The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965, 1933-12-23
conservation
FOX HUNTING IN
BROWN COUNTY
GAINS CONVERT
Qualities as Sport While
Northern Way SavorS
More of Mob.
BY WILLIAM r. COLLINS
Times Special Writer.

northern style, where township
arms with tough clubs for a fox
killing.
The northern method sits pretty
heavy on my conscience after
watching the hnesse of a southern
hunt. The picture of a Tightening
circle of grim, shouting men bear
ing down on harassed wild thing
hopelessly out-matched by sheer
numbers is not pleasant to remem-
Der.
The wild clutching for the
draggled body, the thud of heavy
sticks on the carcass, the loud argu-
ments for possession, the primitive
urge that savors of mob violence is
bit too thick to qualify this kind
of hunting as a sport.
l much prefer the Brown county
fox hunt. Out behind the old log
barn on Henry Sipes farm nestled
in the blue hills of Salt Greek valley
stands a kennel of fox hounds. The
leader is a sad-eyed veteran eight
seasons old. His left hind leg was
lost in wire fence accident years
ago but Henry claims that only
made him run faster. He is leader
by virtue of his nose and wits, the
race seldom falling to one who can
boast only of his muscle.
Others in Pack
There is Old Blue and Whitley
and a big black and tan with a
powerful voice, and others down to
the pup, a recent addition to the
pack, with thin zip of a voice.
Lowering gray clouds roll through
the upper levels around Weed Patch
hill. A scud of rain drifts across
the valley. A pennant of hickory
wood smoke from Henrys chimney
mingles its scent with the woodsy
smell of December leaves. It's a
prime day for a fox chase.
The hounds are unleaShed, Henry
waves them out and we climb into
the car for a short run to the di-
vide Sitting there atop the world
of Indiana we talk hunting and
wait for the dogs. The calm dig
nifty of the old hunter accentuates
my Impotence. I find myself pac-
ing the road and asking innumera-
BILE questions. The pup is patriarch
of wisdom compared with my ig-
norance.
Hounds Make Music
Here they come. Far down in the
blue depths Of the valley rolls a
cadence of dog music. I know now
what they mean by the music of the
hounds and am everlastingly con-
verified to it. At first to my I'M
accustomed ears the sound re-
sembled the moan of winter through
gray cypress swamps, a distant bell
swelling to a chime, water cascading
in a western canyon, a winter surf
breaking far beyond the head-all
the sounds of nature mingled and
far away but constantly growing
nearer until the packs individual
voice separates itself from the long
echoes and Henry interprets the
hunt for me.
Blue is in the lead; the pup is
getting ambitious; Three Legs
hasn't opened up yet; old Whitley
has left the pack and is trying to
head the fox
How did he know? Well, how do
you know the different voices OF
your children. Each hound was
talking to him, each one was tell
ing Henry what was going on down
there in the valley. Whitley said
"Oooouuuh, master, this is the big
red fox from over near Kelley'S
Hill. He doubled back on us at
Wild Cat den, but Three Legs
turned him. We are trying to put
him over the divide near the stone
sign, I'm going to cut across
through this knoll and head him of
Better get over by the stone sign,
master"
Henry Explains
We'll. Bill. we'd better get over
to the stone sign, Whitley will make
him cross down there Henry said.
How in the heck do you know
that" ask in my utter ignorance.
Listen. that's how I know, there's
the pup. Zip, Zip, Zip. YIYIYIyiyi.
Ouch, ouch. oh lordy I'm in the
briarS.' Sure. he's in the briarS. ike
as not he fell down hill on his chin,
too. the way he carries on" Henry
explained.
Up spoke Big Black, down deep
from the bottom of his soul. 1t
takes a lot of wind from his deep
chest to pump his information out
to roll and reverberate up from the
valley:
It's tough going down here, mas
ter. Booouuugh. Bouuuuuuugh.
Two full octaves below all the rest.
'Bouuuuuugh, red fox went into
the branch to lose us. Three Legs
picked him up near the willows, the
pup is lost. not the fox. booouuugh,
we're coming up the hill back OF
the stone sign. see him, / see him,
bou. bou, bou bou."
Wed better get going Bill if We
want to see him. Blackie says he's
a big one, Blackie saw him, Henry
advises.
In another moment we skid to a
stop at the stone sign. Up through
the timber on the hillside comes the
hounds. echoes of their voices roll
out and back through the stark
trees. louder and ever nearer.
Fox Enjoys Chase
Suddenly, without sound, with
out the faintest stir of a leaf a
magnificent red fox in full fur,
brush held high stands on the cut
bank and he is laughing: that is
exactly what he is doing, laughing
at the clumsy hounds. He is en-
toying the run. there can be no
doubt about it.
Nothing of cringing fear in that
fox. the wisp of vapor from his
breath shows as evenly against the
dark background of the forest as my
own pulse beats. Here comes Whitley,
rollicking out of the woods full
quarter ahead of the pack, just too