Now you see me - what you might not spot when coaching visually impaired riders

Deep in discussion with August during a riding lesson

I've been involved in coaching visually impaired (VI) riders from the very beginning of my RDA career, and the idea of being a spare, helpful, trustworthy set of eyes for someone on a horse has never stopped being interesting to me. By pure chance, the first three VI riders I worked with to any depth were all totally blind - 0% vision. Was it, therefore, a surprise to me that the vast majority of those registered blind have some kind of vision? Yes. It really was.

It's hard to find a specific number for those with 0% vision. Some sources suggest 10-15% for the USA; others point to a figure of under 5% for the UK population. The figure given to me by one of my VI riders was 7%. What I do know is that the first ten years or so of my RDA experiences were totally anomalous, and I was working with individuals who represented less than a tenth of the VI community. Visual impairment and sight loss is a huge spectrum, which according to the RNIB will affect one in five of us at some point in our lifetimes. There are lots of different ways I've had to adapt the way I see - and see for - visually impaired riders who can see "a bit", and I've been surprised by how different it is to the way I support riders who can't see anything at all.

There are a lot of statistics out there about visual impairment, but I would much rather talk about my riders, Holly and August, who agreed to contribute their views and experiences to this blog post. They are both incredibly articulate human beings who are trusting, fun, and important parts of Aim RDA. They both also represented us at this year's National Championships, and went on the road with us to the National Equine Show earlier this year, where they were exemplary ambassadors for the RDA movement. 

August is almost 19 and shortly to leave us to study Psychology at university. (She'll be back, I've made her promise.) She has been registered blind since birth. August only has a right eye, and wears a prosthesis on the left. Her "real" right eye has no lens, which has a huge effect on her perception of depth and distance, and she also has nystagmus, where the eye moves involuntarily. Riding represents a freedom and adrenaline boost for August which is difficult to find elsewhere. She appears quiet and thoughtful, which she is, but this totally belies a killer sense of humour and sharp observational skill. She has ridden since she was 11 years old at three different RDA groups.

Holly is 22, and works in children's television for the BBC. Her sight loss is caused by retinitis pigmentosa,  a congenital, progressive eye condition affecting the retina: the light-sensitive part of the back of the eye. This makes her totally blind in low-light or dark conditions, and also affects her peripheral vision. This video gives an approximation of what a person with RP sees. Holly was registered blind as a young adult and has had to adapt to her sight loss as she's navigated some incredibly formative years and experiences. She started riding during this same period, beginning in a mainstream setting before finding our group last year. Holly is bubbly and fun and much loved for it at the stables, but with an emotional maturity far greater than her years.

As VIPs (Visually Impaired People, but they are also Very Important) and intelligent young people looking for independent and fulfilling lifestyles, I really value what August and Holly tell me about their sight.

Holly at the front riding Larry, August behind riding Harley: my two guest contributors

The practical stuff: what they're seeing

I'm always intrigued, when meeting a VI person, by how much they can or can't see. What August has made clear to me, however, is that although it's good to be curious, there's a lot of pointless speculation when it comes to the ins and outs of what that might mean. She says "vision or a lack thereof is so much more subjective than people realise: two people with the same condition can see so differently compared to each other. I don't know what fully sighted people see and I never have, so I can't compare that to my own experiences. I've asked my sighted parents over the years about what and how they see to try and plug the gaps, but there's no way I'll ever know, and no way they'll ever truly understand what I do or don't see."

This makes sense, right? It just jars a bit with the RDA philosophy of focusing on what a person "can do". For VIPs like my riders, who have no other disabilities, it's actually more helpful to work out where their sight stops, rather than what they can see. For people like August and Holly, the boundaries are nuanced and in some cases, moveable. Someone who has memories of being a fully sighted person may be able to describe how this compares to their current vision, but this isn't guaranteed either: Holly has often spoken about how her RP diagnosis was actually quite confusing, and how she thought she was still seeing what everyone else did. 

