My view on New Year's Eve morning.
Definitely one of the best things about 2015
Ever since I set foot on American soil, I have been urged to hunt in Virginia, and I finally did it. I was lucky enough to be inundated with invitations after the Bryn Mawr Hound Show last May, and for once managed to organise something. At least, I accepted the invitations and my trip was organised for me by the wonderful George Hundt Jr, Jake Carle III, Mason Lampton, Marty and Daphne Wood, the Hemphills and dozens of others! I have long said the welcome afforded to hunt followers by fellow hunters is second to none, and when you combine that with legendary American hospitality, the seeds are sown for a truly epic adventure. I hunted on eight days with seven different packs in five different states, managed not to fall off and was awarded the brush on a particularly memorable morning in the South. Final tally: two foxes to ground, two coyotes and a raccoon (!) killed, a bobcat, numerous foxes and several coyotes given best. Temperatures swung from the 70s in Virginia to frosty in Florida, we had sunshine in Alabama and pouring rain in Kentucky. I met the living legend that is Benjamin Hardaway, founder of the Midland, hunted behind a score of hound-show champions at the Live Oak and walked out the stunning red-and-white hounds of the Orange County. I feasted on fish-and-chips in the Red Fox Inn, Middleburg, centre of the American hunting world, tasted scrapple for the first time in Pennsylvania and gorged on Thanksgiving turkey in South Carolina. I even travelled back in time for a morning of quail hunting on a southern pine plantation. I could write a veritable War and Peace, but I will restrict myself to highlights - and you can buy Horse & Hound on January 21st for more on the hunting!
My first hosts, George Hundt and Sirius the basset hound
Lewis, making himself as comfortable as a basset can be
Alex Hundt and basset love
Alex, me and Jake and Katie Chalfin.
Jake was my knight in shining armour when he rescued me
from a nightmare horse in Ireland years ago and he married
Katie last summer. Many congratulations!
Me and Bruce Davidson! Yes, that's right, three-day eventing legend...
I was supposed to hunt with Mr Stewart's Cheshire Foxhounds
on my first day, but it got rained off.
Lunch with Bruce and hunting friends more than made up for it!
Bruce, Alex and Bruce's next Badminton prospect, Mr Sweetums
George Hundt is one of the unbelievably brave (or mad) souls who tackles the American timber races. Unlike our brush point-to-pointing fences, hunt races in the US are held over unforgiving timber, and the horses and men who take them at full gallop deserve our respect. George trained for a time with Jonathan Sheppard, a double Hall of Fame trainer who moved to Pennsylvania from Britain aged 19 and forged a tremendous jump-racing career: an article on his extraordinary life in The Chronicle of the Horse is worth reading here. On a crisp sunny Friday, Alex took me to his barn and I enjoyed the rare privilege of watching him train his young horses both on the all-weather track and in his Hundred Acre Field, an undulating sweep of entirely natural grass a far cry from the sterile image of American racing training. We bounced around in his 4x4 and watched stringy jockeys hang onto future winners, Jonathan's eagle eye missing nothing of their temperament or ability. I don't know much about racing, but I can't think of a better way to start my education than to watch the master at work.
Putting youngsters over cavaletti
A youngster straight off the flat and popping logs like an old hand
in the woods surrounding the Hundred Acre Field.
