Foxhounds pushed against me with their lean bodies, hard muscles quivering. Anticipation made them high, eager. I tapped sides with my whip to move them away, breathed in the wet earth-like smell of their coats and the energy vibrating in the air. Youngsters were coupled to seniors with collars linked by brass clips and leather. The huntsman, other whipper-in and I moved to the kennel door, hounds hot breath at our heels. We walked out into the fresh air of May, made the pack wait, settle and focus. A note from the huntsman's brass horn produced a cacophony of voices and we were off.
The trail through the woods tunneled in green foliage offered scents to keen noses.
"Pack to him" I said as a few hounds began to stray. They trotted back into formation. We moved at a brisk pace, covered over two miles down dirt and gravel roads, snaking amongst old forest and young briers. At the pond, we took a break, a special reward for good behavior. The hounds held their place until the huntsman signaled with a soft chirp, then they exploded into the water. Paws against clay, a thousand bird wings beating. The unified splash, a wave crashing to shore.
A horn toot and all left the pond, packed up and followed their leader for the final trek back to the kennel. At the door, the huntsman stood aside. The hounds filed into the main room tongues lulling out one side of their mouths, lips stretched in grins. Content with their outing, happy to be home.
Run by run, the huntsman's eyes bade them to enter. Each hound knew when it was his turn. The last door shut and the room grew quiet. Before I left, I leaned against the wall, muscles quivering, gaze moving from hound to hound, eager to communicate to the pack how much I enjoyed our morning.
Showing posts with label fox hunting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fox hunting. Show all posts
Monday, May 16, 2011
Sunday, January 02, 2011
New Year's Day Foxhunt Report
For those who hunt the below will make sense, for those who don't, think of it as a peek into what I do when not writing. It may read a bit awkwardly as some names have been removed to protect privacy.
Foggy, in the mid-forties at 10 am, 35 couple, English, American and Crossbred. While these are definitely MFH & huntsman, (name removed)'s hounds, he has allowed me to hunt them some in 2010. He also honored me with the privilege of hunting them on the first day of 2011. He whipped in and offered advice when needed. MFH, (name removed) lead the first flight, (name removed) the second. About 15 members in the field. We've had snow and bad footing for a week and I think many stayed home waiting for better conditions. They missed a good one.
We hunted from the White Oak fixture. Hacked across John Watson Rd and cast along the creek. Hounds fanned out and searched diligently through the heavy underbrush, but didn't strike until we arrived at MFH Roger Smith's new meadow which lies along the creek with heavy woods surrounding it. There the pack found in the Brier patch and roared to life for a bit, but couldn't hold it. I picked them up and we moved on to the soybean field as the above huntsman had said that would be the logical next move. It was so neat seeing the hounds floating across the land like ghosts in the mist. No game had been there recently and we moved slowly on, simply enjoying the sight, toward the vineyard. We traveled through a bit of forest and then out again along the creek trail. The hounds move above us on the hillside.
The pack struck gold in the pines below the vineyard, and were so loud I think one could have heard them a mile away. We galloped across the bottom and up one side of the pine woods. The hounds made two giant loops up to the top of the vineyard (great view for miles from the top) and back down to the creek and then the coyote feeling pressed, changed course and streaked back cross-country toward the way we'd come, across John Watson, through Roger's bottom fields (across the river from his barn), and toward the White Oak meet. The whole pack was on the line. (name removed), honorary whipper-in was on that side and stayed with them.
From there they traversed the river at a place we can't cross on horseback, and continued on. I assume, when they crossed the river, they lost the coyote and found the fox line. Our horses were puffing by now, having traveled to the top of the vineyard, down to the creek, back up and then the long ride down the road, through the bottoms on the other side and around to the meadows where the trailers were parked.
From this point, the field and I had to go back to a river crossing and around, which takes about 20 minutes on horseback, and missed the next part of the chase, though the hounds could be heard in the distance. MFH, (name removed), released the members of the field who felt they'd had enough fun for the day as we were so close to the trailers. Many took advantage of that, but a few hardy souls continued on with me.
(name removed), huntsman from Camargo was visiting and he zipped around in his truck to Ken Miller road by the low water bridge. There he spied a gray fox with hounds in pursuit. The gray was viewed 3 times. It was nice that the car followers and car whips, MJ and Jerry were there.
The rain began in earnest then, and we waved good-bye to our furry friend, gathered the pack, and called it a day. My thanks to well-trained hounds, whipper-ins who did a super job, (names removed). Also, thanks to wonderful MFH's for the thoughtful care and sharing of their land, and (name removed) for making my first day of 2011 something I'll cherish. This reads very short, but you can fill in the blanks. It was over two hours of hound music. Hard to beat that.
