HUNTING ON THE FELLS
“The hounds but chop, the game is strong,
That pace of plight cannot be long,
Hark! Tally-ho’s from yon far height,
And now the whiners wend in sight,
Through Silver Ghyll for Skiddaw Fell,
They’ll kill him if he goes to h—l!”
No description of fell hunting would be complete without a reference to
John Peel, the famous Cumbrian Master and Huntsman.
Although Peel was well known in his own country, his fame did not extend
beyond the North, until the old song, “D’ye ken John Peel?” became
popular. The spirited verses had little vogue until after Peel’s death
in 1854, when the song suddenly became fashionable. The original song
differs in some respects from the modern version, particularly in the
first line. “D’ye ken John Peel with his coat so gay?” is sung to-day,
whereas the original is, “Did ye ken John Peel wi’ his cwote seay gray?”
[Illustration: BLENCATHRA FOXHOUNDS: ON RIGHT, GEORGE TICKELL, ESQ.,
EX-DEPUTY MASTER (1907-1919).]
Peel never wore a scarlet coat, his jacket was made of home-spun
Cumberland wool, known locally as “hoddengray.”
The late Mr. Jackson Gillbanks, of Whitefield, gave a good pen-picture of
John Peel, and I take the liberty of quoting it here. He said—
“John Peel was a good specimen of a plain Cumberland yeoman. On less than
£400 per annum he hunted at his own expense, and unassisted, a pack of
foxhounds for half a century. John has in his time drawn every covert in
the country, and was well known on the Scottish borders. Except on great
days he followed the old style of hunting,—that is, turning out before
daylight, often at five or six o’clock, and hunted his fox by the drag.
He was a man of stalwart form, and well built; he generally wore a coat
of home-spun Cumberland wool—a species called ‘hoddengray.’ John was a
very good shot, and used a single-barrel, with flint lock, to the last.
Though he sometimes indulged too much, he was always up by four or five
in the morning, no matter what had taken place the night before; and,
perhaps, to this may be attributed his excellent health, as he was never
known to have a day’s sickness, until his last and only illness.”
Mr. Gillbanks was also the author of the following verses, published in
the _Wigton Advertiser_:—
“The horn of the hunter is silent,
By the banks of the Ellen no more
Or in Denton is heard its wild echo,
Clear sounding o’er dark Caldew’s roar.
For forty years have we known him—
‘A Cumberland yeoman of old’—
But thrice forty years they shall perish
Ere the fame of his deeds shall be cold.
No broadcloth or scarlet adorn’d him,
Or buckskins that rival the snow,
But of plain ‘Skiddaw gray’ was his raiment,
He wore it for work, not for show.
Now, when darkness at night draws her mantle,
And cold round the fire bids us steal,
Our children will say, ‘Father, tell us
Some tales about famous John Peel!’
Then we’ll tell them of Ranter and Royal,
And Briton, and Melody, too,
How they rattled their fox around Carrock,
And pressed him from chase into view.’
And often from Brayton to Skiddaw,
Through Isel, Bewaldeth, Whitefiel,
We have galloped, like madmen, together,
And followed the horn of John Peel.
And tho’ we may hunt with another,
When the hand of old age we way feel,
We’ll mourn for a sportsman and brother,
And remember the days of John Peel.”
The late Sir Wilfrid Lawson also gives a good description of Peel. He
says:
“I have seen John Peel in the flesh, and have hunted with him. He was a
tall, bony Cumbrian, who, when I knew him, used to ride a pony he called
‘Dunny,’ from its light colour, and on this animal, from his intimate
knowledge of the country, he used to get along the roads, and see a great
deal of what his hounds did. Peel’s grey coat is no more a myth than
himself, for I well remember the long, rough, grey garment, which almost
came down to his knees. No doubt drink played a prominent part—if it were
not, indeed, the ‘predominant partner’ in these northern hunts. I have
heard John Peel say, when they had killed a fox: ‘Now! this is the first
fox we’ve killed this season, and it munna be a dry ’un!’—words of that
kind being a prelude to an adjournment to the nearest public-house, where
the party would remain for an indefinite time, reaching, I have heard it
said, even to two days.”
In the book “Sir Wilfrid Lawson (A Memoir),” by the Right Hon. George W.
