Ah, that day....

Who knew that all you needed was a hawk to put the little b*stard out of commission?

Thirty...

So off for a day in the Great Plains. Started the day with a brief training draw with a visiting farmer pack. Good looking hounds, and they worked a little line but we had to go. (Emo note, dined last night with, among others, the visitors' whipper-in and his wife. They were so cute, he was like a sixteen year old with his first date. Just charming.) Unboxed on the windy steppe. A small field and fourteen and a half couple.

The huntsman had very generously shown me his pack and pointed out two in particular. "Pickle" here is ten years old and, he told me, is still keen as mustard and does not miss a day. You can see that she is as fit as a flea.

This hound is nearly blind, can still get around but no foggy days!

They aren't running Greenwich Hospital, the rest of the hounds looked fast and healthy. They just love their hounds!

So away we went. This was my first visit to the Great American Desert, and desolate is the word.

It's like Exmoor, but much flatter and without all the green. The poor graziers here have been in drought for two years, and it shows. Even I can see the low water table, trickling streams, and dried ponds. I hope this year is better for them, who'd be a farmer?

The country is still good to hunt over. There were two brothers whipping-in in trucks, they put me with the elder and drew. We saw a coyote sneaking away across a field, but about that time hounds struck to our south and it was on! The pack split, driving one east into a river bottom and another south. The huntsman saw houns run into the eastbound one, so he decided to chase the other and let the other hounds come on. We barreled around south, to come upon...

Younger brother mounted our truck, and away we bounced. The pace was too good to enquire...

No pictures, because we were travelling at speed. Saw a total of three coyotes ourselves, two hunted ones, and the field saw two more. Add the one a whipper-in saw, and six afoot in a three hour period. Not bad. They called it a day and headed back north. A bit of vehicle salvage...

But we were still four couple short. As the returning hounds neared the river bank, we found them...

About fifteen feet below us in the watercourse! They had followed that coyote up under a washed out tree root,

And were marking like crazy! They were snarled up in those roots so tight that they had to be dragged out, hounds were falling from the sky! And who was the last one hauled out, the one closest to the coyote? You guessed it, Pickle. So they gave him best, a sporting ending to an interesting, fun, educational, and surprising day. Plus, truck tipover!

This was my thirtieth pack of hounds to watch this season. Hunt ho, indeed. Thank you for the opportunity, HotGirl!

New at the Workhouse...

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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.

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.

So, la Courree.

Good dogs!

And...

Premier honneur!

A girl and her slot...

A little extra Trompe!

The pilot...

Better picture of the pilot...

Grr, cut the foot off!

There we go!

I'm fuuuuuullll....

Tired hounds.

We were invited back to kennels, very generous.

Puppies!

WHEELS on the troughs, very sensible.

Paitientez.

Loves her some hounds!

Trois Amis!

Whee!