FELL HUNTING

CHAPTER XVI

LONG years ago in feudal days, the hills and dales of Lakeland resounded to the cry of hounds and the horn of the hunter. In those times the stag was the premier beast of chase, and hunting was regularly indulged in by both clergy and laity. The fox, along with the wild cat, the badger, eagle and raven, was looked upon as vermin and had a price upon his head. The deer, descendants of which are still to be seen in Martindale Forest, were preserved for hunting in certain Chases, the most famous of which was Inglewood. It was customary for tenants to attend their Lord’s hunt once a year, this being known as a “boon hunt.” Each tenant had his allotted station on the boundaries of the chase in order to prevent the deer escaping.

In Martindale Forest, then known as the “Chace of Markendale,” these stations, so Clarke tells us in his “Survey of the Lakes,” were at two places, i.e., Bampkin (Rampsgill) and Bannerdale “where the deer chiefly lye, and where the tenants stand with their dogs to prevent the deer escaping to the mountains.” For his services each tenant received his dinner and a quart of ale. It was also the custom that the first person who seized the hunted deer had the head for his trouble.

As You Like It, iv., 2.

The Hasells of Dalemain kept hounds, and one Edward Hasell, who owned Dalemain from 1794 to 1825 assisted in the capture of the last stag in Inglewood, as well as in the taking of the last stag on Whinfell. The Squires of Dalemain owned the Forest of Martindale where they continued to indulge their love of hunting long after Whinfell and Inglewood were disforested.

By degrees the old order changed, and with the gradual disappearance of the deer, hunters turned their attention to the chase of the hare, mart, and fox. To-day in Lakeland the fox is the premier beast of chase, and five packs of hounds are devoted solely to his pursuit. In the old days hounds were trencher-fed, but now the fell packs are kennelled during the hunting season, hounds going to their various walks in summer.

The Lake District which lies in Cumberland, Westmorland, and part of Lancashire, hardly fits in with one’s preconceived idea of a hunting country, but for all that it provides capital sport for those who are willing to forego riding and take to the hills on foot. From a tourist point of view the district is well-known, and it is hardly necessary therefore to describe it in detail. Suffice it to say that certain of the hills, such as Helvellyn and Scawfell, rise to a height of over 3,000 feet, while many others are well above the 2,000 feet mark. Five packs of hounds, i.e., the Ullswater, Coniston, Blencathra, Eskdale and Ennerdale, and the Melbreak hunt the district, full particulars of which packs will be found in Baily’s Hunting Directory.

The fells proper compose the chief hunting ground though each of the five packs has some low country, where a mounted man who knows his way about can often see something of the sport. It is, however, impossible to ride right up to hounds, so mounted followers who are unfamiliar with the by-roads and bridle tracks are naturally somewhat handicapped. Even in the low ground where in places there are many coverts a man on foot can see a good deal of sport, but to enjoy foot-hunting at its best one should follow hounds on the open fell. Fell hunting affords far more opportunities to the average follower of seeing hound work than he would experience in a riding country. Likewise it is often possible to watch the movements of a hunted fox for a considerable distance.

On the fells proper coverts are conspicuous by their absence and the foxes usually lie far up above the dales. For this reason the old-fashioned method of hunting is still employed, i.e., hounds quest for the drag of a fox which has come down from the hills during the night, and returned to his kennel before day break. Having struck the drag the pack work it out until they approach the spot where their fox is lying, and when he finally jumps up the real business of the day begins. The drag may of course be cold or hot, depending upon the length of time that has elapsed since the fox passed that way, and the condition of the atmosphere. If the fox has run his return journey rather fine hounds may strike his line whilst he is still on foot, and he will then be forced to put his best leg forward. If on the other hand he has been long gone, it may take hounds all their time to own the line, and progress will be slow. A stranger paying his initial visit to one or other of the fell packs will be well advised to follow the huntsman or stick to some local hunter until he gets to know the country and the possible run of the foxes. After his first season he should be able to get about by himself provided he has the bump of locality at all developed. The fell country consists of many deep valleys flanked by towering hills, and the foxes lie in the crags and rough ground near the heads of these valleys. When, therefore, a fox is unkennelled he usually makes his way out to the open fell top, from whence he may visit several other dales. Once a fox is on foot it is generally not long before hounds push him out of his home dale, and though he may return, the chances are that he will not. In order to keep in touch with the pack one must follow on guided by the distant music, or make for some point which may afford a view. On a good scenting day hounds travel at a tremendous pace, so that by the time you reach the fell top your only chance—if you cannot hear them—is to visit some likely earth where they may have run their fox to ground. Here is where local knowledge comes in handy, for unless you are familiar with all the earths or “borrans” you may entirely fail to locate hounds.