E. Russell, it says:
“The famous John Peel, who is ‘kenn’d’ over the English-speaking world,
was a Master of Foxhounds on a very primitive and limited scale, and
hunted his own hounds in Cumberland for upwards of forty-six years. He
died in 1854. By this time Wilfrid Lawson was twenty-five years old, and
desperately fond of hunting. So, on the death of John Peel, with whom he
had hunted ever since he could sit in a saddle, he bought Peel’s hounds,
amalgamated them with a small pack which he already possessed, and
became Master of the Cumberland Foxhounds.”
The famous song, “John Peel,” was written by Woodcock Graves, an intimate
friend of Peel. Graves emigrated to Tasmania in 1833, and spent the last
years of his life there, far from the hunting country of his younger days.
John Peel was born at Grayrigg, and in later years lived at, and hunted
from, his cottage at Ruthwaite.
The hunting man desirous of having a few days’ sport on the fells,
can take his choice of five packs, _i.e._ the Ullswater, Coniston,
Blencathra, Eskdale and Ennerdale, and the Mellbrake. The Ullswater
hounds are kennelled at Patterdale; nearest railway stations, Penrith
and Troutbeck (Cumberland). Mr. W. H. Marshall, of Patterdale Hall, is
Master, and Joe Bowman is huntsman. Whipper-in, B. Wilson.
The Coniston are kennelled at Green Bank, Ambleside; nearest station,
Windermere. Mr. Bruce Logan, of “Westbourne,” Bowness, is Master, and
George Chapman is huntsman.
[Illustration: FELL COUNTRY HUNTSMEN.]
The Blencathra are kennelled at the Riddings, near Threlkeld; railway
stations, Threlkeld and Keswick. Master, Mr. R. J. Holdsworth, Seat Howe,
Thornthwaite, Keswick. Deputy Master, Mr. Andrew Anderson, Lair Beck,
Keswick. Secretary, Jonathan Harryman, Howe, Portinscale, Keswick.
Huntsman, Jim Dalton. Whipper-in, E. Parker.
The Right Hon. The Speaker (Mr. J. W. Lowther) was Master of the
Blencathra from 1903 to 1919. He resigned the Mastership in 1919.
Mr. George Tickell, of Shundraw, Keswick, was Secretary for fourteen
years, and on the death of the late Mr. John Crozier, who was Master
from 1839 to 1903, he held the Mastership until the appointment of Mr.
J. W. Lowther. He then acted as Deputy-Master from 1907 to 1919, when he
retired.
Mr. Tickell has hunted regularly since he was a boy at school, thus
covering a total of nearly seventy years. He is still (1919) hale and
hearty, and regularly attends the meets of the Blencathra.
The Eskdale and Ennerdale are kennelled in Eskdale. Master, Mr. W. C.
Porter, Field Head, Eskdale, R.S.O. Railway station, Ravenglass. The late
Tommy Dobson was Master of this pack from 1857 to 1910. Huntsman, the
Master.
The Mellbrake are kennelled at Hope Lorton. Masters, Mr. Robinson
Mitchell, Mr. E. A. Iredale and Mr. D. B. Robinson. Secretary, Mr. R.
Rawling, Lanthwaite Green, Cockermouth. Huntsman, R. Head. Whipper-in, J.
Norman. Nearest railway station, Cockermouth.
The Mellbrake and the Eskdale and Ennerdale are somewhat isolated from
the other Hunts, but it is often possible to attend meets of the
Coniston, Blencathra and Ullswater during the week. Once or twice a
season the Blencathra visit Wythburn, at the head of Thirlmere Lake,
where they remain for the inside of a week. If during that week the
Coniston and Ullswater are in their home countries, they can easily be
reached from Windermere or Ambleside, by motor or cycle. If the visitor
wishes to put in most of his time with an individual pack, he will find
comfortable hotels and inns within easy reach of the kennels. There is,
of course, a good deal of luck about hunting anywhere, but particularly
so on the fells, where weather conditions are apt to interfere with
sport. The fell packs usually account for from fifteen to twenty-five
brace of foxes in a season, the number, of course, varying with the
character of the seasons. In the 1918-19 season, the Ullswater brought
to hand close upon thirty-five brace, while the other packs all did
remarkably well. Considering the roughness of the country, such records
are very good indeed.
