James Tonery on Starlight, 17-h Irish Sport Horse
The Grallagh Harrier hounds that I follow in County Galway, Ireland had more than enough sport last season, but for us riders, hunting was hampered with the deluge of rain that fell from the heavens. No God would send such volumes of rain on any huntsman; there must be other forces at work here.
Because of the rain, I was able to hunt on open ground only three times. The rest of the hunting was done in forestry, where the hounds could have plenty of sport. To say I was frustrated is an understatement, but to be fair you could not expect to enter a farmer’s land when it was under all that water.
Regardless, I have a lot to be joyous about. My hunt nominated me for being the best subscriber, having brought many newcomers to the sport from the U.S. and other parts. And, with all the water in the ground, I learned that the drag hunt has advantages to offer!
Hunting is in my blood, it really is. The night before the hunt my mind is filled with what kind of country we will run over, what sort of obstacles we will encounter, how many foxes we can bolt, and how far hounds will take us. With all this running around in my head I can barely sleep. I am up before the cock crows. The atmosphere, the hounds, their smell, the scent of the fox as you pass over its den, the horn and its many trumpeting calls, even the cuts, the bruises, the strong walls, the tricky drops, and the chase at speed all lend to moments of sheer ecstasy that is the hunt. It is then that life can get no better.
Denied this experience may times this past season because of the weather, I turned my attention to drag hunting. I was kindly invited to a drag meet of the East Clare Farmers by Roddy Kelly, MFH, a very warm and welcoming man. He and his cohorts have always boasted the merits of the drag hunt, but to me it is not hunting. There is no terrier man, very little horn antics, and the scent is predestined by a lead rider. But I cannot continue without giving credit where credit is due.
The hunt commenced from a small village on the outskirts of Oranmore, a place called Gurrane, the homestead of Master Roddy Kelly and his farming neighbours. The relationship he has with his neighbours is amazing. There exists a genuinely respectful atmosphere from all parties—farmers and foxhunters alike. Even in these difficult stormy and very wet conditions, the farmers allowed the hunt onto their land. I was astonished that this could even be possible, but the men laying the scent—one rider being Roddys’ son—chose only the areas that had sure footing. All but one wall that is. Once the scent was laid, the hounds followed, and in quick pursuit the huntsmen and the rest of the field.
Some of the field jumped better than others, and most were sorted out on the first wall. The ground was pasty on the take-off and landing. A good rider took a heavy fall, both man and beast hitting the ground, but neither the worse for wear and nothing that a little washing powder wouldn’t cure. Not ideal for the first jump, but it was necessary to get to the terrain that had the cleaner jumps. Then, like shots from a gun, wall after wall came into view, one as daunting as the next.
Tom on Dancer, 14.2 h Connemara cross
I had a young horse, a good jumper. My companions were Tom, an eleven-year-old on a cracking 14.2 Connemara cross called Dancer, and Emmet, also from Coopers Hill yard riding the magnificent Mr. Midnight complete with moustache—the horse not the rider. All good mounts and all faced separate challenges: a pony facing such big walls, a heavy cob, Mr. Midnight, with not much speed, and me on a young horse.
Emmet fell behind quickly on the big horse, while Tom and I flew along on the young horse and quick pony. Coming up were the drops—substantial obstacles and hand-picked by the lead rider. I seriously thought the guy laying the drag was having a laugh. A large crowd of people gathered at this four foot drop. Oh, did I mention there was a two- to three-foot wall in front of the drop? I looked back as we all negotiated this obstacle very well.
Riding ahead of young Tom and shouting back to see how he was doing, I would hear the retort, “I’m fine.” Then an option ahead. “Tom, will I take the big jump (a four-foot wall with a foot of hedge above that) or the small one (a two-foot-six-inch wall)? The cry from Tom was loud and assured: “The big one!” Over we went, the pony giving it an extra bit to be sure of clearance and Tom getting a little smack in the face for his ambition. But everyone was still mounted when we pulled up to gather the field and chattering about the mad run we were just on. We all felt like some of the walls were selected by a man hell-bent on killing himself. The joys of the drag are that you can go jump as big as you want, or not.
Clearly, Master Kelly and the men that laid the scent were there for the jumping challenge and on a mission to weed the men from the mice. The drops were steep and unforgiving as the ground quickened and sloped away on landing. The pace was unyielding, and there were many people around with cameras to take that quality shot.
When you see a crowd of people ahead of you with cameras and iPhone you can rest assured that the next obstacle is one for the record books. The locals know where to go to get the best shots and where most riders part company with their horses. There were squeals and cries of “Oh, no!” from many of the riders, but the one that was mostly heard as people parted with their mount was, “Oh, shit!” This was the case for Emmet as we finished our last run, the second last run of the day.
Emmet on Mr. Midnight, 16-h Irish cob
Poor Emmet, just getting back into the riding scene, took a spill on the second last wall on the second last run. At that point I felt it prudent [Excuse me, but where does “prudence” play a part in this story? -ED.] to excuse ourselves after doing so well with the young horse and our young rider and, of course, after Emmet’s fall over one of the infamous drops of the day. In hindsight it was a very blind drop. I did a second take as I went over it with Emmet right after me. Poor guy did so well all day and had to fall off at the second last wall and drop combination. He was asked to pay for the real estate he was taking home with him. Lots of laughs ensued, and there were many smiling faces including Emmet’s. They don’t let you away with much here in Galway if you get it all wrong, no matter how long you were riding. Thankfully there were no injuries, and everyone had a good laugh.
With this outing I finally got more sport than the hounds, a role reversal from previous months. Coopers Hill Livery had a wonderful afternoon of sport, with horses and riders getting plenty of experience and exercise in an otherwise dull season. My opinion of drag hunting has taken on a whole new perspective: one of respect and gratitude for a great day out. Thank you East Clare Farmers.
Posted July 3, 2014
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