May 19, 2010
The field held its breath. It’s not often one has the chance to know the exact point at which hounds will strike a line, and we weren’t disappointed. The cry was exuberant and definite. Hounds flew away as one, young and old, in full cry, and straight as an arrow.
Spring hunting season was almost over. The upcoming young entry had gained some experience under the watchful eyes of huntsman Antony Gaylard and the experienced hounds. The older hounds were happy to get out and about; future foxhunters (both two- and four-footed) had some low-key, real-world experience; and the hunt had visited some new country.
The last Wednesday of spring hunting showed little promise—an unseasonably warm, dry spring day—but all set off in good cheer, however modest the expectations. Scent seemed non-existent. A flurry of excitement in a large swampy area offered brief entertainment for the hounds, but it seemed our modest expectations were being fulfilled.
Thirty minutes later, while the field waited patiently at the southwest corner of a large field, a coyote was seen traveling along the north fence line at a fair clip. Hounds were working a covert to the west, unaware a quarry had been halloaed. The huntsman picked up his hounds and—quietly, with no sense of urgency, hounds fanning out in front of him—set a course to the north fence line, allowing hounds the opportunity to find the line on their own.
We knew what was going to happen before it unfolded, and hounds followed the script to a “T.” Nothing like the thrill of suspense—waiting for the moment when hounds would strike the line in unison, then the elated voice of the pack speaking as one—to make our hearts jump in unison to the urgent sound of Antony’s Gone Away. Just as captivating was the reaction of the experienced horses, a few of whom had seen the quarry already, and were staring at hounds and huntsman. When hounds struck the line their heads whipped towards the cry, and they froze, alert, tense, knowing. A shiver of anticipation, the sharp exhale of breath, almost as though spooked, poised for the explosion of energy, and a fraction of a second later we grabbed our reins and took off at a hard gallop with huge grins and happy horses.
An unlikely day produced a magical experience to carry us through till cubhunting begins in the fall. What a great memory. It’ll certainly last all summer!