On Winning at Field Trials
EDITOR’S NOTE:
First published in The American Field on August 9, 1986, Dr. Robert P. Knowles’ essay remains one of the most thoughtful reflections ever written on the meaning of field trials. While winning will always matter, this piece reminds us why we ride, why we train, and why we keep coming back.
By Dr. Robert P. Knowles
This is not a treatise on how to win field trials. Although I have in my possession, after 35 years of training, more trophies and hat pins than my wife cares to keep dusted and polished, there are many who are far better qualified to tell you how to win than I. Happily, many good and interesting articles and books are available on the subject. Rather, this is an expression of one field trialer’s thoughts on the current, almost insatiable desire to win and the rewards which field trials provide other than winning.
Neither is this a treatise on how to be a good loser. Rather, it is a commentary that non-winners at bird dog field trials need not be losers. It has been said, “Show me a good loser and I will show you a loser.” However, I suggest that one can lose frequently and still be a winner.
We all like to win. But there are many non-winners that win in any field trial. In a championship, perhaps one hundred fifty dogs compete and only two can be classed as winners.
The reason for the organization of the first field trial is perhaps lost in antiquity, but I am certain it was not for the purpose of accumulating statues, plates or other trophy items.
We all like to see how our current favorite compares to the other fellow’s. Field trials provide an organized method of doing that. They provide a system of designating winners and non-winners and a mechanism for advancement through championships. They also provide much more, and it is upon the many aspects of field trials, other than winning, that this article focuses.
Whether it is country or city bred, those of us who pursue field trials as a hobby experience a fulfillment associated with horseback riding in the woods following bird dogs that is unmatched by any other activity. Field trials embody the exposure to a multitude of stimuli—auditory, visual, olfactory and tactile—unlike any other sport.
The sound of a horse snorting, the creaking of saddle leather; horses’ hooves on a hard-topped road crossing; the clarion sound of the command “Turn ’em loose”; the rising and falling of handlers’ voices drifting back through the woods on a frosty morning; the jingle of curb chains; the thunder of many horses galloping to a distant find; the nickering of a horse searching for his stable mate; the southern-soft admonition “Cuss to the left”; the finality of the command “Pick ’em up.” All these conjure up warm, happy feelings.
Is there a prettier or more enjoyable sight than two canine athletes surging away at the cast-off, each trying to retain the legacy of training and discipline which brought them there, and yet each wanting, for a few brief moments, to clearly demonstrate superior speed and selection of objectives?
The beauty of the competition of a far-flung cast to return to the front along a tree-lined bottom, or the rapid traverse of a barren field to gain the edge up ahead, is hard to match.
The picturesque stand, head and tail high, on the point; the well-immovable but imperceptibly impatient waiting for handlers to gain ground—what a culmination of all our efforts and hopes. What a thrill to see a bracemate truly “honor” another dog’s point.
The merry tail, the enthusiastic pursuit of the search, the almost immediate transformation from full-out running athlete to the frozen statue—what are the causes? The intelligent choice of objectives, the willingness to comply with handlers’ signals, the stamina, determination. Where else are these qualities combined?
The opportunity to observe, during the quiet of a gallery ride, the wonder of this land in which we live: the majesty of tall pines, the soft brown carpet of pine needles beneath, rich freshly turned soil, hills and valleys and the strange and beautiful patterns cast by shadow and light.
What is more invigorating than the feel of the surge of strength between your knees as your mount lunges up the side of a creek bank? What is more pleasant than to be mounted on a compliant and smooth-walking horse which knows as much about the game as you do?
The comfort of a well-fitted and familiar Canadian saddle is legendary. The feel of a wet pine needle branch brushing your face can be most refreshing. The tug on your saddle of two eager roading pointers is a most satisfying sensation. The thrill and satisfaction of the successful clearing of an unanticipated ditch at full gallop is hard to beat.
The warmth of a handshake of a person whom you like and admire after a long separation; the feel of smooth reins in your hands on a hot day; the gentle and firm communication between rider’s hands and horse’s mouth; the rhythmic pattern; the feel of good warm gloves on a cold day—the comfort of a down-filled jacket when the frost has settled on the fields; the pleasure of the back of your neck as midday approaches; the pleasure of holding and drinking a hot cup of coffee on a bitterly cold day; a filling, home-cooked meal after a brisk morning’s ride—few other than field trialers experience these memorable things.
The smell of the piney woods; of newly harvested crops; the pungent odor of weeds; the smell of horse sweat and even fresh horse manure; the smell of new saddle leather; the wood smoke drifting from the chimney of the clubhouse; the barking of our dogs in the cabin yards. These are the things of which nostalgia is made.
The amalgamation of people from far-flung areas of the country and from all walks of life bonded together by a shared love of this sport is unmatched.
Most know the breeding of many entries; they are interested in current trends—studs and brood matrons. They have their individual preferences but there is unanimity of purpose and interest rarely encountered elsewhere. The friendships, comradeship and camaraderie associated with field trials set them apart.
The fierce but friendly competition blends with an unspoken and instantaneous willingness to help the other fellow, whether stuck in a ditch or with a lost dog. We perhaps do not realize how unique this attitude is.
All of these combine to provide a memorable, sensory-stimulating setting to which one cannot fail to respond.
Undue emphasis on winning can lead to overaggressive pursuits, false papers, misrepresentations and other corruptions which depreciate our pristine sport.
There may be seasons growing on field trial grounds (there certainly are some), but I suggest that we take time along the way to relish all of the pleasures which cannot be avoided, but which are readily available, because after all, whatever flowers there be, we only come this way once.
Originally published in The American Field, August 9, 1986. Reprinted with permission.