Staghounds: Her First Hunt in France...

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Her First Hunt in France...

So off for that first day in France!

A good breakfast is essential...

Field expedient hair bag check...

Shame this radar tower is vacant, what a lovely house it would make!

Le Rendezvous...

Yep, it's a far...

Tufters rolling up.

CtB had a hireling. Most French hunters are hammerheads off the trotting track. I told the man she wanted a galloper and she could ride. Was told this was a 5 year old Irish thoroughbred off the racetrack.

Jayzus. Shure and look at the Oirish of him, startin' with the pennants on his neck.

To be fair, he did have clean (ish) legs and was in fair flesh.

Tack also clearly off the "first time customer" rack. Only makes sense, you don't want to kill the repeat business. And its not as if the French are all that big on shiny equipment.

Aww, making friends! How could he not?

To the Rapport...

Who knew President Georges Bush hunts?

Getting every other word?

A cheval!

Off we go.... and O'Harse immediately got himself tangled with the Master!

Get over heeeere....

And off. Hounds found fairly quickly, and ran a straightish point for a bit.

Oui, le thataway.

Huntsman listening...

And the visitor keeping right up!

Enjoying it?

What do YOU think?

And that was the last I saw of her. Hounds receded out of hearing into the forest, and so I waited a bit, then cast around three sides. Nothing, so they must ave gone away over the plateau!

This isn't unusual, the stag had been found in the north edge of this forest. The next forest is a couple or five miles north, across a hihj open plateau seamed with wooded and hamletted ravines.

I went up top, and scanning with binoculars aw what looked like a moderately tired stag about a mile further on, looking like he was heading into a steep valley.

I barreled around, into this ruck.

Bumped into one of the experienced mounted hunters, whom I knew to be sharp, and tipped her off. "Je vue un Cerf, en la, la, montagne...."

"Speak English, I can't understand your French", she said. No lie!

After passing on my conjecture, I went up top of the ravine.

Sure enough, he was there.

A few of the mounted field were there...

And hounds, too.

He'd gone down into the little village.

And, despite the best efforts of the Hunt Servants to turn him or stop hounds, into a yard.

The end.

Good boys and girls!

One hound had a pretty good puncture wound. This girl- one of the Hunt Servants I think, always very active with hounds-

was all over it, taking care of the injured hound.

So, back to the Rendezvous.

To waaaaaaait...

Stitch up le chien blesse'...

Have some water...

Count everyone in...

And waaaait....

Finally, the visitor returns!

What happened was, our visitor had attached herself to a local volunteer pilot. This experienced hunter knew that when deer go up the plain, they usually swing wide of the ravines and continue into the next forest. I have seen it myself.

So she led our lovely visitor around that way. If the Stag had done as usual, they would have had it all to themselves.

I suspect this stag was ill or injured. When I saw what I believed was the quarry, he was moving far less powerfully than I would expect, given the time and distance he'd run.