by Kelly Reeves
An old Toyota pickup with a box full of hounds, a cloud of dust, and a hearty “Tally-Ho!” The Lone Beagler!
From the 1950s through the 1990s, East Texas was home to the popular pastime of beagling. “Beagling”, or “Running hounds” as we called it, was the act of pursuing wild rabbits with beagles, whether it be to the gun, or simply for the enjoyment of the music of the race. Most of the beaglers rarely carried a gun. Although we called it hunting, we didn’t want to kill the rabbits. The beaglers wanted the rabbits to thrive so they could run them again tomorrow. The beaglers regularly threw corn and salt blocks into briar patches to supplement the rabbit’s diet. They placed artificial cover, such as lengths of four-inch pipe or brush piles, in areas where cover was sparse so rabbits could run into the pipes or piles to evade predators. The beaglers hunted predators to give the rabbits a better chance at survival. They did everything possible to help the rabbits to thrive.
Beagling was rarely about the kill. Beagling, or running hounds, was about watching and listening to the dogs work as a team to pursue their quarry. It was about hearing the race and enjoying the music of the hounds. Each hound has its own voice that the owner can pick out of a pack of many barking hounds. There are many descriptions of the hound’s mouth. A fast chop, a raspy chop, a horn mouth, a long heavy bawl, a clear tenor bawl, a squeal, a squall, and many other descriptors are used to describe the sound that a particular dog makes. “Listen at Susie with that machine gun chop!” one hunter would say. “There’s Ol’ Rowdy with that long tenor horn mouth” another would say. This mixture of hound voices makes a symphony that the hunters desire. When the dogs lost the trail of their quarry, they would go silent as they searched for the scent. “Working a check” as it is known to the houndsmen. This occurs when the shifty rabbit pulls a trick to throw the pursuing dogs off his trail. The rabbit will sometimes stop running, and back-track along its trail for a long distance then make a big jump off to one side, and take off running in another direction. The hounds would run out of scent at the point of the backtrack and have to work the trail backward and find where the rabbit jumped off the line and started the new trail. The rabbit may leave the ground and run onto a fallen log, or run into a creek. He may just jump off to the side and sit very still against a bush and not move until a hound noses him out. The rabbits have an unending bag of tricks to throw the hounds off track. When this silence occurs, the waiting houndsmen all hope that their dog is the first to regain the trail, and bark to call the other hounds and restart the race. The houndsmen try to get in front of the race to see the rabbit come through and then watch the dogs as they follow the trail. If they were to shoot the rabbit, the symphony would be over!
My uncle Dave Olive used to love telling an old houndsman joke about taking the city fellow hunting with him. As he told it, the large pack of dogs was hot on the trail of a rabbit and all the hunters were listening intently and each was bragging on his dog. They asked the newcomer what he thought about the music and he replied, “I can’t hear it for all the noise them damn hounds are making!”
East Texas was home to the Rose City Beagle Club, the Trinity River Beagle Club, the La-Tex and the Southeast Texas Beagle clubs, AKC licensed field trials, and untold numbers of houndsmen. Sadly, beagling in this area has gone the way of nickel Cokes and floorboard dimmer switches. Most, if not all, of the beagle clubs have moved out of state due to lack of game, lack of property, and lack of houndsmen.
Beginning in the 1990s, the rabbit population began to dwindle. There’s much speculation as to the “why”, but I think it is safe to say that it was a conglomeration of events that led to the demise of beagling in this area. The number of rabbits began to fade followed by the number of rabbit hunters.
The old hunters used to say, “Cottontails are born looking for a place to die.” While that may not be exactly true, there is certainly no other creature more defenseless than a rabbit. One thing rabbits must have to survive is proper cover. They must be able to evade the ever-growing number of predators looking for an easy meal. This cover and rabbit habitat began to fade as the subdivisions began to appear, and once-great habitat was converted to homesites and hay fields. This area had been home to many rose growers, and old abandoned rose fields made the perfect habitat for rabbits. These overgrown rose fields made them untouchable from the ground or sky, and the cottontail rabbit density was high. In the 1990s however, many of these old rose fields were plowed under and planted in coastal grass for cattle grazing and hay production. This brought the introduction of herbicides and pesticides that some people also attribute to dwindling rabbit numbers. The loss of cover and habitat, the arrival of fire ants and feral hogs (which both wreak havoc on ground nesting animals), the explosion of coyotes, cats, birds of prey, and other factors had a hand in the decline in rabbits and beaglers. The increased interest in whitetail deer hunting also had an effect on rabbit hunters as the deer hunters didn’t want hounds anywhere near their hunting properties. The big game hunters also leased most all of the large tracts of available land as landowners learned how valuable the deer hunting rights were to them.
Another factor was the age of many beaglers. A great number of houndsmen were of retirement age. Raising and running these hounds takes a big commitment of time. There is time spent daily to tend to these canine athletes; afield training, enjoying the races, and competing in field trials on the weekends. Much time was spent researching pedigrees, planning the next litter of puppies, breeding, and raising the next generation of winners … hopefully. Most beaglers kept a minimum of 8 to 10 hounds. Many kept 20 or more. Time was something that retirement offered. The working man who was also raising a family was at a disadvantage in the time department. So, with the advanced age of many beaglers came the passing of these gentlemen, and a further reduction in the number of beaglers.
One beagler that I spent many days afield with is Gary Fisher of Fruitvale, Texas. Gary has been running beagles since 1980 and is still at it today. He is one of the few that refuses to give up. Gary was introduced to beagles by local hunters and fell in love with the sport, the hounds, and the camaraderie of the hunters. Although the camaraderie is now lacking, he still loads his hounds a few times each week and runs all alone most of the time. He, like the rest of us, has no nearby running grounds but continues to hunt by driving several counties away each day to pursue the sport he loves.
I called Gary a few weeks ago and asked if I could tag along with him on a hunt. He issued an open invitation and we planned a trip to chase the bunnies. I drove up to his kennel early on the morning of the hunt. I have done this more times than I can count, though it’s been years since the last trip. It felt very familiar. I was as comfortable as if we had never stopped hunting together. The dogs were all new to me, though I knew their ancestors. Everything else was unchanged. We loaded five hounds into the dog box and headed to his closest hunting ground over an hour away.
I dreaded the drive since I’d already driven over an hour to get to Gary’s kennel, but it turned out to be a pleasurable ride. We reminisced about old dogs, old hunters, and old times, and the trip seemed short. On arrival we dropped the tailgate and turned out the hounds. It wasn’t long before we had one up and running. Circle after circle, we saw the streaking ball of fur bounce by us followed closely by the pack of hounds. Most often, they were close enough together to cover all five hounds with a blanket. The harmonious melody of the hounds brought back a rush of memories accompanied by goosebumps. I loved the music of the hounds the very first time I heard it forty-something years ago, and it was even better on this day.
After a few hours and some good rabbit races, we caught the hounds, loaded them in the truck, and headed home. This hunt was another one for the books. This outing answered any question of why Gary refuses to give in or give up on running rabbits. He can’t. It’s as much a part of who he is as the blood that pumps through his veins. He no longer has a faithful companion to go with him, but just as in those thrilling days of yeaster-year, The Lone Beagler runs again.
