Earlier this month, I waxed eloquent (or babbled inanely) about the joys of October Wednesdays. One of the nice things about hunting Wednesday mornings is that it leaves me in a good mood to face an afternoon of work. A fairly relaxing morning in the saddle on a Kentucky autumn morning leaves a warm feeling that doesn’t fade quickly. Today was just a little different. Hunting brought an adrenaline rush that made it tough to settle down for the afternoon.
Mother Nature contributed nicely to today’s action. Some overnight rain was followed by a morning fog so dense that sight-dependent humans were having difficulty navigating. That made conditions close to ideal for hounds who rely more on noses than eyes. The moisture kept the scent down where it belonged, and provided for a screaming day. We had a couple of good runs before a group of us with tired horses decided to give up and save the horses for another day.
Arthur performed nicely, jumping without hesitation. About the only thing he didn’t want to do today was stand still, but fortunately we didn’t do much of that. We did have one tense moment as we negotiated an obstacle course. We were galloping along the edge of a pond, cluttered with benches, a boat, and miscellaneous other objects. Arthur chose a path between the benches and the boat, not the route I preferred. I decided not to fight with him about it and risk taking a direction neither of us wanted, since his path seemed feasible. The only problem with it was that he hadn’t noticed the invisible horse-eating monsters hiding in the boat. When he finally noticed them, he made a valiant leap to one side to avoid certain death. I felt myself falling, looked down at the bench below me, thought “That is going to hurt“, and somehow willed myself back into the saddle.
Besides the great hunting which kept us moving at an interesting pace, some of the adrenaline flow might have been a result of a change in my flask contents. I visited the liquor store to pick up a bottle of Woodford Reserve, and, as I was picking the bottle up from the shelf, I heard someone calling my name. I looked around and didn’t see anybody at first, and then I heard “Hey … over here!!”. It was coming from a bottle of Knob Creek, 9 years old and 100 proof. A little stronger than the 90 proof Woodford, and with more age to smooth out the bite. It seemed like it would be worth trying. I think I like it, but reactions from my hunting companions were mixed. The jury is still out on whether it will replace Woodford as my primary libation, but it definitely boosted spirits today.
The only downside to the day was that the morning dews and damps had a chilling effect on students’ wardrobe selection. When I returned to campus in the afternoon, all the student bodies were bundled up like it was November already. But the forecast for the next few days promises a return to navel-baring warmth. Unfortunately, it seems that the warmth will last through the weekend, making lousy hunting weather for the blessing.