Clare Turner Equestrian Coach

05/09/2026

21/08/2026

The Plan Changed. What Now?

Sometimes the plan changes.

A horse goes lame. Confidence disappears. A competition doesn’t go as hoped. A pony is outgrown. Circumstances change, or the opportunity you thought you were working towards suddenly isn’t there.

When that happens, our instinct is often to fix it quickly. Find another horse. Enter something else. Change the training. Make a new plan. There is comfort in action, particularly when we feel disappointed or uncertain.

But perhaps there is a better place to begin.

Instead of asking, “How do we get back onto the old path?”, we can ask, “Where are we now, and what would a good next step look like from here?”

Good horse people do this instinctively. We might arrive at the yard with a perfectly sensible training plan, only to discover that the horse in front of us needs something different. Perhaps they feel tired, tense or unusually fresh. Perhaps yesterday’s problem has disappeared. Perhaps something we hadn’t noticed before suddenly becomes obvious.

So we observe. We listen. We think. And then we adjust.

We haven’t abandoned the goal. We have simply responded to what is actually in front of us rather than blindly following a plan made under different circumstances. That ability to adapt isn’t a weakness in horsemanship. It is one of its most important skills.

Perhaps we can approach changes in our own lives in much the same way.

A setback rarely exists in isolation. There is the horse — their health, welfare, temperament and environment — but there is also the person and the wider life around them. Confidence, ambitions, friendships, family, finances, work or education and, importantly, enjoyment all matter.

A good next step needs to make sense within that whole picture.

It is also worth remembering that when one thing changes, everything else does not automatically become wrong.

Keep the things that are working. The good horse. The friendships. The people who help. The skills already earned. The routines and experiences that still bring enjoyment.

Then look calmly at the part that has changed.

Sometimes that creates possibilities we hadn’t previously considered. A rider might discover another discipline. A horse may thrive in a different job. Someone who has always thought of themselves as a rider might discover that they love coaching, driving, horse care, saddlery or another part of the enormous world surrounding horses.

There are many ways to build a life with horses, and very few worthwhile ones travel in a perfectly straight line.

Perhaps the most reassuring thing is that we don’t need to know exactly where a new path will eventually lead.

You don’t need to solve the next five years. You need to know enough to make the next good decision.

That might mean gathering reliable information, talking to someone whose expertise you trust, understanding the practical implications or simply allowing enough time to see the situation more clearly.

Then take one useful step.

See what you learn from it.

And adjust again.

Horses teach us this remarkably well. Progress is rarely a perfect upward line. Training develops, circumstances change, horses change and people change. Good horsemanship requires us to keep noticing, thinking and responding.

This is one of the ideas behind Skylands Pathway.

We are creating a calm place to bring questions about horses and the lives we build around them. Somewhere to understand the wider picture, explore credible options, find the right expertise when it is needed and work out what might come next.

Pathway won’t make the decision for you, and it won’t replace the coaches, vets, farriers, saddlers and other professionals whose expertise matters.

It is there to help us notice more, understand more and ask better questions — so that we can make good decisions for ourselves and our horses.

Because becoming more capable isn’t always about sticking determinedly to the original plan.

Sometimes it means recognising that circumstances have changed, looking calmly at what is still good, and having the confidence to adapt.

We don’t always need to know where the path ends. Sometimes we just need to recognise the next useful step.

06/07/2026

Why I Coach

Coaching was, in all honesty, never part of some grand career plan. It simply happened because horses have a curious habit of introducing you to people who need them.

Some arrive wanting ribbons. Some arrive wanting confidence. Quite a few don’t yet realise they’re looking for either.The horse usually knows before they do.

The remarkable thing is that horses are gloriously uninterested in status, fashion, exam results or social media. They care only whether you’re honest, patient and prepared to listen. Which, if we’re being truthful, is rather inconvenient.

Over the years I’ve discovered that coaching isn’t really about producing better riders. It’s about producing more capable people.

People who can stay calm when things go wrong. Who can solve problems without drama. Who understand that kindness and standards are perfectly capable of existing together.

The riding, rather wonderfully, tends to improve all by itself. I’ve been fortunate enough to work with talented competitors, complete beginners, determined children, anxious parents and the occasional adult who quietly admits they’ve wanted to do this since they were eight.

The conversations are rarely just about horses. They’re about courage. Responsibility. Trust. And the quiet satisfaction that comes from becoming just a little more capable than you were yesterday.

That’s why I still coach. Not because I imagine I have all the answers. But because, every now and then, you watch someone ride away a little taller than when they arrived. And that still seems like a rather worthwhile way to spend a life.

01/07/2026

As the summer holidays begin, my great wish isn’t that children become perfect riders or win more rosettes.

It’s that they come home a little muddier, a little more confident, and a little more capable than when they left.

I hope they spend long days with all
sorts of pets and ponies—learning that good things take patience, that trust can’t be rushed, and that caring for other living creatures is one of life’s greatest privileges.

I hope they laugh until their sides hurt, make new friends, build dens, chase wheelbarrows, fill haynets, plait manes that probably won’t stay in, and discover that some of the best adventures don’t involve a screen.

And to the parents juggling work, childcare, lifts, packed lunches, forgotten water bottles, pony kit, emails, supermarket shops and the hundred invisible jobs that keep family life turning—you’re doing better than you think.

Summer can feel like an extraordinary feat of multitasking. Somehow you manage to keep everything moving while trying to give your children memories they’ll carry for years.

So I hope you find moments to breathe too.

A quiet cup of tea while lessons are underway. A conversation with another parent who understands. A few precious minutes watching your child and pony quietly figuring things out together.

Those are the moments worth keeping.

Here’s to a summer of pony cuddles, windswept hair, dusty boots, scraped knees, tired smiles, countryside adventures, and children growing not just as riders, but as kind, resilient and capable young people.

Because, in the end, that’s what horses and ponies have always done best.