Hound music ringing out across country that we have not visited for years.

There was a certain amount of discussion about the last time we visited some of the coverts where hounds worked so well on the trails today. Calculations were based on strange scales :

"It would have been in Bartlett's day."
"No, mother visited and had half a day in the Land Rover so "H" must have been about 14 and it's her birthday tomorrow that must be about 22 years ago."
"It matters not - just jolly well done to the Masters for re-opening the country and thank you to the farmers and landowners for allowing us back."

The meet, which has been regular feature for many years, was well lubricated with slow gin and a generous supply of snacks with which to soak it up. Many, many thanks to our hosts.

With several new faces, again, the riders mounted, suitably fortified and set off to watch hounds work. The first few trails defied the hounds but as the day wore on they went splendidly.

At the end of the day the mounted field had shrunk slightly but those that remained, including one who had followed for the second half of the day in her truck due to a lost shoe, enjoyed a selection of homemade cakes, coffee whitened with what the Staghunters of Exmoor call "stuff" and the weary happiness of recalling the highlights of their day.

In The New Sporting Magazine a meet is noted from the self-same spot on 25th February 1833 when they had "a ringing run of one hour and five minutes".

The Stern

Who will now eat this week?

Who seems to be anxious not to have their hands photographed at the meet?

Who apparently bakes so much that they add barcodes to the wrapping of their cakes?

Who was chauffeured to the meet? (Good to see you out again "J"). 

Photographs

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