The Ferreter's Dog
by Martin Hollinshead
The UK must surely be the ferreting capital of the world. The Americans do a bit; the Continentals do a lot. But British falconers storm through the tape, an unstoppable army. We've always done a lot of ferreting: the gos got us going, the redtail threw some coal on and the Harris' took us into orbit. And we're good. US falconers may reign when it comes to massive grouse, massive falcons and the massive country that goes with them, and the eagle flyers of the former Eastern Block stand lofty over the brown hare scene, but when it comes to ferreting, British falconers live in no one's shadow: we're unstoppable, unmatchable – a season's bag of ferreted rabbits would stretch all the way to the Moon!
And now, having hoisted the flag to a rally of football-crowd cheering, I'm going to play traitor and stick the boot in, for like all giants we have a weakness: we don't do ferreting dogs. Or at least we don't do them loudly enough or in bold enough print. Across the Channel they do; pick up a German falconry manual and ferreter will be there with ferreting dog. But in the UK, for all our obsession with ferreting, the ferreter's dog is a sad, forgotten creature.
It's a form of neglect seen only in falconry. In the world of lurchers and nets – and another line of rabbits to the Moon - the ferreter's dog is elevated to unsurpassable heights; indeed many operators would rather have a dog along than human help – with the added bonus of not needing to share the day's bag!
The Job
So what exactly does the falconer-owned ferreting dog do? Well, just one thing. He doesn't have to bulldoze brambles, locate and point pheasants or provide hare flights – though away from ferreting he might do all of this. All he has to do is find and mark occupied warrens. And that's it. Sound easy? There's a catch. He has to do this over all types of country, at times working huge chunks of ground like a pointer, never alerting the warren-hiding quarry and operating without whistle, verbal command or curse, and then, a target found, has to retire to a safe distance and wait patiently as the ferrets do their part and the hawk gets its flight. It's a job that doesn't tolerate ‘not bads' or ‘second bests': anything but perfection translates into no-bolt misery.
The Dog
Ferreting dogs come in all shapes and sizes: the long, the short, the glamorous - the ugly! The netsman generally goes for something with enough speed to pick up any rabbits that slip his nets – or bolt embarrassingly from holes not covered! The falconer doesn't need speed, so can look to one of the traditional hawking breeds. But fast or slow, the sensitive nature of the job requires brains and tractability by the lorry load. Which brings me to my own choice.
For the last seven or so years I've been hawking with a border collie – something I've now confessed so many times it almost sounds normal! It was a move influenced partly by my wife, Tonya, who had worked collies on sheep and loved the breed, and partly by the lurcher world. I've long had an interest in running dogs, have been the netsman – and frequently still am – and enjoyed more than the odd hare run. It's a world where the fabulous collie-greyhound has an army of followers and where the netsman might dilute the greyhound influence to little more than a splash so as to cash in on all those collie brains. And brains the border collie certainly has. You simply don't get more intelligence for your money, or in such a controllable and versatile package. The collie will play rough shooter's dog, dazzle in the obedience ring, find the lost and lame, and still have time for those ewes in the top field. Hawking? Piece of cake!
Why Bother?
If this were pre myxomotosis Britain, a land occupied by 100 million rabbits who suffered never so much as a cold, or maybe a planet where Viral Haemorrhagic Disease caused nothing more than a ‘what?', the ferreter's dog would have an argument about as strong as a paper bucket. But in the Britain of 2006, if you don't begin to tremble violently at the mention of these terrifying rabbit ailments, you fly falcons!
The rabbit is simply unreliable. He can be super abundant, then suddenly scarce, spread evenly, then have you playing ‘find the lucky warren'. And still this doesn't sound too tragic (the netting man who has just carefully put down 20 nets would disagree!) until you consider your hawk and how it might view being dragged around the countryside and shown blank warren after blank warren. It's all beginner's stuff. Commitment to the job at hand – to the whole falconry thing – depends on the falconer delivering the goods. It's a rule the longwinger has to be reciting in his sleep before he's even allowed to try on a glove. So why is the ferreter allowed to cheat?