Joe Bowman, the veteran huntsman of the Ullswater, is a personality in
Lakeland hunting. He has carried the horn with this pack—with one short
interval—since 1879, and is still hale and hearty. His fame as a huntsman
reaches far beyond the borders of his own wild country, for he is well
known to most keen hunting folk.
[Illustration: ULLSWATER FOXHOUNDS: JOE BOWMAN, THE HUNTSMAN.]
[Illustration: BLENCATHRA FOXHOUNDS: GONE TO GROUND ON ARMBOTH FELL.]
[Illustration: BLENCATHRA FOXHOUNDS: AFTER A KILL AT RAVEN CRAG, NEAR
THIRLMERE LAKE, NOV. 7TH, 1919.]
Except in certain parts of the low country, which are visited once or
twice a season, riding to the fell hounds is out of the question. Even
in the aforementioned districts it is a case of riding to points, and
nicking in with hounds when the opportunity presents itself. There are
places where, should you be lucky, you may chance to see the best part
of a run from a main road below the fell. Such a place is the road
which circles Thirlmere Lake, from which I have watched many a good
hunt with the Blencathra. As a rule, however, it pays best to climb the
fell, from which vantage point you are more likely to keep in constant
touch with hounds. If you hang about the roads hounds _may_ come back
to you, but again they may not, and it requires a good deal of patience
and self-control to remain where you are on the off-chance. Once on the
fell top, it pays to stay there until hounds either drive their fox for
the last time into the dale or run him to ground in some rocky “borran”
(earth). It is much easier and quicker to walk round the fell tops than
descend to the dale and have to climb out again.
In addition to the type of hound used, the method of hunting on the
fells differs from that in the riding countries. There hounds are thrown
into covert, from which in a few minutes they get away almost on top of
their fox. While the same thing sometimes happens with the fell hounds,
as a rule, _their_ fox is lying in some snug kennel at a height of two
thousand feet or more, and before hounds can run him they must find him.
To do this they quest for the drag, or in other words, they search for
and pick up the line of a fox which during the night has visited the
dale, and then before daybreak has returned to his mountain fastness. If
the fox has cut his return trip rather fine, and hounds are out early, as
they very often are in spring, the drag may prove a warm one. If it is
cold and the fox long gone, it may require a lot of working out.
Anyhow, the same end is eventually attained, _i.e._ hounds gradually
work up to the spot where their fox is lying. It may be on the ledge of
some crag, or amongst the rocks strewn about the fell breast. Wherever
it is, Reynard may wait till hounds are close to him, or he may steal
away and, if unseen, gain a long start. As a rule, however, there are a
few keen hunters scattered about the fell tops before hounds leave the
dale, and the fox is lucky if he can slip away without the sharp eyes of
some shepherd spying his movements. A series of shrill view-halloas soon
bring hounds to the spot, and the run begins in earnest. Although such a
halloa saves time when a fox has stolen away, it is a much prettier sight
to see hounds find and unkennel their fox in a crag by themselves. It is
an exciting moment when Reynard springs up from his heather-covered ledge
and goes shooting through the dangerous crag-face, _en route_ for the
open fell top. Hounds may be practically all round him at the time, but
he dodges first one way and then another until he is clear, and amongst
the rocks and rough _débris_ of the fell-side, he is more than a match
for the fastest hound.
If it is a clear day, with not too much wind, you can both see and hear
hounds at some distance. If there is a mist, the music is your only guide
to the whereabouts of the pack. If scent is at all good, not many minutes
will elapse ere hounds have disappeared beyond your ken. You follow on,
keeping to the good going on the fell top, and ere long you hear them
again in another dale, still running strong. A thorough knowledge of
the country and the run of the foxes will enable you to go far and more
or less keep in touch, even on a misty day. If you are a stranger, you
will be wise to stick to some local hunter, who will pilot you safely,
although possibly at a rather faster pace than you deem compatible with
such rough going. Mist is the fell hunter’s greatest bugbear. It may roll
up suddenly and block out your entire view, shrouding you in a damp, grey
mantle. Then all you can do is to pray for an occasional rift in the
vaporous screen which will afford you a glimpse of your whereabouts, and
possibly reveal the hounds.
Sometimes when the dales are thick with mist the fell tops stand out
quite clear, and you look down on to a white sea. Next to mist hard
weather—especially when there is much ice on the crags—may stop hunting
for a time. Snow is not so bad, for though it makes hard work of it for
followers, hounds can get through it all right, and scent is often good
when the white covering is damp.
