BLIND TRUST
by Susan "Sam" Madden
(a shorter version of this appeared in the February 2001 Practical Horseman)
After a five-year hiatus from horses when I went blind from diabetes in 1990, at age 34 I took up riding again at Camelot Therapeutic Horsemanship in Scottsdale, Arizona, a program for equestrians with physical challenges. I didn't expect to receive much more than pony rides; and confronted with the question whether I thought I would ever own my own horse again, I responded I didn't have anyone who could babysit me at the stable. Camelot showed me I was capable of doing flying lead changes and flying dismounts (and, yes, cleaning stalls) without being able to see; but the day I jumped, I felt I had grown wings! Who knew that within five years I would own my own horse and show (successfully!) against sighted riders on a national level?
In March 1998, after graduating from Camelot, I leased Kenos Tomy tutone, a 1987 Paint gelding. Five days a week Dial-a-Ride dropped me off at the stable; I opened the combination lock to the tack room (except once when someone put the lock on backwards and, although I figured out the problem, I couldn't get the numbers to work in reverse), groomed and tacked up my horse, and led him to the round pen using my cane. I couldn't get lost in a round pen (although getting TO the round pen was a bit trickier). If I ever fell off (which I never did), all I'd have to do was walk until I bumped into the fence and follow it to the gate, where Tomy would no doubt be waiting. I used a dressage whip in my outside hand to feel the rail, and I rode bareback for the first six months in order to feel everything that was going on underneath me.
Placing a personals ad in a local horse publication, I met my boyfriend, Ralph Carr, in October 1998. He stepped in as my coach at horse shows, directing me through arena traffic via radio transmitter. My receiver was discretely tucked into my cleavage, and a wire led to a speaker in my ear. Although we use two-way radios, I prefer not to have the ability to talk back in the show ring. (I do reserve this right in other situations!) If I were to speak, I might override some vital information that Ralph needed to convey immediately. He tells me things other people have the benefit of seeing like if a horse is blowing up in front of me, if I need to pass someone, or if my horse is coming off the rail. He has to be very precise. I need to know more than "left" - I need to know how far left and at what angle.
Some people feel I have an unfair advantage being directed in the show ring; but, believe me, there is nothing anyone could say (or have time to say) over the radio that would give me an unfair advantage. If I don't do my homework and learn to feel and react to what my horse is doing underneath me, I am not going to win the class. In reality, it's an unfair advantage that everyone else can see! To be equitable, we should all put bags over our heads and ride an equitation class with 10 other horses to dodge!
People marvel at how I always get the correct diagonal - without anyone prompting me, I might add. The secret is not to concentrate on what your horse's legs are doing but to concentrate on what your own legs are doing. At the trot your body gently rocks left and right. When you feel your outside leg going down, the horse's outside foreleg is coming back; so you should be sitting at that point to be on the correct diagonal.
My first showing experience as a blind rider was in December 1998. It was a walk/trot class in a huge arena, and there were only three of us in there. The other two riders, both sighted, ran into each other, and I won the class by default!
In 1999 Tomy and I earned year-end high point awards in three different local show circuits and placed in equitation at the Pinto National Championships. But I didn't want people to think the only reason I was winning was because I had a push-button horse. So in September 1999 I bought Sugarplum Vision (Zoe), an unbroke three-year-old hunter type Pinto/Paint filly, despite admonishment from a top trainer that it was a death warrant for a blind rider to have such a green horse.
Everyone had an opinion about what kind of horse I needed: usually one that was a step away from the glue factory and no threat to the most inept rider. But I had other ideas and ambitions: to show in equitation on the flat, hunter under saddle, and hunter hack. Not only did I need a horse that was quiet and sensible, I needed one that had a keen mind and could perform! One way I determine how safe I feel with a horse is to unexpectedly open an umbrella in its face. Green as she was, Zoe was accepting enough to allow me to twirl the umbrella around her and pop it open and closed. She has no idea I'm blind, but her relaxed, forgiving, and trusting nature, both on the ground and under saddle, are qualities that make her an ideal mount for a visually impaired rider.
Paint trainers Terry and Heidi Glander taught Zoe the basics, but I didn't send my mare away to learn everything without me - I was part of the process. In August 2000 I moved Zoe to hunter/jumper trainer Laurie Gengler who is refining our technique, helping me gain control of each part of Zoe's body independently with crab walks (alternating turn on the forehand and turn on the haunches), spiraling in and out on circles, shoulder-in and shoulder-out, and leg yielding on and off the rail. This is crucial to keeping us going straight on the rail because I have no reference as to what straight is - I have to feel what every part of my horse's anatomy is doing at any given moment, or straight along the rail could end up being straight at an angle aiming directly for the judge!
Laurie is also starting Zoe over fences. I've done poles and a few crossrails with her, but I want Zoe to really learn what is expected of her before I attempt anything bigger. I get into two-point after my coach directs me to a straight line in front of the fence. A motion sensor at the base of the jump emits a sound when it detects movement 30 feet from the obstacle. This helps me judge not only my distance but also where the center of the fence is. When I hear the chime I don't have time to do math and add or subtract strides, but I can hear when we are close enough for my horse to pick her own spot. It would be costly and time consuming to set up eight sensors on a course, but two jumps in hunter hack will suffice to make my point: Blind people are just like everyone else, only we can't see!
We are also dabbling in dressage. the first step was to teach Zoe that it is NOT all right to leg yield OVER the arena perimeter or make an impromptu exit at A! Once she was going pretty well on a track INSIDE the fence, Ralph would call out when I was passing each letter so I could feel my distances as we were walking, trotting, and cantering. I learned to feel how tight a 20 meter circle is and at what angle I need to turn to do a diagonal M-X-K across the arena. I had to make adjustments between Tomy who is 15 hands and built like a Quarter Horse and Zoe who is a 16.1 hand Thoroughbred type. Sometimes it seems overwhelming to try to respond to directional commands from my coach while also trying to ride deep into my corners and keep my horse rounded and collected and bent correctly, all the while worrying that if I use too much inside leg she'll perform an upper level lateral movement right out of the arena!
Our first time out, when Zoe had been under saddle less than a year, we won our division at the Fox Lair Farms Fall 2000 Show , placing first in three out of four classes. We also earned national Paint points at our debut APHA show, Harvest of Color, with two thirds out of 11 in novice amateur hunter under saddle.
As does any successful rider, I have a super "supporting staff" that believes in me. My trainer Laurie works with me five days a week and expects no less of me than she does of a sighted rider. My coach and boyfriend Ralph is my eyes, unflappably directing me through traffic in the show arena. And then there's my "death warrant" Zoe, in whom, through hours of hard work, I have developed blind trust.