On a quickly souring Hampshire morning in late December, Will Hudson meandered in on a tall, brown horse, shepherding 40 barking hounds. Broad shouldered, straight backed and impeccably dressed in his black boots and red coat, Hudson looked out at the crowded field that had become a cocktail party on horseback.
That everyone was sloshing through mud in their green Wellingtons hardly detracted from the atmosphere.
Men and women, dressed much like Hudson in black or navy blue coats, and families on foot went up to greet him. Even though he knows everyone in the village by their first name, he addressed them only with a "Hello, Sir," or "Good morning, Madam." Others passed around several picnic tables' worth of cake, sausages and tiny glasses of port. And at 11am on a chilly Saturday, the port was especially welcome.
PHOTO: NY TIMES NEWS SERVICE
Hudson, a full-time huntsman, was leading the day's fox hunt through about 16km of English countryside. Except these days the 500-year-old tradition has little to do with foxes or hunting.
The British Parliament's controversial Hunting Act in 2005 made the use of dogs to kill prey illegal. So to keep fox hunting alive, clubs like the Hampshire Hunt, one of 314 still registered in Britain, have resorted to drag hunting, or trail hunting, in which a scent is laid artificially.
"We try to make it as similar as we possibly can," said Tom Floyd, who was that morning's volunteer master of the hunt. Also wearing a red coat, though it is called pink, and a tightly tied cravat that doubled as a neck support, he was in charge of leading the 50 or so riders.
During the week, the master's duties also include getting permission from the local landowners to use their fields. In this way, he is the only person who knows the hunt's itinerary, leaving the huntsman to follow the hounds the old-fashioned way.
On the morning of the hunt, one of the regular followers sets the trail by riding around on an all-terrain vehicle dragging what Floyd described with a grimace as a "smelly old sock with some evil mixture on it."
More specifically, it is a bundle of rags dipped in an oil drum of fox carcasses to acquire the characteristic scent.
Once Hudson had arrived with the hounds, the empty port glasses were collected and the food was quickly polished off. The hounds would set off after Floyd made his customary speech.
It was no surprise that Floyd took the opportunity to promote a telephone campaign for the repeal of the Hunting Act considering that, despite the ban, fox hunting remains popular. According to the pro-hunting Countryside Alliance, more than 300,000 people turned out on Dec. 26 for the annual Boxing Day hunts.
Animal welfare advocates maintain that the sport is cruel and unnecessary; hounds have a tendency to tear foxes apart. As a result, the national debate has become emblematic of tensions between city and country government. But in Hampshire, hunting is a symbol of a close-knit community.
"You get all sorts of people," said Diana Harrap, who began her 53rd hunting season in September. "All walks of life join in together, and it's a great feeling of camaraderie. Even the things that go on in the summer — parties, quizzes, games — all come from the hunt. It's like a huge family, really."
And that's not limited to those doing the hunting. When Hudson blew his horn and led the pack out of the field, spectators rushed to the road, where a caravan of four-wheel-drive vehicles was parked.
While the huntsman draws the hounds, or scans a patch of land in search of a scent, the aficionados in their cars listened for the hounds to speak. When they did, barking and yelping rose up from the landscape and the spectators answered with the sound of ignitions.
Hudson and two assistants known as whippers-in led the chase, keeping the dogs under control with a repertory of horn signals. For the next few hours, the blur of riders and animals looked like a Victorian painting, galloping and jumping whatever lies in their way. Anything to keep up with the hounds.
On the paths between the fields, it was a game of blind man's buff. Some spectators thought they had spotted the horses over the hills and sped off for a better view. But others, wearing countless shades of green, simply leaned on their cars, waiting, because they had seen enough of these to know that the horses were heading back.
Then there was Mrs. Mitchell. Armed with binoculars and wearing a bucket hat covered with antiban buttons — "Keep fighting, Keep hunting," read one — she knew the best vantage points.
Has she been following fox hunts for long? "Oh, rather," she said, drawing out every syllable, almost insulted by the question. "I'm 94 years old and I reckon I've been following these for 90 years."
By nightfall, the followers had peeled off and the huntsman and whippers-in decided to head back to the kennel.
Hudson has never questioned whether fox hunting and the 12-hour days were worth all the effort, but he suggested that it was not as satisfying as it once was.
"You get frustrated for the hounds," he said. "Their reward used to be the fox at the end of the hunt. Now they're not getting that. Yes, you can chuck them biscuits, but it's not the same as their reward; it's not what they're hunting."
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