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My
Latest Foxhunting Adventure: A
Cowboy in County Clare
By
Barbara Smith
I
had the great fortune recently to go hunting in County Clare, Ireland, with a
group of fellow foxhunters from the western United States. Lynn Lloyd and
Angela Murray, joint masters of Red Rock Hounds in Reno, Nevada were
celebrating Lynn’s birthday with a trip to Ireland that their friends, Renee
and Kail Mantle, from Big Sky Hounds in Three Forks, Montana, had been planning
since last June. As well as
members of these two hunts, they had rounded up foxhunters from Mission Valley
Hunt Club, in Kansas, Bonnie Becker from Massbach Hounds in Illinois, some
friends from Las Vegas and myself from Marlborough and Bull Run Hunt in
Virginia. There were 24 of us ready to hunt over the stonewalls, hedges and
banks of Western Ireland with three different hunts and other than Lynn and
myself, it was the first time for the rest of them.
I
had met Renee and Kail Mantle last year at Red Rock for the MFHA Pacific
District meet. Kail had given us a bucking horse lesson one day before hunting
and this Montana cowboy, who hunts in chaps and cowboy hat, had sat calmly to
his horse bucking crazily above the sagebrush and had seriously impressed me.
When they invited me to come to Ireland, I jumped at the chance. These were fun people; more than a
little crazy and I wondered if anyone had warned the Irish! I also wondered if
they knew what they were getting into, as I had hunted the big Irish walls and
hedges in 2000. I came home with newfound respect for any one who hunts
regularly in Ireland. It is challenging country and their version of foxhunting
is an excuse to run and jump really big fences.
Renee
Mantle had done an excellent job planning this trip with great care to the
smallest detail. We stayed in a
beautiful private estate, named Ceaparana, (www.ceaparana.com) in Puckuan, County Tipperary. I highly recommend this lovely home,
which had at least 8 bedrooms and baths and was centrally located for the three
different hunts, County Roscommon Hunt, the East Clare Harriers and the North
Tipperary Hunt. Renee had contacted Oliver Walsh of Flowerhill Equestrian
Centre in Ballinasloe, Co. Galway (www.flowerhill.net) to set up the horse livery
for all 24 of us, for all 5 days of riding. He promised us great horses and managed to deliver on that
promise. Oliver is also the huntsman for the County Roscommon Hunt. A tall, white-haired, charismatic Irish
gentleman with an ease about himself that sets everyone else at ease also. To
manage to arrive at a hunt with 20 livery horses and new riders 4 days in a row
and hunt hounds as well, was a remarkable achievement. He has excellent help
and his assistant, Keely, was a charming young woman who took great care of all
of us. The horses were wonderful and I thought between them and Renee’
suggestions, they paired us all up with suitable mounts.
After
one day to relax, recover and go sightseeing, on Friday morning we went to the Flowerhill
Equestrian Centre, which also offers eventing and cross country training, to
meet our horses and go for a trail ride. This was to give a few of the members
of the group a chance to jump in a more controlled environment. He had set up
small gymnastic jumping courses and everyone had a great time following his
lead through some water obstacles, some streams and over the jumps. He grinned,
offered simple advice like, “not too fast”, and then deemed everyone ready. He had set up an extra hunt for us with
his hunt, County Roscommon, on Saturday, and then we would go with them again
on their regular Sunday hunt.
But
before hunting we were going Friday night to the County Roscommon Hunt Ball.
Held at the Abbey Hotel in Roscommon, we planned to spend the night and hunt
the next day from here. We had brought our evening dresses and tuxes and we
were treated to a grand evening of dinner and dancing. It was very similar to
our own hunt balls, though I wondered what some of our Irish hosts thought of
this happy group of Americans that had descended on them. Oliver said we were
the largest group he had ever had and we took over two long tables at the Ball.
We started dancing early and, I heard, stayed to the very end! The evening
wrapped up about 3 am with a rendition of the Irish National Anthem to which
several Americans cheerily sang along!
We
met the next morning at the local pub where we tried the hot port or hot
whiskey as we waited for Oliver and the horses to arrive. In my experience all
hunts in Ireland start at the pub and end in the pub! This was no exception and
after two or three hot ports, the lorries arrived and we were off. Trotting
through the town of Roscommon and down the highway, we turned off after several
miles and watched as Oliver sent the hounds into the covert. Here the coverts are hedges and walls
that separate the beautiful green fields and farms. We headed over the first of many rock walls and I glanced
back, hoping the group was all together.
