Hounds and Hares
A novice's first glimpse of our hounds in their element
by Dennis J. Smith
(Page2)
Fields sufficiently open for safe coursing are not easy to find, even in the agricultural vastness of California's central valley. Access to fields previously selected by the Fieldfinder is over small dirt utility roads intended for tractors and other farm vehicles. Progress for the convoy is slow and recent rains caused more than one turnaround, sending us to find alternate access. The Fieldfinder is probably one of the most underappreciated persons involved in the administration of an OFC event. His/her work is done singularly, and can be time consuming and not very exciting. While an acceptable field, in terms of ground cover, etc. may be located and found to be rich with hares on a particular day, whether they'll cooperate and stay for the event is altogether another matter. Western Jackrabbits are the prey in OFC in California. They in actuality they are hares. The hounds in attendance today had qualified by excelling throughout the season at local hunts. This, after all, was The Grand Course.
The United States is obviously not the nation of origin for this group of dogs with evolutionary beginnings half a world away. From Saharan Africa through the Levant to Persia, Afghanistan and the Steppes of Russia came the ancestors of the Pharaoh Hounds, Ibizans, Greyhounds, Whippets, Salukis, Afghan Hounds and Borzoi's of today's hunt. Each common in basic body type and keen vision. Each unique in optional skills, based on it's native environment. The oldest of hunting breeds, who have for centuries been man's natural weapon in his search for both sustenance and sport, these hounds carry ancient instincts toward the 21st century in the face of an onslaught by some who claim that form need not follow function. The intensity in their eyes and gait as they leap from the cars, trucks and vans says otherwise.
As the gallery forms a line abreast, some 10-15 feet apart, 10 yards or so behind the day's first trio of hounds and hunters chosen by lot after breakfast, the Huntmaster ensures that the line is tight enough to prevent any hares from hunkering down and waiting for the crowd to pass. He likewise ensures that the gallery is evenly balanced left and right and provides instruction concerning a slow and deliberate pace, allowing no sagebrush or tumbleweed to be passed unkicked. The advance down the field begins in the direction of the judge, posted possibly ¾ of a mile away, on top of a van, clipboard in hand and field glasses at the ready. Most in the gallery are speaking softly with their neighbor while anticipating the appearance of the day's first hare. Within 10 minutes, several in the gallery shout that they've noticed "sign" or fecal evidence of hares present in the field. I find myself lost in simply looking at this miraculous collection of extraordinary animals. The wonderfully tall and sleek Saluki's and the powerful greyhounds and the similar but smaller whippets. The large and incredibly elegant Borzoi's and, encouraged by personal bias, a long pause at the regal Afghan Hounds. The Pharoah's and Ibizans stand apart with their large erect ears, as focused as their eyes.
In the middle of lighting a cigarette I hear first a rising chorus of vocal alarms from the hounds, followed by a "rabbit left" from the gallery, immediately thereafter the Huntmaster's first "Tally Ho!" of the morning, as a Jackrabbit breaks from the ground cover. I look up to see the hounds burst from their slip leads, trying desperately to get myself sighted on the rapidly departing trio. The bright colors of the coursing blankets worn by each serve their purpose and I get focused on the group. Now, where's the hare? I notice a blur moving left from my focus and realize that's it. In the last radical turn, a whippet has already become unsighted and it trotting, confused, to the right of the action. Two Salukis continue bearing down on the hare, who has just made another radical turn, right this time. It quickly becomes apparent that he's headed for a row of collected tumbleweed along a fence line to the right. The Salukis are quickly back on their stride and closing. Another juke by the rabbit fails to slow their advance. With an incredible burst of speed, the young feathered black and tan bolts from the shoulder of the other and quickly takes the hare. Speed and rapidly increasing distance render detail impossible but the pair quickly stop, the black & tan maneuvering to protect his take, grabbing it and beginning his return to the gallery. In all, less than a minute has transpired between the call of "Tally Ho" and the take. As I watch the slender Saluki struggle with what must be a 10 pound hare as he works his way back to the handler, I repeat my first visual experience over and over in my mind's eye. Why is it I feel such a sense of excitement? Why do I find myself feeling such pride for the young hound who made the take? Having read volumes on coursing and hunting, I've always questioned an author's obvious glee in describing hunts, and particularly those which attempted to convey some mystical sense of ancestral continuity in the event. Suddenly I found myself in the quandary of having closely observed something very different from anything I had ever seen, while being absolutely unable to articulate it. This most basic of acts, predator and prey, is beautiful in it's simplicity. Nowhere is the alleged brutality claimed by the animal rights activists. No baying hounds mercilessly tearing at the prey. No pleas of desperation from the hare. Just incredibly swift and agile movement on the part of both prey and predator and then a lighting fast take, the specifics of which escaped me in the speed of the event. A glow of pride and accomplishment emerges from the young hound as it returns to the gallery, trying to carry, but mostly dragging, the hare by the back of his neck. The morale of the other hounds and hunters alike soars on the back of the day's first hare and the Saluki's good fortune. Was this a sign of a field rich with hares or just early luck? As I'd discover later, this question forever remains the great unknown in OFC. All were hoping for the former as there were 12 trios to run and darkness would be with us by 6 PM. After a second hare escaped 15 minutes later when the entire trio became unsighted, the field was suddenly barren. Excitement and anticipation turned to frustration with each slow step. Continued walking with no new signs of hares made the field seem to grow, and my legs give me the first sign that this was going to be a long day.
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