Happy Hunting in this New Year to all!
Deborah Bundy, Honorary whipper-in, Green Creek Hounds in North Carolina
Foggy, in the mid-forties at 10 am, 35 couple, English, American and Crossbred. While these are definitely MFH & huntsman, (name removed)'s hounds, he has allowed me to hunt them some in 2010. He also honored me with the privilege of hunting them on the first day of 2011. He whipped in and offered advice when needed. MFH, (name removed) lead the first flight, (name removed) the second. About 15 members in the field. We've had snow and bad footing for a week and I think many stayed home waiting for better conditions. They missed a good one.
We hunted from the White Oak fixture. Hacked across John Watson Rd and cast along the creek. Hounds fanned out and searched diligently through the heavy underbrush, but didn't strike until we arrived at MFH Roger Smith's new meadow which lies along the creek with heavy woods surrounding it. There the pack found in the Brier patch and roared to life for a bit, but couldn't hold it. I picked them up and we moved on to the soybean field as the above huntsman had said that would be the logical next move. It was so neat seeing the hounds floating across the land like ghosts in the mist. No game had been there recently and we moved slowly on, simply enjoying the sight, toward the vineyard. We traveled through a bit of forest and then out again along the creek trail. The hounds move above us on the hillside.
The pack struck gold in the pines below the vineyard, and were so loud I think one could have heard them a mile away. We galloped across the bottom and up one side of the pine woods. The hounds made two giant loops up to the top of the vineyard (great view for miles from the top) and back down to the creek and then the coyote feeling pressed, changed course and streaked back cross-country toward the way we'd come, across John Watson, through Roger's bottom fields (across the river from his barn), and toward the White Oak meet. The whole pack was on the line. (name removed), honorary whipper-in was on that side and stayed with them.
From there they traversed the river at a place we can't cross on horseback, and continued on. I assume, when they crossed the river, they lost the coyote and found the fox line. Our horses were puffing by now, having traveled to the top of the vineyard, down to the creek, back up and then the long ride down the road, through the bottoms on the other side and around to the meadows where the trailers were parked.
From this point, the field and I had to go back to a river crossing and around, which takes about 20 minutes on horseback, and missed the next part of the chase, though the hounds could be heard in the distance. MFH, (name removed), released the members of the field who felt they'd had enough fun for the day as we were so close to the trailers. Many took advantage of that, but a few hardy souls continued on with me.
(name removed), huntsman from Camargo was visiting and he zipped around in his truck to Ken Miller road by the low water bridge. There he spied a gray fox with hounds in pursuit. The gray was viewed 3 times. It was nice that the car followers and car whips, MJ and Jerry were there.
The rain began in earnest then, and we waved good-bye to our furry friend, gathered the pack, and called it a day. My thanks to well-trained hounds, whipper-ins who did a super job, (names removed). Also, thanks to wonderful MFH's for the thoughtful care and sharing of their land, and (name removed) for making my first day of 2011 something I'll cherish. This reads very short, but you can fill in the blanks. It was over two hours of hound music. Hard to beat that.
Happy Hunting in this New Year to all!
Deborah Bundy, Honorary whipper-in, Green Creek Hounds in North Carolina
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Gone Hunting
Yesterday was a riding day and I went foxhunting. It is cubbing season here. That is when we take out the young hounds with the older ones and prepare them for the coming formal season of hunting. They learn to stay with the group, listen to the huntsman, and discover all the scents and sounds of the great outdoors. The goal is not to find game but to train puppies and condition the older hounds.
We hunt early at seven in the morning here, and while getting up in the dark is not on my favorites list, watching the sun rise as I drive to the meet is. The early dew steams in the morning rays creating misty valleys filled with the promise of adventure. I get up before dawn, feed my horses, clean the stalls, groom the one I am going to ride, turn out the others and head to the fixture for the day. A fixture is the place we will meet to hunt.
The hunt is short, young hounds get tired easily, so do out of shape riders. On the way home I marvel at the wonder of it all. The natural interaction of man with his world. Being taken back in time, being reminded we are one of the animal kingdom. Sometimes we lose sight of that in our man-made world. It is good to be reminded of the balance of nature and that we are meant to be a part of that picture.
Did you know that hunters are the best land conservationists? They understand the vital need to keep the wilderness, preserve farmlands, and pure water supply. They know the human's place in the world. Foxhunters will work tirelessly to save the countryside.
Yesterday, I went foxhunting, rode across land that will never be developed. Fell in love, as I do every time, with the beauty of nature and thanked God for creating this natural balancing act that keeps our world a thriving planet.
Gone hunting; when you hear someone say that, thank them for doing their part to preserve your world.