I must not dwell on the dark days, however, for there _are_ times when
weather, scent, and all the rest of it goes right, and a day of this kind
is a day to remember. The morning is fine and still, and the atmosphere
so clear that every rock and stone stands out distinctly. The distant
hills are tinted from indigo to mauve, and you wish you could transfer
the glorious panoramic view to canvas. You are out early, having made a
slow and easy ascent of the fell, and you sit down where you can command
a view of the dale and the rough ground below you. Far away in the bottom
you espy the huntsman’s scarlet coat, and those little white dots moving
here and there are the hounds.
[Illustration: ULLSWATER FOXHOUNDS: OPENING MEET AT BROTHERSWATER, OCT.
11TH, 1919.]
A faint note sounds, and then another, and gradually the music swells and
grows louder. Hounds have struck a drag, and are making their way towards
a frowning crag which juts out from the rough breast beneath you. Your
companion, a hill-shepherd, moves off a few paces in order to get a
better view, then suddenly turns and points with his stick, exclaiming,
“Sista, yonder he gars!” You look quickly towards the point indicated,
and there you see him, a fine fell fox, his brush held stiff and straight
behind him, moving along with the smooth gliding action peculiar to
his kind. Once he halts and looks back, then he resumes his easy pace.
Your companion runs a few yards down the breast, and you are treated to
a sample of a dalesman’s view-halloa. Scream after scream rings out,
echoing from the crags. The fox, still in view, and unhurried, stops at
the sound, glances back, then mends his pace and disappears round the
end of a jutting crag. Hounds come like mad to the halloa, scrambling up
the steep ground at a wonderful pace. The leaders strike the line, and
there is a burst of music as the remainder of the pack settle to it, and
go racing through the breast. You watch them until hidden by a shoulder
of the hill, then scan the fell head anxiously for their reappearance.
They are almost out of hearing, but suddenly the cry is carried back to
you clear and distinct, and you see them climbing out at the fell head,
looking like white ants in the distance. One glimpse you get, and they
are gone over the fell top, heading for the rough ground beyond.
Although you meditate following them, your better judgment prevails, for
this dale has not been previously disturbed, and you know that a litter
has been bred there. It is more than likely that the fox will return ere
long, so you walk a short distance up the narrow trod leading to the
tops, and sit down to listen. Scattered about the fell slopes are the
little Herdwick sheep, tiny things in comparison with a Southdown, but
famed for their quality as mutton. Overhead, wheeling in wide spirals,
a buzzard is rising to a dizzy height, his shrill “whee-u, whee-u,”
sounding clear and distinct. Over the fell head you hear the raucous cry
of a raven, and catch sight of a black speck floating into the distance.
A stoat, not yet in his winter coat of white, darts in and out amongst
the rocks below you, and you watch his antics until a distant sound
catches your ear. You listen intently, yes, there it is again, surely
the cry of a hound, although still a long way off. They must be coming
back, for the sounds are nearer now, and louder. You take the glasses
from their case, and scan the fell head. Yes, there they come, running
fast, and their fox cannot be very far in front at that pace. Quickly you
scan the ground between, and at last you see him coming gamely along, but
far from fresh. Below you is a well-known earth, which is no doubt his
refuge, but to-day there are figures standing about it, so his entrance
will be barred.
You lose sight of him, then a view-halloa rings out, and a whip cracks
sharply. He has swerved from the figures on the earth and hounds are
gaining fast. Gradually they edge him lower and lower, until the last
rock left behind, he is threading a narrow trod amongst the bracken. It
is “all over bar the shouting,” as you dash down the long grass slope,
clear the intervening wall, and drop panting into the allotment on the
other side. A scramble through a stony beck, ending with a sharp run,
brings you in sight of hounds, racing from scent to view. A sharp turn, a
gleam of white fangs, and Stormer rolls him over, to be buried beneath a
living avalanche of white, and black and tan. Who-hoop! Who-hoop!
Such is a day worth living for with a fell pack. A quick find, a fast
hunt, a good place to see it from, and a kill in the open; what more
could the heart of hunter desire? The man who does much fell hunting will
get his share of such days, and when they come they amply repay him for
any past disappointments.
