Wonderful day hunting yesterday at Annapolis Rock in the snow flurries. The pine forests and the rocky outcroppings up there make it seem like Narnia.

Robbie (from our barn) whipped in for the first time and was very honored and we were all very proud. Also, our field master was Frankie who is only 25 or so -- Roger was away -- and our field consisted mainly of younger people and new members. It was sort of a vision of the future -- the group of people who could in theory be hunting together for the next 20 years. And Dale was also away so we were in charge of the barn and the trailers on top of all that.

We had some astonishing feats. At one point "staff" came through and it was Robbie (which was kind of funny and which made us both laugh) and he cuts in front of me and takes off through a creek bottom that was very rough terrain with lots of scrub brush and low trees and we were going faster than I've ever gone -- it was like a car chase scene in a video game. Robbie was chasing a hound back to the pack and I was chasing Robbie because he was going towards the master and the rest of the field was chasing me. But Robbie and I were faster because Robbie's horse was a thoroughbred and Burton is seven eighths thoroughbred and they are both Pleasant Prospect horses after all so they are basically perfect. Burton was amazing -- leaping tall buildings in a single bound, etc. We jumped all kinds of things -- piles of downed logs that were very wide and mounds of stuff we didn't know what it was so we jumped it and collections of vegetative type things and crevices and ditches. There wasn't any time to think about what we were doing really, the horses were in charge and we just stayed in the middle of our stirrups.

The hound was in font of us the whole way. We looked up along the ridge top at one point and saw the rest of the hounds rolling along flat out up there. It was the hounds on top and us on the bottom for at least a mile along the creek. And it was lightly snowing -- it was very very fun. Possibly the most fun ever.

We eventually came to the Patuxent which we had to cross but the only way is a vertical bank drop down. We could see maybe 2 feet of bank above the water but we didn't know how deep the water was. Robbie's horse slides down the bank into about 2 feet of water, which makes for a total drop of about 4 feet. It seemed okay. Burton takes a different approach and leaps off the bank out into the river and into the water, converting the four foot drop into a bigger drop. It was amazing. The field behind starts going "whoa! look at Burton!" I'm up there yahooing in the air. Then after we land in the water he does the dolphin leap in and out of the water until we get to the other side. I bounced around a lot on top. It made me laugh. About 100 yards later we put the fox to ground. Someone came up to me and said, "I saw that bank -- your horse is Irish, right?" Yep.

Then we went and chased another fox and had similar amounts of fun. We crossed the river several more times. We scaled a near vertical cliff that was so steep and long we had to go up it one by one -- very Man from Snowy River. We circumnavigated three or four fields of winter wheat up on top of the ridge at top speed. The light started to fail. The snow kept up. People got cold. Our flasks were empty. We went in for the day.

After putting the barn to bed Frankie, Robbie and I went to the Olney Tavern to get warm and we had dinner and stayed late and talked about how much fun it was to have the next generation in charge and how we did pretty darn well for ourselves and weren't we lucky to have such an unusual hobby.

Lessons Learned While Fox Hunting

Someone asked me today how my friend "the stable boy" was doing -- referring to a new acquaintance many of you will recognize as the person I got stuck in a rapidly rising river with on New Years' Eve during a little late night Howard County four-wheeling mishap (we were in a jeep). I guffawed at the reference to him as a stable boy. He's not a stable boy! He's a....foxsteepler (foxhunting steeple chasing somewhat wayward youth). But it made me laugh and consider all the very unusual things I have learned or experienced so far in my short foxhunting career that I would never have expected to learn from this allegedly snooty sport. As follows:

