By Barry 'Bear' Siragusa

I knew before I got out of the driveway that it was going to be “one of those days”. How did I know you ask? Well, I didn't actually make it out of the driveway.

It is mid October in the mountains of Eastern Norway at that means two things here on our farm; hunting, and (most probably) snow. Early season snow storms is one of the perks of living close to the arctic circle. Back when I was a sled dog guy, I lived early season snow. Now, not so much...

It was the hunting that made me try and get out of the driveway before sun-up, and the snow that stopped me. The last week had seen several feet of wet, sticky, snow that clung to the branches of the trees as tenaciously as any squirrel and bent them; dragging steadily and irresistibly towards the ground until they lay broken and strewn over the road.

After chainsawing and swearing my way out to the main road I began driving the mountain roads in my pick-up, looking for track tracks in the snow. I don't usually like hunting this way, but I will when I have a young hound I am starting. After several hours of driving I had not seen anything worth opening the dog box for. I was well stocked with coffee, good music (I suspect Tyler McCall would like hunting Norway style), and bad theories about why game didn't not want to move when it's snowing. After a morning of no luck, I decided to check one last spot. I drove down out of the mountains to a river valley where I had had some luck in the past.

I pulled up to a good area, and decided to walk a bit and let the hounds stretch their legs and mark their territory. After a mile or so of trudging through the snow, we came to a place where, about 50 yards from the road, there stood a clump of poplar trees in the middle of a field. Leaving that clump of trees were tracks. Not the freshest tracks but absolutely workable.

I had two hounds with me. I would have liked to run a big pack but here in my area of Norway, we are only allowed to run one hound at a time. So, a pack quickly becomes too many individuals to train. I left my female Running Walker leashed, suspecting that she was about to go in to heat, and released my young hound. We waded down to the trees in snow that was chest high on him. He immediately went to work. He didn't get far before he opened up with his big bawl (a trait he inherited from his Blood Hound ancestors I suspect) and then started barking in a way that I had not heard from him before. The unusual cacophony of barks soon turned into growls, snarls, and yelps. The sounds of fighting. The snow was knee deep and wet and heavy, so it took me a while to get down to him. We have bear, badgers, wolverines, and lynx in our area of Norway and I was thinking maybe he had caught one of those on the ground. Upon arrival, I was surprised to see that it was a big (ish) fox. My approached caused the two combatants to pause long enough for the fox to get its feet under it and take off running down an irrigation ditch that ran the length of the field. My hound is a game dog, and was inches behind it. The ditch emptied into a wipe and shallow –but fairly swift– river that was only partially frozen over.

Whoever has hunted foxes can vouch for their ability to twist and turn and shake even good dogs. This one started running in S's that crossed the river on the rotten ice between every swing. My 90 pound hound tried to follow and immediately went through the ice. I couldn't see him but saw that the GPS collar had stopped in the middle of the river and it had gotten got really quite. I ran as fast as I was able and got there just in time to see him heave himself up on the ice and take off after the fox, bawling his head off. The fox had stopped at a bend in the river and was watching to see if his pursuer would make it out of the river. Seeing and hearing my hound coming for it, the fox started running that S pattern again, back and forth across the ice.

They ran another 200 yards like that before the GPS showed my hound stopped again in the middle of the river. His bawling changed to panicked barks. This time he couldn't get out. I ran until I tasted copper, and was seeing stars. When I arrived I couldn't see him. I jumped out into the river (it was shallow remember) and saw in an open patch in the ice, the tip of a GPS antenna. I reached out and

grabbed the antennae, and hauled a limp dog through the water to me. I threw him up on to the bank, and the impact of hitting the ground compressed his chest and he vomited. He inhaled and vomited again. After about 10 seconds he stumbled to his feet, vomited about a gallon of water, and moved in a daze to continue after the fox again, swaying and retching as he went. After two dunkings and a almost-total drowning, I was of the opinion that it was time to call it a day before our luck completely ran out and I couldn't get to him in time. Despite being tired, dazed, and clearly hypothermic from his swims, I still had to catch and drag this hound, bucking and bawling, up the river bank and out on to the field to start the walk back to the truck.

I ran sled dogs for 25 years. I have been hunting with hounds now for some years. There has never been a dull moment. Watching the GPS stop moving and the sudden silence during a full cry was not something I enjoyed. I had a tinge of guilt, letting that fox go. Both the fox and the hound escaped the jaws of death by the skin of their teeth and while I was never in danger, my lord it was chilly!

Keep track of your hounds this time of year folks. The temps are dropping and the ice that is forming will be thin for a good while still.

We started the day looking for a harvest but, sometimes, I think the best result is everyone living to hunt and run another day.

Stay safe!