The regular followers of the fell packs consist chiefly of shepherds,
dalesmen and the like, comparatively few of the local “gentry” being
sufficiently keen to take more than a passing interest in the sport. The
fine air on the tops, and the strenuous exercise, beat all your doctor’s
medicine, but I am afraid in these modern days people believe more in the
latter than the former. The working men in the dales are the keenest of
hunters. No matter on what task they are engaged, when hounds come near,
they down tools and join in the chase. They work hard, too, at unearthing
a fox which has got to ground amongst the rocks, where crowbar and hammer
are often required to loosen up the huge boulders.
On the fells the huntsman is the only man who wears a scarlet coat, and
he is assisted by a whipper-in, who may perhaps wear hunting-cap and
dark grey jacket, relieved by a touch of red on the collar and a scarlet
waistcoat.
The huntsman is followed by three or four fell terriers in couples, and
generally a hound or two as well. These last are usually young hounds, or
older members of the pack which he is prepared to let go when occasion
warrants. Usually the whipper-in will take the highest ground, leaving
the huntsman to go below. He often takes more coupled hounds with him to
the tops, to “louse” them at some convenient moment. The terriers form a
most important item of the Hunt. Without them it would be impossible to
locate and evict a fox after he had got to ground.
[Illustration: ULLSWATER FOXHOUNDS: JOE BOWMAN, HUNTSMAN (SINCE 1879).]
Most of these terriers are cross-bred, showing more or less Bedlington
blood, as evinced by the light-coloured, silky hair on their heads.
Silky body covering is not wanted on a fell terrier, for if the coat
is too fine, the dog is unable to withstand wet and cold properly.
These terriers vary considerably in size, but a very short-legged dog
is handicapped on rough ground or in the snow. A biggish terrier is
decidedly useful in places where he can work up to his fox, but in
the majority of Lakeland borrans or earths, a smaller dog is to be
preferred. A fox always takes good care to choose his defensive position
underground, and a terrier has to attack him from below, and is thus at a
disadvantage. Sometimes the positions are reversed, and the fox squeezes
himself into a narrow crack, where he is unable to turn, thus exposing
himself to a rear attack. As a rule, however, he is “head on” to his
canine enemy, and then if he refuses to bolt, a battle royal ensues.
A big dog-fox is no mean foe, and the combatants on both sides often
get severely mauled. A sure sign that a fox is shifting his quarters
underground is when the terriers cease marking, and the hounds begin to
rush about the borran. It is surprising how a fox will bolt and escape
his foes on such occasions. He creeps quietly to some convenient outlet,
pauses an instant, then slips away, often unseen until he has placed some
distance between himself and the hounds. Even after a mauling he will
often beat hounds uphill on rough ground, and end by getting to earth
somewhere else.
Some of the Lakeland borrans are very deep places. It sometimes happens
that although the terriers reach and possibly account for the fox, they
are unable to return, and it may mean days of strenuous work ere the men
can extricate them. At long intervals, more serious events occur, and
despite all that can be done by willing hands, a rescue is impossible.
Certain stone quarries and other places in Lakeland hold sinister
reputations in this respect.
Some of the quarry “rubbish heaps” are composed of “big stuff” in the way
of rocks, and are dangerous to open up, as the excavating process causes
the upper material to unexpectedly rush in. In addition to shutting off
the terriers, such a rush may easily bury or severely injure the men who
are at work. I have seen one or two very narrow escapes of this kind, and
they are decidedly unpleasant experiences.
It is, of course, usual for a man or two to mount guard at such borrans
when hounds are advertised to meet in the neighbourhood, but even the
keenest hunter becomes fed-up waiting perhaps for hours on a cold day,
with only an occasional and distant sound of hounds to cheer his watch.
[Illustration: CONISTON FOXHOUNDS: “GONE TO GROUND.”]
[Illustration: ULLSWATER FOXHOUNDS: B. WILSON, THE WHIPPER-IN.]
Some foxes are almost impossible to keep out of such places. Despite
halloing and whip-cracking they _will_ be in, no matter what you
do. Others, again, sheer off at the slightest hint, and seek refuge
elsewhere. Sometimes a fox has to get to ground where he can, and I have
seen one get into what on the surface appeared to be quite a simple spot,
defy all the best efforts of terriers and men to dislodge him.