As a rule there are a fair number of local hunters scattered about the fells when hounds are out, some of whom are pretty sure to have seen or heard something of the flying pack. If you are with the huntsman and he espies a distant figure he will quite likely awaken the echoes with a stentorian shout of “What wa-a-y?” Anxiously you watch for the tiny figure across the dale to stop. It does so, and a faint cry comes back, “Whoaled!” which being interpreted means “gone to earth.” Round the fell head you then go and arrive at a well-known borran where hounds show plainly that their fox is below, and one or two locals who have arrived before you are discussing the situation. At other times you shout and get no reply, so have to plod on and trust to luck and your own initiative. If you know the country and the weather be tolerable, it often pays to start out early and make an easy ascent of the fell before the hounds leave the kennels. You can then pick a sheltered spot amongst the rocks commanding a good view and await events. If you carry field glasses you can watch everything that goes on below you, and if hounds find you are more than likely to get a good view of the fox. Then when the pack comes in sight running hard you can follow on and being already close to the fell top, you have a good start and should be able to keep in touch. Should the fox pass close by you keep quiet and don’t move, for if hounds are on his line, and you jump up and halloa, you are sure to turn him and cause a check when the pack reaches the spot. Even on an occasion when a halloa at the right moment may do good, always let the fox get well past you first.

On most occasions it pays to climb out to the tops, because once up there you can generally command several dales without travelling very far. Sometimes the people who elect to stay below see more sport than those above, though as a rule the reverse is the case. There are places, however, where a main road runs along the foot of the fell from which one can often view practically the whole of the run. Such a place is the Thirlmere Valley, where a road borders both sides of the lake. An occasional day only, with a fell pack, is apt to prove rather hard work, for unless one is in something like “fettle” hill climbing soon tells a tale. If you hunt fairly regularly you soon get into trim, and the rough going presents no difficulties provided you are suitably shod. Boots should be stout and well nailed to prevent slipping, while the clothing should be fairly thick and warm, in order to resist the exigencies of the weather. As one never quite knows how long the day is going to be it pays to carry a substantial lunch, for the average man cannot travel very far or fast on an empty stomach. People, of course, vary in this respect, but a bite of something in the middle of the day does more good than going without until the return home. There is no pageantry about fell fox-hunting. The huntsman’s coat alone lends a splash of colour to the scene, for the field are clad in a variety of mufti garments, from knickerbockers to fustians. It was the immortal Jorrocks who said, “I never see a man with a pipe in his mouth and a thick stick in his ’and without thinking there goes a chap well mounted for ’arriers.” Had the sporting grocer ever visited the fells, however, he would have found that a pipe and a stick usually accompany the local fox-hunter when he sets out for the meet. The huntsman is assisted by a whipper-in who makes his way out to the fell top, taking with him a hound or two and some terriers. These hounds are usually some of the fastest members of the pack such as will “sharpen” a fox should the whipper-in get a chance to “lowse” them. If there be more than one fox afoot the pack may divide. In this case the whipper-in will follow one lot and the huntsman the other.

Most of the dalesmen, shepherds and quarrymen are keen hunters, and delight in a good fox chase. They are often of the greatest assistance to the huntsman, both during the course of a run and when hounds have put their fox to ground in some strong earth. In the Shires nine-tenths of the field “hunt to ride,” and if you asked the average member to tell you the names of any hounds in the pack he could not do so. On the fells the reverse is the case, for people go out to hunt, and the locals know the names and idiosyncracies of every hound.

In the old days when packs were trencher-fed, each man who walked a hound considered it his privilege to “man on” or “harden on” his own particular charge. Very often this led to some confusion as a favourite name was often given to more than one hound. For instance there might be half-a-dozen Rallys in the pack, and in order to distinguish them each one was known by its colour, such as White Rally, Black Rally, etc.

