A-Hunting I Did Go, Part 2

I had a great time when I attended Blessing of the Hounds, and was thrilled to see actual hunters in person for the first time, but I still thought there was no way *I* was ever going to be able to actually do it. Yes, some of our school horses could be leased, but I wasn't a member of the Club and certainly didn't have the wherewithal to become one.

So imagine my shock and delight when I showed up at the barn one day for my weekly lesson to find a notice tacked on the board, titled "IFS Day at the Hunt." What??? It sounded a lot like students were invited to go out with the hunt, upon paying a lease fee. I literally couldn't believe it, and figured there had to be a catch. Trying to act cool and collected, I asked my trainer about "the rules." Would I really be allowed? Yes, she said, you are - but you can't jump, and you have to have the right clothes. Since she'd never seen me wear anything to ride except paddocks, half-chaps, pull-on jods and random cooler/warmer top dressing, she clearly thought this would stop me from being able to go.

Hah - little did she know. I was so determined to participate in this event I would have begged, borrowed or stolen anything I needed, including the lease fee. Fortunately my mother came through with the latter as a birthday present. I took stock of what else I had: Nice helmet-check. (Kind of) tall boots-check. Beige breeches-check. Show shirt-no. Stock tie-no. Jacket....no. Uh-oh. The latter was definitely going to be a stumbling block, because a) a decent one is fairly expensive, especially on my budget, and b) I knew I would be hard to fit. Equestrians are just not supposed to be busty, you know. 

At this point I had an incredible piece of luck. My local farm and garden store, which sells horse feed, hay, grooming/care supplies and a little bit of tack, at that time carried some riding clothes as well. They had not done well with the latter venture, particularly with the English clothes (there's a good, exclusively English tack shop in our area). Virtually the same week I found out about the hunting opportunity, they decided to cut their losses and mark everything down 50%. Thus I was able to pick up a brand-new wool blend navy pinstripe show coat for $75. I had to get a ridiculously huge size to accommodate the girls, but it fit fairly well in the shoulders and I figured a tailor could take in the 10" of excess fabric at the waist.

I found out that correct attire at this event actually wasn't a stock tie, but a button-down shirt and tie. No problem there! I was on my way. I soaped and conditioned my saddle and boots, brushed my helmet, laundered my good faux-sheepskin pad and generally made everything spiffy.

I trotted off to a tailor with the jacket and emerged with a more or less satisfactorily taken-in garment. I think the lady truly didn't understand it was for riding, not for street wear, so the waist was still several inches too wide. (This roominess actually came in handy later on, as you'll see) One last thing I added in a pocket was my husband's silver flask, which contained - I'm not lying - water. Plain 'ole H2O, that was my stirrup cup of choice. I get tremendously thirsty riding and didn't want to keel over from dehydration on an unseasonably-warm day! 

The end result of all this effort can be seen here.

The giant smile and tears glistening in my eyes were free. :-) Yes, dear readers, I went hunting. I think I existed on a different plane that day since I just couldn't believe I was really doing it. My family came out for the grand send-off and took pictures of me grinning like a fool, thank goodness. My mount was a little Arabian gal, believe it or not: yes, the only one in our barn, and a delightful ride (I've mentioned her in another post). She was good as gold all day, excited and "up" but nothing I couldn't handle, sure of foot and well-behaved around the other horses and dogs.

As for the hunting itself - well, that was interesting. Basically, it was a very fast trail ride! We went through the woods, up and down hills and across creeks. At one point we long-trotted down a road for a half mile or so. There were very few jumps, so I didn't miss much in that department. I never saw Renaud, and the dogs may not have either, but as with the other we had a good time looking! 