As may be imagined, the huntsman to a fell pack must be a hard and
tireless walker, for he has many miles of rough ground to cover from the
time he leaves kennels in the morning until his return at dusk or later.
Even he gets tired at times, but if it is humanly possible he will get
all his hounds back to kennels before dark, or, at any rate, the same
night.
Sometimes hounds have to be left out, but by the following day most of
them will have found their way home again. On these occasions one or two
of them may visit the farms or other places where they spend the summer,
if anywhere near them; and after a feed or a sleep, resume their journey.
It is surprising how hungry one gets on the fells. I remember on one
occasion following hounds from the Scandale valley, near Ambleside, over
Fairfield, across Deepdale, and out again to the summit of Helvellyn.
I was with the huntsman, and both of us had eaten our lunch some hours
previously. On the summit of Helvellyn is a seat, and round it that
afternoon were scattered a lot of banana peelings. We were so hungry
that we barely refrained from eating the latter. We have often laughed
over it since, and I remember I made up for it with bread and cheese and
beer when we got down off the mountain at dusk.
It is always advisable to take sufficient food with you on these
occasions, for you are never quite certain when you are going to get the
next meal.
Although some of the best sport is experienced in the cold weather, I
have enjoyed some very good hunts in October, as well as spring. When
foxes begin to bother the lambs, hounds are called upon to account for
the offenders. It is, of course, necessary to meet very early at this
time of year, as the sun soon dispels the dew, and scent is then often
conspicuous by its absence. It well repays one for leaving one’s bed at
an unearthly hour, however, when hounds _do_ get away with their fox, for
the temperature is such that one can sit about the tops in comfort, and
thoroughly enjoy both the magnificent views and the sport. Many a May fox
is rolled over by the fell packs, for the dalesmen’s flocks have to be
made safe from any marauding vixen which takes toll of them for her cubs.
Harking back for a moment to fell terriers, people’s ideas appear to
differ very considerably as regards the make and shape of a dog used
solely for sport.
A terrier for work on the fells must be able to squeeze through very
narrow places, be active withal, and sufficiently high on the leg to
enable him to follow the huntsman through snow or rough ground without
tiring. Some people imagine that a terrier when creeping through a
narrow place works himself along on his chest, and they conclude that
a wide-chested, short-legged dog is the best for the purpose. As a
matter of fact, the dog lies on his side, and works himself ahead with
his legs. For this reason, an apparently big dog, that is, one fairly
high on the leg, narrow, but deep through the heart, can get into some
remarkably tight places. Terriers of the Sealyham type, short-legged,
and broad-chested, whilst able to work in big badger earths, or wide
drains, fail when it comes to negotiating narrow cracks and crevices in
the rocks, such as foxes are so fond of taking refuge in, on the fells.
It matters not how a terrier is bred, or what sort of a mongrel he is,
so long as he is a worker, game and courageous to go up to his fox, bolt
him, or make an end of him. “Handsome is as handsome does” is the motto
on the fells, where nothing but real hard workers are tolerated for a
moment.
Once a year there are certain shepherds’ meetings held in the Lake
country, for the exchange of sheep which have strayed. The two best
known of these are held at the “Traveller’s Rest” inn on top of the
Kirkstone Pass, and at the “Dun Bull” inn in Mardale.
On these occasions the foxhounds grace the meetings with their presence.
The Coniston Foxhounds, and the Windermere Harriers attend the Kirkstone
gathering, while the Ullswater provide sport at Mardale. This year (1919)
the “Victory Meet” of the shepherds took place in Mardale on November
22nd. This gathering is one of the oldest of its kind in the country, and
has been kept going for generations. How regular has been the attendance
of some of the old-time dalesmen and shepherds may be gathered from the
fact that a few years ago, one Thomas Fishwick put in his sixty-sixth
annual appearance, and there are many others who have attended this meet
for a score of years or more.
Special interest was attached to the “Victory Meet” in Mardale, as it
was rumoured that it might be the last, owing to the acquisition of
Haweswater by the Manchester Corporation. When the proposed scheme is
completed, the famous “Dun Bull” and Mardale Church will be inundated.
[Illustration: “PINCHER” AND “MYRTLE.” Two Coniston Hunt terriers.]
[Illustration: “JUMMY.” A terrier which did much good work for the
Coniston Hunt.]