There were a couple of loose horses and Oliver’s assistants were
terrific at catching horses, reuniting them with riders and offering
encouragement. Our group of Western riders were game for it all and quickly
learned to just follow the horse in front and “kick on”. Some were able to find a more
conservative route in the days that followed but most of us were jumping the
walls and hedges in fine Irish form.
Kail
Mantle from Montana was a natural and I guess a “bronc” rider who learns to
throw his arm to counter balance a buck can do the same over 4 foot walls.
Riding long, in his jeans and cowboy boots, with his foot all the way ‘”home”
in the stirrup, Kail was right behind me over the biggest fences and by the
third day was quietly heard to say, “This is kinda fun”! He was always looking
out for the more timid rider and was the first to take charge of anybody who
was over faced by a jump. He encouraged and took care of the whole group. I
think he was also impressed by some of the wild Irish and their jumping
abilities. Another natural who was a complete newcomer to the art of Irish
hunting was Kurt Griffiths, the husband of Marie Griffiths, the joint master
from Big Sky. Long and lanky, he sat relaxed on his big Irish Sport horse,
“Celtic Man, a 17.2 hand chestnut with a big, roman nosed handsome head. They
suited each other to a tee and Kurt just followed Celtic Man’s lead over
everything.
The
Irish like to lark a bit and would look for the biggest hedges and walls to
school their steeplechasers over, whenever there was a lull in the hunting. I
followed over several before realizing it was optional and decided that caution
was sometimes a better idea. Lynn Lloyd and I agreed that with a certain age
comes the desire to last for another day and to chose the gentler approach!
Neither of us came a cropper much to our quiet delight.
That
first day our huntsman Oliver Walsh, took a path very close to the nearby lake,
to perhaps avoid a few big walls. Well, it turned into a scene from “Misty of
Chincoteague”, as the farmer’s herd of Irish ponies happily jumped out of their
pasture and followed the hunt. They proceeded to swim across the lake to an island
and we all watched entranced. The
only drawback was our horses were standing about chest deep in cold lake water
as the field master looked to find a way out from this path along the
edge. We then noticed a saddled
horse swimming loose and realized the joint field master had come off in the
water. Later we were to hear that this game woman had been asked by Oliver, “Since
she was already in the water, could she take a few stones off the wall so we
can get out!” I am sure the words spoken
back at Oliver were as blue as she was from the cold as she sloshed out of the
lake. Kail had seen the danger and joined by our field master Anthony, who had
gone back to rescue his son on a small pony, found a way out through a gate,
over two big walls and caught up in a few moments. The hounds had teetered and
tottered along the rock wall trying to avoid going swimming themselves. The day ended with hot toddies and
sandwiches offered by the landowner as we gathered in his front yard. Everyone
was grinning and laughing about our adventure and greeting some old friends.
Sunday
morning we headed north again to meet Oliver and his horses for another day
with the County Roscommon hunt. This was a larger group of foxhunters and as I
listened to the talk in the pub, I realized that Oliver Walsh was a very
respected huntsman and people came from far away to hunt with him. He had
apparently resurrected the County Roscommon Hunt after several years of no
hunting and I met foxhunters from as far as Wicklow on the East coast who drove
three hours every Sunday to hunt. I was introduced to several members of the
Galway Blazers who regularly hunted here also. I ran into Johnny Geoghegan, a
renowned Galway horseman, who had leased us our horses last time I was in
Ireland in 2000. He happily followed Oliver and was one of the crazy Irish looking
for the biggest hedge or wall to jump.
There
were lots of these to jump and it was rockier than the previous day. I turned
to snap a picture after one jump and was surprised to see a friend’s riderless
horse coming on. Sara Tharp of Montana remembered landing over the wall, but
then the next memory she laughingly recalled was of a large Irish gentleman
asking if she could get up. Clutching a dislocated shoulder she said, “ No, she
didn’t think so.” He replied, “Well, you can’t stay here, [they’ll jump on
you], so you better get up!” And he unceremoniously hauled her up. Our only
real riding casualty, Sara followed the next hunts with the professional photographers,
Val and Stephanie Westover. (They have produced a beautiful museum quality
album of our hunting trip available at www.valwestoverphotography.com). Unfortunately, Oliver also had a fall that
day and shortly thereafter we came in, calling it a day.