If I was meeting a VI rider for the first time, I'd try to stick to direct questions about what they can and can't see - our arenas can become eye charts, with questions about which letters are readable and which pieces of equipment are visible. I know a brightly coloured pole is more visible for Holly when she sees it across the arena than when she's about to trot over it, for example. When discussing this blog post, she shared diagrams from her last Humphrey Visual Field Test, which is designed as a systematic test of peripheral vision. Seeing quite how many blind spots there were on the charts really surprised me, even though I feel like I know Holly well. She says she doesn't wear her glasses when riding because they do restrict her overall field of vision, although they do make it slightly easier to see things like the letters. There is no perfect solution, just like how hearing aids can amplify the wrong sort of noise to be useful to someone with a hearing impairment.

Holly also pointed out that starting her RDA experience with the right horse also felt a bit like using a very advanced visual aid. Horses aren't clued into everything we ask of them in an RDA session, but if their eyesight is better than their rider's, they can still help them out. Holly started her lessons with us on Harley, who ended up being her partner for her first trip to the National Championships (it was an emotional one, you can read more here). If any horse knew what he needed to do to be a spare set of eyes, it was Harley. I don't know how many blind riders he helped during his long career, but he seemed to understand exactly what was happening whenever I started calling letters for ours. Trusting Harley was really important for Holly's confidence: "it's about trusting your horse instead of panicking about what you can't see". As for watching someone else to pick up on their position or form? Probably not your best bet. Descriptive language and, where appropriate, physical corrections (please ask first) is going to get the job done much more successfully, although it's often harder for a coach.

So, what is a blind rider seeing? That's educated guess territory, as much as it is for how anyone who isn't you sees the world. My partner is very colour blind, and I've established over the years through repeated questioning that he doesn't really recognise purple as a colour. I still don't know what that actually looks like for him, and the confidence he displayed in pronouncing something as "lilac" the other day turned out to be trust in the way it was described online, and nothing else. Most people rely so much on their eyesight that imagining not being able to rely upon it is intriguing, but as a sighted coach, guide, or just an ally, it's about knowing which gaps to fill. August met one of her best friends at preschool, when she "ran into a wall" (her words) and the friend was instructed by a teacher to "try and make sure she doesn't run into any more".  A sighted guide's strength is in knowing where the wall is and how to communicate that to the VIP, as opposed to knowing exactly how the VIP perceives the wall. 

Holly and Harley competing at Nationals 2025

The practical stuff: light and dark

Many long-time readers will know Natalie, a totally blind rider with no light perception (and total legend, known for musical and academic talents, acerbic putdowns, and general willingness to let me work out my spare eyes role over many years). The more I know Holly and August, the more I realise how much Natalie's 0% vision made me take light conditions for granted. If I can see in Natalie's lessons, we're alright. Nothing has changed for her. 

This is not the case for Holly or August. The path back to the accommodation at Nationals vanishes for Holly after sunset, even after we covered it in gold glitter. Bright light can also be a no-go: when the sun sets in winter, it sets over H in the arena at the end of the afternoon, when the girls are having their lesson. August, who is always deeply committed to the cause of working out her own routes, admitted "I've got nothing" as she rode across the diagonal one chilly November afternoon. Changes of light in any direction can be disorientating for Holly, even moving from the shade to bright summer sunshine can bring on a headache. The ideal lighting conditions for her are consistently bright, but not too bright: difficult to achieve across the board, and especially on a stable yard, so there have to be some work-arounds. 

In a previous life, I was very accustomed to coaching inside, and was a huge advocate for VI riders getting that indoor space. I still am, but it's not essential - I don't coach any of my blind riders inside at the moment, and we have all adapted. I do have to be sensitive to changes in light levels, and be prepared to step in and provide more directions and encouragement when the conditions aren't optimal. It's also worth noting that light levels can still change in indoor arenas: some get very dark very quickly, and others are designed with slats in the walls which can let in beams of bright sunlight at certain times of day. Sighted people have no idea how amazing their eyes are at providing micro-adjustments and adapting without even being told. The skill to develop here is the ability to recognise when those micro-adjustments are taking place, and communicating that in a way that's meaningful to the VI rider(s). 

The practical stuff: depth

We have just been introduced to a lovely new horse at Lambourn RDA, which my group uses for their Saturday sessions. His name is Stan, and he's a gorgeous bright bay warmblood, sixteen and a half hands high. Stan was destined for an eventing career before an injury brought him into an RDA orbit, so he's beautifully schooled, and both of the girls were really excited about trying him out. I did, however, notice distinct alarm on both of their faces when it came to dismount. Where was the ground, exactly? 

