I REMEMBER a conversation from long ago during which I expressed a desire to write. ‘I’d rather be a participant than a spectator,’ my companion responded, somewhat disparagingly. However, for those privileged to write about fieldsports, the roles of participant and commentator are often combined. That is especially true of hunting, where riding strange —frequently brilliant and, occasionally, downright dangerous—horses across country or tramping for miles behind a pack of beagles is all part of the job.
There is no fieldsport more suited to our green and beautiful countryside, nor more compatible with Britain’s cool, damp climate, than hunting with a pack of hounds. From dew-drenched early September mornings to frigid February afternoons, when black hedges beckon beneath snow-flecked skies, scent lies stronger here than anywhere else on earth. I’ve enjoyed hunting on assignment with English foxhounds all over the world— Africa, America and Australia, even Trinidad —yet nowhere can completely replicate the supreme hunting environment of Britain and Ireland. Hunting has transported me into the heart of diverse and glorious landscapes best appreciated from the back of a horse— from Scotland’s Kingdom of Fife to high Leicestershire, liberally sprinkled with thorn fox coverts, to the steep pastures and tall beeches of Laurie Lee’s Cotswolds and the starkest moorland vistas of upland Britain.
Denne historien er fra October 18, 2023-utgaven av Country Life UK.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
Allerede abonnent ? Logg på
Denne historien er fra October 18, 2023-utgaven av Country Life UK.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
Allerede abonnent? Logg på
Tales as old as time
By appointing writers-in-residence to landscape locations, the National Trust is hoping to spark in us a new engagement with our ancient surroundings, finds Richard Smyth
Do the active farmer test
Farming is a profession, not a lifestyle choice’ and, therefore, the Budget is unfair
Night Thoughts by Howard Hodgkin
Charlotte Mullins comments on Moght Thoughts
SOS: save our wild salmon
Jane Wheatley examines the dire situation facing the king of fish
Into the deep
Beneath the crystal-clear, alien world of water lie the great piscean survivors of the Ice Age. The Lake District is a fish-spotter's paradise, reports John Lewis-Stempel
It's alive!
Living, burping and bubbling fermented masses of flour, yeast and water that spawn countless loaves—Emma Hughes charts the rise and rise) of sourdough starters
There's orange gold in them thar fields
A kitchen staple that is easily taken for granted, the carrot is actually an incredibly tricky customer to cultivate that could reduce a grown man to tears, says Sarah Todd
True blues
I HAVE been planting English bluebells. They grow in their millions in the beechwoods that surround us—but not in our own garden. They are, however, a protected species. The law is clear and uncompromising: ‘It is illegal to dig up bluebells or their bulbs from the wild, or to trade or sell wild bluebell bulbs and seeds.’ I have, therefore, had to buy them from a respectable bulb-merchant.
Oh so hip
Stay the hand that itches to deadhead spent roses and you can enjoy their glittering fruits instead, writes John Hoyland
A best kept secret
Oft-forgotten Rutland, England's smallest county, is a 'Notswold' haven deserving of more attention, finds Nicola Venning