The following year, the Hunt decided to allow IFS students to come again for the day. This time attire had to be more formal, and fortunately I was able to borrow my friend's shirt and stock tie and canary vest. It was much colder out that day and I appreciated the extra layer, along with the fact that I didn't feel like a sausage due to my over-sized coat.*

The second time I went I had to be at the hunt barn, where the school horses had been brought the night before, early in the morning (6:30, if I recall correctly). Now, make no mistake, I am most emphatically not a morning person but THAT day I got my butt out of bed in plenty of time! One thing I remember is as I was driving down my street in the pitch dark, a beautiful, huge, light-colored owl flew right in front of my windshield. I'm sure it was our neighborhood barred owl, who I'd identified by imitating his call to a MO Conservation agent (yes, my kids were mortified). This is still the only time I've ever seen him and I'm glad it was on such a special morning.

I rode the same little mare again and we had a wonderful time. My only regret from this outing is that virtually everyone in the field, including some of my fellow students, hopped over a log that lay at the edge of the meadow where we were finishing up. It was not very big - maybe 2'6", if that - and I knew Miss Arab and I were perfectly capable of jumping it. I would have too, except the BO's daughter happened to be right by me and told me not to. Drat. I can still see that log and if I'd known I wasn't going to hunt again for the foreseeable future I might have ignored her... (probably not, I'm a hopeless rules-follower and hate "getting in trouble." And what if I broke the horse? Eeek.)

That's us in the background of this photo. This was typical - trotting through the woods. I have a very serious look on my face! Although, you probably can't see it because the photo is sideways... I'm sorry. It came into my phone that way and I fixed it. It came into the computer that way and I fixed it. It showed up in the "photo choice" area here correctly, but when I import it, it's sideways. I GIVE UP!

Sadly, the hunting opportunity was not offered again while I was still riding at that barn. I don't know if it was a liability issue or what (though I did sign a release both times). A couple years later the Hunt sold its home property to Billy Busch for his polo establishment and moved operations about 25 miles further west. While still "rural," their old country is getting more and more developed, so this made sense. Nonetheless, I was very sorry to see them go from the area.

So there you have it - a dream fulfilled not once, but twice. I still think I'm extremely lucky to have done it at all!

*It has not escaped my attention that a current trend in riding jackets appears to be the uber close-fitted, tech fabric "Euro coats," which do have an (I think) slightly unfortunate way of making all but the most slender of riders resemble well-heeled sausages. No, thanks. :-)

A-Hunting I Did Go - Part 1

How many times in your life have you gotten to do something you'd always dreamed of, and/or thought you would never be able to do?

Growing up, foxhunting was something "other" English-riding equestrians did, those with their own horses and money and connections. I was aware of the existence of a hunt in our area of New Jersey (Monmouth County Hunt) but never saw it and didn't know anybody who belonged. Certainly no one in my equestrian circles, at any rate. Even a girl I was acquainted with who had a pretty fancy pony, showed a lot and did Pony Club never rode out with the hunt.

Foxhunting, to me, has always seemed like the epitome of H/J participation. It's the whole POINT, after all, of hunters (or used to be). I like the tradition, the elegance, the clothes, the whole bit. I also adore pictures of the sport and have collected a number of hunting prints that hang around the house, as inspiration and decoration.

Over the fireplace - there are two smaller prints from this series in my bedroom as well.

Dining room. This one was a gift from an old BF, and I've never really liked it, but it IS nicely framed!

Print on top was a gift from MIL. Bottom one I "made:" I cut the sides off a gift bag, found two frames in a junk store and had the mats cut at Michael's. Put it all together and voila, nice hunting prints. The wallpaper was already up in the powder room when we bought the house, and fact that my decorative items matched was a big plus. This room is "all-horsey" and deserves a post of its own!

When I started lessons at my second-to-last barn I became aware that some of the boarders, along with the BO, were members of the Bridlespur Hunt, our local and very venerable institution. Even the gal I befriended first at the barn was a member; she'd joined about a year earlier, but having tragically lost her own mare she was temporarily grounded. As we became friendlier I started hearing more about the Hunt Club. I learned there were different levels of membership, that not everybody who rode was an "expert," and that people sometimes leased horses to go out.