It is true that ferreting hawks will put up with a lot of disappointment, and the older and more experienced the bird, the more empty warrens it's prepared to stare at. And anyway, it probably has no choice: it's jess-secured on the glove and staying there until Lotto Warren turns up. Countless hawks do a lot of this each season; and many are good at it, stifling the frustration to still deliver. But you can't tell me they're as lethal as the bird that is spared the empty warren nonsense.
The bird that really suffers is the novice hawk. How can it possibly get into ferreting, developing a stare intense enough to set bare earth alight and reactions to shame a cobra, when it's forced to ponder so many empty holes; it doesn't even make the connection between ferret and rabbit! And with this another little problem. Safety in ferreting relies on the hawk understanding that the ferret isn't food. This of course begins with sensible exposure at home, but the message is set in concrete in the field with the animal that isn't food supplying the one that is . Good ferreting starts with basic safety but takes off with the hawk's understanding of the ferret's role.
Young bird or old, where the ferreting dog really underlines its value is with free-flight hawking: the glove flown bird has to sit and suffer; the free-flight bird doesn't. The setting could be woodland or open country, but with the bird loose and required to glue itself to the warren, only a regimented approach, delivering reliable results will give the bond required. Without it, the bird flits about doing its own thing, maybe staying in the right place long enough to get lucky – more often not!
Soaring takes things to the extreme. In fact really good soar-ferreting is no different to grouse hawking: the bird recognises what the mark means and so will stay over the warren under the most demanding conditions. This permits the flying to be taken right to the edge. Severe weather is a good example. Most of my own soar-ferreting has been with Harris' hawks and I find it astonishing that in some quarters the parabuteo is still considered unable to handle heavy-weather flying. Well, team it up with a warren-marker and watch the critics run for cover! The amount of wind – the gales – a committed Harris' will deal with beggars belief. You lean struggling against a hurricane, tears being torn across your face, and above a little dot is rock steady and screaming defiance.
It's the same when lift is poor: throw the bird a bad terrain-wind setup and watch the dog work its magic again. Like most broadwings the Harris' doesn't go up and stay up with falcon-like powered flight. It needs help – wind or thermal. But let the ferreting Harris' spy a clear mark and the rules get frantically rewritten.
Another commitment tester is unwanted interference. Any Harris' going up high in country occupied by native raptors is going to attract attention. Such encounters are common and range from brief inspections to full-blown dogfights. In my area I find peregrines always keen to play Fighter Ace. The Harris' may retaliate – undoubtedly will if pushed too far – but focus on the warren is never lost. You can clearly see the annoyance, a silent stream of profanities as she returns once again from a talon-presenting roll to scan her warren.
Closing the Deal
Having got you this far, time to push this sales pitch to a close with a quick flight:
It's a wild day of deep-purple skies and the Harris' leaves the glove to do a scorching downwind sweep before coming back over the collie as goes about his down-hill, into-the-wind search. It's a weird scene: the big black and white dog sweeping this way and that over the bare terrain and weaving obliviously through welsh mountain ewes, who surely puzzle at the neglect. Suddenly he's dragged violently to a bit of ground that looks just like the rest of the hill but holds him like flypaper. There's no need to phone a friend or ask the audience; he's one away from a million and ready to gamble.
The Harris' tightened her focus on him during the flypaper stage and now zooms into position. She's right over the warren and with the collie all the way; you wouldn't get her out of the hot seat with a crowbar!
As Tonya and I approach with the ferret box, the collie looks back to double-check his message has been delivered and at a token hand wave, comes to where we have deemed it sensible to halt. Saucer-eyed and trembling with excitement he watches while the ferret is entered. And while all this is going on, the Harris' waits patiently in the wind, watching, watching, watching…
Then Wham! A rabbit flies from below ground triggering a gear change so sudden it gives you whiplash. From the bird's dead-still wait to a scorching full stoop, takes less than a blink. I clutch the camera and rattle off the shots but get just sky as the bird's startling speed overwhelms her victim while I'm still trying to find something to aim at.
It's done, over. All the anticipation and power released in one sublime snatch of action. As I attend to hawk and quarry, the electrified dog traces and retraces the rabbit's run. Finally, still beaming, he comes to take a closer look at the spoils. It was all down to him and he knows it.
Still not sold? You really must be longwinger!