Jonathan lets horses be horses, and they're all the better for it
We drove on from Jonathan's place to meet huntsman Adam Townsend at the Andrew's Bridge kennels in Lancaster County, across which these handsome black-and-tan Penn-Marydel hounds give excellent sport, to the delight of the local Amish. Joint-master Betsy Harris drove us around the Amish country, and explained that they love to watch the hunt go by. For a people without television or radio, it's as good as - or better - entertainment than any episode of House of Cards. We also visited an Amish tack store, where I was amused to see Shires products on sale. Shires owner Malcolm Ainge was treasurer of my childhood hunt, the Clifton-on-Teme, and I'm sure he would be gratified to see his products in deepest Pennsylvania! The Amish staff were friendly and efficient, and it was wonderful to see the expert leather workers plying their trade in the back. If you want a saddle or bridle made or mended, this is the place to come. Outside, their buggies clattered past (apparently, the metal wheels render the tarmac treacherously slippery for hunt horses; Amish horses aren't shod) and teams of heavy horses worked the fields. It might not be the most idyllic way to live these days - no one was quite sure what their attitude to modern medicine is - but there is something beguiling about the family-centric, electricity-rejecting lifestyle. I was amused to hear that they don't spurn telephones altogether, however - little huts in the gardens are their version of telephone boxes, vital to their successful modern businesses.
At the Andrew's Bridge kennels, with huntsman Adam and joint-master Betsy
My sort of license plate...
Amish at work in the fields. Apparently, a major crop is tobacco,
the leaves of which are very delicate so even hounds are stopped
from running through it
On Saturday, the real purpose of my trip began: hunting! George and I drove south across Delawere and into Maryland to hunt with the Green Spring Valley Hounds, meeting for the first time in decades at the old Vanderbilt racing stables of Sagamore. Now restored and resplendent in miles of white paint, the assorted gallop tracks (including an indoor one), stables and viewing towers made for a spectacular view from the meet at the top of the hill. Huntsman Sam Clifton and his fine pack of crossbred hounds gave us a super day in patchy scenting conditions - warm sun and blustery winds - and we never stopped. I soon realised that my hip flask would be employed far less out here, as American hunts are shorter and faster than English. Whereas we go on all day, drawing at length and often standing still in the cold, swigging heartily, Americans tend to want a couple of hours of speed, before heading in for a convivial tailgate. I confess I prefer the long days in the saddle and hacking home at dusk, but the riding here is thrilling and there's certainly no shortage of excellent houndwork to watch, with first flight staying up close to hounds at full speed. And when the hunt tea is like that provided my Sagamore Racing, with Maryland crab cakes, roast beef rolls and a special Bourbon cocktail, finishing in sunlight isn't nearly as painful. My hope that I might stay trim with all the hunting on this trip was swiftly dashed.
Sheila Brown MFH, first flight field master and jolly quick!
Photo by Matt Ryb Pictures
Huntsman Sam Clifton leads hounds away from the meet.
Photo by Matt Ryb Pictures
George Hundt on Justpourit
Photo by Matt Ryb Pictures
Whit Foster MFH
Setting off!
Photo by Matt Ryb Pictures
Rather lovely country over here...
Looking towards the kennels, prime GSV hunting country
Gone to ground - whip Ned Halle and huntsman Sam
after a successful run
Me popping a coop on the brilliant Edward
Photo by Matt Ryb Pictures
Edward's generous owner Marjorie Warden and me at the end
of a great first day's hunting in the eastern states
Now this is what I call a proper hunt tea!
Photo by Matt Ryb Pictures
Complete with cocktail bar and racing pictures
Photo by Matt Ryb Pictures
George, me and Mark Beecher, one of the dozens of jockeys out that day.
I have never seen so many racing saddles at once!
Photo by Matt Ryb Pictures
The 'farmhouse'
George and me!
Me next to Fence 3 of the Maryland Hunt Cup course.
This is what Georgeand others like him jump from full gallop. Mad.
After a delicious dinner with the Hundts, I set off south on Sunday to Virginia and my base for the next few days, with Jake Carle and his wife Pat. Jake was master and huntsman of the Keswick for 35 seasons and is now hugely respected as a hound judge and chronicler of the sport. He has a wealth of hunting tales to tell and our journeys around Virginia passed extremely swiftly as he regaled me with stories, such as when he held up a train to stop it barrelling through the pack (the train driver, suitably for a Virginia man, perfectly understood) or led the field on one last run in a blizzard, only to crest a hill and see the white tent erected for a trumpeted hunt tea taking flight. I could have listened to him forever! He had arranged a fantastic week for me, beginning with the Orange County just outside Virginia's hunting capital, Middleburg, then a day with the Keswick further south and finishing with the Piedmont west of Middleburg. The weather was weird for November (in what has turned out to be a running theme this year!), far too hot with Orange, and then wet on Thursday with the Piedmont which meant that the foxes, being cunning, stayed cosy and warm underground. But despite the odds, all three packs showed good sport, although I had many exhortations to come back and see them on a really good scenting day. But there's no such thing as a bad day's hunting, and when you're on a good horse in Virginia, even a blank day is a good day, and none of these were blank.
Huntsman Reg Spreadborough with his Orange County hounds.
My first experience of purely American foxhounds, and I love them.
Quick, intelligent, independent with glorious voices, they are a delight
Virginia countryside at last!
Popping coops. My horse, the handsome Blackjack kindly lent
by John Coles MFH, made light of everything
OCH kennels in golden afternoon light
We're ready, dad!
The best of American hounds: long ears and intelligent eyes
The Orange County colour is a gorgeous rich red, and at one time
the breeding concentrated on colour to the detriment of hunting ability.
The most valued markings were the 'ringneck', a band of white around the necks.
Reg, a hugely respected huntsman from my neck of the woods in England,
has turned all that around, but the colour remains, even if some would
be considered a little paler than perfect by the former masters
I had intended to lie in on Tuesday morning as it was my one day off, but you don't turn down an invitation to walk out hounds even if it means a 6.15am alarm call. It was a glorious sunny autumn morning and I puffed along behind Reg (just like their horses, huntsmen walk when everyone else jogs) until we stopped at a suitable field for a rest. The kennels are set in typically beautiful countryside, but are sadly cut off from the rest of the hunt country by a four-lane freeway. That's the only trouble with Virginia, not to mention Pennsylvania and Maryland: the inexorable march of 'progress'. An all too familiar problem in England, I was saddened to see that this part of America is not immune. Giant housing estates, each with too-large houses set in too-large plots of land, leapfrog each other to leave tiny stretches of once wonderful hunting country cut off from each other by cul-de-sacs, usually with a poignant name that reminds one of what has been lost, Fox's Crossing, Whitehorse Road, Hunt Club Lane. Hey ho, at least walking out with hounds hasn't changed much since it all began!
A rare treat: walking out hounds early on Tuesday morning
Reg and his beautiful, hardworking pack.
(He apologises for wearing a baseball cap and no tie. When in Rome...)
The elegant Orange County kennels
Another great numberplate!
After hound exercise, I drove into Middleburg and spent a blissful day exploring its shops, almost all of which have a hunting theme. It is such bliss to be in a town where the signs are shaped like foxes and the local estate agent/realtor's office proclaims houses in hunt country. The Red Fox Inn was founded in 1728, making it the oldest pub in America, and could be in the Cotswolds. I bought new(old) britches and a lightweight blue coat at the Middleburg Tack Exchange, a cornucopia of secondhand equipment that came (rightly) highly recommended. The National Sporting Library & Museum has a fantastic collection of art and literature, and I could have quite happily curled up with a book in one of their leather chairs for the afternoon. Amusingly, a temporary exhibition was of Colin Barker's gorgeous black-and-white photographs of the Chiddingfold, Leconfield & Cowdray in Sussex, which I frequently follow. There was a lovely shot of Paul Lyon-Maris MFH on his beautiful coloured horse Acorn and, in the book also on display, a photograph of the last hunt tea of the year at Barlavington with yours truly in the centre of the picture! Rather fun to find a photograph of myself in the heart of American hunting country.
The Red Fox Inn, Middleburg
Foxes, foxes, everywhere!
The National Sporting Library & Museum, Middleburg
Not just about hunting!
Paul Lyon-Maris and the beautiful Acorn of the Chid and Lec!
Terrible pic on my phone, but I'm the one sitting down in the middle!
The next day I was back on board a horse, at the Keswick. My steed this time was Bertha, a noble mare described as a 'machine'. I would like to specify 'tank'. But she jumped beautifully and certainly loves her job! I was invited to ride with the huntsman Tony Gammell, and although I was a little concerned about landing on top of him or a hound once or twice, it was a cracking day. Tony is Irish, with all the warmth and wit of his countrymen, and gave me a wonderful display of houndsmanship. Like the Orange County, these are pure American hounds, still following the lines that Jake bred into them, and Tony lets them lead the way. Patient and calm, he listened and waited, never harrying or chivvying them, and we were rewarded with a literal spin, round and round the horse farm at the centre of the day, skidding round corners (at least, I skidded) of the railed tracks between fields and flying coops in and out of woods. Completely breathless, I loved it as much as Bertha did, and I now believe wholeheartedly that, as Tony and Jake said, scenting conditions don't matter a jot for these hounds.
Tony Gammell leading hounds and me
Keswick photographs courtesy of Jake Carle
Me and Bertha the Machine
In full cry!
Let's go!
Moving on
Coop! I had to circle round to stop Bertha jumping it with hounds,
which gave the field a chance to move in front of Jake's lens
Heading for home after one to remember
Last of the Virginia days was the Piedmont, my first behind an American huntsman! Sam and Reg are English, and Tony Irish, so it was a surprise to hear the hounds spoken to in the luscious Southern drawl of Jordan Hicks. He was new to the Piedmont, one of the great Virginia packs, last season, but is settling in happily, overseeing the building of beautiful new kennels and hunting hounds with a relaxed air that belies a keen hunting instinct. Unfortunately, the weather meant it wasn't a vintage day ("you must come back!"), but we were in prime country on the estate belonging to the Mellon family (patriarch Paul Mellon was a noted collector of sporting and English art) and even with most of the foxes tucked away out of the wet, we had a blistering run through woods and up and down dale that just proved how quick these hounds can run. A crossbred pack, with mainly American blood and a dash of old English, they are beautifully level.
Jordan Hicks and whip Michelle St Onge, who provided me with
the fantastically named and biddable Stormy, or Storm the Castle
Michelle, whom I had met last February when she was whipping into
the Live Oak, who were visiting the Mooreland for their hunt week!
The hunting world is a small one
Putting the first (and last) fox to ground
Oh yes. Rolling Virginia fields, hounds, a distant coop and pricked
chestnut ears: you don't get much better than this!
Huntsman Jordan Hicks
This and subsequent Piedmont photos courtesy of Jake Carle
Moving onto the next draw
Me and Stormy!
Returning home with field master Tad Zimmerman MFH
Me and Jordan!
Back in San Francisco, my time was utterly consumed by the editing of the first of the Country Life 'bookazines', glossy magazines compiled from the best of the archives. A huge job, compounded by computer travails that I shall not bore you with here, but after several hideously long days and the sterling efforts of designer Grace Cullen, we finished! The result will be on sale on January 14th...
At last free of computers, I gathered up the ingredients for an English Christmas lunch (bit tricky, as proper joints of gammon are impossible to find and no one's even heard of chipolata sausages), but trusty Marina Meats provided me with a fantastic turkey and my friend Francesca's parents brought proper Christmas puddings out from England. Midnight Mass at Grace Cathedral is the best way to get in the festive mood (especially when preceded by cocktails at the Big 4), and the house looked wonderful. A quiet Christmas Day with crab cakes was followed by an epic lunch on Boxing Day (I have so much respect for my mother making it look easy every year), and then I collapsed! All in all, a wonderful end to the year, so here's to 2016!
Christmas tree!
And one on the piano!
The dining room ready to be laden with food
Me and my wonderful friend Amanda, whose
glorious house is the best possible party venue!
Christmas pudding!
