Staghounds

Monday, February 04, 2013

New at the Workhouse...

Lumps O' Rye! Flavoured with cod liver oil* and enriched with spinning jenny lint for extra fiber. Guaranteed to barely sustain life in children under 14. Parish approved! From Dark Satanic Mills. *Castor oil flavour for girls over 12.

Friday, January 11, 2013

Blue Skies with the OFH...

(A click on any picture will show you a larger version.) Out for a day with the OFH. Blue skies, we know what that means.

We went round to the old cemetery. Draw, draw, draw and nothing.

A coyote stepped out, ran the road a bit, and popped back in.

Whipper-in right on the spot-

Hounds put on...

Field waiting patiently,

And off!
Across the road,

First flight right in it.

Hounds checked, and an around your hat cast.

This way?

No, that way. Again a check, and hounds cast themselves and back onto it. These hounds know their work.

Sticking to it now.

Heading toward the river.

Field still with us.

Running hot!

Now almost to the river!

He hit the river and turned east. We waited by a slough that would turn him back into the open country.

But no! Again he popped out into the road, didn't like what he saw, and back into the forest.

He was just in this field!

And about to cross this track.

Told you!

What are you looking at?

I'm out of here!

Skates on!

Across the river fields...

Love me some goofy hound pictures.

Then he doubled back and crossed the road, toward a swamp.

His last mistake.

Sorry, Coyote. And thanks.

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.