In addition to a hunt, a hound-trail is held at Mardale. Some of the
upholders of the fashionable hounds in the Shires, who believe that this
type is second to none for pace, would, I think, be inclined to change
their opinion, if they timed one of these trails. The hounds entered are
nothing more than fell foxhounds. Sometimes one of a litter bred at the
kennels goes as a trail hound, and _vice versâ_. Yet, with all their
pace, these hounds can hunt a cold line with the best, and will let you
know all about it whilst they are doing it.
I have already mentioned the fact that the fell hounds pick up the drag
of their fox, and work this out until they reach his hiding-place and
unkennel him.
Sometimes the drag covers a long distance. When the Rev. E. M. Reynolds
was Master of the Coniston Hounds, the latter picked up a drag near Rydal
Park, carried it over High Pike up to Hart Crag, and down the ridge
into Hartsop, where they unkennelled their fox in Low Wood overlooking
Brothers’ Water. On another occasion the same pack struck a drag in
Skelghyll Wood, near Windermere Lake, carried it forward the entire
length of the Troutbeck valley, and out at Threshwaite Mouth at the fell
head, unkennelling their fox about a mile beyond the last-mentioned
point. As a rule, it is pretty safe to say that a drag which leads
towards the high ground, is right, though on occasion such a line _may_
prove to be heel-way. Even old and experienced hounds are not infallible
when it comes to differentiating between the right way and heel, despite
the fact that one meets people who swear their hounds won’t run heel.
After covering a lot of rough ground on the drag, and having at last
unkennelled your fox, the real business of the day has only just begun.
Before night, if you are in pursuit of an old stager, you may find
yourself many miles from home, with darkness coming on, and a rough track
to follow.
One of the longest, if not _the_ longest, hunt I ever took part in
occurred on January 15th, 1914. The Coniston Hounds met that day at
Strawberry Bank, in the Winster valley. They found their fox at 10
o’clock, and the last followers of the field which started out in the
morning, acknowledged themselves beaten at 5 p.m. Hounds ran for several
hours longer, until darkness enabled the fox to finally shake off his
pursuers. From the time hounds unkennelled their fox, until they were run
out of scent, was 9½ hours, sufficient, I think, to constitute a record.
Such a day is one to be set down in red ink in the hunting diary.
[Illustration: ULLSWATER FOXHOUNDS: GONE TO GROUND BELOW HIGH PIKE IN THE
SCANDALE VALLEY.]
Taking it all through, the fell country carries a good scent, except in
early autumn and spring, when the sun exerts considerable power, and
the bracken and dead leaves get very dry. There is little limestone
in the district, but now and then hounds run a fox to such places
as Whitbarrow, where, unless the atmosphere is very damp, they often
experience considerable difficulty in sticking to the line. “There’s
nowt sae queer as scent,” and though we sometimes think we know a good
deal about it, there generally comes a time when all our prophecies
prove wrong. Now and then in the fell country there comes a day when the
atmosphere is very clear, and there is an absence of wind. Overhead the
clouds look heavy, and the day may be described as “dark.” The colour of
the distant hills tones off from indigo to mauve; but for all the general
effect of darkness, every stone and crag shows up distinctly. On such
a day I have often known a screaming scent, while hounds could be both
easily seen and heard.
Jorrocks, wise old bird, said, “Take not out your ’ounds upon a werry
windy day,” and his advice is good, but for all that I have seen hounds
run like mad in a gale, screaming along yards wide of the line, the scent
drifting with the wind.
There are, of course, several factors that have an influence on scent.
There is the fox himself, the nature of the soil (clay, gravel, etc.),
the condition of the surface, such as grass, plough, moorland or
woodland; the temporary state of the surface, wet, dry, dusty, etc.; and
the state of the weather.