Though inevitable in these modern days, the passing of the trencher-fed hound is to be regretted. Under the new regime sport has certainly improved, for hounds are now much more evenly conditioned than was possible in their trencher-fed days. Still, want of uniformity in feeding and exercise does not make so much difference as some people imagine, while trencher-fed hounds were wonderfully free from ailments, and they remained as runners-up for many seasons. When farmers and tradesmen walked hounds all the year round—even if they themselves did not hunt—they took a keen interest in the pack, and had its honour and welfare at heart. The democratic interest in sport that existed in the old days was more or less lost when hounds were put in kennel, and the status of the Hunt increased. Hounds had been walked at certain farms from generation to generation, and the various families took a pride in their own particular charge. While we still have farmers’ packs, and in many countries the farmers are still good men to hounds, the old interest has evidently dwindled since newcomers have taken to fox-hunting, a sport which at one time was peculiarly that of the agriculturalist.

In the Lake District much of the old interest remains, for although hounds are kennelled during the hunting season, they are sent out to their various walks in summer. Where packs are kennelled all the year round, unentered puppies only go out to walk. In this case the puppy walker may win a prize at the puppy show, but if he himself does not ride to hounds, he cannot take the same interest in his charge as he would if the hound was returned to him summer after summer.

In the old days after a kill with a trencher-fed pack a bit of fox skin was tied round the neck of any hound which was walked by a family not represented in the field. Sometimes a note was added giving brief particulars of the run. To-day if a fell hound gets away and kills a fox on his own, someone usually sends a wire to the kennels. On the return from hunting trencher-fed hounds dropped out one by one as each passed the point nearest to its home. The fell hounds, after a long run, occasionally return to their summer walks if the latter are nearer than the kennels.

In an ordinary enclosed country the earths are stopped—or at any rate are supposed to be stopped—within the area of the day’s draw. In the fells it is impossible to do this owing to the nature of the ground, for a hunted fox can get in almost anywhere. There are many well-known borrans from which a fox can hardly ever be persuaded to bolt, and others in which it is unsafe for terriers to go. Although the earths are anything but few and far between on the fells, the Master of a Welsh hill pack whose country includes Snowdon, informed us, while having a few days with the fell hounds, that in his district the borrans were quite as big and that they lay much closer together. Certainly parts of Wales are tremendously rough, and although we have never hunted there we can quite imagine the character of its hill-country. Such well known strongholds as Birkfell Earth overlooking Ullswater Lake, High Holes Earth on Harter Fell, Dove Crag borran, and Broad Howe in Troutbeck, have harboured many a fox, and been the scenes of countless underground battles with the terriers. Certain quarry “rubbish heaps,” such as that at Petts’ Quarry on Red Screes, Applethwaite Quarry, and Park Quarry are difficult and dangerous places to work, often more so than a natural earth, as directly the stuff is at all undermined the overhanging material is liable to slip and rush in at any moment.

If an earth is not altogether impregnable and the fox is not too hard run, he may elect to bolt directly the terriers bring pressure to bear. At another time he may pick his position, generally on a ledge, and give battle to the terriers which are forced to meet him face to face. Sometimes he will creep into a crevice or “clink” where the terriers cannot get at him, and if the rock is solid, no amount of work with hammer and bar makes any impression on his stronghold, and the workers are fain to acknowledge themselves beaten. Occasionally, however, if a fox in a crevice is beyond reach, he will come out of his own accord if hounds are taken some distance away, and everybody keeps perfectly quiet. Sometimes, too, but not often, he will get “out of that” if a boulder is sent crashing down across the earth. It is not always the biggest earths which give the most trouble when a fox gets to ground. All the well-known strongholds have been worked time and again, but a fox may elect to creep into what on the surface appears a simple spot, but on close investigation proves practically impregnable. It is seldom possible to unearth a fox without the aid of tools, and as a rule it means a long walk for somebody before the implements can be requisitioned. Most of us who follow the fell packs have at some time or other volunteered to go for tools, but once you have “had some” you don’t exactly relish the idea of repeating the performance. It is an easy enough business jogging down a couple of thousand feet to the nearest farmhouse, armed with nothing but a walking stick, but quite another matter climbing back again with a heavy bar, cowrake, and hammer over your shoulder. Usually someone who has remained at the earth will come to meet you and relieve you of part of your load, though you cannot always reckon on such good nature. It may happen that whilst you are away for tools the fox will elect to bolt and you have had your journey for nothing. On one occasion we went to the nearest farmhouse, luckily not far off, and on our return we were informed that the fox had taken its departure. How it happened was as follows: The pack had divided, one half running a fox to ground, and while the huntsman and some of the field were waiting for tools, the other half of the pack ran their fox close past the earth, and the hounds round the borran joined in the chase. In the excitement the holed fox was temporarily forgotten, until someone happened to see it making off. The hounds had all gone so the fox had a clear field of escape.

