Fox hunting is not something that was ever on my life-list of things to do with my horse.   But life and events can sneak up on you until something that was once deemed highly unlikely is more like "if all I need is the right clothes, why not?"

That's how I stumbled into my latest adventure.

A friend taught me how to jump a couple of years ago - just logs on the trail and the small outside jumping course at her barn. I'd taken a winters-worth of hunt seat equitation classes with the goal of getting my gelding comfortable with jumping "furniture". You know - the scary-looking jumps indoors? That was the extent of my "jumping experience".

I got to ride with a group of women friends at a North Hill's Hunt sponsored ladies ride at Burwell last spring, and had been amazed at the terrain, fell in love with the town and the people, and was pretty sure I'd go back if the chance presented itself. Then came the invitation to ride the hunt at Burwell in October.

I had some of the clothing and tack basics for the formal hunt, but to purchase the rest of what I needed.  I went to Sam Matranga's "Regg & Wally's" store and put myself in her hands so that she could finish dressing me. She got me outfitted beautifully and inexpensively. She also guided me through the purchase of the breast collar I needed. I was sure that whatever our performance during the hunt, I wouldn't LOOK like a rank beginner. Thanks Sam.

My first hunt was the opening at Cook. It was also Deacon's first exposure to the hounds, and it was a non-event as far as he was concerned. Good. One less thing to worry about. It's a beautiful fall day, and the riders are off with the hounds leading the way, and I'm still on my horse. Things are looking good! We come to the first "coop" which is the man-made jump from one field into another so that the hounds and riders don't have to go through the gate. We'd never jumped one, and we didn't jump this one. As we approached it, it was apparent to me that he wasn't going over it - at least immediately, so rather than hold up the others I chose to go around the fence.  A fellow rider ran the fence line with me so that I wasn't alone and taking my horse away from the field. We did jump the next coop, there had been some boards loose on the jump and I had dismounted to move the one laying on the ground - so Deacon got a moment to look at the jump before I sent him at it the second time. He jumped like it was no big deal (and it isn't). I was elated - it doesn't take much to make me happy, and we ended the hunt with potluck.  It's all about the food, which by the way - no matter what time of day you eat, is called breakfast.

The opening hunt at Burwell looms ever closer. I'm looking forward to it and feeling pretty good about the way my horse handled the excitement of the hunt at Cook.

Opening morning at Burwell. It's an amazing picture of scarlet coats (called pinks), hounds, women in formal black coats, the huntsmen with their horns, the whippers-in who are these amazing horsemen/women and who act as outriders to help the huntsman with the hounds. All this with a mist over it all. It looked like something out of an 18^th century painting.

We go out - the first flight is the huntsmen, the Master(s) and all the experienced riders and horses, then my newfound friend Carine Stava of the Farm at Buttercreek Flat (go see her for jumping lessons!) leads the 2^nd flight, and that's where I chose to ride.

We had started out the morning with a two-mile hack down the gravel road to get to the point on the landowners property where they wanted to start working the hounds. It was a great opportunity to warm up our horses - we started at a walk, then extended trot, then cantering (for me) interspersed with much head-shaking and bucking on the part of my gelding. He wasn't trying to get rid of me but I wondered what that implied for the rest of the ride. I shouldn't have worried. By the time he figured out that I was going to LET HIM GALLOP WITH THE REST OF THE HORSES, and that we were going to do it for a LONG TIME, he took pains to conserve his energy. The hack out on Sunday morning was much quieter. Too funny. If I'd known then what I know now, I would have taken him hunting two years ago.

How to describe the coming hours, hmmm. I'm not sure I can do it justice. Picture extreme terrain - you know what that Calamus area is like, hills, straight up and down, did I mention sand? Ravines leading into canyons, erosion, animal holes, frost heave, you name it, we rode it.  I'd ridden this kind of terrain before - just never at a gallop! I alternated wanting to laugh and cry, often within the same minute.

At one point (we're in full gallop as the hounds are on a scent) and the thoroughbred gelding in front of my horse jumps the little cedar trees (instead of going around them), and my gelding does the same. WhatÔs up with that???? What a rush. All this with the sound of the hounds working and me praying out loud the entire time. I'm not exaggerating - I was hoarse the entire weekend. I'm pretty sure the Almighty got tired of hearing from me, it went something like this, "please God, don't let Deacon hit a hole and do cartwheels, or break a leg, or my neck, oh, and is there anything wrong with a trot,". By the way, no animals or people were maimed or killed in the making of this great adventure.

I didn't jump any coops on Saturday, thinking I'd just see how my horse was handling the excitement and go through the gates with others instead, but we jumped the coops on Sunday. There is nothing like it. I wanted to jump and then stop awhile so I could get in a good cry. Is that the adrenaline? Obviously, no time for that! For all of you who have ridden for years and your tack still looks new - go hunt. I put more wear on my leather goods in two days than I had in the past year. Stirrup leathers (double ones thank goodness), got a beating, girths - you just better have a good one, and reins were alternately rain-slick and sweat-slick, going through equally wet gloves. Ever heard of sweaty palms?

At the end of two days my body felt like I had been beat with a sock full of nickels. The oldest rider of the weekend was 84, the youngest 12, and I didn't hear a whimper out of either of them. Can't imagine what my horse felt like. He's young, fit and an Ay-rab, so I figured he'd live. I say that to be funny, but the truth is, my horse LOVED the hunt, and I loved the way he handled himself.

I had heard many things about the hunt. Nothing I'd heard can do it justice. What I saw was incredible horsemanship and fit horses who love their job. I was under the eye of experienced riders all of the time. I experienced what it means to "gain control, by giving it up". Saw the power of letting my horse work and keep me safe. And did I mention the food? That's another story.

I can ride the same terrain, the same distance, for the same length of time in one of my treeless saddles and have my body be ache-free the next day. That's probably the biggest eye-opener that I got over this extreme weekend. Riding in a treed saddle - no matter how nice it is, hurts my body and sends me directly to the Chiropractor to whack me back into alignment, not to mention what it does to my horse attitude-wise. There's just such a difference in his way of going in the saddles that we ride. I shorten the leathers on my Black Forest saddle and go hop logs in the woods, jump the coops at Maria's barn, and anything else that needs to be levitated over. My new saddles are in and they are gorgeous. The black, soft-leather Shasta treeless is currently my personal saddle of choice. Give me a call or e-mail me to demo one of these terrific saddles. EquineBodyShop@gmail.com.

When they make a treeless that you can actually hunt in - I'll let you know. Until then, you can use western or English tack and go experience this amazing sport.

My sincere thanks to the members of the North Hills Hunt who shepherded me through one of the most amazing experiences of my life. Any mistakes in the retelling of these adventures are strictly mine.

All the Blessings of the Season!

Vicki