How I Finally Tried Bitless Without Buying A Whole New Bridle

There is a particular kind of quiet that comes from riding a horse in nothing more than a headcollar and a soft pair of reins. No bit, no bridle. Just the two of you, and whatever trust you have built between you. I first felt it years ago on my old horse, Clooney. I rode him in a hackamore and he adored it: he softened, he settled, he carried himself like a horse who had finally been let in on the plan. And, honestly, so did I. It quietly changed how I thought about riding.

That hackamore fixed onto his bridle and had cost me a small fortune, and yet, in a moment of financial desperation last year, trying to keep pace with Patsy's ever-growing vet bills, I listed it on eBay and let it go for £50. It wasn't long before it dawned on me that, should things go well for Patsy, I might one day have dearly wanted to try it with her, but that ship had well and truly sailed. (And for the record, that £50 did not so much as scratch the surface of what she went on to cost me over the winter, once I had thoroughly maxed out my insurance.)

Still, the idea had taken root. The more I read and watched and learned, the more I found myself wondering whether Patsy, my big, gloriously opinionated girl, might be happier with a little less in her mouth, and a little more of a conversation between us instead.

The trouble is, wanting to try bitless and being able to try bitless are two very different things. A good bitless bridle is easily £100 or more, and that is a lot of money to spend on a question your horse might take one sniff of and firmly answer no to.

The Mare Who Made Me Think Again

Patsy is a big, strong, high-strung mare with an incredibly sensitive mouth, and for as long as I have had her I have wrestled with the same balance: what she would like to wear, and what I feel safe riding her in. The two do not always agree.

Tangled up in that has been a slower change in me. I was brought up knowing horses one way, and over the years, through a great many late-night videos, clinics and a fair amount of getting it wrong, my understanding has grown. The biggest shift has simply been believing there might be another way: more groundwork, more connection, more listening. That is the path that has led me here.

Patsy feels everything enormously. She is wonderfully, extravagantly sensitive, with big reactions, and it can be genuinely hard to tell whether she is objecting because her saddle pad is a whisker out of place, or because something is actually wrong. She has taught me to slow right down and trust that she is, at heart, a deeply loving and affectionate mare, and that nine times out of ten there is a real reason behind the drama, even if that reason is only that she is not in the mood today and would quite like to go back to her field, please.

She is, at heart, the most loving, affectionate soul. Nine times out of ten, there is a reason.

When I stop and really sit with it, that these enormous, powerful creatures trust us with their care and let us climb aboard at all, it takes my breath away.

These glorious, magnificent animals owe us nothing.

Well, bar the thousands in vet bills, feed and bedding. But you take my point.

The Wall Most Of Us Hit

Here is the practical snag. Wanting to try bitless is one thing; spending another small fortune on a whole new bridle, only to find your horse would rather you had not, is quite another. That is the exact wall I kept hitting. And, if I am honest, it is why Rein Ready exists at all. I wanted a way to borrow the headcollar already hanging in my tack room and simply see, without committing to anything.

The Windy Day I Almost Reached For Her Bridle

Early in our bitless experimenting, I led Patsy in from the field one blustery afternoon and she cantered sideways beside me most of the way back to the yard. If there is one thing that turns Patsy inside out, it is wind. I laughed and told my best friend Laura that I might just put her bridle on today after all.

But then I stood grooming her, turning it over, and changed my mind. I know that a bit (even the gentle, shaped one she wears, the kind without a nutcracker action) can make her a little more anxious; she will toss her head and get a touch antsy. And I thought: the wind is already winding her up. Why would I hand her one more thing to worry about?

So I reached for her Rein Ready and her BioThane headcollar instead. And once we were inside, with the school doors shut on the wind, it was the quietest and most connected she has felt under saddle in a long while. Listening. Soft. Together.

Doors shut on the wind, and an absolute angel. This is the session I mean.

What I'd Say Before You Try It

I am not going to sit here and tell you whether your horse would like this, or be safe in it. I genuinely do not think that is mine to say. What I will say, hand on heart, is this: try it somewhere contained first (a sand school or a small pen) before you go anywhere open. And make sure your groundwork is truly there before you take the bit out of the equation, because it is how you use a thing, far more than what you use.

Patsy and I have had months and months of groundwork, a great deal of it while she was off and rehabbing, and I am so grateful for it now. Before you lean on anything bitless, your horse needs to be able to stop and turn without the bit: from your seat and your body, a little neck reining if they understand it, and, in my case, a good deal of voice.

The other thing bitless has quietly taught me is to ask for less. The other day I took Patsy for her ten-minute walk around the indoor school, and the moment I got on she felt like a tightly wound coil. It was hammering with rain on the roof, the first rain in what feels like forever, and she was thoroughly unimpressed. Yet for all that coiled energy, she never put a foot wrong. So I decided, within about thirty seconds, that all I wanted from those ten minutes was a scrap of her attention, and for her to breathe and let a little of that tension go. She gets so caught up in her own head. The moment she gave me that, I stopped, told her she was wonderful, and got off. That was the whole ride. Ten minutes.

Ask for less, and somehow you get more. These animals owe us nothing.

A couple of years ago I am not sure I would have understood that, let alone agreed with it. But here we are, a great many videos, clinics and a lot of quiet exploring later. If you would like the wider view of where bitless sits in the whole journey toward riding bridleless, I wrote about that over here.

Because in the end, it was never really about the bit. It was about listening.