What is a Course Designer?

Course design is lot more than just Course design is lot more than just "put this jump there." Photo by Holly Covey.

 

The late Judy Thayer, Cross-country director at Fair Hill, agonizing over a water jump design at Fair Hill International (2012) Photo by Holly.

The late Judy Thayer, Cross-country director at Fair Hill, considering a water jump design at Fair Hill International (2012) Photo by Holly Covey.

What is a Course Designer? What role do they play? In all levels of equestrian sport that involves obstacles, there is somebody, somewhere that says, “OK, put that jump over there, and this jump (or obstacle) here.” That’s the Course Designer, in a nutshell.

From the smallest schooling show, where the cross-rails predominate, and the local riding stable trainer probably sets the course herself based on how she knows her school ponies will manage with the kids piloting, on up to the very highest levels of international equestrian sport, it’s all the same task.

Basically, it’s setting obstacles based on what has been determined as the standard for the level of competition being held. While a pretty simple definition, it’s really a fantastically detailed, creative yet structured job populated by incredibly talented folks, among the most experienced and knowledgeable eventers we have in our sport in North America today.

Course design in an arena has numerous factors, but course design in an open expanse of topography over 200 acres in size is subject to a whole gamut of factors that don’t occur in a flat, level fenced ring. Such as: elevation (how high a hill is and how low the valley is), the slope of the hill and ground (steep or mild), the natural footing (before it’s improved by aerovating, adding substance or grass, or grooming and mowing), the time of day (sun, shadows, and temperature – cold? hot? dry? wet?), natural obstacles (rocks, trees, ponds), and unnatural obstacles (fences, stabling, roads, utilities that prevent digging or block access, availability of electricity or water, the siting of parking lots, warm-up areas, and even porta-potty placement).

You know those great tailgate areas we get to park and party at? Those spots are the result of a course designer sitting down with an organizer and a grounds manager and probably several other people, looking at maps, discussing tracks and access, weather, placement of things like jumbo screens, galloping lanes, and about a hundred other details many months before we unpack the tents and coolers.

That’s just a tiny part of a big job. The course designer takes all of those details into consideration and is overall, responsible for all of the layout of a competition area, although many times the organizer has already put much of the logistical planning in place.

The late Judy Thayer, Cross-country director at Fair Hill, agonizing over a water jump design at Fair Hill International (2012) Photo by Holly Covey.

The late Judy Thayer, cross country director at Fair Hill, contemplating a water jump design at Fair Hill International in 2012. Photo by Holly Covey.

Most of us today compete at established facilities, many of them public parks or open space, because a private landowning subset are increasingly under pressure in the event world today. Almost all of the North American FEI level eventing competitions are now held in publicly held facilities with a few exceptions. This brings a whole separate set of factors to play in designing courses. Public facilities come with restrictions on times, things and places — places that you would like to use but can’t for one reason or another even though it’s perfectly logical to go through that particular spot, or park in that nice flat space. So add those to the Course Designer’s bag of restrictions.

There are many other details that a Course Designer must pay attention to on a daily basis, whether or not they are on the grounds of an event site. There are constant rule changes and paper work to prepare, and meetings on the phone and in person with folks that need your time. The top course designers travel extensively, keeping them away from businesses and family a lot of the year. And most course designers I know are deeply involved in committee work, volunteering time to help educate young or beginning course designers, studying jump building, working closely with the builders and creators of courses, and giving input when asked on numerous details of any course they work with at any time.

In order to become a Course Designer, you need to be able to think about your courses from a rider’s perspective. Most of the top level CDs I know participated up to advanced level. Many were on teams, competed overseas, or participated in the classic format. They have all ridden and jumped at speed.

And of course there are other requirements for certification: apprenticing with approval of your mentor, working on courses and designing your own courses at low levels for quite a while before being allowed to design something recognized. Prospective CDs need to pass written tests, but also be given the OK by fellow CDs who are monitoring and educating them. And finally the association takes a look at a prospective CD’s credentials, body of work, recommendations, and attitude — yes, that is also looked at — before approval.

The physical fun of being a CD is getting to set courses that people will enjoy jumping their horses through. The mental part of it has to do with being able to deal with all the details and still make a fun course that makes the competition enjoyable for everyone.

