What I do when I arrive at a venue and realise I forgot my boots

The missing boots became obvious at the car park of a small event near Ballarat. I had Archie unloaded, checked his girth and placed the saddle and rug beside the ute. Then I opened my tack bag for the helmet and found no boots. They were hanging beside the bedroom door at home, tucked under the other half of my riding gear. The horse was ready; I was dressed for every part of the day except the bit that touched my feet.

Forgotten boots are more than an outfit problem in eventing. My footwear has to let me keep a heel in the stirrup, support my ankle and meet the class rules for dressage, show jumping or cross-country. A pair of flat training shoes may be acceptable for some schooling, yet assuming they are acceptable for a formal class is a poor gamble. Archie does not care whether my boots match, but he does depend on me being able to ride securely.

I have made this mistake more than once, so my response now is practical rather than theatrical: stop, settle Archie, check what can be borrowed and decide whether the class can be ridden safely. Sometimes the answer is a borrowed pair found in the tack shop. Sometimes it is scratching out and going home with a few dollars less. The important part is not pretending sneakers are riding boots because I am already at the venue.

The car park reveal

I start with a proper search rather than panicking immediately. I check the car, tack trunk, grooming box and the bag containing Archie’s rugs. I empty pockets in case I shoved a pair of short boots among the leg wraps, and I ask my travel companion to check the other vehicle. On one occasion I found one boot under the esky and had to accept that matching it with anything left at home was impossible.

Then I consider which phase is about to begin. Whether short paddock boots are acceptable for a dressage class depends on the level and the current rules of the affiliated organisation. Show jumping and cross-country have stricter requirements, particularly for boots with a defined heel and a sole suited to the phase. A dressage boot with a smooth sole would be wrong for cross-country, while a sturdy field boot might not satisfy a formal dressage test.

Before I make any calls, I get Archie comfortable. I secure him in a shaded area, offer water and remove the saddle if he needs a rest. I do not mount in whatever footwear happens to be in the boot bag. Instead, I tell the organiser or starter that I may need to withdraw and ask how long I have to resolve the problem.

Making calls before mounting

My first call is to the event organiser because the person taking entries should know what spare equipment is available. Organisers sometimes keep a medical armband, spare gloves or a few items in the office, and they can also tell me whether a nearby riding store is open. If the answer is no, I ring the coach or another competitor travelling with our club. Someone who has already arrived may have a spare pair that fits.

Distance makes this difficult in Australia. From our home south of Melbourne, we drive to venues around Ballarat, Wangaratta and larger metropolitan arenas; riders based in Sydney have the same problem when heading towards places such as Orange or Camden. A regional saddlery may stock basic horse gear but not my size in paddock boots. Mobile reception can also be patchy in rural districts, so I give the organiser my number and send a text with my boot size and the type of footwear required.

I stay with Archie while this happens. If he has been unloaded, I ask a stable partner or official to help watch him rather than tying him to a fence and walking away. If I have to leave the yard, Archie goes back in the float or remains with someone responsible for him. The inconvenience of finding boots is bad enough without adding an escaped horse to the morning.

Borrowing boots that actually fit

Borrowed footwear is only useful if it is suitable. I need to know whether the boots are short paddock boots, tall dressage boots, show-jumping boots or cross-country boots. The sole, heel height and ankle support all matter. I try them with the socks and gaiters I would normally wear, then check that my heel stays down and my foot cannot slide forward through the stirrup. I also walk around because a boot that looks right can rub in a completely different place.

Australian equestrian retailers have different stock levels. Capital-city riding shops usually offer a wider range of paddock and tall boots, while country outfitters may have work boots that are unsuitable because their heels and soles are wrong for riding. Online marketplaces and second-hand sellers can offer a good pair, but same-day delivery is unlikely, and a used pair may need new laces or resoling. A serviceable new pair can cost several hundred Australian dollars, which is why a club or competition community sharing spare gear is invaluable.

I only accept borrowed boots with the owner’s permission, after checking the soles, heel and fastening. I also ask whether they have been used in a recent cross-country round, since worn tread or a stretched heel can affect security. If I cannot get an approved pair that fits, I withdraw. Wearing ill-fitting footwear creates blisters, changes my balance and can end the competition before the starter’s horn even sounds.