As far as the fox is concerned, there is little doubt that he and his
relations vary considerably in the amount of scent they give off. Much
depends too, upon the behaviour of a fox, as to whether hounds can make
the best use of his line. A straight-running fox is easier to hunt
than a twisting one, while the body-scent—_i.e._ scent retained by the
atmosphere—allows hounds to run with their heads up, the scent being
“breast high.” That scent is often far too high I have proved over and
over again. Many a time I have been walking to a meet, and at some
favourite crossing place for foxes on a road, or elsewhere, I have caught
the scent of a fox quite strongly. Whenever scent has thus been retained
high in the atmosphere, I have never seen hounds able to run fast, for it
is over their heads, and they cannot reach it. In the case of foot-scent,
such as is left on a cold drag, hounds have to get their noses right down
to it, and work it out patiently. Foot-scent will lead hounds to the
exact spot where a fox jumps a wall, or creeps through a hedge, whereas
with body-scent they may run fast, but quite wide of the exact line of
their fox, the distance varying with the amount of wind. On a real good
scenting day the scent appears to remain “breast high,” whereas on a bad
scenting day, it disappears quickly, or rises too high for hounds.
Whenever a hunted fox is coursed by a shepherd’s dog, hounds invariably
have great difficulty in owning the line afterwards. It seems as if the
sudden fright contracts the glands, or whatever it is that permits scent
to exude from the fox, and the scent never again appears to regain its
original strength.
Water often saves a hunted fox, for I have known many a one practically
beaten, be completely lost after it had entered a stream. As the fox’s
strength fails, scent becomes weaker to some extent, and it only needs
a sudden fright, like the appearance of a cur dog, or an unexpected
halloa, to cause it to fade altogether. For this reason one cannot keep
too quiet when hounds are running almost in view of their beaten fox. An
injudicious halloa at such a time gets their heads up, and it is ten to
one that the fox makes good his escape. Hounds know very well when they
are closing up to their fox, and they require no outside assistance to
expedite matters.
If hounds get away on top of their fox on a good scenting day, his doom
is very likely to be sealed, no matter how fast he runs. If, however,
he kept up the same pace for the same length of time on a moderate or
bad scenting day, he would outrun them, especially if he put in a few
sharpish turns.
Luckily for hounds, a fox never goes far at his best pace unless hard
pressed, instead he places a convenient distance between himself and the
pack, and accommodates his pace to theirs. If he ran his hardest on a bad
scenting day he would be liable to run into other dangers ahead, for, for
all he knows, there may be other hounds in front of him, so he travels as
slowly as he dare, while keeping a good look out.
Very high wind is not, as a rule, conducive to scent, but I have seen
hounds run fast in such wind, which, in addition to being strong, was
exceedingly cold. In December of this year (1919) one of the fell packs
ran a fox up-wind against an icy gale on the tops, when the wind was so
strong that we who were following them had more than once to lie down or
be blown over the edge of the fell.
Rain, wind, and sun are responsible for the state of the ground, and
exert their influence on scent. Too much rain is bad for scent, as the
land gets waterlogged. Roughly speaking, scent appears to lie best when
the ground is in good riding condition. Wind and sun dry out the ground
and harden it, and frost does likewise. Hounds will always run better
when it is hard with drought or frost than when it is very wet and
holding. Grass generally carries a better scent than plough, though the
latter in some districts appears very favourable to it.
[Illustration: CONISTON FOXHOUNDS: WATCHING A HUNT FROM BROAD HOWE
“BORRAN.”]
The nature of the soil, being permanent, has much to do with scent. I am
inclined to think that poor land carries a better scent than good land,
while heather and moorland are more conducive to it than cold grass
fields.
I know a district, all grass and moorland, in a limestone country, where
scent lies very well indeed, except actually on the bare limestone. On
the extensive outcrops of this kind of stone hounds are generally brought
to their noses, unless the limestone is damp with rain.
A white frost is often bad for scent, and almost always so if the sun
gets out at all warm. In the afternoon, should the ground harden again,
hounds may be able to run quite well. I have noticed that towards
evening, under varied conditions of weather, scent is often better than
earlier in the day. Snow, if damp, and not too deep, often carries a good
scent. In deep, soft snow, hounds can soon account for their fox if they
get away close to him, as their greater length of leg gives them the
advantage in such “going.”
When all is said and done, there appears to be no absolute rule to go by
regarding scent. The “dark” day previously mentioned comes pretty near to
it, however, and I always expect good scenting conditions on such a day.
Seeing that the true charm of all field sport is its “glorious
uncertainty,” it is perhaps just as well that we cannot pick and choose
our hunting days, but must take the good with the bad, and be thankful
for them.
“So I wish you good speed, a good line, and a lead,
With the luck of each fence where it’s low,
Not the last of the troop, may you hear the Who—whoop,
Well pleased as you heard Tally-Ho!”