Three Years in the Making: Thor, Skylark and the Ride I’ll Never Forget
My young horse’s first rides during a six-day Mark Langley Horsemanship intensive at Skylark, Victoria.
Thor turned three on 9 September.
Some horses might celebrate with carrots, a birthday photo and perhaps an undignified party hat.
Thor celebrated with some “pre-flight checks,” a saddle, and me climbing aboard for our very first ride together during a six-day Mark Langley Horsemanship intensive at Skylark, Mark and Jenny Langley’s beautiful property in Rosewhite, Victoria.
No pressure, then.
A Very Important Pre-Flight Question
Before I got on, Mark carefully checked that Thor was ready—and that all the preparation we had done at home was holding.
Thor had already learned to comfortably wear a saddle. We had spent plenty of time at the mounting block. He understood how to position himself on both sides, stand quietly and wait while I moved above and around him.
The foundations were there.
My confidence was also there—somewhere. It had simply relocated to a less accessible part of my anatomy.
As I prepared to get on, Mark asked:
“So, how is your sphincter going?”
My very honest reply was:
“Oh, it’s tight—and in my throat.”
At that exact moment, Thor took a big breath and let out the most relaxed snort.
It felt as though he was saying:
“All chill, Mum. I’ve got you.”
Apparently, the newly three-year-old was going to be the emotionally regulated one in this partnership.
Thor’s Training Began Long Before This Ride
Although this was our first ride, it certainly wasn’t the beginning of Thor’s education.
I have been learning from Mark and using the principles of Mark Langley Horsemanship for several years. That approach has been fundamental to how I have raised and trained Thor from the beginning.
Mark’s horsemanship is not based on forcing every horse through the same sequence of exercises. It begins with a much more important question:
“How can I help this horse?”
The focus is on genuine softness, emotional stability, balance, feel and helping the horse retain the ability to think—even when something is unfamiliar or difficult.
Those principles have shaped how I work with Thor.
Instead of teaching him to simply comply, I have tried to help him become an active participant in his own learning: to search for answers, process his environment, communicate when he is unsure and return to me without anxiety.
That doesn’t mean he never reacts. He is a young horse, not a garden ornament.
It means he has learned how to work through those reactions without completely losing access to himself.
Thor’s behaviour at Skylark was not the result of six magical clinic days. It reflected nearly three years of deliberate preparation, much of it guided by what Mark’s training has taught me about softness, emotional regulation and giving a horse the time to understand.
This clinic allowed us to bring those foundations back to the person whose horsemanship had been so influential in creating them.
Our First Ride
Once I was aboard, we didn’t rush off to achieve all the things.
We began by simply standing.
Then we softly explored backing and some basic steering to the left and right, helping Thor find flow and balance through his body.
I often describe this style of work as tai chi with horses.
It isn’t about making the horse perform a movement for the sake of completing an exercise. It is about slowing everything down enough to notice where balance, softness and understanding begin—and where they disappear.
This ride was three years in the making.
Every quiet session at home, every mounting-block exercise, every lesson I had absorbed from Mark, every time I chose not to rush, and every small question Thor had learned to troubleshoot had led us to that moment.
He didn’t need to be held together.
He didn’t need Maestro, his big-brother security blanket, standing nearby.
He simply listened, processed and tried.
Afterwards, I walked him back to his paddock and attempted to keep my emotions discreetly to myself.
That went extremely well.
And by “extremely well,” I mean I ugly cried in a paddock.
Thor’s First Solo Adventure
This was Thor’s second long trip to Skylark, but his first without Maestro.
On our previous visit, he had his familiar big brother nearby. This time, Thor had to travel, settle into a temporary home and work through six intensive training days without that familiar equine support.
He was an absolute champion.
The same curious, reliable and wonderfully talented horse I knew at home arrived with the same attitude at Skylark. Whatever we asked, he approached with an extraordinary work ethic and a willingness to search for the answer.
He noticed his surroundings, but he didn’t become consumed by them. He steadily checked in with me without becoming anxious or dependent.