Heat, distance and Australian event rules

Australian conditions can turn a boot problem into a much larger issue. Summer events begin early to escape the heat, and the car park can already be warm when the first competitors arrive. Regional trips also mean carrying water, ice and a cool box in the ute or on the float. I use fly rugs, sunscreen and insect repellent, because flies around the staging area make horses restless. A pair of boots can become gritty after rain or red dust after a dry spell, so I keep a cloth and spare laces nearby even when my footwear was packed properly.

Competition requirements come from Equestrian Federation of Australia rules and the relevant state organisation, such as Equestrian Victoria or Equestrian NSW. Depending on the phase and level, eventing may require a body protector, a medical armband and specific standards of tack and dressage attire. A medical armband is worn on the horse so emergency information is visible. If my boots do not meet the requirements, an official can decline to let me start.

Those rules sit within state and territory work health and safety laws, which apply in different ways to employees, volunteers and people conducting activities. In practical terms, the organiser needs an emergency plan, suitable equipment and a way to assess risks, while riders remain responsible for their own conduct and horse care. Organisers may also modify schedules or cancel phases when the weather is unsafe. A forgotten pair of boots is frustrating, but it is never a reason to ignore an official’s direction.

Building a boot habit that survives travel

My current system starts at home. My boots go into a separate section of the tack bag rather than being left beside the door with spare jodhpurs. I put them on beside the horse, walk to the ute and only then load the rest of the gear. It sounds overcareful, yet it has prevented the same mistake. I also keep a basic emergency list on paper in the vehicle, including boot size, saved contacts and the address of a suitable retailer.

A second pair is useful, though I treat it as a backup rather than assuming it will be competition-legal. Old paddock boots may be fine for getting Archie ready at home, but they are not automatically suitable for a formal class. At events, I now keep essential items in labelled bags instead of loose in the car. Laces, a small boot brush, spare socks, gaiters and plasters take up little room and make it easier to deal with dust, damp or a broken fastening.

The Australian second-hand market is useful for replacing a favourite broken pair, especially when I can try an older model on first. Local saddleries can also recommend a boot fitter or repairer. I keep the soles and heels in good condition, wipe off mud after each ride and store leather boots away from damp sheds. Proper care reduces the chance that the backup pair will fail on the day I actually need it.

When the right choice is to withdraw

Withdrawing is disappointing because entry fees, fuel, accommodation and hours of preparation are already committed. I have sat in a ute outside a cross-country course trying to decide whether a loose-fitting pair of boots was good enough. Trying to save the entry fee puts Archie and me at risk of a fall. If the rules are doubtful, the fit is poor or the footwear is the wrong type, scratching out is the responsible decision.

If suitable boots arrive, I give myself extra time in the warm-up area. I do not compensate for nervous feelings by schooling Archie aggressively. I check the boots again after walking and mounting, make any necessary adjustments and focus on the first few strides. In a multi-phase event, I may enter dressage but withdraw from a later phase if the boots cannot safely handle cross-country.

Archie should never pay for my rushed packing. When he is unsettled, I hand him over to a capable rider or yard assistant while I sort the problem. Once the decision is made, I tell the organiser promptly so they can update the running order. Missing a class may cost money and provide no useful result, but finishing another horse with an injury would cost far more.

What Archie taught me about preparation

Archie usually notices the change in my mood before I find the missing boots. He shifts, searches the lorry and becomes fussier about being tacked up. Keeping him quiet gives me time to think, and looking after his water, shade and feed keeps the problem centred on equipment rather than on his behaviour. A calm horse makes every telephone call easier.

Boots are part of my safety equipment, not simply a piece of competition clothing. They connect the rider’s leg to the stirrup, and their condition and fit affect balance, pressure and control. Bringing the right pair is as ordinary as checking the girth, the helmet and the body protector. Planning for a spare pair has become just as important.

Since that morning near Ballarat, I open the car boot before leaving home and count my boots as carefully as I count Archie’s rugs. If they are still at the venue, I stop, make calls and follow the rules. If there is no safe solution, I come home. That is what I do, and Archie has never argued with any of it.