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We are terminally, and
willingly so, indebted to our lavish and generous hosts, Pete
and Cindy Lazetich, and the entire staff at the Sakagawea
Hotel. As if the food and accommodations weren’t enough to
satisfy us, hunting in Three Forks, Montana surpassed anything
imaginable. Do you think it is possible to consider our northern
Nevada fixtures cramped or confining? Anyone would say "Never!" -
that is until they hunted Three Forks. The sheer mass of the
territory actually takes your breath away (that and being just a
wee bit scared out of your mind getting around in some of the
terrain). We had three days of the hardest, most rewarding hunting
in recent memory. Game and glory for all who partook. Came home
with all our hounds, "dog" tired and with sore cheek muscles from
all the laughter we shared. Check out who showed up for this
mid-April extravaganza and you know we hard a hard-hunting, good
living time (if I forget to mention you- PLEASE forgive me - you
were the most important person there!): from Washington:
Jennifer & Michaela Hansen, Lynee Forsyth, Angela Morrell, and Ann
Heneghan (where were you TAMMY MASTERS??), from Arizona:
Our wonderful Jayne Murphy, from Colorado: the amazing
Betty Hollendorfer, and Judy Nelson; from California:
the infamous Mary Tiscorna, from his suitcase: Professional
Huntsman extraordinaire Noel Ryan , from Virginia: the
charming sophisticate and Master of the Waldingfield Beagles Arie
Rijke, and from Red Rock, Gayle Horn MFH, Lynn Lloyd
MFH, Judy Vose Hon. Sec., Pat Hodges, Tamara Erickson,
Margaret Smith, and Chrysann Collatos.
Special mention and thanks to Tamara’s sister
Destyne and our great friends Joe and Nicky for their efforts in
organizing and publicizing the meet.
No joke: come to Montana in April for the second annual
Three Forks meet - it doesn’t bear missing (did someone mention
Bears?)
A Crafty Vignette
Shortly after our arrival at the Sacagawea Hotel, our host Pete
Lazetich informed us that we would be sharing the hotel with a
convention group. Not to worry, Pete promised, this convention
would take place in the basement and it was unlikely that the
participants would spend much time upstairs. Parched for
knowledge, at the first opportunity a scouting party was sent to
the basement to investigate. |
What to our
wondering eyes appeared but a room vibrating with magnificent
computerized sewing machines and their fiercely concentrating
operators. Covering the walls of the basement was an explosion of
color and design beyond imagination. Our entrance brought up the
heads of the craftswomen before us and we were enthusiastically
greeted by some 50 or so expert quilters.
To make a long story short, we got more than we bargained for
with these gals. A stodgy bunch they definitely were not. After
enthusiastically introducing us to their magnificent artistry,
they grilled us about our sport. And to top off our experience
with a quilting convention, the whole crew of them drove out to
our last day’s meet and cheered as we rode off to hunt. Before
letting us go, however, they presented Lynn with a beautiful
quilted runner, which was promptly draped across her hunter’s
withers.
Our encounter with these vivacious, inquisitive and talented
women was a special part of our Three Forks experience. It
provided a wonderful reminder of how things are not always what
they appear to be, and prompted us all to be cautious before
putting people into boxes they might just not fit.
First Day Hunting
Wednesday, September 10th
- first day of cubbing, and my birthday to boot. I’ve had a hectic
summer - with a busy large animal veterinary practice there just
weren’t many opportunities to ride out with hound exercise. I’m
feeling ill-prepared as a "dedicated" honorary whipper-in; too
many young entries I don’t recognize, wondering if our first day
out will be pandemonium, how can I expect to have a thoughtful
conversation with these youngsters when I’ve shirked my
responsibility all summer?
Tuesday, of course, was a mess. Three emergencies on top of a
full schedule saw me pulling in the driveway after 9 PM with a
raft of return phone calls still to complete. I finally climb into
bed wondering where my wire cutters are, knowing my boots and tack
are dirty, fairly certain that I left my whip hanging in the
trailer tack room, and positive that my horse’s bridle path is
long and whiskers unkempt. A trickle of light penetrates my cloud
of worry: at least I pulled his mane last week. |