• I have learned that one of the warmest places to be on a cold winter's morning is the inside of the compost pile. I learned this because the man driving the mushroom composing truck (which is like something out of Battlestar Galactica -- large fog lights and loud belching noises) fell off his perch into the compost pile one morning before dawn while we were getting the horses ready, and the fox steepler told me that he probably wasn't all that upset about it because at least now he was warm.
• I have learned that there is a vigorous debate ongoing among Howard County residents about whether it is better to leave the salt bags open or closed on the back of your personal snowplow.
• I have learned what it feels like to have a man in a camouflage baseball cap emerge out of the pre-dawn snowy darkness and say, "Ma'am, I have your manure receipt." (I said "thank you very much" in my most polite manner and put it in my pocket.)
• I have learned that the only way to get a jeep out of a river is with another jeep and a winch and a bunch of guys.
• I have learned that you can't just sign up to go ride a bull in a rodeo. As it was put to me, "Are you kidding? You gotta KNOW someone to be able to do that!"
• I have learned about a sport where grownups strap a five year old child onto the back of a sheep. The sheep waddles off, the child slowly falls off the sheep, and the grownups roar with laughter. People pay money to watch this. It's called Mutton something or other.
• I have learned that West Virginia blackberry moonshine and beef jerky make a perfectly adequate breakfast.
• I have learned that foxhunting horses do not care for cardamom spice cookies.
• I have learned that a Dooley is a kind of truck. I now know what people are talking about when they say that my whatever-I've-lost is in the Dooley (and I've found many of my missing things in there). I also now know that when the foxsteepler says he's bringing his Duramax he means his Ford truck, not his flashlight batteries or something.
• I now know what it feels like to be hosed down with warm water in the wash stall like a horse (see above entry re jeep in river).
• I have learned that a skid loader (whatever that is) is a sufficiently desirable thing that people will drive all the way to Hagerstown, West Virginia, to get a good deal on one.
• I now know what it feels like to be a horse riding in the back of a horse trailer. Very like the NYC subway.
• I have learned that it is not uncommon for country people to give each other boxes of mushrooms for Christmas presents. These are known as "Christmas mushrooms." They make people happy.
• I have learned the expression, "Does it Gator?" Which means -- does this horse allow itself to be lead by a person who is driving the John Deere tractor thing, aka, the Gator? A horse that Gators is desirable. A horse that does not Gator is a pain.
• I have learned that the hunt club gives landowners a turkey on Thanksgiving. Unless the landowner is a club member, in which case they are expected to buy their own turkey.
• I know that when people in Howard County see each other after a long absence, they say things like, "I tell you what! I haven't seen you since Hector was a pup! Dang!"

That's it for now. I'm sure others will come along.

New Year's Even

New Year's Eve was a foxhunting day. We hunted up in Marriottsville, Maryland, and then went to the Olney Tavern afterwards to drink in the new year. We arrive around 6 p.m.

About 11:30 pm Robbie says, "I'm going to go get the piece of shit, and I'll meet you at the farm." The "piece of shit" was his four-wheeling jeep, complete with a winch on the front. It was drizzling slightly by this point.

So I drive to the farm, begin putting on various layers of clothes and duck taping my boots together. Robbie shows up with the piece of shit. It is now raining.

We head off into the back woods. I am equipped with a flashlight and a bottle of Bushmills. Piece of shit keeps dying on way down. Robbie keeps restarting it. We drive gaily into the river over a vertical cliff, practically, with intention of driving down the river and out the other end and back up to the barn. River is maybe 2 feet deep at this point. Piece of shit dies in the river. Robbie can't get it started. I drink my Bushmills and wave the flashlight around. Robbie is out in the river waist deep in water with the hood up. I drink some more Bushmills. Robbie starts getting on the phone calling his fellow Mur-land rednecks. "I'm stuck in the river with Kimberly! Come get me out! There are fishies swimming by!" I snootily declare that my name isn't Kimberly. Robbie tells me I'm not helping. Half an hour or so later Robbie announces we have to swim for it. Water is rising. I sit in disbelief.

Nuh uhn, you mean, get in the river?
Uh-huh.
And get wet?
Yes, let's go.
There must be a better way. Can you fix it Robbie?
Nope.
[silence]
Okay!

So he starts heading for the riverbank and falls down and is completely underwater. I, the city slicker, get out of the piece of shit and walk daintily to the riverbank, no falling, no swimming. Hah!

We get back to barn after a long slog in the mud and rain and hit the wash stall where we hose ourselves down like horses. Then we crash for the night at the barn managers house, on the property. At this point it's like 1:30 in the morning. Pouring with rain.

Next morning go down to river to find it has risen like 4 feet and the piece of shit is almost fully underwater. Had to get another jeep to get it out. I have since ordered a "no parking sign" to put in the river.

That is the story of New Year's Eve.