Las Virgenes Stakes

Entry for TJC's Las Virgenes Stakes 2018 Major Race Qualifiers
Horse: Connachan 
Jockey: Erin Hanvey 
Post Position: 4 
Featuring: HNPT's Peppercini and Cream (and Iwar's hooves)

Results
1st place!!

References: 
Poses I did mostly myself.
Light/Muscle :
www.flickr.com/photos/27227526…
www.flickr.com/photos/30255311…
Mud: 
arhiva.dalje.com/slike/slike_3…
www.youtube.com/watch?v=0a_ZBB…
arhiva.dalje.com/slike/slike_3…

Background:
Coloured gate numbers: i.ytimg.com/vi/L6RVEBHfQUk/max…
www.bloodhorse.com/horse-racin…
Starting gate/staff uniforms: www.flickr.com/photos/27227526…
+ general 'Santa Anita Park' on google images 



I tried very hard to make the horses look 'wet', by using the blue as shadow, so hopefully you can see that! I'm enjoying using the grey/blue for shadows, it's a nice new style for me I think. I also used blue for my lines instead of graphite, and I think it was successful. I recently wanted to feature more ponies, but this is what I got. The rain is supposed to look like its dripping off the starting gate... and reflections are hard in watercolour! Overall, I'm pretty pleased with it. Also download for full size!!


Story: (1,594 Words)
(It also mentions some points in Iwar's entry too, to give @Viszlan credit!)

January

“The Oaks?” 

The team sat round the main table in the office, with their large racing schedule in front of them. Rob, owner and overseer, Nilla (bloodstock), George, head groom, and Mick, head trainer.  They were discussing the years goals for their racers. 

It was Rob who had spoken. Mick had suggested. 

“Why not?”  

Mick’s eyes were wide and bright. He was confident. He stood up, his hands on the table, facing Rob. The others looked at him. Rob furred his brow. The other three exchanged looks. The past years events had stressed them, and they had been looking to keep their horses more local, focusing on Europe rather than America. 

“If she goes to America, she’s there for months. She’s doing great here?” 

“She’s tough on the dirt. Yeah she’s dual, but what challenges are there for her here? She’s big and bold. European tracks are all about class, but American are all about power. She’s got power!” 

Rob was visibly uneasy. The chestnut filly was their crown jewel at the moment. Fast, precocious, popular with crowds, and so much easier than the Gremlin. She’d won her first two starts. And she was a quintessential European bred. Her sire was fast becoming one of the best in Britain, consistently improving himself. Her dam had been the farms early champion - Rob’s very first. Connachan was made for European tracks. 

Their last American venture had ended in Gremlin’s exile and Sam’s accident. It was tainted for them. 

“I’m not convinced.” Rob said. He paused, reading the room, and knowing they expected it: “What if something happens again?” 

Mick pursed his lips, thinking. “It won’t be Sam this time.” 

“Who else? Willa’s in Dubai for one.” 

Willa was gradually becoming an essential part of their team, especially since Sam was out of action. They’d negated on their contract with Vinny for his wily and hard-handed behaviour, and at that moment they realised they were in a pickle. Who would ride for them? 

“What’s the goal in doing the Oaks? She doesn’t have that much dirt experience. She’s had all her races here. She’s practically been neglected since the accident! She’s all turf?” 

“Well, for one, we could do with that kind of publicity.” Mick said, he looked to Nilla. 

Nilla met his gaze. She was head of bloodstock, but she was also responsible for their funds. Popularity and interest in their horses would only boost their international profile; and get them re-acquainted with the American scene. The Gremlin had a mixed reputation. They could do with a golden girl. 

“Mick’s right. It’d be good fir us. We could use that kind of money.” 

Rob sat stoney faced. George had been quiet. Rob looked to him. He shrugged. 

“She’s no doin’ anythin’ else. The sooner she goes, the sooner we’ll see how she fairs. She’s perfectly fit.” the older man leaned on the table, “I’m fir it.” 

“Ok!” Mick said, encouraged. “There’s a ton of prep races over there. She’s hardy. We’ll throw her in a bunch? By the time o’ the Oaks she’ll be a monster. Send her wi’ a couple a’ riders she’s used ti’. Mibbe Fox Harbour will help us oot? Or there’s Saltmarket.” 

The other three looked to Rob. He was outnumbered, but he was the boss. He was still struggling to be open to these ventures, but despite himself, he exhaled. He needed to take some chances. 

“Ok. Let’s do it. The Oaks it is.” he took the schedule in his hands, “What’s realistically first?” another pause, looking up. “And who will ride her?” 

“The Las Virgenes at Santa Anita” Mick said, “In February. As for rider - "

Nilla chimed in, “I’ve actually got sum’bdy in mind.” 

