Whoa! What day with the Boarhounds!
The meet was at the Empress Eugenie’s pavilion on the edge of the forest of Compiegne.
Each clearing in the forest, called a carriere, has a signpost to tell the name of the next carriere. In Compiegne, each one also bears a red strip.The red strip shows the shortest route to this pavilion. Her Majesty was apparently a ball of fire in some other department than terrain recognition.
It’s good to be the empress.
It was a joint meet with local pack (M on hounds, chain collars, black/maroon livery) and visitors (orange collars, blue livery). Same as last time, when I committed my hunting crime.
Several people from R's part of the world were there too, three riding
and three car following. R. and F. went with their English friends, and I managed to promote THE GREAT ride along.
M. was the driver. He's a whipper in to another pack, and very dedicated. Another passenger was C, a groom for the same pack and equally focussed. The fourth passenger was a non hunter, the beau of one of the other grooms.
He's a police officer, and on his second day with hounds. There was much fun with him, first in making certain he was off duty! He entered into the spirit of things, putting on a ski mask at which I said, "Terroriste!" and C. said, "Hunt Saboteur!". So we called him "Le Chameleone".
So off we went. Quickly we got into very home like territory, hilly and rough.
As best as I can figure out,the boar hounds use a two group system. Some of what we would all tufters or strike hounds hounds draw for the bacon of the day, while the rest go in a truck. Once the quarry has been settled upon, the main body is put on the line. It's called, in defiance of hunting tradition, exactly what it is- l'attaque".
"Non, mon pieds sont froid"...
This may not be the very best career enhancement strategy, Directeur...
This attaque followed the sanglier heading right handed across this ride. Hounds ran on, straight to our right. M. said hold hard, so we did- a rustling in the bushes, and CRASH!
It was ON!
The field was scattered immediately,
and it was devil take the hindmost. Our driver drove like this little truck was a horse, in the back it was assume crash positions.
The English held up well
but the rest of the day was a bit of a blur. I think I have dain bramage from the martini shaking, but I'd gladly go again.
Yet even in my stunned state, I remembered that it's generally possible to see more from a higher elevation...
So on the day went. Eventually the sandwich du jambon was caught, and to the courree. I love to see a child being well brought up...