Foxhunting Life takes pleasure in publishing the winning entry in the United States Pony Club annual Hildegard Neill Ritchie Joys of Foxhunting Writing Contest for 2011.
As one of the contest judges, I was impressed by Katy Ropp’s vibrant depictions of sounds, smells, and sensations. Katie, 15, is a D-3 member of the Kalamazoo Valley II Pony Club in the Great Lakes Region.
The view from inside the shadows…
“They are following me. I need to hide my trail. They will never catch me, for I am crafty and know the invisible paths that the woods have provided me. I can hear the hounds, dumb and senseless, bellowing as if they have my scent. Ha, ha. I can feel the heavy vibrations traveling through the soil, created by beasts that produce fluffy clouds of steam from their contracting nostrils. I can smell their struggles and valiant efforts, sticky sweat drenching their fuzzy bodies. These are the creatures that carry my hunters, but the fear will not own me. This is a game. I know how to lay my cards on the table. I have a hidden ace that they will never discover, and neither shall you. I love how they strive to find me and attempt to follow wherever I go. But don’t worry, for my stealthy ways are deceiving. I am always a leap away from where they last were. Clearly, I am cunning and prepared, for my survival depends on what I do, where I go, and what I leave behind. I am the fox. I am the hunted.”
The view from behind two pricked ears…
My first foxhunt was magical, dangerous, and full of adrenalin. I wouldn’t have traded those moments for the world. My fellow Pony Club members and I were seated on our steaming ponies at the end of the day, wind-plastered grins permanently engraved on our faces. We had woven through mangled branches that the forest so openly shared, listening to the music of crunching leaves beneath perfectly rounded hooves. At the end of our adventure, we found ourselves praising the huffing ponies we were seated upon who were drenched in sweat, but we had successfully followed the Field Master. The deep bellowing of the hounds in the distance reminded us of the fun we’d just experienced, alive and at our best. Those were the sounds, moments, and smiles that echoed in our heads days after the hunt had ended.
Something happened that day, while flying down banks and across unknown terrain, with the weeds of untamed fields hugging the legs of my faithful steed. I became infected with the love of foxhunting. I had to do it again. It wasn’t a drug, but it had the same effects. The power… oh, the intense strides eating the land we soared through… that was the key. Yet, through the wonderful chaos of everything that was happening, my soft hands gently maintained steady contact with delicate lips. My heels found their home in the irons, as I needed that solid leg to support us. My joints made sure to absorb her pulsing movement and canter strides, pounding into the deep virgin earth. My horse’s reaching strides begged me to allow her to transform into the perfect gallop to keep up with the increasing speed of the field surrounding us. In the midst of all the other equines, my devoted steed and I worked together as one. Foxhunting became our passion. My horse felt it. I soaked it in. We needed that.
Posted August 31, 2011