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| Marilyn, Sara and Reno, trying to recover the line of their fox at the road. |
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| ...which didnt happen until we got all the way back to that woods' edge in the background. The fields are just too dry. |
I moved here 20 years ago from Pennsylvania, and was fortunate to witness some of these hunts while there was still enough country to run that many hounds. But, sadly, Kent Island is now full of condos and marinas and housing developments have surrounded the quaint old towns of Centreville , Chestertown , Easton, et. al.
...And so , our Easter Monday Hunt today consisted of just our regular little pack, diminished in size slightly due to the fact that the winds were to blow upwards of 45 MPH. I left Marney and Reilly home,after seriously considering leaving them ALL at home. I have been doing this huntin' stuff long enough now that I must learn to trust my instincts. Sigh.
The meet was moved up to 7 am, in an attempt to be ahead of the heaviest wind gusts. ( Here on the Shore, the wind usually cranks up right about 10am- almost always!). I hemmed and hawed long enough before leaving the farm to make me 10 minutes late. (I called ahead and told them not to wait for my hounds. In a way, I was hoping that they would find a fox and be running upon my arrival - and I could just turn out behind them.)
We have only Tagglers Gate or the County House woods left to hunt this time of year when the wind is blowing this hard. Tagglers Gate in no where near a highway,and therefore, our choice again today. (Holiday traffic going home from the beaches would most likely be crowding the main roads).
As I was headed towards Tagglers, and only about a mile from where the others had begun their draw, a HUGE red fox came flying across the road right in front of my truck. He was exiting some state-owned forestry that is currently being harvested , via a cutover cornfield. The loggers must begin operations at 7am, and the start-up of their heavy, HUGE, equipment ( relevant later in this tale) must have flushed Reynard. He was running west, straight upwind, and towards the covert where Bobby, Curtis and Tommy were hunting. I grabbed my radio and tally-ho'd . They had their hounds on the ground, but had not yet found a fox. I was instructed to stop and turn my three bitches (Marilyn, Sara and Reno) out behind the fox.
My mind raced- Reno and Sara have deep voices, but Marilyn- she's not exactly a squeaker, but she's no basso , either. All of the other hounds would be upwind. Would they even HEAR mine?? On the other hand, the fox was running right towards them - somebody's hounds should hark.
Me: "Bobby, are you sure??!"
He: "YEAH , go ahead. I'll load mine and be right around to you."
I flew out of the truck, dropped the tail gate, and in less than 10 seconds SARA (!!!) , followed by Reno, and then Marilyn, struck the line. They were off in a flash, running the edge of another cornfield back to an old cutover woods their fox had entered less than 30 seconds ahead. Being downwind, I got a good earful of the music 3 PMD's can make when they are up on top of a hot fox.
Sadly, it didnt last. I listened as they ran this fox left-handed, moving in a counter-clockwise circle. I was wishing, at that point, that I had brought all five of my bitches. Wow- these 3 were really sounding great! That wish went out the window rather fast, BECAUSE : the fox crossed back over the road, about 100 yards from where he had come over. I viewed him fly over the blacktop, and go on into the cornfield on the other side. He was heading right towards the loggers, and even though that equipment was downwind of me, it was incredibly loud. I turned my back to it and the fox -my hounds were coming to the road.
WHERE THE HELL IS EVERYBODY??? I radioed to Bobby, not in those exact words. None of the guys could hear my hounds, and they were in the same woods, just upwind. And their hounds weren't harking, which meant they couldn't hear mine , either. Bobby told me he was still loading his hounds. I told him he'd never get here in time, and I wanted to hold mine up at the road until more hounds got to me.
First, he said, "ok". Then he shouted, "NO, don't break them! Let 'em go, we'll get ours right to ya."
Now, Reynard was crafty, and he had put some distance between himself and his pursuers when he ran them through that cutover mess, but he still wasn't more than a minute ahead of them when he crossed the road. But when my bitches hit the pavement, they couldn't smell him. The wind was cranking up, and it was only about 7:25am. I tried to help them pick up the scent, and all three were trying, heads down, sterns going like mad. But the ground was too dry. Scent was gone. I took them into the cornfield and walked them all the way through it and back to the woods' edge ( another , oh, 200 yards, at least). Encouraging them and trying to talk to Bobby on my cell phone at the same time. ( I didnt grab my radio).