Monday
was another day to tour some of the Irish countryside. My group visited
Clonmacnoise, a 8th Century monastery that had been the home of St.
Ciaran, a beloved Irish Saint. After walking among the ancient tombstones, we
spent the afternoon drinking Irish coffees with a Mr. Oliver Darcy in his
family’s grocery store and pub in the tiny nearby village. On the drive home we found the DuBarry
factory where several of us found great boots and coats at discount prices.
Tuesday
we drove west around Lough (Lake) Derg to hunt with the East Clare Harriers.
After one day of rest, most of us were reunited with our same horses and they
were fit and ready to go. Trusting our mounts at this point, some of us were
game to try to bigger walls and hedges. One trappy hedge had a big drop on the
far side and I was happy to land in one piece, on my horse! Looking back I
laughed to realize I was the only American to have tried this one. There had
also been some banks and ditches at this point and only the daring Irish had
flown over some of them, once or twice unsuccessfully, which they think is very
funny. It was beautiful countryside, at one point we were on top of a mountain
in a peat bog! Seemed strange to us to have soft, muddy going so high above the
lake. The were fields of heather and then suddenly we were walking through a
forested glen that was magical. Quiet and emerald green, it was misty and mossy
and I expected to see a leprechaun at any moment.
Our
huntsman, Shane, who with his two brothers Pat and David ran the East Clare
Harriers, (the former was the field master and the latter was the President of
the Hunt) Unt told us their
hounds were Modern English. Most were tri-color and had excellent conformation,
very upright with compact feet and toes.
There were also some Welsh hounds, tall with longer wiry coats.
Apparently the addition of this Welsh bloodline was the reason for the “Modern
English” name.
These
hounds ran well all day and never stopped hunting. We had been having somewhat
of a blank day until, on the way home, a fox jumped up right in front of the
pack and they promptly accounted for him. It had been fun to watch some of the
Irish children on their ponies. One pony had jumped a wall and just sat down,
on the wall, until the small lad had berated him with a loud smack with his
whip, which prompted the pony to jump down. These children seemed fearless and
very smart. On one occasion I heard a small boy emphatically tell his Mum he
was not going to take a trappy jump. He turned and galloped off and she
shrugged, saying he knew his way about better than she did. A clue to avoid a
bigger jump, follow the smallest child! We finished the day in the same pub
where we started with hot port or whiskey and sandwiches. The hospitality had
been wonderful at every place we had been, with the Irish locals delighted to
share their stories and their Guinness’ with us at every opportunity.
The
next day we hunted with North Tipperary Hunt and their pack of “Old English”.
These hounds adored their huntsman. After every run, when their huntsman
collected the pack, they patiently sat and never took their eyes off him.
We
had met as usual in the local pub and moved off into a nearby landowner’s
field. The first trappy ditch stopped a few, but soon all managed to join the
main body of riders as we moved across the beautiful fields of the next
estate. A Thoroughbred breeding
farm, the owners had pulled all the broodmares in for our hunt and we were
treated to a lovely day of walls and ditches. The visiting Americans opted out
of most of the ditches, which looked very tricky. We watched as the Irish
laughed at each other’s occasional dunkings in the deep water-filled ditches.
Jodee Renee of Red Rock Hounds had followed the huntsman at one point and
learned the one sure way to get over a difficult ditch. Let the horse go first
and follow on foot!! One young Irish girl was completely drenched and looking a
little worse the wear after her horse had gone in the ditch too.
We
were starting to trust our wonderful Irish horses and the prelude to this ditch
experience had been jumping a five-bar gate. I had always wanted to say I had jumped
one of these large gates, so after the huntsman cleared it, I just “kicked on”.
One of the other girls followed me and we galloped after the huntsman into some
very thick brush. In moments he returned, saying the hounds were heading back.
I turned with him, whispering to my cohort to wait until someone kindly moved
the same 5-bar gate to lean away from us. The huntsman was too keen to wait and
took the gate at a flying gallop. His horse promptly somersaulted as it hit the
gate, which was still leaning in our direction. He flipped out of the saddle
and landed face first in the soft Irish turf. Both jumped up and he had
remounted after a quick once–over and was quickly off after hounds. Luckily for
us, the gate was now leaning in the right direction to safely jump back! It had
been a long day and the hounds had split. The hunt staff were going in two
different directions and we could hear both groups still speaking. We decided
to join the riders going in and the thought of hot port and sandwiches was most
welcome.
