Clodagh Blain

Imagine if you could "design" the day's hunting of your dreams... What hounds would be hunting, where would it be, who would you take with you?

- Rory Knight Bruce

I SET off from home in the pitch dark. I'm hacking to the meet by myself in the light of the moon. It's December but Teme Valley hounds are meeting at dawn because I love quiet, crisp mornings. The meet is Beguildy Top, right in the heart of our beacon. Robbie Savage is our host. The Jones family have done much of the heavy lifting in the kitchen for the meet and we're thoroughly spoilt.

Often it's a bleak, wet and windswept spot; however, today is dawning dry, clear and comparatively warm. There is hopeful talk of good scenting conditions. Quad bikes haven't been invented so my joint-master Murray Boss is mounted. So too is our host Robbie and his brother David. Their father Roy is hunting hounds. He stands with 17 couple gathered around the heels of his hardy chestnut, Jim.

There are no announcements. The Hunting Act doesn't exist and all local farmers are delighted we're in the area. Roy casts hounds straight from the meet and within minutes eagle-eyed foot follower Steve Stone spots a dark red fox climbing quickly through the covert ahead of hounds.