PrintOn Wednesday, Dec. 2, the Snickersville Hounds met at Egypt Farm at 10 a.m. Trucks and trailers pulled into the meet under overcast, dreary, chilly skies that threatened cold rain in a scant hour or so. But our Huntsman, Todd Kern, and every stalwart foxhunter in attendance, was determined to get in a few hours of hunting before those rains spoiled the rest of the day.
So off we went, trotting in an orderly line along the edges of the fields and through the woods, following the hounds as they fanned out, noses to the ground, searching hard for any good scent. Several times they hit, but never for long. At one check Todd explained to us that the scenting was so strong the hounds were finding old lines that had enough scent to garner interest, but not strong enough to follow for any length of time.
I was riding a pony owned by the son of a friend of mine. She wanted to put some miles on the pony and had asked if I would ride it. It was an adorable pony that could corner like a racing bike. He took 90-degree corners in the mud, which was a good thing because about 1 1/2 hours into the hunt the hounds finally found a line worthy of their noses and voices...and off we blazed through the countryside, eagerly in the wake of the running hounds. What a blast!!
The ground was really deep from recent rains, so the fast turns along the trails and across the fields were a bit hairy, but we were all having too much fun watching hounds to notice the mud…or the drizzle of cold rain beginning to come down.
By the end of two hours, the hard-working hounds, while giving us sport on some short runs, were still without a really good run. The drizzle had become hard enough to be considered rain—a very cold, bone-chilling rain. I was toasty warm in my winter wool Melton, so I wasn’t worried about the weather.
Unfortunately, the fixture has a lot of steep hills, made even more difficult by the muddy ground, and I could feel my pony was starting to tire. I was having to encourage him to gallop up the hills, where before he had been eager to go.
Had I been on my own Welsh-Arab pony, I would have stayed, but my little mount was ready to call it a day. I gave him a little pat and asked, and received, permission from our Field Master to retire as the hounds had come close enough to the meet that the trailers were only a short trot away. I wasn’t surprised to find most of the field decided to follow me in as, at that moment, the freezing cold rains really began to come down with a vengeance.
Just as we set off to head in....the hounds found a hot line and opened with a ground-shaking roar, going away at a full race.
Oh, the dilemma!! I pulled to a halt, as did the retiring riders behind me, and we watched as the rest of the field took off in pursuit of the hounds. I could feel my heart fall. Poor pony was tired, and since I don't own him, it just wasn't fair to press him to return to the Field.
But I just couldn’t leave. The music was too beautiful. Suddenly the receding voices of the hounds begin to swell, and I knew the hounds had turned and were heading in our direction. The line must have been blazing hot to produce music of such intensity.
Eagerly I listened, and with a flash of insight knew just where the fox was going to cross—in front of us just beyond the crest of a slope. I had gotten beautiful views in the past of the fox crossing the trail here, and I was positive this fox would cross at the same point as well.