If a fox refuses to bolt he generally pays the penalty underground. It may then require much strenuous work ere the carcase is brought to light. If it can be seen but not reached in the ordinary way, a “clickhook” on the end of a stick will generally enable it to be dragged out. Should the carcase be far in, the workers may have to tunnel for a considerable distance. In doing so they often run a good deal of risk, particularly the leader, who may be quite out of sight. When working underground a candle or flash lamp comes in handy.

Occasionally in a big earth the terriers may fail to return, despite strenuous efforts on the part of willing workers to release them. Generally, however, they are safely rescued, though it may take several days of hard work. When forced into the low ground a fox may go to earth in a drain or a rabbit hole, but the majority of hill foxes seek refuge in the rocky borrans which so plentifully bestrew the fell slopes. Just as the terriers run risks underground, so do the hounds often face danger on the crags. Many of the latter such as Dove Crag, Dow Crag, Greenhow End, etc., are desperate looking places, where a slip means death on the rocks far below. When we consider the rocky nature of the fell country, it is surprising how few really serious accidents happen to the hounds in the fell packs.

The fells may be said to carry a good scent during the regular hunting season, but in April and May it is necessary to meet early in the morning before the sun has dispelled the dew. All the fell packs continue to hunt until the middle of May in order to put an end to any foxes which are responsible for lamb-worrying. Never a season passes without certain foxes becoming notorious in this respect.

As may be imagined the exigencies of the weather on the fells have a considerable influence on sport. In April, for instance, while the dale are bathed in warmth and sunshine the high tops may still be in the grip of winter. The weather has to be pretty severe before it stops hunting, but when the snow-filled gullies become frozen and the crags are sheathed in ice, it is time to have a turn in the low country where conditions are less Arctic. In soft snow hounds are often able to run well, and owing to their length of leg they have their fox somewhat at a disadvantage. The average tourist visits the fells in summer, but there are days in winter when the views are equally pleasing, and the air more bracing. Wind and rain can be very trying on the fells at times, particularly in combination. Getting wet is nothing to anyone accustomed to an out-door life, but when the wind is powerful enough to knock you over like a ninepin and you have to lie or fall down and hang on by your eyelids, it becomes rather too much of a good thing. Nor is this an exaggeration, for on many occasions we have been obliged to lie down to avoid being blown over the edge of the fell. The gale stops your breath, and whips you about anyhow, so that it is the greatest relief to reach the shelter of a wall or pile of boulders.

If in summer you follow a wall such as that which leads across the top of the High Street range you will find for a distance of a hundred yards on each side of it pieces of stone which have been blown about during the winter gales. Many of these stones are quite sizeable and give an idea of the power of the wind which carried them. When you are hunting on a windy day you will probably hear people say that the fox will not face the gale on the top. Don’t you believe them, however, for if a fox makes up his mind to reach a certain spot no wind which blows in this country is going to stop him. A wind which will lay a human being flat has little or no effect on a fox, because the latter stands only a few inches above ground and thus offers a small surface for the wind to act on. Wind, in addition to making travelling difficult, obliterates all sound of hounds, and if anything tends to make a man use worse language than a gale on the tops we have yet to hear it. Although wind is bad enough mist is even worse, for when enveloped by it you cannot see more than a few yards in front. Still we have often thought that a quiet misty day is less trying than a clear day with a gale blowing. You can’t see far with your eyes watering, and you can hear nothing for the shriek of the blast, so you are quite as badly off as when the mist swirls round you.

