Hit report 4/1/22
The Flint and Denbigh hunt met at Coed Coch Estate home of the Lord Lieutenant of Clwyd in Dolwen. With only 6 field riders out maybe this was another meet they should have just cancelled (like a few other meets recently). When we say 6 fields riders we’re being quite kind, considering one is a riding instructor for the hunts pony club and 2 others are regular stand in whippers. When we arrived at Coed Coch at around 10.40 the hunt had already set off in the hope to give us slip. The poor turn out of field riders didn’t seem to know where the huntsman had gone. We located the huntsman at the opposite end the bridleway to where the lost riders were. Hard to say what the huntsman was upto up in the gorse bushes, was he looking for his lost hounds who were already all over to roads to the point the police had to have a word with the lost riders. Or was he trying to get in some illegal hunting whilst he thought he was out of sight?
The hunt then headed into the hills with the huntsman casting his hounds into coppices and hedgerows at ever opportunity, clearly the smokescreen trail layers hadn’t laid trails in hedges, in fact the hunt hadn’t even bothered with a smokescreen today, with no sign of the idiotic looking green bib wearers. Maybe the rural crime team could ask them for the videos of their trail laying from today? By now even Greengrass had had enough and make his way home. The hunt went through Coed Glyn-Lws and down the otherside near Carreg Mawr, it was at this point the hunt got onto a fox and the hounds gave chase in cry, the hunt were probably surprised to see us in the right place at the right time given the difficult terrain. The hounds ran through a farm and the huntsman and whipper-in came down the road in no hurry to stop the hounds or even make an attempt to call them back, the farmer didn’t look too amused with the hounds running through his field of sheep. Fortunately the hounds appeared to have lost the scent of the fox, and the 3 remaining field riders joined the huntsman and whipper-in as they looked for lost hounds.
The weather had now turned wintery and even the miserable bloke in the green vitara left for home, hard to tell if he was in a sulk as on an average day he’s the most miserable looking man you’ve ever seen. The hunt appeared to be heading back to the meet point by 1pm but then turned back after noticing they still had hounds missing. They headed back up the hills, we drove around to the top to save our legs, the huntsman was frantically blowing his horn in search of the hounds, which he’d had no control of all day.
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