Thursday
was a day off and many of us went to the Cliffs of Moher to see the spectacular
west coast of County Clare. Some went east to visit the Irish National Stud and
all of us looked for gifts to take home. I simply walked into the Blarney
Woolen Store opposite Bunratty Castle and ordered seven beautiful Irish cable knit
sweaters and thankfully shipping home was free!
Thursday
evening we visited our favorite pub “Larkins” in Garrykennedy, County
Tipperary, to celebrate Lynn Lloyd’s birthday. Shar, one of our ladies who
lives in Las Vegas and knows the inside of a bar (remember “Cocktail”) decided
to teach the Irish lads a thing or two about making Vegas shooters. Many
Guinness’ and Irish cocktails later we were thanking the owners for their
generosity and wonderful hospitality. They encouraged us to come back and bring
lots of friends. Between the excellent food like fish and chips and grilled
salmon and seafood chowders to mention a few dishes, we promised to give high
praise at home and encourage our fellow foxhunters to come to Ireland.
Oliver
Walsh of Flowerhill Equestrian Center supplied us with wonderful horses for the
week. They were excellent jumpers and easy to rate for the less experienced.
All of the hunts were welcoming and worked very hard to give their American
guests an excellent taste of Irish foxhunting. I can not wait to go again. Thank you Renee for an excellent
adventure.
All
other photos by Barbara Smith
We were trying to stay on the northern side of the storm and only have to deal with an inch or two. Or that was the plan! We made it to Witchita just fine, realizing that there are a lot of cows in the West. In fact, it is so vast, I still do not understand why we could not have settled with the Native Americans and let them have at least half peaceably. It is a huge country. It was clear and the sunset was beautiful. Witchita is a big aviation hub, probably because the sky is vast as well! We were tired and I wanted a steak dinner and a drink. We found a hotel on the west side again, by the airport and a Texas Roadhouse. I know they have good steaks so we got into the hotel and ran across the parking lot to dinner and a margarita! It was freezing, the temperature steadily dropping into the single digits. Snow was definitely coming. The weather forecast was dubious but some truckers said Route 54 to the west was not too bad and we could see that many truckers had the same thought as us, to try to skirt the storm. After a quick breakfast Friday morning we headed west past the airport on Rt. 54/400 towards Liberal on the Kansas/Oklahoma border. It was getting worse and worse with blowing snow. The only good thing about the vast, flat prairie of the West is that the snow blows away. It was streaming across from south to north with about 1 mile visibility. We were following the truckers going west and hoping to stay on the edge of Storm Sparta. Sam had called us and was tracking our route as we wondered about going even farther north. But we decided to stay on 54 and wing it. I was doing most of the driving and as we left Oklahoma and went into the northwestern part of Texas it got worse! The roads had not been salted at all, just plowed and the surfaces were very tricky. Scraped icy snow that was slippery and rough, we were trying to stay with the truckers, more for moral support than anything. After Dalhart, TX, there was a stretch of road on the way to Tucumcari, New Mexico that was the worst bit of driving in snow that I have ever done. As northbound truckers flew past on the slippery road I had to hold the wheel and pray I did not hit an icy bit and slide to the left. And I did pray, it was really difficult and I did not want to worry Sarah but it was scary how icy it was. Her Prius did remarkably well, probably slid less than my Chevy truck with 4 wheel drive, would have in the same conditions. Her car was light enough to correct quickly when the slipstream pull from the truckers would make the car veer left. I was a wreck after 100 miles of this deserted stretch of unplowed road. Never again!
Once we hit clear road I was driving about 90 miles an hour to try to make my flight in Tucson, before the next storm was coming to Maryland. I could just get through Denver, there was a window on the radar map and make it home before the ice hit the East. I drove like a maniac through New Mexico into Arizona and luckily it was clear road and no cops! There was wind as we went west across the bottom of Arizona on Rt 10 and blowing sagebrush threatened to hit the car. It exploded into twigs whenever it hit a car and the wind was strong, but anything was better than snow and ice. I made it to the airport in time for my flight. 
