Exercising racehorses in Ireland

Ireland

I've spent some time living and working overseas, and the best parts were always searching out horses to ride. I thought I would to through my old pics, scan some in, and post them here.

Country #1: Ireland

After graduating from college in 1994 I spent the summer running the horse program at YMCA's Camp Reed and then decided I needed to get out of Spokane. In October I spent all my money on a ticket to Ireland because I figured they spoke english there. Ha! Once I got there I had no money, so I lied and said I knew how to ride racehorses. I got a job as an exercise groom at Rathbride Yard owned by D.K. Weld in Newbridge, County Kildare. This yard (and all of them) were near the Curragh- which was a huge, huge, huge open grassy area that all the race trainers took their horses to to train. The grasses grew sideways and into each other and made fabulous footing.

Me on the old and seasoned 4-year-old Royal Carlton. Billy is next to us, he started the babies. While I was there a filly flipped over when he was driving her and broke her pelvis. Rather than euthanizing her they propped her up on hay bales so her feet could barely touch the ground. When I left she was still there healing, the vet said she wouldn't ever race but might be used for something else.



Who's riding who in which lot. I almost always rode Royal Carlton and led the pack. Problems would arise when I couldn't understand a single word the trainer was yelling at me to do- have you ever heard a thick Irish accent?? I'd have to turn around and ask one of the jockys behind me what he said. As we were galloping figure 8's out in the field.

We'd ride one lot, have tea (which Rene packed for me. It consisted of a thick butter sandwich with a piece of cheese in it), ride 2 more lots, have lunch, then chores until we left. Then I would often end up walking home 1-2 miles in sleeting rain in my rubber boots.


We'd muck the stall, then get our horse ready. Royal Carlton in his box.


Part of the Yard.
Me & RC on the 7 furlong long track.
This is Bernie on one of the babies. She was mean and snarky (like most of the girls there) and took every opportunity she could to point out how I didn't fit in.

The babies didn't have real names yet, they were just called their sire's name and then "colt" or "filly". This was the "Bluebird colt".


Trainer Jack Coates. He seemed like a pretty good guy even though he eventually figured out I didn't know what I was doing and fired me. I lasted 3 months though! We were galloping around the track and one of the new kid's horse got away from him and passed us. Royal Carlton figured it was time to race and I couldn't stop him. I rarely get scared on horses, but I was then. I couldn't stop or even slow down, and I knew if he spooked or went sideways even a tiny bit I'd be thrown off and die. I just hung onto his mane and prayed for him to keep going straight as he gathered speed with every stride.


Steamy horses after a workout. The jockeys that helped ride the babies were really nice and would always ride next to me for a chat as we were walking around cooling them off. J.O. is on the bay with the blaze, charming ole chap.


Newbridge


Got sheep? Don't have fences? No problem! Just spray paint them so we know who belongs to who.


My diggs. I rented a small room out in Rene and Dennis Reed's home. It's the one in the middle with the car.


The view from my window.


Their daughter Jeanette and her boyfriend Stephen would come and pick me up on weekends for all kinds of adventures. Here Jeanette and I are with John in Belfast, Northern Ireland. John rode for Ireland's National Showjumping team (or something like that). He took me cross counry jumping one day on little matching chestnut sporthorses- what a blast!


Stephen, me, and John. Going for a hike on the "mountain". Which was really a big hill.

THIS WAS FUN. Stephen, John, and I rented horses out in Phoenix Park, Dublin. Look at their feet!


Back again- Me, John, and Stephen heading out for a ride in the park.


John and Stephen. Wearing helmets while on horses is the law in Ireland. Now that I look at this picture I notice that John's helmet doesn't even have a chinstrap... cheeky monkey.


Don't let the rangers catch you! Jumping was not allowed in the park.



Next country: Egypt


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