The morning’s heavy showers abated, affording my visitors a promising start at the Moyvilla meet, County Galway. I am still forming opinions on which hunt on our card is best, but Moyvilla would be among my favourites. It regularly brings out the best in Master and huntsman David Burke!
Skies were clearing nicely as we drove to the meet, air temperature considerably cooler than previous days. Martin McNamara, who just started riding in September and is a recent convert to the stone walls, was on Darcy, a fifteen-two-hand Irish Cob gelding. Andrea Ypma, visiting from Canada, was excited to be part of the foot followers. She had arrived in Ireland two days earlier for a three-week immersion into the Irish Hunting culture with us at Coopers Hill Livery. The wall builder was tasked with the important job of escorting Andrea to all the finest places to watch the fox bolt and view some of the horses jumping the walls.
After the pleasantries and New Year’s greetings were bid to each and every member, follower, and staff, Master Burke made for the first covert, no more than two hundred yards away. Despite his urgings and a good effort by hounds, this covert was drawn blank.
Master and staff, with the field following, moved on northeasterly toward Moyvilla Castle about a mile away, negotiating an upward jump out onto the road and landing in the grass margin before gingerly moving onto the asphalt. A nice hack ensued to the turn into the Moyvilla castle covert. Hounds were already screaming as we arrived, and we suspected there was more than one fox in the covert.
“It’s a brace!” hollered one of the riders.
“Leave it!” we heard from staff, preventing the inevitable split and keeping the pack on the most favourable line. The fox bolted, and pandemonium ensued with hounds quickly on his tail.
“Come along,” was uttered by more than one of the field and by the Master. I suspected the field was seeing the action unfold from the bluff on the north side of the castle as the fox first headed west to the railway lines of the Dublin-Galway train. The Master played a blinder in turning the fox easterly and preventing him from crossing tracks and ending our chase. The fox doubled back as the Master intended and later west again, but fearing the hounds in pursuit, the fox promptly made a swift swing northeast.
This very healthy and quick Charlie with the hounds in tow was making good sport of the chase with stone walls coming in rapid succession. With wall after wall taken at a full gallop, the field was getting strung out. I was giving chase when there was a stopper at one of the walls. Heels down, I burst through on my Irish Sport Horse, Seamus, thus helping the field to continue, only to check at a sharp bend and steady in order to hit the sweet spots in the walls as we traversed the obstacles of Moyvilla country. Charlie continued northeast and ran from Paddy Ford’s farmyard back to the covert in Tommy Ford’s field, where hounds marked the den where he went to ground. I was astonished by the speed of both fox and hounds and in awe of the Master’s skill in turning the fox from the train tracks and keeping field and hounds out of danger. Bravo, Master Burke.
Once marked, the Master gathered hounds, took a headcount, and praised some of his hounds by name—Preacher and Prancer among them. Not even an hour in, and we had had fantastic sport. The day was panning out to be one for the record books.
We jumped out onto the road once again and headed back to the castle. Within ten minutes hounds bolted the second fox of the brace they had discovered earlier. This time we chased hard but this fox did not turn back from the railway tracks and was able to gain sanctuary in a covert on the far side. It seemed only minutes before hounds found again—another brace, we heard, from calls on both sides of the covert.
The field’s progress was hampered by young cattle becoming involved in the proceedings; care had to be taken, so we walked until we were clear of the herd. Hounds were out of sight by then, on to the next covert about three hundred yards away. With six walls to be negotiated, each stronger than the next, I had hardly time to catch my breath. The record books will tout this day—a glorious and exciting day for one and all with hardly a moment for socializing. We were off again: drops, hedges, stone walls, ploughed fields, mud, and rock, it didn’t matter. Shoes were lost but we were still hunting. Neither bulls in fields nor wire fences would stop these hounds this day.
Drops, hedges, stone walls, ploughed fields, mud, and rock; it didn’t matter!
Hounds found again near Sean Keane’s and quickly ran for the Derrydonnell forest. A national road bisects both locations, and there was no way to cut hounds off. Master Burke was on Charlie’s tail, and he did his best to prevent harm to the hounds and road users alike. The pace was frantic. We had jumped five or six strong double and triple wide stone walls. Horses were failing under the strain as they had to negotiate a four-foot drop from the main road into the forestry property in order to stay with the chase. Master Burke announced, “I am not about to spend the afternoon in the woods…I have called the pack off…there is more sport to be had elsewhere.”
Coopers Hill was having the day of their lives. I couldn’t imagine that it could get any better. We traversed the national route and went back to Jim Dwyer’s, the last property on the way to the wood and the first covert back to the other side of the road. We found again and the field gave chase, jumping wall after wall until a loud cry, “Hold hard!”
The secretary jumped from her horse and hurried back to a fallen rider. I stopped to gather up the horses of the riders that had dismounted. Three responders arrived which hinted that this could be a serious incident. What we all fear. A seasoned rider, respected by all, got himself a little wrong at a wall with a hedge covering the high stone structure. Minutes stretched out and seemed to go on forever. I couldn’t see any movement from the fallen rider. Your mind can not help but worry, yet be thankful at the same time that it isn’t yourself lying there. Finally, I saw the rider’s lower arm rise up a little from the ground. Thank the Lord. The responders seemed less concerned as the minutes passed. After a few more moments, the rider stood up with some support from members of the field.
At this point the Master thought it prudent to call it a day. Andrea, our guest for the next three weeks who was taking National Geographic-quality photos, rode the fallen rider’s horse home. Not the usual way to introduce a guest to hunting, but it was a reminder for Andrea that hunting in Ireland is different than hunting in North America. A great day, a tough day, and but for the grace of God, a day we can all—barring one rider—remember with pleasure. Later, even he began to recollect this marvelous day; it surely would have been a shame for this hunt to have been a lost memory. Sincere thanks to Master David Burke, his staff, and the Grallagh Harriers for giving the field and followers such a great day’s sport.
Posted January 31, 2015
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