A different type of fox hunting

April 21 will mark the 61st Running of the Block House Steeplechase Races. Steeplechase racing itself spawned from foxhunting on horseback in Europe when the steeds would jump over various obstacles following the foxhounds as they chased their prey.

The event always brings back memories of the days my father and I spent fox hunting but in a somewhat different way.

As a young boy, I went fox hunting with my father on numerous occasions. He raised foxhounds in Hendersonville and at one point in time had over twenty pedigreed dogs in his kennel. We loved to hunt. However, we never rode horses. We never jumped obstacles. We never killed the fox. In fact, it was a rare occasion when we even saw a fox.

After packing our camping gear the night before, my father would wake me up around two o’clock in the morning, load four or five dogs in the bed of his pickup, and begin the drive towards Jeeter Mountain near Hendersonville.

When we reached the valley at the foot of the mountain, my father would stop the truck and release the foxhounds. As we got back into the truck to continue up the small mountain, the dogs would wander off into the woods sniffing for the scent of a fox.

Arriving at the edge of a cliff at the top of the mountain, we would join four or five other hunters who stood around a fire telling stories about previous hunts. I only remember the name of one of my father’s hunting buddies. His name was Howard Cagle, and he was a mountain of a man who loved to embellish the heroic efforts of his foxhounds.

After he laid out our sleeping bags, my father would provide me with my treat for the hunt – a soft drink and an egg sandwich. The sandwich and coke tasted delicious in the cold night air, and I knew there was more if I wanted them.

As I gorged myself the men would suddenly become quiet. Down in the valley a chorus of barking had begun to echo its way to the mountain top. The dogs were on the trail of a fox. The chase had begun! It would last until dawn.

I must pause now to describe what may seem to the reader as being impossible. However, I can attest to its veracity. First of all, each of the hunters could distinguish the barking of each of his dogs apart from the other twenty or so dogs.

The men would compare the “mouth” (barking) abilities of each dog. Secondly, the hunters could determine which dog was leading the chase and which dogs were lagging behind. Finally, they could internally map out the path of the chase as it got closer to the mountain top. As strange as these abilities may seem, I witnessed them numerous times.

The hunters would spend the night describing the chase to each other while I drank cokes and ate sandwiches. The dogs rarely caught up with the fox. They eventually got tired of the chase as did the hunters.

As dawn approached my father and I would pack up the sleeping bags, get into the truck, and head back down the mountain.

When we reached the spot where we had previously unloaded the dogs, my father would reach into his knapsack and pull out an old hollow sheep’s horn. This was his “dog calling device”. He would take a deep breath and blow into the horn.

The eerie sound was hardly a recognizable tune, but the dogs heard it. Minutes later they would appear, tired, hungry, and ready to hop into the back of the truck. The foxhounds slept on the way home.

So did I.

I wonder if this type of fox hunter is still around. If you are out there in cyberspace, I would like to hear from you. s.hefner@comcast.net.