At the large events, you have to remember, CDs need to please about 400 to 500 riders and horses in total — a pretty tough requirement. Will everyone have fun? No. Will the vast majority have fun? Yes.

What’s easy? It’s easy to design a course that everyone jumps clean. You just make everything small and boring. What’s hard? Designing a course that fairly tests a horse and rider and sorts out the competition. The essence of designing courses is that kernel of “just right” for the level that sorts out the dressage queens and show jump whizzes and brings the good jumping cross-country horse and competent rider into the ribbons.

Every CD I know is deeply concerned with the “Just Right” place in their designs. It’s the essence of what they live to do.

Another thing that good CDs are concerned with is designing courses, especially cross-country courses, “to the level.” The standards are published and available online for anyone to read.

These standards are the result of long and hard work by volunteers on committees, who observe, watch, build, create, design and officiate. It’s a living document that has regular changes, so it’s wise to check it once a year.

The beauty of eventing competition is that every event is different and unique. We have an incredibly diverse country in America, with wide ranging flora and fauna — our topography varies so widely that getting up a single set of requirements that “fits all” from the sandy soil of California all the way to the deep grass of Pennsylvania and rocky hills of New England is quite a feat. Keeping that individuality alive is what keeps many in the governing part of the sport up late at night. It is a constant thing in the back of a course designer’s mind: “What can I make or set here that keeps the standard, yet allows these folks to get around on Saturday?”

Most designers I know value the input of riders — they’ve been riders themselves — while being careful not to be unduly influenced by passion or emotion. What that means is they know that things they thought would work and hoped would work, but maybe didn’t actually work, will get addressed with absolute top priority concern and usually after the fray when all can think clearly and see the trees and the forest.

Many designers often get blamed when something doesn’t seem to work like it should and often it’s because there arises many things out of their control — the creek that was a tiny little trickle becomes a raging brook on competition day, or the dry weather bakes the ground to bulletproof, or a division of riders just happens to be all green at the level that day.

They have no control over who enters and why, just like they have no control over the weather or the tides or the stars. While controlling a course’s outcome is never assured, a CD relies heavily upon experience, even those designing lower-level courses, to try and get it “Just Right,” and there is no one more disappointed or concerned when there’s a negative result for the day.

They know the odds are stacked against them being perfect. They know even the best in the world don’t get it perfect all the time. And they know what they do is a highly responsible job that requires intimate knowledge of minute details that must be managed and corrected and fixed and set just so. On top of that, managing and directing a multitude of people to correct it and fix it, many of whom have little stake in the outcome, such as volunteers. And no one can do that perfectly right all the time. But they aspire to it.

Have you ever shuddered in horror at a “near miss” by a horse and rider who just barely squeaked over a jump or took a huge risky leap over something? What do you think? You say to yourself, “Wow, they need to get a jump lesson,” or “that horse needs better brakes,” or some other such criticism, but it doesn’t keep you up at night. It’s a mistake, everyone makes them. But a course designer sees the same situation on one of his or her courses and will immediately think, “why did that happen, what did I put as a ground line there, is the shadow too dark, is the sun blinding them, is the jump just before it too difficult or cause them to jump that way, is there a puddle, is there something I did?” They make check with the jump judge, ask the TD, watch that rider again over other jumps.

It’s a continual quest for knowledge that is always looking for the same goal, that “Just Right” place. Most CDs I know are happy to walk courses and discuss cross-country with anyone who happens by. Just ask them a question — they love to share their craft.

As a lower level competitor I never had a clue that course designer went through all that stuff. I just walked my courses, tried to figure out how to ride over them with whatever horse I entered, and when the time came to negotiate it, hoped the horse jumped it on first asking. Having the good fortune of some unicorns to ride, I learned a lot without making a huge amount of terrible mistakes, and I owe that, in retrospect, to some great, genius course designers like Trish Gilbert, Tremaine Cooper, Roger Haller, Morgan Rowsell, and a few more.

How lucky I am that I have ridden courses from designers like these, and learned  — however unknowingly — how to ride, just a bit, from the way they set up jumps in a field. And there are hundreds of competitors out there just like me. How lucky we all are that such people do what they do for us in U.S. eventing. Our world wouldn’t work without them. I know they will work harder and keep digging for answers, keep studying and learning, and keep looking for Just Right. It’s what they do.