The Lunesdale and Oxenholme Staghounds
Not your ordinary fell foot pack!Don’t bother looking this one up in Baily’s! (Not to be confused with the Lunesdale Foxhounds.) The Lunesdale and Oxenholme Staghounds concluded its sporting operations upon the outbreak of World War II. The hunt was an anachronism in the Lakeland fells of northern England, and its history, as related by Ron Black in a just published fifty-eight page booklet, taught me something of carted stag hunting that I found sufficiently fascinating to relate here.
A Most Memorable Hunt
Returning to our Tell-Me-a-Story series, we’ve already covered “How I Came to Foxhunting” and “My First Foxhunt,” and we’ve received some good stories from our readers in return. For the next subject, let’s tackle “A Most Memorable Hunt.” There has to be at least one day, among all the days in all the seasons past, that remains as clear in your memory as the day it happened. There are probably several such days. I’m going to pick one that has remained for me a constant joy to recall. I’ll tell you my story. Please tell us yours.
My memorable hunt doesn’t equate to the best, the fastest, or the most exciting. Many of the most thrilling hunts I’ve experienced remain simply a blur. I recall such days with hounds roaring, hooves pounding, fences disappearing below the girth, and no thought but to keep up. However, there was never time for my mind’s shutter to capture and freeze those images with clarity for a lifetime.
Rather, I recall one slow, bluebird day, when scent was less than ideal, hounds had to work for every inch of the line, and the pace was never brisker than a trot. After twenty-five years at least, the images are still vivid. What made that day so memorable would be a fair question to ask.
Troubled Illinoios Racing Industry Gets Windfall
U.S. Supreme Court Justice Elena Kagan paved the way for a $141 million windfall to Illinois race tracks and horse owners when she denied the request of the state’s casino companies to continue holding the funds in escrow. The funds, earmarked for the racing industry pursuant to a 2006 law, had been collecting in the […]
Storms Wreak Havoc in Belle Meade Hunting Country
As the result of recent storms through Georgia, fifty percent of all the trails in the Belle Meade hunting country are blocked, according to Epp Wilson, MFH. Hounds and coyote are able to get through, but not horses. “There are more large trees down across our trails than I have seen in forty-five years of […]
Cool Shades; Hot Masters!
Jerry Miller, MFH“Is it proper or permissible to wear plain, conservative sunglasses while foxhunting?” asks Vicki Reeves from South Creek Foxhounds (FL).
We put this query to two of our American experts, both of whom I consider to be conservative and traditional. In my view, their opinions cover the subject and its ramifications quite well. As always, the views of our readers, expressed in the Comments section, are invited. In the end, as with many such questions, the Master of your own hunt will have the final word for turnout in your field.
Hunting Songs, Volume One: The Lakeland Fell Packs
Hunting Songs, Volume One: The Lakeland Fell Packs, Ron Black and Wendy Fraser, Blurb Publishing, 2011, 75 pages, 7.50 pounds (soft cover), 15.50 pounds (hard cover), www.cumbrian-lad.comRon Black and Wendy Fraser collaborated on this collection—a folk history, really—of Lakeland hunting songs. Over the course of three-hundred years, followers of the fell packs of the English Lake District wrote these songs to memorialize historic runs, iconic huntsmen, special foxhounds, and—what pleased me especially—brave terriers! Perhaps I just never noticed, but I cannot recall any other book of hunting songs and poems that includes odes to these feisty little creatures.
Or perhaps I paid special notice here because I now happen to be the smitten owner of a nine-month-old Border terrier whose ancestors scurried in their determined fashion over those same fells on the English-Scottish border. Here’s the story of Badger and Butcher by Mr. and Mrs. Curry, and it’s still sung today!
Driver and Trevor: Puppies of a Different Species
One-year-old Driver meets four-year-old Trevor on hound walk. / Glenye Oakford photoWHAT a beautiful day Saturday was! It started with a crashing thunderstorm that prevented me from riding over to catch our trailer ride to the day’s hound walk, so I went out with the hounds on foot for what turned out to be a Very Special Morning. Young entry of two different species, each new to the field, met and got acquainted.
Blue Bird’s-Eye Stock Tie: Don’t We All Have One?
Hugh Robards in a blue bird’s-eye stockI have a confession to make. Hugh Robards, as I hope you know, is a distinguished member of Foxhunting Life’s Panel of Experts. He is a brilliant huntsman, author, and student of the noble art. For twenty-seven seasons he hunted the County Limerick Foxhounds in Ireland for Lord Daresbury and showed world-class sport.
Yet each time I publish his photo with one of his “Ask the Experts” contributions, I cringe a little. What will my readers think of an “expert” that ignores the precepts of “correct” turnout? What could he have been thinking of that morning as he dressed himself to hunt hounds?
The Lost Hound
Lost Hound illustration by Jane Gaston from the book of the same name by Robert AshcomYoung Entry—a common phrase used to describe the puppies just entered into the pack. Very soon, most of us will be watching them with a mixture of curiosity and expectation. To the huntsman, they hold the keys to his future successes or disappointments; to the Masters they are the ratification or the despair of their breeding philosophies; to those members of the field who have walked hounds, a few are dear and even exasperating friends known practically from the cradle; to most fieldmembers, they are a curious batch of newcomers from whom much is expected. But imagine entering the pack from the puppies’ point of view—suddenly turned loose for the first time midst a bewildering flurry of horses, staff, new sounds, and new sights. After a year of control and repression, the puppy is now free to blossom into the being its up-to-now-stifled genes have urged it to be. How frightening and at the same time how exhilarating! And then the moment when, experimenting with its freedom and following its nose, it suddenly finds itself completely alone for the first time ever. And utterly lost. Here’s a sympathetic look by Will Ogilvie.
The winter sunset lit the leafless trees
With gold and crimson as the short day waned;
The wind had ceased its plaintive melodies;
The woodland darkened, and deep silence reigned.
Then sudden from the firs there rose a wail,
A cry that shook the heavens with distress;
A lost hound stood, one foot upon the rail,
Telling the crescent moon his loneliness.
Allen Nixon Rodday: My Teacher, My Friend
Allen Nixon “Nick” Rodday died on July 26, 2011 at his home in Brewster, Massachusetts on Cape Cod at the age of ninety. He’d retired there after giving up his horse farm, Elm Brook Farm, in Concord, Massachusetts about thirty years ago. He bought himself a lobster boat and for the next fifteen years fulfilled a longtime ambition. But he still couldn’t resist stabling horses, and before long he was once again leading rides and driving his carriage.
Nick Rodday ran a riding stable, Victory Lee and later Elm Brook Farm, through most of the latter half of the twentieth century. He gave lessons, rented hirelings, and took his clients hunting. He was a charismatic guy with a beautiful tenor singing voice to boot. He taught me to ride and took me hunting. I met my wife-to-be Joan and many others who became good friends in his riding ring. He stood up for me at our wedding. Without question, he changed my life profoundly.