Mist can at times behave in a most vexatious manner. We have, for instance, been on Fairfield when both it and the head of Deepdale were black with mist, whirling and twisting like the steam from a boiling pot, while St. Sunday Crag and all the country beyond, including Helvellyn, were bathed in clear summer sunshine. The most annoying part of the business was that hounds persistently remained in the mist, and it was ages before it lifted and allowed us to locate them. At another time we crossed Fairfield in bright sunshine, only to be enveloped in mist when we climbed Dollywaggon Pike. Such are the vagaries of mist on the high tops in Lakeland. Although the hill foxes chiefly lie in the crags and rough ground far up the fell side, there are places where they resort to coverts as well as to the large patches of juniper, known locally as savins. The larch woods bordering Thirlmere Lake hold foxes and so do such coverts as Lowwood in Hartsop, while the savins in Caiston are a fairly sure find. The visitor who wishes to see a brace or two of foxes killed without walking himself to death, will be advised to arrive on the scene in October. There are then a fair number of well-grown cubs knocking about, which do not run very far but yet provide a lot of sport, most of which can be seen without leaving the low ground. A day in October with the Ullswater about Hartsop will afford the visitor plenty of entertainment.

After a kill with the fell hounds, which do not break up their foxes, the carcase is usually slung on a stick and carried to the nearest inn. It is then transferred from the stick to a crook in the ceiling of the bar-parlour, and sufficient ale is ordered to alleviate the thirst of those who have taken part in the day’s hunt. As the jugs circulate the run is discussed from varying points of view, until someone remarks: “Now then, So-and-so, what about a song?” The person alluded to probably deprecates his ability in that direction, but is at last persuaded, and the house echoes to the chorus of some well-known hunting ditty. In olden times drink played a prominent part in these northern hunts, for potations were deep and a convivial gathering not infrequently extended over a couple of days. Fell hunting certainly engenders a considerable thirst, but a modern sing-song after a kill is brought to an earlier conclusion than was the custom in John Peel’s time.

In local parlance such a gathering is known as a “harvel,” the word being derived from the “arvel-bread” or death loaves which in the old days were distributed at funerals, to be taken home and eaten by those who were unable to attend.

The average meet of a fell pack may perhaps attract a score of people, but not all of them will finish the day. On holidays and festive occasions, however, a field of two or three hundred is not unusual. A Boxing Day meet is always well attended, and at an annual gathering like the Shepherds’ Meet in Mardale, the fell is often “fair black wi’ folk.” Too many people are apt to interfere with sport, and many of the best runs come off when there is only a small field out. On big days there is sure to be a lot of unnecessary noise, for everybody seems to be seized with an irresistible impulse to halloa as soon as ever they catch sight of the fox. The average fox by no means appreciates such attentions, nor is the huntsman too well pleased when his hounds are interfered with. If a man has a sound constitution to begin with, and follows the fell packs regularly, he is likely to live to a good old age, for fresh mountain air and plenty of exercise are the best antidotes for “evil humours.” In that quaint old book “The Master of Game” it says “Yet I will prove to you how hunters live longer than any other men, for as Hippocras the doctor telleth a full repletion of meat slayeth more men than any sword or knife. They eat and drink less than any other men of this world, for in the morning of the assembly they eat a little, and if they eat well at supper they will by the morning have corrected their nature for then they have eaten but little, and their nature will not be prevented from doing her digestion, whereby no wicked humours or superfluities may be engendered. And always when a man is sick, men diet him and give him to drink water made of sugar and tysane and of such things for two or three days to put down evil humours and his superfluities, and also make him void. But for a hunter one need not do so, for he may have no repletion on account of the little meat, and by the travail that he hath. And, supposing that which cannot be, and that he were full of wicked humours, yet men know well that the best way to terminate sickness that can be is to sweat. And when the hunters do their office on horseback or on foot, they sweat often, then if they have any evil in them it must away in the sweating; so that he keep from cold after the heat. Therefore it seemeth to me I have proved enough. Leeches ordain for a sick man little meat, and sweating for the terminating and healing of all things. And since hunters eat little and sweat always, they should live long and in health, and in joy, and after death the health of the soul. And hunters have all these things. Therefore be ye all hunters and ye shall do as wise men. Wherefore I counsel to all manner of folk of what estate or condition that they be, that they love hounds and hunting and the pleasure of hunting beasts of one kind or another, or hawking. For to be idle and to have no pleasure in either hounds or hawks is no good token. For as saith in his book Phoebus, the Earle of Foix, that noble hunter, he saw never a good man that had not pleasure in some of these things, were he ever so great and rich.”