The three men looked at her. She continued, “There’s an Irish jockey who rides for Abbotsford sometimes. She’s been getting loads of work in America. Up and coming. She’s just won the La Brea Stakes for Abbotsford Park.” Nilla reached into her pocket and pulled out a notebook. “I’ve been keeping an eye on her for a while. She’s called Erin Hanvey. She’s the one I want.” 

They all met eyes again. Then Rob nodded, “I’ll make some calls.” 

*** 

February

So Connachan went to America. Sam was sad to see her go, but accepted he would need some rehabilitation before he could be her jockey again. She loaded up chirpily. She took the journey in her stride, making many friends along the way as she always did. She travelled with Ally and George, two training riders, and Mick. They had organised with Saltmarket Stud, an American business partner, for her to be stationed with them at one of their training facilities. The stud was in Maryland, but they had another facility in Louisiana for Southern Races. Connachan would train there for several weeks, before shipping to California for the race. 

Connachan took her change in climate well. Louisiana was still hot despite it being the winter months, with plenty of wind and rain to remind her of home. They’d avoided the horrors of the Californian wild fires that had wreaked absolute desolation across the West Coast. Things in the American racing community seemed to be settling, and they focused on their regime. They found Connachan a training partner in two bays, a filly called Nerve, and a colt called Jazz Hound. They were only a two, but were immensely well built and strong. She was a sprinter, but helped Connachan in improving her paces. He was bred for turf, but being early in his career, his owner didn’t mind matching him with an older horse. He was a classic distance, more of a closer, so kept Connachan on her toes as the three sped round the tracks for hours at a time. 

Ally and George enjoyed their time helping out at the training facility. In exchange for their board, they alternated helping out with other mounts, and doing groom duties. It was fun to meet other young staff, and likewise Mick enjoyed socialising and learning from the Americans. It was good to get be out in the world, and facing Connachan against the large and powerful American horse. 

They were also introduced to Erin Hanvey. A young star on the circuit. Friendly, bold as brass, a typical country girl from the Republic of Ireland. Her grandmother had been an Irish traveller, who’d raised horses since she was young. She got acquainted with Connachan, and the two fell in love. Erin would come every few days to ride Connachan, or just to relax with the team. The filly took to Erin right away. They had high hopes. 

** 

The time to ship to Santa Anita arrived. Nerve came with them, as she would be running in an Allowance race there around a similar time. Connachan enjoyed the company, and the two were fast becoming friends. The staff had commented on what a positive influence the red filly was. Nerve was normally standoffish, a ‘bit of a pill’, but Connachan calmed and cooled her. Her owners were pleased with her progress. They had even inquired about Connachan herself; Mick was quick to quash that down quickly. 

They arrived in high spirits, but the forecast for the race itself sent their moods down with it. Since Connachan’s incident with Sam, she’d been shy of mud. Normally fearless, she’d lost a little of her faultless step. Things seemed to turn from bad to worse as the weather turned from wet to stormy. Connachan was uneasy in her stall, and as the day approached, seemed no less settled. The company of Nerve in the next stall helped, and enjoyed some comforting from grooms who’d walk past with a cat curled in their arms - though they seemed to favour the shyer, dark filly a few stalls down the line. 

The weather looked like it would not subside for the race, and rather than grumble, the team persevered. They would not let their awareness of Connachan’s unease show, and hoped their confidence would settle her. The filly was unaffected by the lightening, but seemed tense as they tacked and took her out to the track. They rushed through the parade ring, Mick at the filly’s shoulder while Erin hopped up into the saddle. To Mick’s relief, Erin’s presence seemed to calm her almost instantly. 

“Don’ worry, Mick. Mud ain’t nothin’ for me. We’ll be jus’ grand.” she stroked Connachan’s neck, and the filly nickered in response, “I got ya, lass.”

As soon as they could, Erin took Connchan out to canter her in the mud behind the starting gate. It was so sloppy, it splashed up onto the filly’s legs even at this speed. Erin commented on the mud to Jake, atop the beautiful dark filly Iwar. She admired the filly, who’d she noticed in training and was a popular up and comer. Connachan, calmer, pricked her ears up, but Erin moved her away. 

Soon they were bungled into the gate. Connachan, bombproof, was first in, though she danced uneasily. There were distance rumbles of thunder. A warning? And the rain pelted down. Erin was concerned her goggles would be muddy already as she adjusted them. The other horses filed in. There was a little flash, and Connachan huffed uneasily. Erin stroked her neck soothingly, and the filly relaxed, though Erin was aware of the vast stretch of smooth watery mud that lay before them, and hoped the filly would cope. 

And then the gates were open, and she leapt out; best foot forward. You can do it, girl.