Huntsman Todd Kern / Middleburg PhotoRide a cock horse to Banbury Cross
To see a fine lady upon a white horse
With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes
She shall have music wherever she goes
Although we can’t vouch for bells on toes, there were fine ladies on white horses on Sunday, September 18, 2011 when the Snickersville foxhounds met at Banbury Cross Farm in Middleburg, home of Nelson and Wendi Gunnell. Those fine ladies (along with everyone else) heard plenty of good hound music wherever they went from the pack of seventeen couple of Penn-Marydel and PMD crosses brought by huntsman Todd Kern. His report follows. [-Ed.]
At Snickersville, we have made it a policy to let capable juniors ride out, either with whippers-in or up front with the Field Masters. We want the next generation to feel the action and get the thirst for hunting. But this day we had juniors, as they say, coming out of our ears. I was busy trying to pair up juniors with staff and we just had too many. So as we cast off it looked a little chaotic to say the least. I felt a bit frazzled trying to get orders out to everyone as to their responsibilities. Regardless, we were off!
For the first draw we moved past the Banbury Cross stables, going between the paddocks heading south into the polo pony field. Once here, we turned right, west, and headed for the coop that leads to the heavy woods of the Black Swamp. The young hounds were already thrusting ahead and whippers-in were moving into position when a board that was nailed over the coop held me up. I knew I brought those juniors along for something!
Alex James was off his horse and working hard to pull it down with help from others. I was anxious as the hounds were already getting well ahead of me into the thick brush. With the board down, I was over the coop and on my way to the hounds. This day I was mounted on a borrowed horse, Ruby. A five-year-old mare, this was Ruby’s second hunt, and she was more interested in going back to her buddies in the field than in listening to me. But on she went.
A hundred yards into the swamp, I heard my first whipper-in, Julia Bayliss, with two juniors in tow no less, view-holloa. The lead hounds were already opening as the tail hounds rushed through the woods to those speaking. Hounds were now in full cry with the roar of the famous Penn-Marydel voice. They were racing south through the woods, near the ball fields of Mickey Gordon Park. They then turned and circled back to the north, through the woods, still running north, and then out of the woods into the Banbury Cross horse field (Patch’s Field). Just west of the meet, they screamed north then turned west. I could see the first field ahead of me, right behind the hounds, all in a gallop. Off to the left were the road whippers-in with some photographers in tow. I was held up in the woods but was catching up by cutting the corner and racing across the field.
What a sight! I could see the lead hound heading for the stone wall before Sam Fred Road. It was Kelly, a little young black-and-tan, leading the pack by twenty yards. They really turned it on across this open field! They were all at a dead run, their heads chest-high and mouths wide open with voice. Anyone who thinks Penn-Marydels are slow should rethink that belief. Anyway, as the hounds hit the corner of the field they had to filter through the fence along the wall. I immediately went for the stone wall jump and ran for Sam Fred Road to guard against traffic. No sooner had I reached the road than the hounds began screaming across it just below me.
Now we were into the heart of Sunnybank and hounds were running hard west. At the old chimneys they turned north and ran down into the woods of Quambecks. I ran down there myself, thinking the fox would turn back east, where he came from. I began to relay messages to whippers-in to get on Sam Fred to the north. I thought they were sure to go back and cross the road farther down, but the fox had other plans. Instead of the pack going all the way down into Quambeck’s, they turned west again. I sat and waited, sure they would come back but it became all too obvious they weren’t going to do so.
Now I had to play catch up. I ran west out of the woods. A couple fields over I could no longer hear them and began asking for a report as to location. The report came back that they were along the Wanacopin Creek. That’s a long creek and it took me a while to find exactly where they were. Arriving there, I found the field and the road whippers-in already there. Peter Walsh directed me down the creek where he said the fox had gone to ground. It took me a few minutes to find it as, this being quite a warm day, many hounds were in the creek and coming to me. After a few minutes of letting the hounds cool down, I could see they were still quite interested in the holes in the bank. As I walked down to it they became very excited. Now I realized this wasn’t a very deep hole, just a little cave up under the bank and they might just dig him out. I immediately called them off, and road whipper-in Todd Lodge, already in the creek on foot, pushed them up to me. No sooner had we taken all the hounds away than the fox jumped out, ran across the creek and up the hill right past Nelson Gunnell, who was also on foot that day. Staff and field members were all yelling, “Tally-ho!”
The staff took off, I climbed back on my horse and took off as well. Thinking I knew where he was going—back home, surely—I ran east. Again the fox fooled me. He ran east, then turned north. I ran east too far and then turned north, thinking, He’ll come right past us! Wrong again. I waited for the arrival that never happened and, instead, I heard hounds going away! They had turned north, crossed a bend in the creek, and ran up into the woods along the old Francis Mill Road. Again, I’m out of the action! I got reports from Julia where they were and that they’d gone to ground, so I started that way. When I arrived, she was already gathering hounds with her horn. I went up to meet the smiling whippers-in who were telling me what transpired in my absence and who asked with sly grins, “Where have you been?” Taking my humbling from them, and a couple sips from a flask, we picked up the hounds and started hunting home.
After some picking on old lines, we moved across Sam Fred Road and headed towards The Banbury Cross cattle fields. As we moved north into the fields, Gregg Ryan took the first field ahead along the northern stone wall to prevent our hounds from running into someone else’s country, if the fox went that way. I called for staff to be prepared to stop them as well. Not far into these fields the hounds opened, running northeast behind Ed Ryan’s place. Again tangled in the brush, I had to run around two fields to reach a position overlooking the scene.
The hounds were in full cry and had turned due north down a wooded ravine that leads straight out of country. Yelling for the staff to stop them, I ran for the junction of the wall and ravine to prevent them crossing. No sooner had I reached this spot, than the hounds were there. With a great deal of action, I stopped them, only to have them open up again, going south, back up the other side of the ravine. Then I was informed from the view-holloas and Gregg that the fox had come that way but turned back south. I took off after them. Halloas from the second field, and a few words from Field Master Kim Poe, let me know the fox had just passed. A short run across the fields to the south brought us to an earth where the hounds marked him to ground.
With all hounds on and the sun high in the sky, we called it a day and headed back to the meet for our famous hunt tailgate.
Contact Todd Kern at [email protected].
Click any photo below to start a slideshow. All photos by Middleburg Photo
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