Fleeing from a baying pack

How does it feel to be the hunted, rather than the hunter? Richard Negus takes to his heels in front of bloodhounds to find out

- Richard Negus

I have lost count of the times random and faceless animal rights devotees have, on social media, offered a challenge for me to “get shot at and see how I like it” or “imagine I was the one being chased by a pack of ‘dogs’ for miles across country”. To the annoyance of the keyboard warriors I can truthfully reply that I have already been “shot at” with lethal intent, or more precisely, “mortared over”.

Thankfully the IRA’s marksmanship was off and I live to testify that my experience is much like that of a missed pheasant — a big bang then it was over with so quickly that I had no idea it happened at all. I had, however, never been hunted, other than games of hide and seek with Mabel. Therefore it was with a glad and grateful heart that I accepted the invitation from James Chadwick, Joint Master of the Hamilton Bloodhounds, to find out what is like to become the quarry.

James is a remarkable young man. He hunts hounds and is his own kennel man. His partner Tegen acts as groom and whips-in. Theirs is a seven-days-a-week, 365 days a year role and they clearly love this life, this job and the 15 and a half couple of hounds in kennels. The hunt itself is similarly youthful, having only been formed in 2019. Hounds are kennelled at Easton, a picturesque village near Framlingham, the castellated town famed as the home of Suffolk’s greatest global export, Ed Sheeran. The thatched huntsman’s house and mellow red-brick buildings were formerly the home of the fine old pack the Easton Harriers.