Tennessee Valley Hunt
P.O. Box 4875,
Maryville, Tennessee 37802.
Established 1989.
Registered 1991.
Recognized 1993.

A Runaway Good Time With Tennessee Valley Hunt
I would like to say that I made a conscious decision to bail off my horse, General Blaze. But, that would be a lie. Blaze was at breakneck speed. I found myself leaning too far forward in the saddle with my chest bouncing on Blaze’s neck: one time, two times, three times.

I knew this could not continue long. “Lean back,” I thought, as if that was possible. The next thing I knew, I was air bound and weightless. Time seemed to stand still. I knew what was coming next, and I knew it wasn’t going to be good.

We had been riding for a couple of hours on this beautiful, sunny morning on Dec. 10 with no sign of game. The frost had long since disappeared from the trees and ground. We were hunting a peninsula in Strawberry Plains, Tenn., and had taken several jumps at a leisurely pace. Suddenly, the hounds flushed out a coyote near a cliff that bordered the Holston River, and we were off on the chase. This is what it’s all about!

The cold wind brought tears to my eyes as we cleared a jump and raced up a steep, muddy trail. Blaze’s feet slipped several times as we wove through trees and dodged riders who had stalled. We were in hot pursuit.

We crossed two pastures on the run. Then, a narrow metal gate slowed our progress. Blaze was excited and unusually resistant to my commands to slow his gallop. Maybe, I should have suspected something was amiss, but our adrenaline was pumping, and we both wanted to race on. As the field galloped through the gate single file and made a sharp right turn onto a gravel road, I decided to wait with the rider who had opened the gate.

After I passed through the gate, I headed straight across the road toward another pasture trying to get out of the way of the riders behind me. Blaze protested, wanting to stay in the race, and he tried to turn right. At the time, I assumed he was just being his usual self–not wishing to miss the fun. Blaze has a huge heart, and he would run, if requested, until he dropped. It was too late when I discovered there might have been another reason why he didn’t want to head into that pasture.

Mind The Hot-Wire
After we crossed the road with Blaze still resisting, I turned him left. It would have been the best, most direct route, to continue our pursuit across this field, but for some reason or another, we had lost permission.

“Too bad,” I thought. My eyes were aimed toward the far end of the pasture where I remembered there was a jump over a fence followed by another jump over a ditch.

“There was something about jumping that ditch that had always made me leery,” I remembered. “Maybe it had to do with the Indian spirits who are supposed to reside in that vicinity.”

I scanned the river’s edge for any sign of hounds or prey, thinking back on hunts of years gone by and how we had raced through this pasture to the woods and beyond and remembering the trails we had taken. “Man, we had some fantastic times here,” I was thinking. I soon discovered my eyes should have been directed elsewhere. I hadn’t noticed the obvious?the hot-wire that enclosed this pasture.

Suddenly, I was jolted back to the present when Blaze started bucking, kicking, and hopping sideways. My legs immediately tightened as I thought “What the??” Bucking, for Blaze, was not new, but usually his bucks were friendly bucks brought on by excitement or enthusiasm. This was different.

Blaze’s violent dancing actions continued, and by now we had reversed direction, facing the direction the field was heading. Sometime during the initial bucking and hopping, I lost both stirrups. I knew to just ride it out–keeping heels down.

“The storm will pass,” I thought. Blaze did seem to be calming down slightly, but just then, the metal gate clanged shut on our immediate right, making a loud, sharp noise like a rifle shot. This proved too much for Blaze?he was in mortal danger, he thought, having already been zapped once or twice by some unseen painful force. His survival instincts took charge: “I must escape. There is danger here,” he thought, and like a missile, he was off.

Bordered by hot wires on the left and barbed wire on the right, we shot up the narrow gravel road, gaining speed as we went. I pulled back on the reins with all my might, but Blaze’s neck was firm like granite and would not budge.

“You can’t do this, you’re a damned former hunt horse of the year!” I tried to tell him telepathically. But Blaze kept gaining speed–speed I didn’t know he had. As I spoke to him and pulled back on the reins with no effect, I realized: “So this is what it is like to be on a runaway horse! This is a new experience,” I thought, “one I could live a whole lifetime without.”

No Good Options
I weighed my options as I was rapidly gaining on the field. We were hemmed in and couldn’t go left or right–we had to go straight. “Maybe Blaze will slow as we approach the other horses,” I thought, “maybe.” Also, I thought, “I can always just bail.”

I heard Blaze’s hooves pounding the hard packed, gravel road. Hitting that road at this speed didn’t seem that appealing. Maybe I could just ride it out until he regained his senses.

I surveyed what was in front of me. Packed riders on a narrow road hemmed in on both sides. About 500 feet past them, the gravel road came to a dead end at a paved road, and immediately across the road was a barbed wire fence. I pulled and pulled on the reins, but without stirrups, I lacked the leverage I normally had. “How embarrassing,” I thought. “And more importantly, this is serious.”

Blaze showed no signs of slowing as we came up on the rear of the field, but at least he allowed me to steer him right to avoid an immediate collision as we sped past the first riders.

The next group of riders were closely bunched together. I pictured crashing into the group, wreacking havoc. “I can’t allow that to happen,” I thought.

At the last moment, I saw an opening, and I steered him through it while pulling back on the reins and yelling “whoa, whoa,” as much to give warning as anything. As I passed the riders, I saw the rapidly approaching paved road, pictured the sharp left turn that would be required and knew Blaze would slip on the hard slippery surface. If he ended up going straight, to the barbed wire? I didn’t want to think about that anymore.

As I passed the field leader, I knew I shouldn’t be passing her. But at that point, I had no choice, and clearly, Blaze wasn’t concerned about field etiquette–he was running for his life. I was out of time and options.

The next thing I knew, I was airborne. Time froze. I was conscious that I was still holding the reins, and I momentarily thought I should hold onto them to force Blaze to stop. “I’ll show him who the boss is,” I thought. Then, I pictured my arms coming out of their sockets as I was being dragged on the gravel road.

I let go. I awaited the inevitable? then “boom!” I hit once hard on my left side. I want to say I bounced at least once, but that gravel road was hard and I don’t think there was much bouncing, but definitely there was forward motion. As I landed on the road, I saw a rider behind me coming off his horse. “I must have been the cause of that,” I thought, “Sorry.”

As I lay on the ground, I did a mental damage assessment: “Have I broken any bones? I didn’t hear any break. Am I bleeding? I don’t feel any liquid. How badly am I hurt? I don’t know.” I then heard several concerned voices that seemed to be coming out of a fog bank, and I heard myself saying, “I’m OK.”

I didn’t see whether Blaze successfully negotiated the turn (I later learned he did turn left). When I got to my feet, Blaze was long gone. My side was hurting and so was my left leg. I later saw two riders coming with Blaze in tow. They found Blaze about a mile down the road, and except for the mental trauma, he appeared unscathed. I thanked the riders and had a short private conversation with Blaze before I remounted.

I was hurting some, and I decided to call it a day. “I’ll be bruised tomorrow,” I thought. “But fortunately, I am OK.” My wife and I loaded our horses, and after a 50-minute ride to the barn, I stepped out of the truck and realized I couldn’t lift my left leg.

Off to the emergency room I went, thinking the worst all the way. Visions of future foxhunts and a planned ski trip seemed doomed. However, X-rays revealed no fractures. The muscles in my hip and leg had tightened during the long ride to the barn, the doctor explained. He handed me a prescription for pain medication and muscle relaxers. After taking the medication, supplemented with my own secret addition (two shots of Blue Agave Tequila), I was fine.

The next day revealed beautiful ugly bruises that grew bigger every day.