We hunt early at seven in the morning here, and while getting up in the dark is not on my favorites list, watching the sun rise as I drive to the meet is. The early dew steams in the morning rays creating misty valleys filled with the promise of adventure. I get up before dawn, feed my horses, clean the stalls, groom the one I am going to ride, turn out the others and head to the fixture for the day. A fixture is the place we will meet to hunt.
The hunt is short, young hounds get tired easily, so do out of shape riders. On the way home I marvel at the wonder of it all. The natural interaction of man with his world. Being taken back in time, being reminded we are one of the animal kingdom. Sometimes we lose sight of that in our man-made world. It is good to be reminded of the balance of nature and that we are meant to be a part of that picture.
Did you know that hunters are the best land conservationists? They understand the vital need to keep the wilderness, preserve farmlands, and pure water supply. They know the human's place in the world. Foxhunters will work tirelessly to save the countryside.
Yesterday, I went foxhunting, rode across land that will never be developed. Fell in love, as I do every time, with the beauty of nature and thanked God for creating this natural balancing act that keeps our world a thriving planet.
Gone hunting; when you hear someone say that, thank them for doing their part to preserve your world.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
February, Sunshine and a Horse, Gotta be a dream, right?
Today was one of those times I'd like to record and be able to play back when I'm thinking life sucks. Up early, I fed the horses, cleaned the stalls, let the cat out of the tackroom and scolded the little dog for chasing the big dog. Bet you thought I was going to say "cat", didn't you?
By eight, I was in my truck and hauling my thoroughbred to a hunt meet. This is his first year to be a foxhuning horse and he's still trying to figure out where the track is. He used to be a racehorse. I ate my Kashi bar, drank a coke, and played finger tag between country music and NPR on the radio. In twenty minutes, I arrived at the meeting spot, the first one there, and nabbed a prime parking space. When you're driving a F350 extended cab truck and hauling a twenty foot trailer, parking moves way up the priority list.
Eventually, others arrived, the hounds were unloaded, and Rustic(that's my horse)and I were ready to roll. The huntsman cast the hounds, sending them into deep, dense woods. Being a whipper-in(helper to the huntsman)I moved off ahead of the pack, but about fifty yards to one side. One hound spoke and then others joined and we were off.
I asked Rustic to pick up the pace and he said, "You betcha."
There is absolutely no feeling in the world like being on the back of a thoroughbred and asking him to run. It is what they are born to do. We streaked up a road, jumped a coop and tore down a wooded trail. He and I were both in a "yee-haw" moment and I almost forgot that my job was to watch for hounds.
The run lasted about ten minutes and then the hounds lost the scent in the wind. The huntsman picked another route, which left me somewhat out of the game. I pouted for a moment and then looked around.
There I sat, on an animal some people only see on television, in the middle of a meadow, the sun warming my back, with a million dollar view of the mountains in front of me, and it was mid-February. A slow smile erased my pout. Just think about it for a minute; February, sunshine and a horse,the makings for a movie, right? No one was there to record the moment,so no movie, but believe me some dreams can come true.
By eight, I was in my truck and hauling my thoroughbred to a hunt meet. This is his first year to be a foxhuning horse and he's still trying to figure out where the track is. He used to be a racehorse. I ate my Kashi bar, drank a coke, and played finger tag between country music and NPR on the radio. In twenty minutes, I arrived at the meeting spot, the first one there, and nabbed a prime parking space. When you're driving a F350 extended cab truck and hauling a twenty foot trailer, parking moves way up the priority list.
Eventually, others arrived, the hounds were unloaded, and Rustic(that's my horse)and I were ready to roll. The huntsman cast the hounds, sending them into deep, dense woods. Being a whipper-in(helper to the huntsman)I moved off ahead of the pack, but about fifty yards to one side. One hound spoke and then others joined and we were off.
I asked Rustic to pick up the pace and he said, "You betcha."
There is absolutely no feeling in the world like being on the back of a thoroughbred and asking him to run. It is what they are born to do. We streaked up a road, jumped a coop and tore down a wooded trail. He and I were both in a "yee-haw" moment and I almost forgot that my job was to watch for hounds.
The run lasted about ten minutes and then the hounds lost the scent in the wind. The huntsman picked another route, which left me somewhat out of the game. I pouted for a moment and then looked around.
There I sat, on an animal some people only see on television, in the middle of a meadow, the sun warming my back, with a million dollar view of the mountains in front of me, and it was mid-February. A slow smile erased my pout. Just think about it for a minute; February, sunshine and a horse,the makings for a movie, right? No one was there to record the moment,so no movie, but believe me some dreams can come true.
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