Kail Mantle from Montana: just like riding a bronc / Val Westover photo
Last year, while hunting with the Red Rock Hounds (NV), I met Renee and Kail Mantle from Big Sky Hounds in Three Forks, Montana. Kail gave us a bucking horse lesson one day before hunting. This Montana cowboy, who hunts in chaps and cowboy hat, had sat calmly to his horse bucking crazily above the sagebrush and had seriously impressed me.
When a group of these Western foxhunters invited me to accompany them to Ireland this year, I jumped at the chance. These were fun people—more than a little crazy, and I wondered if anyone had warned the Irish!
I also wondered if my companions knew what they were getting into. I had hunted the big Irish walls and hedges in 2000, and I came home with newfound respect for anyone who hunts regularly in Ireland. It is challenging country, and their version of foxhunting is an excuse to run and jump really big fences.
Organising the Trip
Our group consisted of Lynn Lloyd and Angela Murray, Joint-Masters of the Red Rock Hounds in Reno, Nevada. They were celebrating Lynn’s birthday with a trip to Ireland that Renee and Kail had been planning since last June. Along with members of these two hunts, they had rounded up MFHs Melanie Martin and Jane Jeffries from Mission Valley Hunt (KS), Bonnie Becker from Massbach Hounds (IL), some friends from Las Vegas and myself from Marlborough Hunt (MD) and Bull Run Hunt (VA). All in all, there were twenty-four of us ready to hunt over the stonewalls, hedges, and banks of Western Ireland with three different hunts. Other than Lynn, Lona Alexander, and myself, it was the first time for the rest of them.
Renee Mantle had done an excellent job planning this trip with great care to the smallest detail. We stayed in a beautiful private estate named Ceaparana, in Puckuan, County Tipperary. I highly recommend this lovely home, which had at least eight bedrooms and baths and was centrally located for the three different hunts: County Roscommon Harriers, the East Clare Harriers, and the North Tipperary Foxhounds.
Renee had contacted Oliver Walsh of Flowerhill Equestrian Centre in Ballinasloe, Co. Galway to arrange the horse livery for all twenty-four of us, for all five days of riding. He promised us great horses and delivered on his promise. Oliver is also the huntsman for the County Roscommon—a tall, white-haired, charismatic Irish gentleman with an ease about himself that sets everyone else at ease also. To arrive at a hunt with twenty livery horses and new riders, four days in a row, and to hunt hounds as well was a remarkable achievement. He has excellent help, and his assistant Kayleigh Thompson was a charming young woman who took great care of all of us. The horses were wonderful, and between them and Renee’ suggestions, I thought they paired us all up with suitable mounts.
After a day to relax, recover, and go sightseeing, on Friday morning we went to the Flowerhill Equestrian Centre (which also offers eventing and cross country training) to meet our horses and go for a trail ride. This was to give a few of the members of the group a chance to jump obstacles in a more controlled environment. Oliver had set up small gymnastic jumping courses and everyone had a great time following his lead through water obstacles, streams, and over the jumps. He grinned, offered simple advice like, “not too fast,” and then deemed everyone ready. He had set up an extra hunt for us with his hunt, County Roscommon, on Saturday, and then we would go with them again on their regular Sunday hunt.
But before hunting, we were going to the County Roscommon Hunt Ball on Friday night. Held at the Abbey Hotel in Roscommon, we planned to spend the night and hunt the next day from there. We had brought our evening dresses and tuxes, and we were treated to a grand evening of dinner and dancing. It was very similar to our own hunt balls, though I wondered what some of our Irish hosts thought of this happy group of Americans that had descended on them. Oliver said we were the largest group he had ever had, and we took over two long tables at the Ball. We started dancing early and, I heard, stayed to the very end. The evening wrapped up about 3:00 am with a rendition of the Irish National Anthem to which several Americans cheerily sang along.
Special Hunt for Our Group
We met the next morning at the local pub where we tried the hot port or hot whiskey as we waited for Oliver and the horses to arrive. In my experience, all hunts in Ireland start at the pub and end in the pub. This was no exception, and after two or three hot ports, the lorries arrived and we were off.
Trotting through the town of Roscommon and down the highway, we turned off after several miles and watched as Oliver sent hounds into covert. Here the coverts are hedges and walls that separate the beautiful green fields and farms. We headed over the first of many rock walls, and I glanced back, hoping the group was all together. There were a couple of loose horses, and Oliver’s assistants were terrific at catching horses, reuniting them with riders, and offering encouragement. Our group of Western riders were game for it all and quickly learned to just follow the horse in front and “kick on.” Some were able to find a more conservative route in the days that followed, but most of us were jumping the walls and hedges in fine Irish form.
