Before I set off to Blair my biggest fear was that it would prove to be a quagmire; various people fed this fear - telling me that it was forecast to rain all week, that it had been a mud-bath the previous year and that they were glad not to be going themselves. So it was with this added trepidation about the weather that I set out upon my solitary eight hour journey northwards. Little did I know that the weather would prove to be the least of my worries or just what kind of bath awaited me.
The weather worsened as we got further north, deepening my sense of foreboding; we drove through howling gales and squally showers which lashed against the sides of the lorry and buffeted us around the carriageway. At times Bow must have felt like he was aboard a ship crossing the channel. Pulling into the Castle gates, I was informed that we would have to be towed onto the show ground due to an earlier deluge. ‘Great’ I thought – ‘Day one and it’s already extremely soggy…not the best start.’ Yet despite the wet beginning, the ground dried out remarkably well; the occasional showers throughout the week did make it a bit muddy at times but nothing comparable to the quagmire of my nightmares.
I’d asked for Friday dressage so that I would have my loyal husband to provide back up; Bow seemed quite chilled and produced what I thought was a nice test. The judges however thought differently and awarded us a mark of 58 which placed us about half way after that phase. Although disappointed, having seen the course, I knew that it wasn’t going to be a dressage competition; the course was bold and asked some challenging questions – several big skinnies which would require committed riding from me and focused jumping efforts from Bow – these combined with the undulating terrain created a tough track.
Saturday dawned fairly dry but we had to wait all day as the other three classes were scheduled before the 2*. I managed to control my nerves; I watched some show jumping, did some retail therapy, re-walked my course and even managed a short nap. We warmed up well over the useful skinny fences and set off with purpose and conviction. I’d already heard about several problems on the course which had caused falls and stops but I had my plan and was determined to follow it. We tackled the early questions easily and began our long climb up the hill; we successfully navigated the first water complex – a stiff eyelash into the first crossing followed by a drop in, step up to a skinny – Bow helped me out over the last element, cleverly adding an extra stride. The crowd’s applause urged us on to the next question – two big, island skinny fences, which we also cleared easily. Next it was the step down to the angled skinny hedge – technical and up to height it had caused me the most sleep deprivation – we jumped it well although looking back it may have surprised him a little. Then it was down to the Malcom water complex – a big hedge in, followed by a skinny salmon in the water. Bow jumped in boldly and it I was sure he’d left a leg because we landed with a jolt and I was flicked out of the saddle.
With the loud bang of the air canister echoing in my ears, I found myself sitting in the water immobilized by my air jacket; grateful only that the water wasn’t deep enough to make me float like a beached whale – there has to be a positive somewhere - I swore to myself under my breath as I unclipped its suffocating embrace. To add to the insult Bow was looking bemusedly down at me as if to say ‘what the hell are you doing down there?’ Mercifully I still had the reins, so I led him out, peaty water streaming out of my clothing and boots; this time the applause only amplified my shame faced, soggy disappointment. FEI rules meant elimination; game over.
Watching the replay it was clear that Bow hadn’t actually put a foot wrong, he’d just jumped in too well. So it was my fault for not sitting up quite enough. In a way that makes it better as he is not at fault; in a way it’s worse as I’ve only myself to blame. The eight hour journey home gave me a chance to reflect upon it; Scotland is a very long way to go for a swimming lesson!
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