Always take your riding clobber

When I was preparing to leave the UK, I contemplated packing breeches and riding boots.  But my idea was quickly scuppered by reminding myself that firstly, I was going to NZ to work hard, save and travel, and secondly, horses are scarce in central Auckland, so there'd be no point. 

I've ridden since I was small, and I've taught young riders since I was 15, at riding schools,  and at pony clubs in the UK, America and Australia.  Recently, I lost my little hunting pony, and I sold my youngster.  This together with my extensive travels of late, has meant horses have not been a possibility.  Occasionally, during weekends, I would visit my friend’s show jumping yard just out of London, to help where I could and have a sit on a horse (if there was something semi quiet available) but I couldn't get there anything like as often as I wanted to.  

So I arrived in Auckland, already feeling a bit bereft and horse deprived.  I settled into my house and into working life, but horses continued to gnaw away in the back of my mind.

Then on the bus one day, heading back from work, I spotted a sign, ‘MeadowBank Pony Club’.   Anticipating the all too familiar sweet smell of a horse, I googled the club and emailed the president, explaining that I was a PC instructor from the UK, had taught in many riding schools and was keen to do some teaching on weekends or even volunteer at some rallies.  I didn’t hear back.  Not to be deterred, I turned to Facebook and a quick search brought up Waitemata Riding Club.  This appeared to be reasonably local so I requested to join.  Within minutes I had a few wonderfully kind people offering me rides on their beloved horses at their properties located either way north or south west.  Mindful of the fact that people in the UK would possibly not be so accommodating or welcoming, I was immensely grateful to these kind Kiwi's willing to help.   But sadly, their properties and horses were beyond the realms and reach of public transport.  Car ownership immediately went to the top of my priority list.  In the meantime, I thought a day at the races may be therapeutic and at the Ellerslie race course, on race day, I spotted a rather smart looking chap wearing his red hunting coat.  My heart soared and, with childlike enthusiasm, feeling much like the wee girl pictured here who is actually the daughter of this kind man, I opened my mouth and my words of desperation for a horse fix just fell out.  He explained that he is the Huntsman of Pakuranga Hunt Club and we chatted  briefly about my local hunt, the Morpeth Foxhounds.  Soon I was receiving answers to my many questions about horses and hunting in New Zealand and, all the while I was up close and personal with his beautiful big grey horse, stroking his noble nose, breathing in the scent of him and happily getting covered in grey hair.  

The Huntsman and his fine horse had to dash off to lead the racehorses entered in the next race, out onto the track.  But I was left with a warm invitation to visit the hunt kennels and to meet the Huntsman' s family and maybe ride a horse or two with the possibility of a day’s hunting.  

I garbled a hurried offer to muck out stables but he said that wasn’t necessary.  I was left full of hope and excitement, confident that horses would once again be a big part of my existence.  I'm still reeling at this wonderful opportunity offered me and I can't quite believe my luck.  The idea of going hunting in one of the most beautiful countries I have ever visited has me almost wishing away my time until the hunt season begins.   I've seen pictures of people out on their horses hunting in NZ and it looks magnificent.  I cannot wait until I’m following the pack with that grin on my face that only comes from being on the back of a galloping horse.  

Photo copyright Melissa Marriner