A Spectacular Snowy Saturday with the Villiers-Cotterets

I often say that one thing I like about hunting is its relative timelessness. It’s been the same for hundreds of years, and hunters from eras long past would fit right in.

Generally. “Meet at the

cell tower” might give the Empress Eugenie pause.

But then again, lots of things did.



I wanted to hunt with Rivecourt, but they had le cough du chenil. Those bedspreads are dusty!

So off with the Villiers-Cotterets again.

“I ‘ave niege on moi nez!”



More snow today:


Le trompe:


And off. After seeing her performance last year and four days ago, I took chance and begged a very generous and skilled, dedicated lady for a place.

I may not have any game sense, but sometimes I can figure out who does!

We arrived at this carriere:

to see a few roe deer running from the racket hounds. On they came:


but hunting red deer, not the roe we saw. Off into the forest:







Alas it was biches, so regroup and draw again. The snow got heavier:


And hounds struck!


Our pilot dashed us to a recently cut section of the forest, which was exactly the right spot!




I swear, there was a stag right there a second ago, droit au gauche!

See? Hounds right on him:


And off into the forest. Back en voiture, barreling down the road, when BOOM! Stagboy crossed right in front of us, if we had been going even a little faster w would have hit him!

Easy to say, yet another "He was right there!" post, but here are his tracks:

He was to my eye a hunted stag, but a couple of other followers showed up and, I think, disputed that.

But you know how it is, two Frenchmen saying hello sounds like four Americans getting ready to have a bar fight.

Hounds came along in a few minutes and settled the question:


Interesting how much of a distance the stag had opened up, and how quickly.



Hunters a little behind hounds:





Then, as usual, looking for a good spot and waiting.


Hound music approached...




And, again, he was right there!



Into the forest:

We picked up a passenger:



Then, again. he crossed in front of us and then just inside the tree line along an open field:


He's coming...

THERE! A perfect shot, Stephan Lavoye watch out!



Then the usual dash, zipping along. Is he here? There?



And more, slipping and sliding while hounds crashed along out of our sight.





Then up into a village beside a little two room house.
There was a LeClerc (like the Home Depot of France) van in the driveway, and you guessed it:


The man came out, with his daughter who looked to be about 15, in a t shirt and ballet slippers. The daughter I mean.

Well, it was like the circus had come to their very own yard! There were only a few mounted hunters in at the end. One's horse tried for a nip:


And this girl on her (sadly outgrown and I could see why sadly) pony were among them, the toughest of the day.



Back to the Rendezvous.






But there are still hounds out! No radio collars here, either.


Recovered some,


Then back for the curee:



The Master had done exactly the right thing, invited Mr. Leclerc back for the event and then offered him the head for his wall!


And so we bid "au revoir" to the forest of Villiers-Cotterets...

Bifixtural my First Day in France this Year...

So- the Villiers-Cotterets (AKA the Pond Hounds) first day in France. They were just around the corner. Still a bit shocking not to have to drive three hours.

It's like an Alabama divorce:



"Get out of the truck!"

Not you!

Making friends for hunting. For serious, it's a public road!



"We aire Ver ready to 'unt!"


Intent faces at the Rapport:

Suited up and ready to roll.



And trot. I’m told that many of these French hammerheads are too-slows off the trotting track. Not pretty, but they go all day!

A full sized camion de pick-up Americain:

Come on, catch up!


Just a dusting of snow:

But that awful sunshine:



Even so, deer en l’allee:


And they ran! A blistering dash and hallali in the lake:



And it was fairly early, so off I went to see if the Buckhounds were still going.

Alas, they had just stopped. But still in time for the feed. I agree, Mademoiselle!

A St. Eustache Buckhound Day...

The first day's hunting I had on my own in France was with this Roebuck pack. I just heaved up, not a one of them spoke English. It was one of those clear, ice-cold winter days, and they FLEW. The couree was deep in the forest after dark. The bottles came out, logs were thrown on the fire,... and they blew until nearly midnight in that crystalline, star spattered blackness.

Good times.

A St. Eustache Buckhound Day…

So, off with the buckhounds again. I think this pack’s motto is, “We hunt well and no one goes away hungry.”

I was almost first at the meet, only my Nivateur from last year was there before me. He is a tufter, and so was bringing his hound in.

This sort of view is always pleasant:




And inside:






The dog hut is a step up from my house, though a little smaller:


And thank you, Francois:


More tufters arrived:



Hideous weather AGAIN:



What I didn’t know was that this was St. Eustache day, which is St. Hubert for this pack. Our generous hostess made everyone very welcome indeed!

One of the hunters told me, “We do not have the Mass.” Depends on what you call a Mass, I expect. There was certainly a Cathedrale du Chevreuil:



And communion, whoa! For serious, among half a hundred dishes and wines, gateau where there was only enough flour to bind the sugar to the butter. And of course, the best apple crumble on earth! And:





But hounds were waiting:



On the Rapport. Note the man in the centre’s invisible horse:





And the cool wolf fur hat!

Love to see children at the meet. This one was very chic:






Although it was fairly cool, tradition was maintained:




Not only the sun threatened to melt the snow:




And we were off! In and out of the whitened woods and allees:















My pilot knew what Nashville was:


And where to go to find hounds. Unfortunately the action was usually some distance away, so although we could hear, there wasn’t much to see. At the point that picture was taken, for example, we were dead right and all alone. Hounds ran from in the forest toward us- he’s pointing to where it sounds as though the roebuck will break out. But she reculed across our front and we took a chance, a big loop around on a main road. A bit too large, because the hallali was over a couple of minutes before we arrived:




And back for the curee:





I really like the style of this pack. They are very light, the Master appears to love his hunting and his hounds, and they seem to return it. The joy of the day is evident on this lady’s face: