Tuesday, March 01, 2005
In the field
The image of the Hunt Saboteurs Association has, in recent years, become somewhat tarnished; 'crusty' protesters clash with riders, accusations of cruelty to animals and violence towards people abound; it was not always like that.
When I was a 'Sab' in th elate 70's and early 80's we did it a little more subtly; we had a long wheelbase Land Rover rigged out with spraying equipment for the purpose of squirting 'special'- a mixture of water, aniseed and citronella oils; a totally harmless, natural mixture which covers the scent of the Fox. Using the Land Rover and hand plant sprayers, we would go out early in the morning, and working on the location of the meet, and of 2nd horses, we would attempt to spray all the likely coverts that the whipper-in would be likely to put the pack into. After spraying as much as we could, we would then attend the meet. Dressed 'incognito' in tweeds, flat caps and green wellies, we would blend in with the bloodthirsty and continue our work to scupper their plans for killing that day.
The hounds are routinely starved for 24 to 48 hours before a hunt, so we would have the pockets of our tweed jackets laden with dog biscuits which we would slip to the grateful hounds. Also in every good sab's pocket was a rag, soaked in 'special';we would rub our hands in the scented mixture, then pet as many hounds as possible, all around the nose, in order to confuse their sense of smell.
One particular day, I thought my worst nightmare; a kill, would be played out before my eyes: The meet had been held at a farm on the side of a hill, whilst the riders took the stirrup cup, we did our stuff, feeding the pack. They moved off and put into a long covert which ran down the hill, we stood with foot supporters awaiting developments. A rider, late for the meet, had trotted up, enquiring as to the direction in which the hunt had headed.
Suddenly the air was filled with an unearthly, chilling sound; the pack in full cry. To this day, the thought of that sound makes me go cold. The sound of the baying hounds echoed along the hillside; the pack had split! By sheer chance; 3 foxes had been put up at once, the whipper-in had lost control of the pack and the hounds were running uncontrolled. We could hear the futile efforts of the whippers-in trying to gather the pack and contol it, but to no avail. Suddenly, in full view of the supporters, the late rider and my fellow Sab, Nigel and I, trotting out of the wood came a beautiful vixen. I grabbed Nigels arm and hissed, "What are we going to do? If the pack comes after her, I can't stand here and let them kill her!" "Just wait" he replied. Trembling, we waited; the supporters were visibly bothered, presumably they also did not relish the climax of their 'sport' being carried out before their eyes. As we stood there, the little Fox came trotting towards us, no hounds followed her. She continued coming towards us, stopped and checked us, and then proceeded straight on through a field of ewes and their lambs, neither animal gave the others a second glance. Seconds later, a few couple of hounds came out of the covert and milled around aimlessly, I heard the 'gone away' blown on a hunting horn, and I heaved a huge sigh of relief.
Whilst I am aware that Foxes have to be controlled; hunting them with hounds on horseback has never been an effective method of control, and witnessing that piece of total incompetence on the part of the hunt 'staff' only served to illustrate my belief.
Copyright J.L.Rushin 2005
When I was a 'Sab' in th elate 70's and early 80's we did it a little more subtly; we had a long wheelbase Land Rover rigged out with spraying equipment for the purpose of squirting 'special'- a mixture of water, aniseed and citronella oils; a totally harmless, natural mixture which covers the scent of the Fox. Using the Land Rover and hand plant sprayers, we would go out early in the morning, and working on the location of the meet, and of 2nd horses, we would attempt to spray all the likely coverts that the whipper-in would be likely to put the pack into. After spraying as much as we could, we would then attend the meet. Dressed 'incognito' in tweeds, flat caps and green wellies, we would blend in with the bloodthirsty and continue our work to scupper their plans for killing that day.
The hounds are routinely starved for 24 to 48 hours before a hunt, so we would have the pockets of our tweed jackets laden with dog biscuits which we would slip to the grateful hounds. Also in every good sab's pocket was a rag, soaked in 'special';we would rub our hands in the scented mixture, then pet as many hounds as possible, all around the nose, in order to confuse their sense of smell.
One particular day, I thought my worst nightmare; a kill, would be played out before my eyes: The meet had been held at a farm on the side of a hill, whilst the riders took the stirrup cup, we did our stuff, feeding the pack. They moved off and put into a long covert which ran down the hill, we stood with foot supporters awaiting developments. A rider, late for the meet, had trotted up, enquiring as to the direction in which the hunt had headed.
Suddenly the air was filled with an unearthly, chilling sound; the pack in full cry. To this day, the thought of that sound makes me go cold. The sound of the baying hounds echoed along the hillside; the pack had split! By sheer chance; 3 foxes had been put up at once, the whipper-in had lost control of the pack and the hounds were running uncontrolled. We could hear the futile efforts of the whippers-in trying to gather the pack and contol it, but to no avail. Suddenly, in full view of the supporters, the late rider and my fellow Sab, Nigel and I, trotting out of the wood came a beautiful vixen. I grabbed Nigels arm and hissed, "What are we going to do? If the pack comes after her, I can't stand here and let them kill her!" "Just wait" he replied. Trembling, we waited; the supporters were visibly bothered, presumably they also did not relish the climax of their 'sport' being carried out before their eyes. As we stood there, the little Fox came trotting towards us, no hounds followed her. She continued coming towards us, stopped and checked us, and then proceeded straight on through a field of ewes and their lambs, neither animal gave the others a second glance. Seconds later, a few couple of hounds came out of the covert and milled around aimlessly, I heard the 'gone away' blown on a hunting horn, and I heaved a huge sigh of relief.
Whilst I am aware that Foxes have to be controlled; hunting them with hounds on horseback has never been an effective method of control, and witnessing that piece of total incompetence on the part of the hunt 'staff' only served to illustrate my belief.
Copyright J.L.Rushin 2005
# posted by Dirty Gertie @ 8:15 pm 
