THE British Horseracing Authority has recently declared the sport to be ‘in crisis' but that message has yet to filter through to the many thousands of people attending jumps meetings across the country.

In the face of racing's falling share of the betting market, decreasing prize-money pools and much hand-wringing over how to breathe new life into the once-grand old dame that is flat racing, jumping goes from strength to strength.

Owners pay whopping sums for horses who have shown a glimpse of form in staying races on the flat or in point-to-points (jumping's answer to picnic racing). It is perhaps scarcely believable to Australian ears that Purple Moon, narrowly denied the 2007 Melbourne Cup by Efficient, was purchased for 440,000gns (A$808,500) as a potential hurdler and only returned to the flat after he failed to shine in that sphere.

Outlawing jumps racing, as is the likelihood in Victoria, is an unthinkable scenario in England, where a hunting ban in 2005 merely resulted in an increased number of people turning out to support their local hunts. It's no coincidence that the jumps scene in Britain and Ireland is known as National Hunt racing. While it is now common for horses that haven't made the grade on the flat to switch to hurdling with great success, purpose-bred steeplechasers traditionally receive their early schooling in the hunting field, often graduating to point-to-points before racing under rules.

It is not just at this grass-roots level where jump racing stands and flat racing falters; it is also in the production of heroes. Last year, Europe witnessed a horse for the ages, Sea The Stars, winner of six consecutive Group 1 races, including two classics. No sooner had we come to revere him than he was whisked away to stud, too valuable a breeding prospect to continue doing what he does best. Rarely do we see a flat horse with the longevity of Octagonal or Makybe Diva. One recent exception was Yeats. He may have flopped at Flemington but his repeated victories in the Ascot Gold Cup gave flat racing fans cause for hero-worship season after season.

A devotee of both codes, this writer's passion for racing was, however, ignited by Red Rum, the Grand National hero of the mid-1970s. Of jumping's current stars, the giant Denman, who had won his first five races before his namesake was even born, and his fellow Cheltenham Gold Cup winner Kauto Star (pictured above, among adoring fans), are sparking similar obsessions for the youngsters of today.

But the fact that nobody who enjoys horseracing can overlook is that sometimes, unbearably, racehorses die in action. The fatalities in jumping may be more public than those on the flat but they are no more awful or more frequent. For every horse killed in a paddock accident, on the training track or racecourse, there is a groom, a trainer, an owner, affected deeply by the loss of a creature whose life was spent being better cared for than are many people.

The sport's critics will see that as a contradiction but racehorses are bred for one purpose: to race. Those of us held in thrall to the game must fear that banning jumping is the beginning of the end for racing as a whole.

Emma Berry is a journalist who owns and breeds racehorses and lives in a small racing stable in Newmarket, England.