I suddenly found myself invited to something called "Blessing of the Hounds." About all I heard in advance was Friend would be riding a leased horse from the barn, it was fine to show up on foot and observe, I could hang out with her husband while she was off doing the actual hunting, and there would be brunch afterwards. There was a fee for the brunch but Friend was covering it. I set my alarm for very early in the morning and laid out what I fervently hoped would be a suitable outfit. What does one wear to watch a hunt?

Slightly dilapidated print of me, by the hound kennel. It was pretty funny when the barn owner failed to recognize me, cleaned up and in civilian togs!

I still chuckle when I think of this outfit because while yes, I was appropriately dressed, I made the mistake of wearing those nice khakis and brand-new paddock boots. The former were quickly muddy khakis and the latter were broken in emergency-style when I found myself walking about two miles behind Basset Hounds... but I'm getting ahead of the story.

I pulled into the Hunt's home grounds and was immediately blown away by the pageantry. OMG - LOOK - wow, they really do wear red scarlet Pinke coats! There were hounds milling about and talking, horns blowing, horses dancing and prancing in anticipation and in the midst of the melee, a black-garbed cleric of some type ready to recite a suitable lesson. All of the horses were braided and gleaming, and all the riders beautifully turned out (I later learned that BotH is one of the fanciest-dress days of the hunt season and the horses aren't normally braided). There was even a lady with a face-netted top hat. I found my friend, properly attired in black coat, white stock tie, canary vest and polished boots, but she was pretty busy trying to keep our usually staid lesson horse four-on-the-floor.

The blessing was eventually read and the hunt departed, not cross-country but in single file onto a trail leading into the woods. Okay, that part didn't look much like my hunting prints, but whatever - not as much open countryside with convenient hedges and bushes as in Merry Olde England. Next thing I knew Friend's husband and I were invited to go along with the "Basseting" group. Huh? This turned out to be following a pack of the low-slung dogs wrangled by a nice lady, ostensibly trying to hunt down and flush hapless rabbits. Having nothing else to do at the moment, this seemed fine, so off we went. And walked... and walked... and walked. Basseting was a lot of exercise! Let me hasten to add that *NO BUNNIES WERE HARMED* on this excursion, which was also fine with me.

The mounted crew eventually returned after about an hour and a half, horses and riders breathless and steaming. I don't think a fox was ever sighted but everyone seemed to have had a good time looking. My friend also didn't jump at all, which is how I found out about "hilltopping." Ah, there really is a way for beginners to enjoy going out with a hunt! Interesting...

Member of the Bridlespur Hunt, 2011 season. This is typical Missouri hunt country.

After the horses were untacked, cooled down and left to enjoy hay nets, we repaired to the Club House for the brunch, which by then (as you can imagine) I was more than ready to enjoy. I felt a bit out of my element but my friend is very social and wheeled me around introducing me to all and sundry, so I didn't have time to feel out of place. People were almost universally friendly and welcoming so it went just fine. I was particularly impressed with the Grande Dame of the affair, a wonderful lady in her late eighties who was still riding. I also had a good time looking at the decorations in the Club House. These ranged from faded B/W photos of earlier masters (mostly named Busch) and a stuffed fox to gorgeous old trophies. It was NOT a fancy establishment, by any means; just an old house, with wooden floors scarred by years of boots and spurs, tatty chairs well-covered in horse and dog hair and a cozy atmosphere. I liked it a lot.

By the time this was all over, I was exhausted from a combination of nerves, cold air and a lot of hiking. My friend had to stick around but her husband was ready to go, too, so I volunteered to drive him home as we lived very close to each other. Friend's Hubby and I promptly proceeded to take the wrong turn out of the Hunt Club lane and wander around the back roads of greater southern St. Charles County for the next 45 minutes (neither of us had lived in the area very long). That was the most embarrassing part of the day, so really, I got off pretty easy!

Next installment: I Get To RIDE!