A mid-week surprise visit to the Stevenstone, who met at Patchill on the edge of Petrockstowe. We arrived a little late and the hunt were already out around Hartleigh Wood, accompanied by about 5 riders and a handful of supporters, as well as badger-digger Ben Vincent on his terrier quad.
As to be expected with the Stevenstone these days, we found hounds littering the nearby area, most of them running back and forth between Filleigh Moor and the plantation at Beara. After some time, Stephen James emerged from his midmorning nap to regain control of the wayward hounds. Unfortunately for James, most of the hounds had other ideas. Even with help from other members of the hunt to try and reunite the pack, many hounds clearly preferred exploring by themselves.
Having eventually gathered some of the pack, James decided it was time to resume the hunt, taking them into nearby Newcourt Wood. Hounds got on a line and headed west through a mouldy maize field but quickly lost the scent and decided they much preferred the smell of the manure that had recently between spread on surrounding fields.
A good chunk of time had passed standing around watching hounds running around the nearby fields smelling various different piles of muck when Ben Vincent took it upon himself to gather nearby hounds and meet up with James by the roadside.
Here we bumped into Eggesford’s Jason Marles, who was out on a day trip to watch a master at work. Unfortunately for James, judging by the excitement on Marles’ face, the sight of sabs was the most interesting thing to have happened all day. The bout of excitement wasn’t enough to keep him from nodding off though, so he soon made for home.
Completely giving up on the idea of gathering the last half a dozen or so hounds, James decided he’d have more luck hunting on foot through the wooded valley north of Rockhay Bridge. With all the energy put into trudging through fields thick with mud, James must have hoped the hounds would give him something in return, but they drew a blank. He crossed the road to the south and remounted to hunt the banks of the River Torridge at nearby Hele Barton farm. James continued through the farm, sending hounds into the nearby copse and the woodland to the east. After not picking up on anything, the call was made for home time, and the hunt began to draw themselves back to the meet.
Obviously frustrated with the lack of action from the day, one of the quad riders decided it was time to put his big boy panties on, as he rode his quadbike at speed towards sabs. He was screaming something about private property and how sabs must leave immediately. Fortunately for this chap’s blood pressure, sabs were already on their way out.
Save for the short period at the start of the day before we arrived, we kept a constant eye on their movements on foot and by drone and are confident they didn’t kill while we were there.
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