Despite one of the worst scenting days,
the Taunton Vale provides one of the
most welcoming opening meets
IF any pack of foxhounds can
make a silk purse out of a sow’s
ear, it’s the Taunton Vale. Despite
one of the worst scenting days I
have ever experienced, this pack’s
joie de vivre kept the ball rolling
from beginning to end.
Bright sunshine made for a
fine opening meet but scant scent.
We were generously entertained
at Jordans — just of the A303
roundabout at Ilminster in
Somerset — by Christopher
and Caroline Speke. The house
was demolished in 1964 but the
family’s legacy was assured by
John Hanning Speke’s discovery,
in 1858, of the source of the Nile:
Lake Victoria in Uganda.
Nigh on 60 horses made for
an impressive sight in beautiful
parkland. Almost lost below the
tideline was the future of our
sport. It was the first day for
three-year old Poppy Young, mute
with excitement, out on a pony
which, in its 32 years, had seen
more sport than all the hunters
snorting and prancing around it.
Poppy’s mother Lucy, a well-
known thruster, was bursting with
pride as seven-year-old son Archie
watched over his sister.
Another making his debut
and ensuring this was the third
generation of Alers-Hankey
to grace the hunting field was
Arthur. At seven years old, Arthur
was a little more willing to share
his thoughts on the day ahead.
Uppermost was the concern his
pony might be too tired for twin
brother Tristan to enjoy a day
with the Tiverton foxhounds the
following day.
I have a feeling father Dom
was praying there were no
unintentional dismounts to
dirty great-great-uncle General
Sir Kenneth Darling’s riding
clothes — tailored in 1911 but
modelled with tremendous
flourish by Arthur on his first
foray into the hunting field.
Unfortunately, Guy Landau,
joint-master and amateur
huntsman for the past four
seasons, was giving a reading
at the funeral of David Barker,
former international showjumper
and huntsman of the Meynell and
South Stafordshire. Kennel-
huntsman Dan Hammett was
therefore carrying the horn here
for the first full day’s sport.
Ben Lowe, stationed here last
season but now hunting hounds at
the South Tetcott, returned for the
day to help out alongside amateur
whipper-in Charles Pearce.
FICKLE SCENT
IT was obvious hounds and Dan
had a wonderful rapport but,
once on the move, it was clear
the pack were in for a trying day.
Excellent teamwork between the
mastership and hunt staf ensured
those following crossed the vale in
some style.
Today, even on breast-high
scent, this would not be the easiest
of countries to hunt. The days of
vale carpeted in unending old turf
are glorious memories. A strong
trade for protein-based feed,
driven by the rapidly expanding
aluent Chinese population,
continues to push livestock
farming to the less fertile fringes
of our landscape.
So, in this country where fields
tend to be smaller than countries
such as the Wynnstay, hounds
hunt a fickle scent hinging on an
ever-changing variety of crops
historically found on vast
arable estates.
Throw into the mix pockets
of woodland, which thankfully
still have a foothold here — as
well as this vale’s notorious
rhynes and ditches swaddled in
blackthorn hedges — and you
know a huntsman has to be on the
ball and use every tool in his box
of venery to help hounds provide
uninterrupted sport.
It’s common practice here
to jink between flying a hedge
to clearing rails and gates or
scrambling over or through the
type of Irish ditches often viewed
by adrenalin junkies on Facebook
videos, and then ducking and
weaving through small copses.
Your horse’s brain needs to be
sharp enough to allow it to change
tack quickly on landing if you are
to keep with Hedley Webb, our
field master.
A GRAND JOB
HE did a grand job keeping the
adrenalin flowing all day. The
field was in constant contact with
hounds and we barely touched
tarmac. Hats of to David Lowes,
Dom Schneiders, the Clarkson
family and Graham Pellow, who
have volunteered and helped
the mastership and hunt staf
continue to open up the country.
This summer, there has been a
huge drive to put in yet more hunt
jumps and trim back some of the
more imposing hedges to allow
as many as possible to cross hunt
country in proper fashion.
Not long after we left the meet,
there were a couple of horrendous
falls. The first was Simon Oliver,
former master of the VWH. His
horse fell into a badger sett on
a headland and did a complete
somersault with Simon. It was
terrifying for his wife Emma to
watch. Countryman Tom Leary
took a slightly confused Simon
to his box on the quad bike while
Charlotte Rowe rode back Simon’s
horse — plastered in mud but
seemingly unscathed.
As 17-year old Annabel
Duman’s pony spun yet
again towards a hunt jump
and straightened itself just a
stride away, Mark Ansell and
I commented on what a good
jockey she was and how she would
flourish under the experienced eye
of point-to-point trainers Ed and
Polly Walker, where she has just
started working.