Kail Mantle from Montana was a natural. I guess a bronc rider who learns to throw his arm to counter-balance a buck can do the same over four-foot walls. Riding long, in his jeans and cowboy boots, with his feet all the way home in the stirrups, Kail was right behind me over the biggest fences, and by the third day was heard to quietly say, “This is kinda fun!” He was always looking out for the more timid rider and was the first to take charge of anybody who was over-faced by a jump. He encouraged and took care of the whole group.
I think he was also impressed by some of the wild Irish riders and their jumping abilities. Another natural who was a complete newcomer to the art of Irish hunting was Kurt Griffis, husband to Marie Griffis, the Joint-Master from Big Sky. Long and lanky, he sat relaxed on his big Irish Sport horse, Celtic Man, a 17.2 hand chestnut with a big, roman nosed, handsome head. They suited each other to a tee, and Kurt just followed Celtic Man’s lead over everything.
Whenever there was a lull in the hunting, the Irish liked to lark a bit and would look for the biggest hedges and walls to school their steeplechasers over. I followed over several before realizing it was optional and decided that caution was sometimes a better idea. Lynn Lloyd and I agreed that with a certain age comes the desire to last for another day and to choose the gentler approach. Neither of us came a cropper much to our quiet delight.
That first day huntsman Oliver Walsh took a path very close to the nearby lake, to perhaps avoid a few big walls. It turned into a scene from Misty of Chincoteague, as the farmer’s herd of Irish ponies happily jumped out of their pasture and followed the hunt. They proceeded to swim across the lake to an island, and we all watched entranced. The only drawback was our horses were standing about chest deep in cold lake water as the Field Master looked to find a way out.
We then noticed a saddled horse swimming loose and realized the Joint-Field Master had come off in the water. Later we were to hear that this game woman had been asked by Oliver, “Since you’re already in the water, could you take a few stones off the wall so we can get out?” I am sure her response to Oliver were as blue as she was from the cold, as she sloshed out of the lake.
Kail had seen the danger and, joined by our Field Master Anthony, who had gone back to rescue his son on a small pony, found a way out through a gate, over two big walls, and caught up in a few moments. The hounds had teetered and tottered along the rock wall trying to avoid going swimming themselves. The day ended with hot toddies and sandwiches offered by the landowner as we gathered in his front yard. Everyone was grinning and laughing about our adventure and greeting some old friends.
Roscommon Meet
Sunday morning we headed north again to meet Oliver and his horses for another day with the County Roscommon. This was a larger field, and listening to the talk in the pub I realized that Oliver Walsh was a very respected huntsman. Foxhunters came from far away to hunt with him. He had apparently resurrected the County Roscommon after several years of inactivity, and I met foxhunters from as far as Wicklow on the East coast who drove three hours every Sunday to hunt. I was introduced to several members of the Galway Blazers, who regularly hunted here as well. I ran into Johnny Geoghegan, a renowned Galway horseman, who had leased us our horses last time I was in Ireland in 2000. He happily followed Oliver and was one of the crazy Irishmen always on the lookout for the biggest hedge or wall to jump.
There were lots of these to jump, and it was rockier than the previous day. I turned to snap a picture after one jump and was surprised to see a friend’s riderless horse coming on. Sara Tharp of Montana remembered landing over the wall, but the next memory she laughingly recalled was of a large Irish gentleman asking if she could get up. Clutching a dislocated shoulder she said, “No, I don’t think so.” He replied, “Well, you can’t stay here, [they’ll jump on you], so you better get up!” And he unceremoniously hauled her up. Our only real riding casualty, Sara followed the next hunts with the professional photographers, Val and Stephanie Westover. Unfortunately, Oliver also had a fall that day and shortly thereafter we came in, calling it a day.
Monday was another day to tour some of the Irish countryside. My group visited Clonmacnoise, an eighth-century monastery that had been the home of St. Ciaran, a beloved Irish Saint. After walking among the ancient tombstones, we spent the afternoon drinking Irish coffees with a Mr. Oliver Darcy in his family’s grocery store and pub in the tiny nearby village. On the drive home we found the DuBarry factory where several of us found great boots and coats at discount prices. Another group went to Dartfield Horse Museum and enjoyed the day listening to the legendary Willie Leahy of Galway Blazer fame. I understand he completely charmed Bonnie Becker who hunts with his nephew, Tony Leahy, MFH, Massbach Hounds (IL).
East Clare Harrier huntsman Shane Jones / Barbara Smith photo
East Clare Harriers
Tuesday we drove west around Lough (Lake) Derg to hunt with the East Clare Harriers. After one day of rest, most of us were reunited with our same horses, and they were fit and ready to go. Trusting our mounts at this point, some of us were game to try to bigger walls and hedges. One trappy hedge had a big drop on the far side, and I was happy to land in one piece, on my horse. Looking behind me, I laughed to realize I was the only American to have tried this one. There had also been some banks and ditches at this point, and only the daring Irish had flown over some of them, one or two unsuccessfully, which they think is very funny. It was beautiful countryside, and at one point we were on top of a mountain in a peat bog! Seemed strange to us to have soft, muddy going so high above the lake. There were fields of heather and then suddenly we were walking through a forested glen that was magical. Quiet and emerald green, it was misty and mossy, and I expected to see a leprechaun at any moment.
