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Fifty years ago, prime hunting territory ran along both sides of Route 522 between Sperryville and Woodvilie. Some of the best cover lay on property owned by William Meade Fletcher.
“If you had a horse that could get through that, vou had one extraordinary animal. Joe Johnson was the hardest, guttiest rider in a bunch that would try almost any fence. I’d follow him. 1 was young. I didn’t know any better,” Jack laughed. "Sometimes I’d hit the ground on the other side. But I went. You could cripple your horse and you could cripple yourself but riding after a fox, that was how you made hounds — and horses."
Those rides, those wonderful wild rides when practically the entire county was open to mounted hunters and their dogs in search of the elusive fox. Jack remembers those chases ol. 30, JO and 50 years ago as if they happened yesterdSy?
There was a brazen red fox that farm workers had seen repeatedly, strolling aroifftd JadiHWiller’s- barn yard as if he owned the place. "It was the dead of winter. the middle of hunting season. Bunny and I decided to meet there one monring. We watched them gathering up and gathering up, throwing their tonges and trailing. Then the fox shot out, just like you’d poured him out of a bag in front of the hounds.
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