That distinction matters.
The goal is not a horse who notices nothing.
I want a horse who can notice everything and still have access to his thinking brain. This ability has been central to Thor’s training. Mark’s approach has consistently encouraged me to consider the horse’s emotional response—not just whether the horse can physically complete an exercise.
With Thor, that has meant helping him develop the confidence to pause, investigate and troubleshoot rather than teaching him that every unfamiliar situation requires either blind obedience or panic.
Six Working Days—Without Turning This into an Exercise Manual
I have previously written about Mark’s intensive clinic format and the Skylark property, so I won’t repeat the accommodation details, arena measurements or full day-by-day structure here.
This time, the story is Thor’s.
Across six working days—with a much-needed rest day in the middle—we explored liberty, ground-driving, belly roping, long-reining, ridden steering, rein changes, balance, obstacles and the beginning of leg aids.
Thor arrived with plenty of curiosity and confidence.
He also arrived as a three-year-old, complete with opinions, food-related distractions and the occasional enthusiastic youngster moment.
When travelling at liberty with the saddle, there were a few kick-outs while he processed the feeling.
Then he carried on.
There was no drama added and no punishment for communicating. He noticed something, responded to it, worked it out and returned to the conversation.
That ability to troubleshoot is one of the qualities I value most in him—and something Mark’s training has helped me consciously nurture.
The aim was never to stop Thor from having a response.
It was to help him avoid becoming trapped inside it.
Liberty Without Velcro
One of my favourite parts of the clinic was watching Thor work at liberty.
He didn’t hug the arena rail or disappear to the far end. Nor did he remain stuck to me like anxious Velcro.
He softly came and went.
He could explore away from me, follow an exercise and then reconnect. The rope was gone, but the conversation remained.
That is the kind of connection I want with a horse—not compliance created by having nowhere else to go, but a relationship that continues when choice enters the room.
This is also one of the reasons Mark’s philosophy resonates so strongly with me.
The work is not about manufacturing a horse who appears quiet because he has mentally withdrawn. It is about developing a horse who can remain emotionally present, find softness and participate in the conversation.
Thor wasn’t staying with me because he was afraid to leave.
He could leave.
And then he chose to reconnect.
When Your Body Changes the Plan
The clinic also delivered a very practical reminder that training both sides is never wasted effort.
My left knee made it difficult for me to mount conventionally from Thor’s left side while controlling my body well enough to land softly in the saddle.
There was no point insisting on doing it the “normal” way if that meant dropping heavily onto the back of a young horse.
So, we reassessed.
I mounted from Thor’s right side instead.
Was it awkward as hell for me? Yes.
Was Thor worried? Not at all.
Because I had already trained him to meet me at the mounting block from either side, he calmly positioned himself and waited. Using my right leg allowed me to better control my body and settle softly into the saddle.
Perfection.
Not perfection in the glossy, everything-went-to-plan sense.
It was the much more useful kind: our preparation gave us options when the original plan no longer suited the horse or the human.
Good groundwork is not about controlling every future situation.
It is about creating enough understanding that you and your horse can adapt when life inevitably gets weird.
Fifty-Kilometre Winds and Flying Chairs
The final day brought winds of around 40-50 kilometres per hour.
Chairs, bags and assorted debris were flying around sporadically. It was not exactly the quiet, controlled environment anyone would deliberately select for working with a newly ridden three-year-old.
Thor noticed it all.
He was more aware of his surroundings, as any sensible horse should have been, but I couldn’t feel an increase in anxiety beneath me.
He continued to process.
He kept checking in.
He allowed us to work on freeing his shoulders, softly steering left and right from the reins and introducing the earliest ideas of leg aids.
That was a far more meaningful result than simply tiring him out until he stopped reacting.
Thor wasn’t shut down.
He wasn’t oblivious.
He was present.
For me, this was one of the clearest examples of how Mark’s training has influenced Thor’s development. We have never tried to create a horse who ignores the world. We have worked to create one who can experience the world, regulate himself and still remain part of the conversation.