Huntsman Shane Jones, who, with his two brothers Pat (Field Master) and David (president) ran the East Clare Harriers,Unt told us their hounds were Modern English. Most were tri-color and had excellent conformation, very upright with compact feet and toes. There were also some Welsh hounds, tall with longer wiry coats. Apparently the addition of this Welsh bloodline was the reason for the “Modern English” name.
These hounds ran well all day and never stopped hunting. We had been having somewhat of a blank day until, on the way home, a fox jumped up right in front of the pack and they promptly accounted for him.
It had been fun to watch some of the Irish children on their ponies. One pony had jumped up on a wall and just sat down, on the wall, until the small lad berated him with a loud smack with his whip, which prompted the pony to jump down. These children seemed fearless and very smart. On one occasion I heard a small boy emphatically tell his Mum he was not going to take a trappy jump. He turned and galloped off, and she shrugged, saying he knew his way about better than she did. A clue to avoid a bigger jump: follow the smallest child! We finished the day in the same pub where we started with hot port or whiskey and sandwiches. The hospitality had been wonderful at every place we had been, with the Irish locals delighted to share their stories and their Guinness with us at every opportunity.
North Tipperary
The next day we hunted with the North Tipperary and their pack of Old English foxhounds. These hounds adore their huntsman. After every run, when he collected the pack, they patiently sat and never took their eyes off him.
We had met as usual in the local pub and moved off into a nearby landowner’s field. The first trappy ditch stopped a few, but soon all managed to join the main body of riders as we moved across the beautiful fields of the next estate, a Thoroughbred breeding farm. The owners had pulled all the broodmares in for the hunt, and we were treated to a lovely day of walls and ditches. The visiting Americans opted out of most of the ditches, which looked tricky. We watched as the Irish laughed at each other’s occasional dunkings in the deep water-filled ditches. Jodee Renee of Red Rock Hounds followed the huntsman at one point and learned the one sure way to get over a difficult ditch: let the horse go first and follow on foot! One young Irish girl was completely drenched and looking a little worse for wear after her horse had gone in the ditch, too.
We were starting to trust our wonderful Irish horses, and the prelude to this ditch experience had been jumping a five-bar gate. I always wanted to be able to say I had jumped one of these large gates, so after the huntsman cleared it, I kicked on. Tracy, from Kansas, followed me, and we galloped after the huntsman into some very thick brush. In moments he returned, saying the hounds were heading back. I turned with him, whispering to my cohort to wait until someone kindly moved the same five-bar gate to lean away from us. The huntsman was too keen to wait and took the gate at a flying gallop. His horse promptly somersaulted as it hit the gate, which was still leaning in our direction. He flipped out of the saddle and landed face first in the soft Irish turf. Both jumped up, and, after a quick once-over, he remounted and was quickly off after hounds. Luckily for us, the gate had been knocked by the huntsman’s horse to lean in the right direction for us to jump safely back!
It had been a long day, and hounds had split. The hunt staff were going in two different directions, and we could hear both groups of hounds still speaking. The prospect of hot port and sandwiches was most welcome, and we decided to join the riders going in.
Thursday was a day off and many of us went to the Cliffs of Moher to see the spectacular west coast of County Clare. Some went east to visit the Irish National Stud, and all of us looked for gifts to take home. I simply walked into the Blarney Woolen Store opposite Bunratty Castle, ordered seven beautiful Irish cable knit sweaters, and shipping home was free!
Thursday evening we visited our favorite pub, Larkins, in Garrykennedy, County Tipperary, to celebrate Lynn Lloyd’s birthday. Char Adams, one of our ladies who lives in Las Vegas and knows the inside of a bar (remember “Cocktail”) decided to teach the Irish lads a thing or two about making Vegas shooters. Many Guinness’ and Irish cocktails later we were thanking the owners for their generosity and wonderful hospitality. They encouraged us to come back and bring lots of friends. Between the excellent food—fish and chips, grilled salmon, seafood chowders to mention a few dishes—we promised to give high praise at home and encourage our fellow foxhunters to come to Ireland.
Oliver Walsh of Flowerhill Equestrian Center supplied us with wonderful horses for the week. They were excellent jumpers and easy to rate for the less experienced. All of the hunts were welcoming and worked very hard to give their American guests an excellent taste of Irish foxhunting. I cannot wait to go again. Thank you Renee for an excellent adventure.
Posted April 23, 2015