but the stride was slightly shorter than the one I had imagined on foot. I kept my leg on and allowed him to move forward, using a supportive contact rather than pulling for control.

For a moment, I worried that I had asked for too much. The oxer was wider and more imposing, and Archie could have hesitated if I had become uncertain. Instead, he locked onto it and jumped with real commitment. I folded with him, keeping my hands forward enough to avoid catching his mouth, then sat up quickly after the landing to re-establish the rhythm.

That second effort was the clearest lesson of the day. A related distance cannot be ridden as two separate jumps. The first fence sets up the second, and the rider has to remain present between them. Archie needed me to provide direction and confidence without interfering with his natural ability to judge the obstacle.

What the course taught us

The double of brush-and-oxer exposed a small weakness in my riding: I sometimes become too focused on producing a perfect approach. Cross-country does not offer the same controlled environment as a dressage arena or a show-jumping ring. The horse may look at a shadow, change balance on uneven ground or land slightly differently from what the rider expected. I need to be organised without becoming rigid.

It also confirmed that Archie is more capable when I trust the canter we have created. He did not need a last-second squeeze or a dramatic correction. He needed a clear line, a positive rhythm and a rider who continued to believe in the answer after the first element. Once I gave him those things, he met the oxer with confidence.

The experience was especially valuable because Australian eventing venues often include natural features that make every course feel individual. A course near Sydney may ride differently from one in regional Victoria, even when the fence dimensions are similar. The slope, grass length, heat and firmness of the ground all influence how a horse approaches a combination.

Looking after horse and rider

After schooling, I cooled Archie carefully before putting him back on the float. We walked until his breathing settled, offered small drinks and checked his legs for heat or swelling. On a hot Australian day, shade and patience matter as much as the training session itself. I also washed the sweat from under his saddle and girth areas, because salt and dust can create rubs that are not obvious until later.

I checked my own equipment as well. My body protector, helmet and medical armband were in place before we went out, and I made sure the helmet met the relevant Australian safety requirements rather than relying on its appearance. Eventing rules and approved safety standards matter because protective equipment is part of responsible preparation, not an optional extra for a difficult course.

The local horse market makes this preparation a practical consideration too. Imported boots, replacement stirrup irons and specialist body protectors can be expensive in Australia, particularly when freight and exchange rates are added. I have become much better at checking stitching, fastenings and fit before every outing, because finding a problem at home is far preferable to discovering it beside a start box.

Building confidence for the next event

The ride gave me several useful points to take into our next training session. I want to practise maintaining the same forward rhythm through a turn, then allowing Archie to adjust naturally over a brush fence before riding positively to a wider second element. We will also continue working over banks, ditches and uneven approaches so that the double does not become an isolated exercise.

I will be more deliberate about my own preparation too. A short warm-up for my hips and shoulders, a few slow breaths and a clear mental picture of the course help me ride with less tension. The difference is noticeable in Archie. When I am balanced and decisive, he is less likely to question the question in front of him.

Riding that cross-country combination did not produce a flawless round, and that is why it was useful. The brush fence asked for commitment, the oxer required a second decision, and the space between them showed whether Archie and I were truly working together. By the time we returned to the float, I felt tired but pleased: the course had given us a demanding question, and we had answered it as a partnership.