Behold The Mighty Hunter Today I managed to fulfill one of my lifes ambitions, and almost by accident. In late night wine fuelled discussion I have said that, given a chance, I would like to go hunting with dogs before our namby pamby government (which I did not vote for) bans all sorts of fun whatsoever. Early this afternoon I wandered down into the lower car park to find a hunt setting up, people in glossy yellow hunting wescots, big otter hounds anxious for the start, mink were to be the prey. Mink, scourge of the countryside, freed by animal rights noddies to plague and decimate the indigenous wildlife of Britain, Mink, like foxes, kill for pleasure as well as food. Off we went, down the river with sixteen hounds in full flight, they caught a scent almost right away but it led out in to the parkland East of our grounds so the hounds were called off and sent away up river. Soon they caught a scent again, then the baying began. Hounds are silent until they are almost on top of their quarry then they bay furiously, shouts went up from the riverbank, the mink had been seen, lightning fast it flew up a tree. The hounds circled the old willow while a volunteer was found to climb 30 feet up and dislodge the vermin with a long stick. As the climber approached, the mink fled back down the trunk and leapt, for a couple of minutes all was confusion as the mink dived and resurfaced with the hounds swimming after it, then it made for a culvert in the riverbank and in a flash the lead hound was upon it, one heavy bite and the mink was killed, applause followed. We chased two more mink before I had to return to the kitchen, one escaped North up the river into Bradford One's fishing area, and because the hunt had not asked for permission, we didn't go onto their land even though they would probably have been quite happy to have their most problematic pest removed for free. Later the hounds scented again near the 4th Tee, up and down the riverbanks they went, this time I had entered fully into the spirit of the hunt and was stood waist deep in the river eagerly scanning the banks for sight of the vermin. The pack had split left and right and the Master and Whipper-Ins with them, alone I stood when, bugger me, here it comes, and I'm waist deep with my valuables at perfect mink biting height, much splashing ensues and the creature turns away. "In the river bank" I cry. "Where ?" shouts the Master. "Right behind that bloody tree" I shout, "And get the hounds on the bugger before it goes for my nads again" Off we went again but the beast had gone to ground, and despite some heroic digging by the terrier men in sweltering heat, we couldn't get the mink. Results for the day then, 5 mink scented, two escaped off the property, two vanished on the property (one down a hole, another through an under road culvert) and one beast killed, and a fantastic afternoons sport. I had such a good time that I'm going out again with the hunt in a few weeks time, Mrs YSoul is coming along for the fun as well, any excuse to see me falling over in the river I think. Not our hunt, but similar. The hounds swimming after the quarry.