We can look bac—and no doubt many other fell hunters can do likewise—to occasions when we have “eaten little and sweat often” as we toiled across the hills in the wake of the hounds. There is nothing like it for keeping a man in “fettle,” yet in these degenerate days half the young fellows we meet vote fell hunting too hard work. In 1406, when “The Master of Game” was written, foxes were looked upon as vermin, just as they were until a much later date. In the chapter on the fox and his nature, it says, “Men take them with hounds, with greyhounds, with hayes and with purse nets, but he cutteth them with his teeth, as the male of the wolf doth but not so soon (quickly).”

Where much rabbit-snaring goes on foxes occasionally get caught in a wire, and go off with the latter drawn tight on a leg. Subsequently the circulation of the limb ceases and mortification sets in, thus there is another “three-legger” to fall an easy victim next time hounds visit the locality.

Considering the large number of earths available to a hunted fox, one might imagine that the majority of runs would be short. Such, however, is not the case, and it is to the credit of the hill foxes that they often provide long runs, and in a good percentage of cases are fairly rolled over in the open. The longest runs are apt to come off in January and February, when dog foxes are travelling. Once hounds get on to him, one of these customers will make a bee-line back to his own country, and followers will have to exert themselves to be in at the death. In spring, too, a fox may travel a long way in order to worry lambs, often preferring to commit such depredations out of his own country, with the result that the local foxes get blamed for his misdeeds.

When talking of fell hunting John Peel’s name naturally crops up, although that famous Cumbrian Master and Huntsman did not hunt the fells proper, but the country adjoining, in the territory now covered by the Cumberland hunt. John Peel was a plain Cumberland yeoman, who hunted hounds at his own expense for half a century. Seeing that his income was less than four hundred pounds per annum, his establishment must have been managed on a very primitive scale, yet for all that he showed good sport, and his hounds must have been of the right sort in order to kill the stout hill foxes. Although of course famous in his own country Peel was little known beyond it until the song “D’ ye ken John Peel,” became popular. Peel died in 1854, and the spirited verses had little vogue until after that date. A quarter of a century after John Peel was finally “run to earth” in Caldbeck Churchyard, another famous Cumbrian was beginning to make history in the Ullswater country. In 1879 Joe Bowman became huntsman of that well-known fell-pack, and he has carried the horn with one short interval until the present. Like Peel he is the subject of a song, “Joe Bowman,” while he is well-known to a large number of hunting people far beyond the confines of his own country. It is not given to every huntsman to be as good in the kennel as he is in the field, but we can safely say without being accused of undue flattery, that Joe’s knowledge of kennel lore is quite equal to his ability when he is carrying the horn. No man without keenness and a real love of hounds and hunting is going to last long as a huntsman on the fells, so that it is easy to see that Bowman has been the right man in the right place, otherwise he would not have stuck it for over forty years.

A fell huntsman’s life is no bed of roses, for he has to face long days in all weathers, and when the members of his field are perhaps safely at home, having got there by car or cycle, he has to trudge back to kennels on foot, and his hounds have to be fed before he himself can sit down to a well-earned meal. His emolument is not altogether in proportion to the amount of work he has to do, but his own keenness and love of hunting make up to him for that. In summer the huntsman often turns his hand to shepherding and thus keeps himself “fit” for another season. As hunting lasts from October to the middle of May there is only a brief interval of four months and a half. In August there is the annual Hound Show which brings together a representative gathering of hunting folk, so that the time soon slips by, and before you know where you are horn and hounds are again awakening the echoes on the fells.