Stan is the biggest horse Holly has ever ridden, both physically and in terms of way of going, and she had also struggled with a peer on a smaller pony simply vanishing out of her peripheral vision in the arena. Orli, who has no issues with her vision, has honed her arena craft on the principle of "you can see the most - use the space sensitively". I wasn't concerned, and neither was Orli, but Holly was absolutely convinced that she was going to wipe out her shorter friend. At time of writing, she hasn't had enough time to adapt fully to riding such a big horse, with such a long neck. I know she's going to master Stan, but I also know it's my job to help her work through the very logical visual barriers that come with being on a taller, bigger-moving mount. It all takes time, and sometimes the small things can take longer for a blind rider than they do for their sighted peers.

Although both Holly and August are more than capable of the mechanical side of mounting and dismounting, variations in horse size do mean I give more of a "spot" on the way down, whether a countdown, a guiding hand on the back, or both. Depth perception helps us assess a lot of risks as humans, and riding is a sport which takes place at height. It's definitely a place where being able to see "something" can be unhelpful - for someone who can see nothing at all, there are no inconsistencies in what they are seeing when they look down, and if they trust whoever is helping them (horse included), there is comparably less to worry about.

Orli on little Bess and Holly on big Stan

The practical stuff: orientation

"I promise," I have often found myself shouting at both Holly and August, "that you are much further away from the fence than you think you are." August is much more inclined to keep her inside leg on when she is riding with her right side - the one with the real eye - closest to the fence. Holly, as might already be clear, worries about taking up space, or getting into space she shouldn't be occupying. The arena they ride in regularly is familiar to them, but I have to stay alert to when they might need reminding of which letter is next or where they are headed. I've had good results from using myself as a marker - "you are aiming for my shiny forehead" - although I might be a bit short for big tall Stan. Coaching is about playing to your strengths as you develop other people's, and my own strengths definitely include being loud, and inclined to narrate things in great detail. Refining this is still a work in progress, but it helps.

For blind riders with some vision, visual aids can help with orientation: the giant letters used at Nationals, for example, or the bright white of a continuous set of dressage boards. When Orli rides the smaller ponies and Holly or August rides Stan, I am only half joking when I say I am considering sticking a neon coloured pom-pom to the top of her hat. We are allowed a lot of individual adaptations for blind equestrians. Most VI sports require competitors to be blindfolded, like in football - which August used to play - for the sake of parity. There are more opportunities for blind equestrians to make use of what they are able to see, even in a competitive environment, although this also isn't always got right by governing bodies. What's helpful for one person might be totally bewildering for another. Consistency isn't essential in everything, and I'm really proud of how both Holly and August have been able to adapt their riding the longer I've worked with them. August competed at Nationals this year on a horse she didn't know. Consistency at the beginning of something, however, is really important: the same arena setup, familiar horses, and I've always worked on the principle of keeping volunteers consistent while a VI rider is starting out.

Vision is different for everyone, so every VI rider will have their own preferences for orientation. August and Holly have a side of me each for when they are crossing a dressage arena: I stay on August's right and Holly's left. This is good for my mental agility and is much easier in a competition environment, when there is always a white armband on the left arm. I've seen August through a few dressage tests, and when I started calling her letters like I do for Natalie she told me very politely that she didn't need as much noise. My calling for a totally blind rider is constant, because it is their landscape, and can involve variations in tone and volume. August and Holly both prefer letters to be called as checkpoints, usually only two or three times each, with more consistent calling for the letters on the centre line. Holly needs a clear "X" because in most arenas, she struggles to see where B and E are on each side to line herself up. It's all trial, error, and lots of questions. 

August and Holly before their dressage tests at Nationals - looking very cool, given that it was about 30 degrees when this photo was taken

The practical stuff: communication

I had a "makes sense, why didn't I ever think about that before" moment when I learned from the girls that sight can be affected from day to day by factors like tiredness, stress, extremes of emotion, or seemingly unrelated illness. Between this and environmental factors like changes in light, it's actually pretty impressive how confident August and Holly both appear when they pop up at the gate for their riding lesson each week. I think sighted people must take more confidence than they realise in the assumption that they will be able to see pretty much the same way as they did yesterday when they get out of bed in the morning.

