Horse & Hound
How to Bridle a Green Field Hunter
Illustration by Rosemary Coates
Back in the late 1950s, Sarah and I—both just nineteen—came to America. We had left Britain, where post-war ration books were still in use. Sarah was to train horses and riders for Jamie Kreuz at Bryn Mawr Farms outside Philadelphia. I was to work for the Insurance Company of North America in Philadelphia and help Sarah on weekends.
What luxury! There were no ration books in sight. Jamie taught Sarah and me to cook for hundreds. There were never less than ten for dinner. Any recipes, if ever referred to, were quadrupled. Jamie made gravy by mixing flour and water in old mayonnaise jars—several quarts at a time. Looking around us, Sarah and I saw crabs and lobsters en masse; moulded jellies; mouldy leftovers; bedevilled eggs; whipped, squashed rutabagas...and Jack Daniels in jugs. As one of our earliest American experiences after leaving war-torn Britain, we had never, ever, seen anything like it.
Country Closed? Woodbrook Takes ’em to the Beach!
Woodbrook Hunt (WA) takes hounds for a new adventure -- a day at the beach. / Emily Rang photo
The temperature was seventeen degrees when we rose at 5:30 to begin our day with horses and hounds. The promise of the day’s adventure outweighed the desire to stay warm in bed. The pack could feel it even in the dark. They bugled excitedly as horses were fed, stalls cleaned, and ice chipped away in the buckets.
The pack always knows when they are going somewhere. Even when the routine is the same in the morning, their hive mind senses the excitement of something different. On this inky black, frozen winter morning typical of the Pacific Northwest, they felt an adventure coming on and sang out a beautiful song to the entire neighborhood: rise up, gather your hunting kit and your best horse, and join us for some fun! Not all appreciate the early, noisy invitation, but the jongleurs, undiscouraged, serenade the neighborhood anyway, hoping to be loaded and on their way as soon as possible.
The Woodbrook Hunt Club (WA) is fortunate to have our hunting country located literally out of our kennel door. The kennels are on a military installation, part of Joint Base Lewis Mcord (JBLM). We have a lot of access, but we must acquire a permit, or the area must be open to recreation. This weekend we had neither permits for the area, as it was Thanksgiving weekend, and the ground was so frozen and slick, it would be galling on our steeds. Our clever huntsman, Jennifer Hansen, who never misses an opportunity for hound action, planned a trip to the ocean with our pack where the weather could be cold, windy, and rainy, but surely not frozen. And we were permitted to ride to our hearts content.
Hugh Motley, ex-MFH (1955–2016)
Hugh Motley, MFH with the Keswick foxhounds / Courtesy of the Motley Family
Hugh Douglas Camp Motley, ex-MFH of the Keswick Hunt (VA) and a highly-regarded horseman who started his own bloodstock agency and sold Thoroughbred horses at many of America's premier racing sales, died in Wellington, Florida on January 9, 2016 of complications from pneumonia. He was sixty.
Hugh foxhunted all his life and served as Master of Foxhounds for the Keswick Hunt (VA) from 2000 to 2005. He also played polo for many years as a member of the Charlottesville Polo Club.
Jake Carle, longtime Master and huntsman at Keswick, remembers Hugh from the time he was hunting ponies. “He was game as hell," Jake recalls. "He would go anywhere on his pony."
“We bonded instantly because we both stuttered as kids, so I understood. Later, he whipped-in to me. When it was time to name a new Joint-Master, he was the only person I trusted to maintain the standards. And he did.
"He hired [huntsman] Tony Gammell, and they had a bond. He had the most wonderful sense of humor, and we all will miss him terribly. He’s one of only a few people I know who was liked by everyone who met him.
The Blessing of the Red Mountain Foxhounds
On the first Saturday in November each year, the Red Mountain Foxhounds in Durham County, North Carolina holds its annual Blessing of the Hounds at Quail Roost Farm, to which the public is invited. The Blessing is followed by a drag hunt. Videographer Meredith C. Browne of See It All Media captured these scenes from last year’s event and skillfully synchronized the words of the prayer to her images.
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Sedgefield Hunt—Members and Hounds—Go Visiting
Sedgefield Master and huntsman Fred Berry (left) visits with his pack of Penn-Marydels. Blue Ridge huntsman Graham Buston (right) was his guide for the day. / Nancy Kleck photo
The Sedgefield Hunt, founded in 1927, hunt a pack of Penn-Marydel foxhounds in the Piedmont region of North Carolina and Southern Virginia. We are a small hunt, but we have big fun, and we love our hounds. Last November we took a road trip to Northern Virginia to hunt with Blue Ridge and Thornton Hill. Six members, ten couple of hounds, eight horses and Ellie Mae, my mule, hit the road.
Fred Berry, MFH and huntsman, and his wife Elaine went up first and had a great day with Blue Ridge and their magnificent pack of Modern English and Crossbred hounds. On our day with Thornton Hill, which also hunts Penn-Marydels, the packs were put together. In our final outing with Blue Ridge, Fred was invited to hunt our Penn-Marydels. I'm told that for 275 years—from the time George Washington hunted with Lord Fairfax over that same country—the local foxes had never before heard a pack of Penn-Marydels in full cry!