“You Don’t Need to Prove Anything”
On the last day, Mark gave me the reality check I didn’t know I needed.
My history with Maestro has taught me to ride with purpose. Maestro has needed considerable support over the years, and I have worked incredibly hard to become the best rider and trainer I can be for my horses.
But that drive has a shadow side.
My perfectionism can turn purposeful into busy. It can make me feel as though I should be doing more, achieving more and demonstrating that I understand everything—all at once.
At the clinic, my “try-hard brain” had quietly taken over.
Mark gently told me:
“You don’t need to prove anything.”
Then he motioned towards Thor, who was quietly standing with the saddle on in the long-reins on a lush section of grass (not eating or looking for snacking at the green goodness at his hooves).
“He’s all the proof you ever need, Laura.”
That humbled me. (Poor Mark should add being a psychologist to his long resume as he sure has an amazing way to support human growth too! And boy, am I eternally grateful for his approach!)
Mark could see that the training I was attempting to demonstrate at the clinic was not the same quiet, patient training I naturally do with Thor at home.
And the home training was clearly working.
Thor was standing right there: confident, curious, soft, willing and able to regulate himself through unfamiliar environments.
He was the result—not of one perfect clinic session, but of hundreds of ordinary moments in which I had applied what I had learned, listened to my horse and resisted the temptation to rush.
Thor was also proof of the value I have found in Mark’s approach.
The softness, emotional stability and problem-solving ability we saw during the clinic had been deliberately nurtured from the beginning.
I didn’t need to prove that by doing more.
Thor had already brought the proof into the arena.
Apparently, the Horses Were the Reliable Transport
The humans formed our own slightly chaotic herd during the week, complete with plenty of laughter and a shared Spotify playlist appropriately named “Langley’s Loonies.”
There were beautiful people and partnerships with fantastic fur babies:
Megan and Badgar
Helen and Sala
Clare and Flavia
Sharyn and Jeannie
Louise and Bella
Amazing friendships formed-some old and long-standing and some new. It was so lovely to really bond with people deeply over all things in life that we felt at-ease to talk about. It's those little moments that become the big moments later in life with the memories you make. So massive thanks to those lovely humans for sharing that week and being so genuine and good-fun!
The horses handled the trip rather well.
The vehicles and their owners had a more questionable strike rate.
One ute was accidentally given unleaded fuel despite being very firmly diesel-only.
Another person lost her car keys and couldn’t leave on the final day—until my witchy woo-woo vibes located them in the dedicated horse manure heap.
Then, just when we thought the travel curse had finished, another vehicle blew a head gasket halfway home.
You cannot make this stuff up.
At least the horses had been taught to troubleshoot.
The Best Proof I Could Ask For
Thor’s clinic wasn’t about producing a finished horse in six days.
He is three. He has plenty of growing, learning and young-horse moments ahead of him.
It was about seeing the foundations we had built through Mark’s approach stand up in a completely different environment.
Thor could travel without Maestro, settle at Skylark, work at liberty without fleeing or clinging, process the feeling of a saddle, accept me mounting from either side, carry me for his first rides and remain emotionally available in wild weather.
More importantly, he could make mistakes, express himself and keep searching.
That is what I have always wanted for him.
Not a horse who is frightened of getting the answer wrong, but one who feels safe enough to keep looking for it.
And I learned that I don’t need to perform my horsemanship for it to be valid.
Sometimes the greatest proof is standing quietly in front of you—or beneath you—breathing, listening and saying:
“All chill, Mum. I’ve got you.”
Then making you ugly cry in a paddock.
I am incredibly grateful to Mark for the knowledge he has shared with me over the years, and for the thoughtful way he supported Thor and me through this enormous milestone. Thor may be my young gun, but the horse he is becoming reflects a village: thoughtful early handling, careful preparation, the guidance I have received through Mark Langley Horsemanship and the many quiet hours Thor and I have spent learning together.
Three years in the making.
And absolutely worth the wait.
Here's to what the future holds!
Comments