A few couple of fell hounds generally find their way to one or other of the adjoining Otter Hunts during the summer months. Many of our fell hounds are quite as useful for the chase of the “sly, goose-footed prowler” as they are for hunting fox, and so certain of them are eagerly sought after by Masters of Otter Hounds who know their value. A fell hound can own a drag and swim an otter with the best of the rough otter hounds, and though he may not throw his tongue in quite so deep and sonorous a manner as the true otter hound he suffers less from the effects of the long immersion in water, and kills his otter more quickly than his rough-coated cousin. Rough otter hounds most certainly provide a “band of music,” but you want something more than noise to kill an otter. The rough sort are always inclined to “babble” and dwell on scent, whereas the foxhounds push on, and as you have to find your otter before you can hunt him, the sooner your hounds come to a solid mark or put him down the better. In the old days when Bobby Troughton hunted his famous pack it was customary to get away early in the morning, so as to be sure of striking a warm drag. Although the scent of an otter lies for a long time in damp, shady places, it will, like the scent of the fox, disappear under the drying influence of the sun. The man who makes an early start will find his otter more quickly than he who meets at nine or ten o’clock, and he will kill more otters, and show better sport. People tell you that as many otters are killed nowadays as when it was the custom to meet early, but there are many more otter hound packs than there used to be. Time and again have we heard hounds speak to an occasional touch here and there, and the drag has ended without finding, whereas had hounds been out three or four hours earlier a good hunt would probably have resulted. Autre temps, autre moeurs, however, and nowadays people seem to go in more for the social part of otter hunting than for the sport itself.

Talking of early morning meets the fell packs are often out at day-break in May. Perhaps the pack is kennelled over night at some outlying farmhouse, where a fox or foxes have been interfering with the lambs. At peep o’ day the shepherd takes a walk round the sheep and catches sight of a shadowy figure moving off in the half light. He knows a fox when he sees it, and so at once breaks the stillness of the early morning with a shrill view halloa. Up at the farm the signal is heard and the huntsman promptly throws open the door of the hounds’ temporary kennel. Out they surge and fly across the dew-laden grass in the direction of the sound, the meaning of which they know so well. Down go their noses, a hound speaks, then another, and with a crash of music they are away with a screaming scent, rattling along in the wake of their fox. If the latter has fed not wisely but too well he will be unable to stand the steady pressure of the pursuit, and after trying all he knows to gain a lead, will seek refuge underground. He will gain short respite there, however, for a lamb worrier is a criminal, and he will have to get “out of that” or die in the midst of a subterranean melée. If the subsequent unearthing operations offer no difficulties, hounds may be back at kennels before most folk are out of their beds, though on some occasions the best part of the day may pass before the carcase of the “thief o’ the world” is brought to light.

There is a charm about these early morning hunts that the “lie abeds” know nothing of. As you leave home the air is still and cool, and the dew lies heavily upon the grass. The birds are singing as if they would burst their throats, and there are rabbits hopping about where you would never dream of seeing them later in the day. Everything has a feeling of freshness, and the clean scent of the earth seems to permeate the air. Feeble as are our own olfactory organs as compared with those of a hound, an early morning walk will convince anybody that the various scents of a countryside are more apparent before the sun rises than after. It must be obvious, therefore, than an early morning meet is an advantage to hounds, and must result in a quicker find, and better sport. The work is less tiring, too, to both men and hounds, for after sunrise the air becomes close and hot, and although as “The Master of Game” tells us, “hunters eat little and sweat always,” perspiring up a steep fell breast on a warm spring morning is not exactly an enticing job. Any animal passing through the dew soaked grass in the fields leaves a plain trail behind it, and we have more than once seen the broad furrow made by an otter in the long grass, showing where Lutra had cut across a bend of the river. When you see this hounds can run the drag like smoke, and yet folks tell you that there is no advantage to be gained by foregoing the late “love and lunch” business and substituting for it an early meet.

Turning to the more sordid side of fell-hunting, i.e., the expense, which in these days of strikes and heavy taxation has to be considered by everyone who is not a profiteer, a man who is content to turn out on foot, and who really loves hounds and hound work, can hunt more cheaply in Lakeland than in any other country with which we are acquainted. The Hunt expenses are a drop in the ocean as compared with the huge sums expended in the fashionable Hunts, and subscriptions are within the reach of the poor man’s pocket. There are many worse hunting countries than Lakeland despite its rugged nature, for the foxes are wild, the hounds adapted to their work, and the sport has no taint of artificiality about it. Nor is sport interfered with by railways, motors, or unmanageable crowds, such as greet the eye in a fashionable country. The country is little different to-day to what it was in John Peel’s time, and from a fox-hunting point of view, long may it remain so.