Riding the counter-canter line without losing Archie
When a dressage test calls for a counter-canter serpentine, my first reaction is to reread the sheet and wonder whether Archie and I can make the shape look as uncomplicated on paper as it does in my head. The movement asks me to keep him on the canter lead opposite the bend, maintain a forward rhythm and negotiate several changing curves without chopping the stride. Archie is generally willing, but a canter pattern brings out his habit of looking past the next letter and taking a speculative half-step early.
I have never found the answer in adding more rein. When Archie feels uncertain on a bending line, my first job is to keep his canter rhythm regular, then ask for enough flexion that the shoulders follow the curve. Too much inside rein makes him scrape along the inside; too much outside rein leaves him running with his weight on the end of his nose. My preparation therefore has two layers: school the shape at home, then rehearse the transition and the timing of my aids beside the competition arena.
The Australian setting adds travel, heat and unfamiliar footing to that preparation. Whether I am at a club event in country Victoria or a bigger fixture at Melbourne Equestrian Centre, Archie needs time to settle after the float trip. My aim is not to pretend the pressure does not exist. It is to reduce the number of surprises before the judge calls the first movement, so that the counter-canter serpentine feels like another well-prepared piece of work rather than a test of improvised horsemanship.
Reading the pattern before the arena
I begin with the test sheet, not the arena. I identify the letters, the size of each circle and the exact point for the canter transition or lead change, using the current Federation wording and my coach’s notes. A 20 by 60 metre dressage arena gives plenty of room, yet the useful space depends on where Archie is comfortable. I walk the route in my mind and decide what must happen before the first bend, during it and on the exit. I compare four warm-up choices according to what they fix and what they may disturb:
| Warm-up option | What I want from it | Where Archie can lose quality | What success looks like |
|---|---|---|---|
| Canter on a circle in both leads | Establish an outside lead and a calm transition | He may rush the first stride or drift out of the circle | Even steps, steady contact and a quiet departure |
| Shoulder-in on a straight line | Create flexion before the bend | He may shorten his stride and brace the inside shoulder | A longer step with the nose still in front of the vertical |
| Leg-yield into the canter | Improve lateral balance and connection | He may think he is turning away from the marker | The same rhythm and energy as the straight canter |
| Lengthened trot before the test movement | Reset his body and make the canter transition clearer | He can lose impulsion and meet the marker late | A deliberate, balanced canter departure |
The options are not interchangeable. Shoulder-in is useful when Archie needs more lateral suppleness, but asking for it immediately before a canter departure can make him collect and shorten. Leg-yield gives me a softer connection into the line, although too much lateral work leaves him travelling without enough push from behind. I usually use a little of each, then test the canter on a generous circle before narrowing the focus.
My choice also depends on how the competition arena feels when I arrive. If Archie is fresh and waiting near the warm-up, I keep the schooling simple and spend longer on transitions. If the surface feels deep or uneven, I look for a steady tempo before I ask for a more precise shape. The current test sheet tells me what the judge will see; my notes tell me what Archie needs to make that picture possible.
Building a canter I can trust
In the warm-up, I want Archie to canter before I need to canter. We begin with trot on a generous circle, then use a long diagonal to check that he is still tracking and accepting my leg. On the lunge I ask for canter on both leads, which is less about schooling the test arena and more about making the transition predictable. He does not need to rush out of the saddle; I need to know that my “canter” cue produces one calm stride that can be repeated.
Archie responds much better when my verbal language stays boring: “canter”, “wait”, “bending” and “steady”. I have written about my cue words for balance, and the same short vocabulary carries into a serpentine. The words do not replace half-halts or leg aids; they tell him what I am about to ask and give both of us a moment to organise before the bend. Repeating a cue only when its meaning is unchanged keeps it useful rather than turning it into background noise.
