One of the few packs hunting both fox and otter is the Ynsfor, a private pack owned by Major Evan Jones. His country lies in Carnarvon and Merioneth, Snowdon and the adjoining mountains lying within its borders. The Master is his own huntsman, and hounds are followed on foot, owing to the precipitous nature of the country. The pack is composed of the old Welsh breed, some rough and some smooth, with many of the old black-and-tan colour amongst them. These hounds have been in Major Jones's family since 1765.
Probably few people have been out with both foxhounds and otterhounds on the same day, but we can plead guilty to having accomplished this feat. Before the L.D.O.H. were disbanded, hounds met very early one morning, but failed to get an otter afloat, and when they returned to kennels we went off and joined the Coniston Foxhounds, and eventually saw Reynard accounted for.
A great many people appear to have a rooted idea that an otter is a slow-moving, clumsy creature, which never leaves the vicinity of water. Such an assumption is, to say the least of it, inaccurate, as anyone can easily testify, particularly those who have done much otter-hunting on the rocky rivers of the north. In a previous chapter we have mentioned a hunt during which the otter crossed a watershed, and this brings to mind a seven and a half hours' hunt by the K. and D.O.H. on the River Lune in the season of 1921. The otter was lying rough in a hanging wood overlooking the river, and was found by a little fell-foxhound named Cragsman, belonging to the Ullswater pack. After some up and down work on the river, our otter stole away on land, and crossed some fields to a small stream which runs between steep banks. There was a screaming scent, and hounds fairly flew in pursuit. The otter ran the small stream nearly to the top of the ghyll, then turned and came back. In a rock-bound pool he lay low, but hounds were soon at him again. The pool lay between smooth and slippery walls of rock, and at first the otter barely showed his nose. Suddenly, however, he made a terrific spring—his hind legs no doubt getting purchase on a ledge below the surface of the water—and all but got clear of the pool. He hung for a brief instant on the rock wall, making the picture of a lifetime for anyone lucky enough to have been there with a camera, then he turned and fell with a splash into the pool. It was a miracle how he got clear, but get away he did to run the fields again, and take refuge in a rabbit burrow on the bank of the main river. Hounds were taken away, and after a bit of work the terriers bolted him. He took down stream, and after the pack was laid on, a couple of hounds collared him on the shallows. He appeared to fling these hounds off as if they were straws, then he shot into a pool, raising a splash and a wake like a hydroplane as he crossed it.
Reaching the farther bank, he at once took to the hanging wood, and went straight up it. He gained a short start by this manœuvre, then the pack was roaring in his wake. Running the wood like a fox, it looked at first as if he was going right out at the top, but he turned and came down again, crossed the river and took refuge in a strong root holt. Some time was spent digging before he could be ejected, and when he was at last obliged to bolt, he again went straight across the river and took to the wood. Hounds drove him round it, and he once more took the water. Here he entered a long but not very deep pool, and hounds swam him down it, then he turned and hounds checked. There was little or no cover on the banks, but he got out without being seen, the first warning we had of his departure being given by a young, rough hound which hit off his line in the wood. This time he ran straight out to the top of the covert, turned left-handed and crossed the open fields for more than a mile, just beating hounds to a drain, the grating of which had been moved, where he got in and was eventually left.
We viewed this otter several times at close quarters, and estimated his weight at nearer 30 lb. than 25 lb.
He showed extraordinary running powers and activity for so large an otter, and it was hard luck on hounds that he beat them.
There was a screaming scent on land, but when he took the water for the last time, hounds had some difficulty in owning the wash. That otter would most certainly have convinced anyone who was sceptical of Lutra's activity and running powers.
We have already mentioned the fondness that otters have—particularly in Canada—for sliding. When engaged in this amusement, they tuck their forelegs in, and toboggan down the bank on their stomachs. This season (1921), whilst the Coniston Foxhounds were hunting on the fells, a couple and a half of hounds ran a fox in the direction of an earth on which some of the field were standing. About the same time, an otter suddenly ran out from some rocks near the main earth, and after going some distance, tucked in its head and forelegs, and actually rolled some yards downhill. We were on the opposite side of the valley at the time, but a very keen and experienced fox and otter hunter who was there, and witnessed the incident, said that he had never seen anything like it before in his life.
A name to conjure with in the annals of Lakeland otter-hunting is that of the late Bobby Troughton. He was born on Fellside, Kendal, in 1836. In the early eighties he purchased three hounds, "Raleigh," "Ragman," and "Londesborough," and with these three hounds and a couple of terriers he began to hunt the local rivers. Having thus formed the nucleus of a pack, he gradually added to it and improved it, until the late Mr Courtenay Tracy, M.O.H., said there was not another pack like it in England. Bobby's heaviest otter was a big dog weighing 32 lb., and was killed in Rydal Lake. One of his most famous hunts took place in Lever's Water on the Coniston fells. Hounds met at 5 a.m. at the foot of Yewdale Beck, and striking a hot drag at once, went out towards the hills. Near the edge of the tarn they put their otter down, and he at once took to the water. For nine hours he kept hounds going, and it was not until some of the field volunteered to go to Coniston for a boat—no small undertaking—that Bobby was able to get afloat himself, and give his hounds a helping hand. At long last the otter attempted to land, and hounds collared him, thus earning their reward.