Me: "They can't find it, I'm gonna load them.... JUMP, RENO. Yoyoyooyyoyo...Marilyn ,Hoick!'
He: " I'm almost there"
Me: " The equipment is making so much noise over here and the wind is howling and it's just too dry....JUMP, RENO!"
....and then:
RENO hollered: "FOUND IT!!!"
Followed in a nano-second by:
MARILYN and SARA asserting: "YEP, HERE IT IS!!"
One of the few times in my foxhunting life that I have regretted hearing hounds open on a fox.
The little pack of 1 1/2 couple recovered the line at the woods'edge and disappeared into the thicket. They were headed in the general direction of the logging equipment. Briefly, they made a swing due south and away from the loggers. I ran the edge of the woods to try to stay in earshot , while making yet another call on my cell to Bobby. He informed me that he had arrived at my hound truck in the road, and had his hounds on the ground. Jeez.... we both were UPWIND. I was more than 200 yards closer than he, and already I could no longer hear anything. Wonderful. A shotgun start was quickly turning into a mess.
Several minutes passed before I caught sight of his hounds' sterns- they were going to pick up the scent exactly where my bitches had found it: right at the woods' edge. At that moment, I caught the sound of my girls tonguing - they were going away from me and towards the loggers, and I only caught a brief note. Bobby's 2 1/2 couple were tonguing now, but they were so far behind that they would never make my hounds. Great. We had two small bunches running downwind from us, and perilously close to the moving timber cutters.
[Sidebar: Have you ever seen this logging equipment?? It's 2 stories high, and has a big sign plastered down the side of it that reads : STAY BACK 300 FEET. It sounds as "bad " as it looks. Bad, in the slang sense of the word, that is.]
I, as my Dad used to say, was not a happy camper. In fact, I was kinda ticked off. Shoulda, woulda... next time, I will follow my gut instinct. But no time for regrets- I had a situation, and I had to deal with it. Once I saw Bobby coming towards the woods, I turned around and began to run back to my truck. No point in two of us being upwind. And Tommy and Curtis had yet to appear...
For the next hour, we hunted those hounds. I must have walked/ran 5 miles. I drove around to the downwind side of the covert and walked in from there,blowing my horn and calling. I could hear nothing.
I got back to my truck, and drove around to where the logging trucks exit the woods onto the road, parked and walked in the woods from that side. I would be upwind, but if I blew my horn, and those hounds were in there, they should hear me. IF they could hear above the din of the loggers.
Last fall, I spent several hours clearing out a boundary trail in that woods for me and my horse. It took the loggers less than that to block it with the crowns of the cut trees that they had raped. But I was able to find my way, climbing over downed branches thick with pine needles. O, the ticks....
I kept getting closer and closer to that monster machine that plows down the trees and it was moving straight towards me. I was WAY less than the 300 feet that the thing warns one to stay clear, and it was really kind of scary. For me. And then it occurred to me, how scary must it be for these timid foxhounds? I was concerned that a tree branch could easily fall on one of them. I kept calling and blowing, and to my relief, turned to see Marilyn coming up behind me. The others had to be somewhere in here , too.
Apparently, the foxes had become acccustomed to the loggers' presence already. There is a well-used earth in the field located only 150 feet from where the loaded tractor trailers exit the woods, and I had the opportunity to check it as I went by. There were fresh tracks all over it. Reynard had chosen to take my hounds through the work area, obviously with hopes of foiling them. He succeeded.
I kept navigating the blocked trail down to its' end at a"canal", hollering and blowing the entire time. And, thank the Lord, just as I emerged onto the ditch, I saw all 3 couple of the missing hounds coming to me. It was a long walk to get them back to a hound truck, and once loaded, I resolved that mine would not be on the ground again until they got home. It was only 9am, but I knew this was a bad idea from the start, and I had had enough.
During this search,Tommy and Curtis had decided to move further south and draw the Big Pine woods. Really??? Bobby's and my hounds would never hear theirs to hark, should their hounds find. Once we got our hounds sorted, Bobby and I went around to see what was happening. Not much. They viewed a fox. They tried to put hounds on it. The hounds picked at it for awhile and then the hunt blew up. Gee, no surprise, there. Winds howling and ground dry as a bone. It took them awhile to round up their hounds, also. The hunt was over. And maybe, if we dont get any rain to speak of soon, this may be it for the season.
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