Colne Valley Beagles and other things of interest.: January 2018

Tuesday 30 January 2018

CURRENT BEAGLING - COAL GATE CORNER, HEIGHTS, AND BRITANNIA BEAGLES (ALMOST)

Just a snippet or two from recent meets.

Holme & Colne Valley Beagles from Coal Gate Corner on the 6th January 2018

Moorland Farm

And then Heights on the 13th January 2018

Britannia Beagles visit HCVB country - 30th January 2018

I had thought to finish with some decent photos as the weather wasn't too bad but it was not to be. The hounds turned out on a different lane to the one I was on. After hiking around and across a moor to where I was told they were going to be I discovered they had gone over to near where I set off. Another hike back again. So I just never caught up as by the time I got there they had set off up to the top of the Pennines and more or less vanished.

Emley Moor mast on the distant horizon.

They brought some very fit ladies with them. The one in beige is local. They covered some ground. I blamed them for leading me astray, but they didn't really.

Well I got one closer glimpse of the hounds in the next field

And then this is the last i saw of them unless I was looking at occasional distant specs through binoculars.

Wednesday 3 January 2018

THE FOXES HUNT

A bit of trivia -

The Foxes Hunt (Naturally before the ‘Ban’.)
or 'The Travails of a Fell Huntsman'.

The huntsman stumbled up the hill

The foxes panting for the kill,

He’d set off to hunt - a lovely day!

But things turned out the other way.

His hounds had fled as on the moor

A pack of foxes through them tore,

Determined now to make amends.

For fallen brethren and their friends.

As hounds soon vanished out of sight.

The huntsman recognised his plight.

The followers had also gone.

There was no sign of anyone!

He slunk along through peaty mire,

The fear and stress made him perspire.

Down wind he knew he had to go,

The cunning of a fox he’d show.

The foxes testing for his scent

Were casting with evil intent.

They had to have that man in red,

To tear his guts out, grind his head.

An old dog wiser than the rest

Just caught a glimpse of scarlet vest,

As by the rocks, up near the scree

The huntsman upward tried to flee.

His stick had broken in a crack

He’d fallen down and hurt his back

His horn had squashed into his breast

To leave him winded, and distressed.

In studded boots he scrambled on

The pack now saw where he had gone.

With glistening fangs they moved as one

This quarry would be quickly won!

He dropped his hat. He cast his coat.

He ripped his stock from round his throat.

With tearing lungs he fought for air

His strength now sapped; now black despair

The pack soon sensed he’d run his last.

With loping gait they caught up fast.

Snarling close they came to kill

A man at bay upon the hill.

He smelled the hot and foetid breath.

He knew he was not long from death.

He closed his eyes and screamed a cry

That huntsmen do - to help things die!

His body tossed as in a fit.

A taste of blood – his tongue he bit.

Which woke him from his drunken dream

In time to stop another scream

So there’s a moral here somewhere,.

It’s safer if you hunt the hare,

But if you have to hunt the fox

Just keep away from booze and rocks.

24.10.99