The Hunters Horn
April, 1963
Page Twenty-three & Twenty-five
Notes on Hounds and Men
By The Kennel Man
THE BIG TIME
I marvel at some of the races the old time hunters enjoyed and at the hounds that made them
possible. It’s wonderful to talk about the old hounds and hunters; it’s heart stirring to get near
enough to hear them run.
The late Woods Walker, in his “History of the Walker Hound,” has recorded some of these races.
These notes, with abbreviation, borrow from them today, to pay tribute to a great name of yesterday,
and to great hounds.
“GREATEST RACE I EVER HEARD AND SAW”
If the late Woods Walker could say that, it must have been a race to remember. It was in “March, 1920,
when Arthur Ball and Woods Walker went to Wildcat Knob. About 8:30 in the morning, the hounds
struck running. In a short time, we heard a small pack coming from the Chestnut Flat to Stone Quarry,
a knob separated from the Wildcat, the knob we were on, only by a narrow valley maybe three fourths
of a mile wide. In this pack were Cork, Sprible, Kit Haynes and Ch. Abbie, four hounds. We knew they
were after a red fox and they were running hard and fast, as they could do. They turned and went
back to the Chestnut Flat, made a run there, and were gone only 45 minutes or an hour, then coming
back to Stone quarry. They ran this far back and forth many times. We rode only from one side of the
hill to the other……”
CORK IN SMART TURN
The other hounds, 25 or 30, were after grays, and as soon as one would hole, they would hit another in
the roughest part of the knobs.
“About one o’clock, as the four hounds in the other pack came back to the Stone Quarry, the fox
crossed the valley and started to the Wildcat; but a wagon on the road, with people talking very loudly
in it, turned the fox, and in instead of coming to the Wildcat as he had started to do, he went back to
the Stone Quarry and on to Chestnut Flat as he had been running all morning. When he turned back
at the road, Sprible, Kit and Abbie crossed the road, ran to the top of the Wildcat hunting for him,
heard the other pack on the Dripping Springs Ridge, got to them and ran with them until the fox holed.
“At the time these three hounds crossed the road and came to the Wildcat, Cork found where the fox
turned and he went back after him without a bother. He had been gone maybe an hour, when our big
pack holed. We heard him coming on the Stone Quarry. Our other hounds put after another gray, as
they had been doing off day. We missed Sprible, Kit and Abbie, and before Cork went back out of
hearing, we heard them get to him. After this, these four hounds did as hard running without a bother
or loss, making about the same run each time, as they had in the morning……”
START FOR HOME?
“As night approached, and the gray fox big pack holed, they blew them in and started home, leaving
the four still running. Soon, on the way, a big red was struck, and all put in…About this time the small
pack (Cork, Sprible, Kit and Abbie) hole…in 20 minutes, they had put in with the big pack now after a
driving red…about ten o’clock they left the knobs and headed for the plantations. About 11:30 we
heard hounds coming out of the plantations, three or four of them, we did not know them…We had not
heard a whimper out of our hounds since they left for the plantations, but this fox made a double and
soon they began to fall in on these fresh hounds. We listened until we heard all our favorites put in. I
remember Arthur remarked, before we heard Cork put in, ‘Mr. Woods would kill me if Cork quits.’ For
myself, I can recall the joy and satisfaction that came over me when I heard Abbie put in. She had won
the National the fall before, and I would not have had her quit for a farm.”
ON WITH THE RACE
“Ten or 12 hounds quit that night, but our best hounds, after they caught these fresh hounds, never
let them get a run on them again, and our hounds got as much of it as the fresh ones did. Near
daylight, they (our best hounds) were running the fox all the time. Neither Arthur nor I had closed our
eyes all night, and with the exception of the time they were gone to the plantation, we heard and saw
every bit of it. At exactly 5:30 the next morning they holed, running as pretty and true as I ever heard
hounds, everything that did not quit, up and getting their part.
“As soon as they holed, we started to them. They holed as near home as they were to us, just
between us and home. We met them coming in the road. Instead of going home or lying down, they
were coming to where they had seen us last.
“Many hounds made this race after having run grays hard all day, which I sometimes think is harder
than running reds. But four hounds had run a red all day, especially Cork, who did not miss it where it
turned at the road. Sprible, Kit and Abbie were only out from the time they left one pack to get to the
other, and anyone who knew them knows they wasted no time.
“This race lasted, after the two foxes, as near as I could figure, guessing at the time we got after it in
the morning, about 19 and one-half hours. There was not a loss, nor was there any trailing all day and
night, but hard, fast running with fresh hounds putting in on them about 11 o’clock. Cork, Sprible, Kit
Haynes and Ch. Abbie were indeed four grand hounds.”
CAN’T YOU FEEL THE BIGNESS OF THAT RACE?
Makes me wonder about today’s races. Of course, this was an “outstanding” one; even so, there
were some elements in it that create a longing for some of us. Game with running power and hounds
with equal stamina and courage. It takes great game to make great hounds. And, not least, men who
are bred and born hunters.
A hound needs the woods and the challenge just as a fish needs water. But a good hunter has
something to contribute. If errors in hunting were scored like errors in baseball, this writer would
probably be left off the team. Of course, the alibi side is this: if an error turns out right, maybe it was
not an error; even if it were not an error, but turned out wrong, it still looks like one.
WHAT IS YOUR JUDGMENT?
No doubt you’ve figured it out in your own mind, but let this article only mention it. When Woods
Walker’s hounds put in with the fresh ones, what had happened? Had the Walker hounds holed,
started to the hunters, and put in on hearing the fresh hounds? Or, did the fresh hounds hit the fox
ahead of the Walker pack, and it took this much time for this pack to reach the fresh hounds? In
either case, it was a true and honorable hound feat.
I’m going to take this view of the case: this last red hit about night was not chicken enough (in that
day in Kentucky) to go in by 11:30; the fresh hounds went to the others and hit the fox ahead and
drove him off; the all-day and night Walker pack hushed, pursued, and on the double, threw in, and
soon were at the front of the procession driving as they had done all day and that far into the night,
with miles and miles to go, and six hours of labor still ahead, after the 13 ½ already put in, with no
thought of time-and-a-half for overtime.
Great hounds, great hunters, a great hunting terrain—it all made hound history and stands, as it will
forever stand, at the peak in hound lore where hounds created their finest tradition.