Mission Valley Hunt
17885 Nall St.,
Stilwell, Kansas 66085.
Established 1927.
Recognized 1930.

You could have said it was a crisp, breezy January morning. But, no, “crisp” implies a slight, invigorating chill, with a hint of warmth still remaining from a lingering autumn.

It was way beyond “crisp.” It was “brittle.” And there was no “breeze” on that morning–there was a freezing wind out of the north, cold enough to freeze a warm thought, and strong enough to knock down a faltering hope. The weatherman said it was 13 degrees, with a wind chill of minus 2.
So, it was a brittle, windy day on Jan. 22, when five people met at the Black River fixture of the Mission Valley Hunt, determined to hunt despite the weather–the preceding two Saturday fixtures having been canceled because of ice.

Huntsman Tommy Jackson brought a hardy pack of seven couple, aided by the lone honorable whipper-in, Louise Torres. The “field” consisted of myself, along with Tony and Nancy Adams. Horses gave a quizzical and questioning look, as multiple rugs were removed to expose bare horsehide. Hounds hesitated as they stepped from the trailer. And the riders tried to smile as the wind blew across the open meadow.

Those smiles remained through the remainder of the day.

Field and hounds moved off smartly, heading downhill, with the hope that the air might be calmer, if no less cold, below the hill. Upon reaching the bean field to the west of the barn, one member, serving as a substitute whip, was sent to ride north, parallel to the pack and the rest of the field. Jackson cast hounds into the woods that divide the bean field, and the riders then walked even with the hounds as they hunted north.

Within five minutes, the lone rider yelled a “View Holloa,” watching a big gray coyote running out of his covert in the woods and across the bean field to the northeast. Jackson encouraged his hounds to the site of the scent, and they were off in full cry. The hounds followed the line exactly, entering the woods close behind the coyote. The field galloped around those woods to the south, and then met up with the pack on the cart road at the bottom of the hill.

The pack continued to run east up the hill, back toward the barn, and the chase was on. For the next hour, hounds chased that coyote–rudely awakened from a winter’s nap in the shelter of the trees–over hill, through the woods, and into the open fields. Out in the open, the heavy wind carried away the scent as the pack moved to the eastern edge of the fixture, and Jackson gathered hounds. To the riders, any sense of “cold” was long gone, both in mind and body. Perhaps any sense at all was gone too.

Jackson then moved hounds back toward the west, hoping to restart back in the bean fields. But the hounds quickly opened again, and ran through the same woods so recently traversed. Whether this was on the same coyote, or another–or yet the remaining scent left from the prior run–no one could tell. What is known is that another good and hearty run was had, this time bush-whacking through the woods, still rough from a hard winter.

At about 12:30, it was agreed that two long runs were enough. Within five minutes of starting out, the hunters, horses and hounds had warmed enough to forget the cold, and it was a truly enjoyable day for all concerned–even for the coyote who got away and likely returned to the warm spot in the trees to resume his winter’s nap. Nick Badgerow