Tally Ho

Next morning I spent an hour or so getting everything together that I would need for the hunt. Also, I read a lot online about hunt rules. They're very precise. You MUST wear a stock tie knotted properly and heldin place with a horizontal pin. This is because the stock tie can double as a bandage in the event that anyone gets hurt. You must wear a black riding helmet, buff riding breeches, a black jacket, a white shirt, tall black boots, and no earrings. 

Kate was explaining foxhunting to me and her barn employee Heidi the night before. She said one thing that really stood out in my mind: that foxhunting is not an equine sport; rather, it is a canine sport. Fox hunting is about the dogs. Hence, riders must fade into the background. One important way to do this is for everybody to conform to a dress code so that the dogs, and secondarily, the horses, become the features of the hunt. 

Because it is a canine sport, the riders and their horses become spectators of what the dogs are doing. You ride in "fields," each governed autocratically by a "Field Master." The field master counts the members of her field and attends to their safety and enjoyment, something like a hostess. But you must absolutely do as your field master says, and you must tell her if you decide to leave the field. In fact, you must ask permission. She is tending to many things, not least of which is staying out of the way of the dogs so that none of them gets kicked. I think it must be hard to be a field master when you have new huntsmen in your field. For example, I saw the field master do a double take when she suddenly realized that two riders had disappeared. They had gone to check on a third rider who had fallen and left the field. The proper etiquette is to ask the field master if you can leave even for such a reason as that. It makes sense: if she doesn't know where the members of her field are she must go and find them. It is a heavy responsibility, being the field master.

The first field consists of riders and horses who can handle a more intense experience. They go faster, they go longer, and they go over jumps. Most of the jumps these days are "fixtures." They have been placed along the route specifically so that they can be used in hunts like this. 

This club does not hunt real foxes. A woman was "laying the line" so as to make for a good hunt through absolutely gorgeous terrain. I'm not sure what she used. Something to do with anise.

We had a beautiful day: gloriously sunny and, because it is autumn, the sun was low on the horizon and the light was dramatic. The distant mountains looked blue.

English tack is required. I did not know whether Rocket could be ridden English. He is so comfortable going Western and neck reining that I never tried it. So, attired properly, I gathered together the English saddle, English bridle, and everything else except the stock tie. I called and left a message for someone to loan me one. I also found someone who would give me and Rocket a ride home in their trailer afterwards. Miraculously, the event was coming together for us. 

Cordell gave me a ride down to New Haven. He helped me saddle Rocket. I was nervous. There were some other people at the farm who were going to the hunt. They were in a hurry. They had a trailer, and I didn't, so I wasn't sure if Rocket and I were going to make it in time. We had 2 miles to hack cross-country to get there. Nothingfor it but to try.

So off we trotted and cantered across the first field, in the English tack that I haven't used in many years for anything more than a few rounds in the ring. It took a couple of field lengths for me to get the hang of it. And then, I started to like it a lot. I'd forgotten how much easier just to use your ankles and knees as shock absorbers when you are riding English. I felt that I was a better partner for Rocket because I could vary my seat to match the terrain he was dealing with.

Rocket was eager to move after he got used to the idea that we were leaving a farm that had lots of horses. I was glad that we had extra time to warm up. I was especially glad not to be trying out new tack around a bunch of expert riders at a fox hunt. Half a mile across and fields, a short distance along the road, then back heading north On North St. 

We cresteda gentle hill and there they were: the members of the hunt, beautiful from a half-mile away, and I could hear the dogs. Few things generate as much excitement in a horseback rider than the sound of dogs braying eagerly for the hunt-- and this is something I did not know until that very moment. We cantered gently across the field. Nice people processed us -- meaning gave us forms to sign and fixed a loose buckle on Rocket's tack. Somebody else gave me the stock tie I had called earlier about. Someone said, "you made it!" And there was Francie on her stunning dressage horse. 

The horses were excited. Riders moved on their horses this way and that to give them an outlet for their energy. 

I was assigned to the second field. They said that some horses become so excited that they do crazy things. They felt it best that we take an opportunity to look and understand before participating in the most intense part of the hunt. I thought this was quite sensible and gladly took my place with the second field. 

Around this time I learned the great secret foxhunting: sherry. A person on the ground walked around among the riders offering us "smoke" something or other, a term that escapes me at the moment but that is related to the tradition of the stirrup cup. The stirrup cup actually hangs from the stirrup and you use it to accept a small amount of sherry at the hunt. Things are not so formal in this hunt club; we were offered plastic cups of sherry.

Almost everybody partook. Later, I learned that this is jokingly referred to as "a drink of courage." In fact, many riders had flasks attached to their saddles. During the hunt, people would drink from their flasks and then offer to their friends. And here I thought I might have begun to understand the need for all the rules. What a great sport -- you get a little tipsy, you do what you're told, and you have a beautiful adventure without having to call too terribly much on your own (perhaps alcohol impaired?) judgment. What a great system, thought I, as I accepted my own cup of courage.

More later. I couldn't sleep because I was thinking about this hunt among other things and decided to get up and write about it here. Note to new readers: I am using speech recognition software while my shoulder heals and it doesn't always understand what I say. If something doesn't make sense, just think about what it sounds like and you might be able to figure out the intended meaning.