Sally Tufts, ex-MFH (1924–2016)
Douglas Lees photo
Sally Spilman Tufts passed away peacefully on January 1st, 2016 at age ninety-one. A passionate horsewoman and lifelong foxhunter, she was Joint-MFH of the Warrenton Hunt (VA) for twenty-two years.
How many times have I recalled the first time we met? It was the moment when I, a Northerner, learned the definition of a Southern Lady—a woman who could say the hard thing and make it taste like honey.
About thirty-five years ago, before I had even moved to Virginia, a friend from Massachusetts and I went for a day’s hunting with Warrenton. For whatever reason, my friend’s horse decided to stop at virtually every fence. We were proving to be the cappers from hell. I was embarrassed, but the word, embarrassment, had never been a part of my friend’s lexicon. He just kept trying. At one fence, after several fruitless attempts, a hospitable Warrenton rider offered to get on the horse and jump him over so we could catch up to the field. Even he was unsuccessful, so he and another gracious rider took us through a gate—the nadir of the day’s experiences. Thankfully, the endless day finally ended, and, back at the trailers, Master Sally Tufts came up to us.
Carol Easter Tribute Draws Hundreds to Farmington
Honorary whipper-in Tom Bishop, huntsman Matthew Cook, and honorary whipper-in Kimberlee Morton move off from Springhaven Farm for a memorial meet in honor of the late Carol Easter, MFH. / Cathy Summers photo
On a clear, sunny Saturday morning, December 19, 2015, two days after what would have been Master Carol O. Easter’s seventy-seventh birthday, the Farmington Hunt gathered on a grassy knoll at her beloved Springhaven Farm in Charlottesville, Virginia to celebrate her life and legacy.
MFH W. Patrick “Pat” Butterfield addressed a large gathering of fifty-five riders, family members, and guests as a chilly breeze prompted me to adjust the buttons on my coat. Blue Ridge mountains in the distance framed the classic scene of hounds rolling in the grass, horses milling about, and riders exchanging greetings in anticipation of moving off for the morning’s sport.
Multiple generations of friends and family, young and old, were there to be part of this special day. The entire Easter family was on hand to welcome a steady stream of visitors--a serious yet jovial field of riders and onlookers that included life-long close friends Carter McNeely and veteran octogenarian foxhunter and neighbor Bobbie Wells; on foot, Phyllis Jones and daughter Robin Mellen, and Ellie Wood Baxter. Bobbie shrugged against the chilly wind and quipped, “I might have not picked this day to come out, except for the day it is.”
Eat First; Worry Later
Mark Houliston’s fine photo of a fox pouncing on a mouse becomes all the more interesting when the context is revealed. For a good half hour, this red fellow hunted confidently and unconcerned, all the while trucks and trailers carrying Blue Ridge Hunt members, horses, staff, and hounds were arriving and unloading at a popular Saturday meet directly across the road from his happy hunting ground. Bon appetit, Sir Charles. We admire your nonchalance. Posted December 22, 2015
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Billy Vance at Eighty, and The Fermanagh Harriers
Master and Huntsman Billy Vance (80) watches his Fermanagh Harriers at work. / Noel Mullins photo
How many huntsmen are hunting hounds at eighty years of age? Or to add a twist to that question, how many huntsmen having achieved that age have already hunted hounds for the previous fifty seasons?
Billy Vance, Master and huntsman of the Fermanagh Harriers, has achieved this remarkable milestone. To see him hunting hounds is inspiring, humbling, and brings home just how lucky we all are to be able to follow great horsemen like him across the countryside.
Vance is special—a consummate and stylish horseman across what can only be termed as challenging hunting country with drains, banks, walls, and wire to contend with. And he is usually riding horses he bred himself. He is a genius with a pack of hounds, but don’t get in his way when they are running! If Ireland is in need of role models in these difficult economic circumstances, then Billy Vance fits the bill. He never seeks attention, yet is respected not just in his own hunt but by the hunting fraternity at large. And it is sometimes difficult to get a photograph of him.
“I am not into photos!” he says.
This Is Hunting UK: A Pro-Active Voice
Despite our opponents’ belief that they had won the most tremendous victory over us nearly eleven years ago, hunting is still here, and in whatever form it takes, it's popularity has never waned. What a pleasure it is to see people from every angle of society still coming together at a meeting of their local pack of hounds. And why shouldn't they?
We occasionally hear the comments, "It's not like it used to be,” or, “ Look at that lot, they haven't a clue what they are doing!" However, our record says more than that, and there is much to be proud of; but there is one thing for certain and that is we cannot afford to relax for one moment. Pushing our activities under the carpet is not going to help us in the long term. Let us go out and stand up for our beliefs, be keen to share them with those who are interested enough to listen. And there are plenty out there—if we play it correctly—who want to do exactly that.