Once he is in the canter, I work on his balance rather than the size of the circle. A small half-halt before the bend helps him adjust his stride without losing the forward beat. I keep my outside rein long enough to support the shoulder and my inside leg clear enough to keep the correct lead. If his stride shortens, I reduce pressure and let him move forward again. The goal is a horse that can adjust while remaining in the same rhythm, because a serpentine leaves no room for a slow correction once the next curve has begun.
Keeping Archie through the changes
By the time the judge calls the test, Archie has usually done enough canter work to find his rhythm. The serpentine magnifies small errors because each exit becomes the next entry. If I arrive at the first arc with too much speed, the inside shoulder has no time to follow and the canter becomes a series of half-halts. If I arrive too slowly, Archie may hunt for the next lead and step across the line. I therefore plan an approach rhythm that I can sustain through the whole figure.
Archie’s anticipation is most obvious when the arena boundary comes into view. He often turns his head towards the next letter and tries to leave the bend early. I keep looking down the line, soften my seat and wait until the marker is close enough for the transition to make sense. A clear “wait”, followed by a quieter half-halt, gives him something specific to respond to. Then I ask for the lead required on the following curve without adding urgency to the pace.
My coach’s camera work is invaluable here. From the side, I can see whether the inside shoulder is following or whether Archie is simply leaning over the inside rein. The video also shows how much space I lose between the circles. Slow canter pirouettes and large circles in the warm-up help me find that balance again if the atmosphere has made him tense. The goal is not to perform a more difficult version of the movement. It is to make the required version stable enough for both of us to ride.
Travel, weather and unfamiliar arenas
Most of my season involves loading Archie into a horse float and travelling to a competition complex. On a country-to-Melbourne trip, I check the route, carry spare hay, keep water available and leave more margin than I think I need. The float journey is routine for us, but it still affects his body. Archie arrives with less schooling opportunity than at home, so my warm-up needs to establish rhythm before it asks for precision.
At Melbourne Equestrian Centre, the competition arena may look familiar while the surrounding activity still creates noise. The judge’s box beside the short side, announcements from nearby rings and horses walking past the entrance can pull Archie’s attention away. Summer also brings hot wind, dry feet or deep sand depending on the day. An Australian rider learns to treat weather and surface as part of the test plan rather than details separate from it. On a wetter weekend, I may spend less time on big circles and more on confirming that Archie can place one foot accurately.
The local competition structure shapes the preparation too. For many state-level events, riders enter through an Equestrian Australia affiliate, and a club nomination can affect the class in which I compete. Club coaches often know the arena and the judges, but I still prepare for different footing because venues change their surface between competitions. In conversation, Australian riders talk about a “comeback ride” after a spell away, the “run-up” to a major event and doing the job “properly” rather than merely getting away with it. That last phrase sits with me whenever Archie needs to learn a precise canter pattern.
The moment the test begins
On competition day, I tack up with the same routine: check the boots, tighten the girth after a short walk, adjust the bridle and spend a few quiet minutes with my reins. Before entering the arena, I review the test sheet one final time. My warm-up plan has three priorities: one calm canter transition, a supple canter on a bending line and enough impulsion to carry through the final circle. If one of those pieces is missing, I simplify rather than add more work.
When I call “canter” on the approach, Archie departs cleanly, though he looks towards the first marker a fraction too early. On the initial curve, his inside shoulder arrives slightly late. I say “wait”, make a small half-halt and keep the outside rein supportive. The canter settles. At the next transition, he anticipates the change and tries to rush, but the familiar cue brings his stride back to me. We lose a little time on the approach and gain regularity through the bend, which is the right trade for this test.
After the final circle, Archie wants to continue down the long side, so I remind him to stay with my leg until the halt and salute. The judge’s card reflects what I felt: canter work that was clear at the start but less even when the direction changed, and a horse who stayed attentive despite the distractions. A serpentine is unforgiving because every small imbalance travels forwards. For me, success is Archie remaining balanced on the outside lead, following the line without losing rhythm and accepting the half-halt when I need it. Preparation cannot remove the pressure of the arena, but it gives Archie and me a shared, dependable way through the bending line.