For so much of our world, communication is a visually impaired person's bridge. Without it, so many things are impossible to do safely or practically without external communication. I know August keeps a running tally of the buses she takes which have audible announcements - this is in theory a compulsory feature for new buses, and operators of older vehicles have access to funding to make them compliant. Most of us probably don't notice whether the buses we take have these announcements or not, because we aren't inconvenienced by their absence - I suspect it's also why so many forms of visual media don't have audio commentary. 

For a VIP who rides, communication is always going to be the most important part of their relationship with those who support them. Gaps in vision can cause huge gaps in confidence, and the way a coach or supporting volunteer approaches, interprets, and fills these gaps with how they communicate can make the difference between an underwhelming experience and a meaningful one. It's a misconception that someone who is missing one sense develops super-strength in the others, but the other senses do have to work harder. None of the blind riders I have coached have been able to hear mice sneeze from five miles away as a result of their visual impairment (it's a disappointment to them as much as it is to you), but I think I've seen every one become overstimulated at some point by their reliance on other senses to supplement the gaps in their vision. Holly hates wearing gloves, for example, and doesn't like the feel of them on her hands or the lack of connection it gives her with the reins. I've had to manage VI riders struggling with too much noise - distraction, sensory overload, difficulty concentrating - and also with not enough noise. Where has everyone gone? When Holly and August are messaging, they will sometimes make comments like "I'm just going to voice note this because it's easier" or "sorry about the grammar, I'm feeling lazy so using speech to text". No judgement here - that just sounds like a sensory overload thing.

If you're like me and talk a lot with your hands, it's important to remember that a VIP probably isn't going to get anything out of your wild gesturing. None of my blind riders are especially offended by mine, but I try hard to make sure that what I say is echoing whatever my upper body is trying to get across. Sometimes I think my words do a much more precise job, and sometimes a clear hand signal (lefts and rights like traffic signals) in the right position can be useful. Sometimes, feel is better than description: August suggests that this is an easier way to learn how to take off a bridle, for example, than through audible instructions alone.

The concentration it takes to communicate clearly as a sighted guide and/or coach is worth it for the reward of a good relationship with the person you are supporting. It's also important to own it if you stuff it up and mix up left and right or give a direction too late. My blind riders are kind to me and usually just find it funny. And Natalie sometimes says to me "you're waving your arms around, aren't you?" with a wry little chuckle.

There is a lot of discourse about invisible disabilities, and in an RDA environment this is a very familiar concept. Perhaps "visible" is a fitting word. August spoke to me recently about the idea of visual impairment as an invisible disability. A VIP might not always use a cane, or a guide dog, and might be seen using a device like a phone in public: "sometimes I wonder if people see me using my phone and think I'm faking it". There is also no obligation for someone to introduce themselves with the minutiae of their disability, so in some circumstances, Holly and August could both pass as sighted people. This doesn't make them any less blind or any less worthy of support and understanding. The amount of mental capacity it takes to interpret the world with limited vision is also, I expect, beyond most fully sighted people's understanding. It makes it all the more important to make as much of an effort as we can as sighted allies. I'm not saying I get it right 100% of the time, but I try to communicate as well as I can, stay open minded, and be curious. 

Seeing someone is so much more than surface level. Most people's eyes do that without their owners even needing to try. What my adventures in VI coaching have taught me so far is that seeing a blind rider properly is a very nuanced pursuit. There are lots of variables, and you will have to think hard about small, surprising things which are insignificant to sighted riders. It's worth the effort. My blind riders may wish their sight was the same as it was ten years ago, or the same as their family's, or just that it was consistent. I'm pretty sure they would still rather be seen properly by the people around them. That's something I can make a good go of.

August and her favourite horse Red. I'll miss this sight when she goes to uni!

A huge thank you to August and Holly for their honest, generous, intelligent contributions to this post. They are both fantastic human beings, and I hope that everyone enjoys learning from their insights.