The Cruelty Of Mink Hunting: An Eyewitness Account

In 1982 I was the Press Officer for the League Against Cruel Sports (LACS) and working undercover within hunting, posing as a hunt supporter, in order to gain evidence and images that showed how hunting really worked. This was a time before mobile phones, digital cameras, video cameras, or satnavs. In the summer I started following the Devon & Cornwall Minkhounds and in due course I was invited to attend a Joint Week.

The Joint Week, Monday July 5th to Saturday July 10th, 1982, involved three packs of minkhounds — the Three Counties based in the West Midlands and Welsh Borders, the Four Shires who operated just west of London and the Devon & Cornwall.

The idea was simple — a weeklong bloodsports jamboree with hunting and killing interspersed with much pub fun in the evenings involving liberal drinking, reminiscing about past hunts and the raucous singing of hunting songs. Ian Coghill, Joint Master and Huntsman of the Three Counties Minkhounds and the organiser, chose a week early in July because that is when the young mink first leave their nest and are easily found. I was assured that it was marvellous ‘sport’ watching the hounds chase the struggling youngsters.

The week commenced on the Monday, but I arrived with the Devon & Cornwall contingent for the triple meet on Wednesday July 7th at a small pub The Cottage of Content near Carey, by the beautiful river Wye. I turned up full of expectation and interest in finally meeting Ian Coghill, my formidable antagonist in the letters columns of many local papers. He was Conservation & Education Officer for the British Field Sports Society (the pro-hunting lobby group that changed its name to the more innocuous-sounding Countryside Alliance in 1997). I – as Mike Wilkins – was Press Officer for the LACS. But Coghill was not there. His own followers explained with mirth that, unable to swim, he is none too keen on the wide and deep Wye. Let us skip forward a few days to a day when Ian Coghill was present.

For Saturday July 10th, the last day of this Joint Week, the meet was at The Lamb, Stoke Prior, near Leominster, on the River Lugg. This time Arlin Rickard, Master and Huntsman of the Devon & Cornwall Minkhounds, took charge and hunted the combined Devon & Cornwall and Three Counties packs.

In the first draw down the River Arrow to its junction with the River Lugg the hounds were completely silent. They ran and sniffed, played and rolled, but could find nothing. At the junction Devon & Cornwall’s hound Kindly spoke immediately and led the pack in a charge up the Lugg. It was about midday. Kindly is a hound with an immensely sensitive nose, so sensitive that she is often accused of babbling (a serious fault in which the hound speaks when there is no scent at all — the usual remedy is a bullet).

The other hounds spoke only intermittently, heading up the Lugg towards a railway line. Hunt followers scoured the water and vegetation but there was no sighting of the mink. The hunting was virtually all on Kindly’s shoulders and most supporters seemed willing to disown her. Certainly, the Three Counties supporters were muttering that she must be stupid and should be put down. Why had no other hound picked up this elusive scent? Even Arlin was beginning to have doubts. However, Kindly was right, as just before the entourage reached the railway line, Arlin’s Whipper-in Graham holloaed the mink away.

At the railway bridge over the river this mink, a beautiful silvery brown creature, came out of the main river, crossed to a small stream and went to ground under an old, partly exposed, tree root. As always in this Joint Week the Three Counties hunters led the digging party. Ian Coghill rushed to the fore and rooted about under the tree but to no avail. The mink was eventually bolted by the terriers attacking his hiding place from above. Seeking escape, he dashed down the tiny stream, dodged the hounds and whooping supporters and went to ground again. This time Ian and fellow Joint Master Peter Cooper went to work with spades. The terrified mink bolted again and, after another short sprint, found sanctuary in a really big earth. At last, he appeared to be safe. However, these hunters are resolute. Major excavations began, led by the Three Counties twins Peter and Rick May who did the terrier work for their local fox hunts.

Deeper and wider they dug in the baking heat. It was slow and hard work. When half an hour had passed without sign of the mink the hunt moved on and they were left to continue their work. The hounds were taken forwards to try for another mink upstream across the railway line.

Two swans accompanied by three cygnets were viewed swimming in mid-river ahead of the pack. To avoid any riot the hounds were called out and back whilst the supporters moved forwards to scare the swans away with shouting, backed by a barrage of stones.

A breathless runner then caught up with this main part of the hunt with the information that the first mink had showed and was about to bolt. That was a timely intervention. The hunters left the swans and returned over the railway to the previous dig site. By then the diggers were in a frenzy of excitement as they neared their objective. The mink bolted, leaping out of the earth in full view of all and headed straight for the stream where it was promptly lost again.

A lengthy search ensued, with the supporters wading in and probing the riverbanks. Eventually this highly elusive mink was again sighted but, after a short dash, he disappeared into a narrow drain beside the railway bridge. With the terriers unable to enter the small hole it appeared that at long last the terrified creature had found a safe sanctuary. But mink hunters are determined and very resourceful.

Ian Coghill searched around and acquired a long length of wire. By feeding it into the other end of the narrow tube he managed to poke and prod the mink until he bolted again. He sprang into the stream, swam along, landed, and went straight to ground yet again. This was far less of a stronghold. He was soon evicted and promptly dived into the main river.

Now the hunt was really on — and this tiring mink was fast running out of escape options. I accompanied Arlin on one bank with the bulk of supporters whilst, on the other side, Ian led his team of Three Counties hunters. He organised these into a line to beat the undergrowth lining the top of the riverbank to prevent the mink escaping to the adjacent cornfield. It seemed to me that their priority was not to protect the cornfield, the fringes of which they themselves trampled, but rather to prevent the mink reaching safety.

No longer was it a game of hide and seek; now it was truly a life-or-death battle of wits. The mink, a beautiful full adult, was one against the many, nature’s perfect predator against two of the best hunting packs in the country. This was always an unequal contest, but it was not the hounds but rather the vast mob of baying hunt followers who were to finally tip the scales.

To the mink’s advantage the river was fast flowing and murky. Thus, when it dived, swam from one side to the other and landed to hide in the undergrowth its scent was carried away down on the wash, causing the hounds to overrun the true line.

Against this, the air that is trapped in the mink’s coat on diving is gradually expelled forming a chain of bubbles visible on the surface. Just as, in earlier days, such a chain betrayed the whereabouts of many an otter, so it does the mink. The supporters lined the banks searching for these tell-tale bubbles and holloaed or shouted ‘tally-ho!’ whenever they saw them.

Time and again when it seemed the mink had escaped these followers put the hounds right. Mr. Mink crossed the river, diving constantly, backwards and forwards but there was to be no escape. Every time he tried to creep up the bank out of the river and away, he was chased back with shrieks of glee.

As the hounds gained, so exhaustion took its toll. It was noticeable that the quarry’s dives became of increasingly shorter duration. Many times the mink was swimming on the surface when a hound leapt at it from the bank. The crash-dives in response were only just in time.

Desperately the mink tried to return upstream to the sanctuary of the earths beside the railway but he was thwarted. The struggle moved downstream towards the junction with the River Arrow. Again and again the sequence of dive, hide and find, was repeated until at about 4.00p.m. the mink reached the Arrow, crossed the junction to the far side and went to ground beneath a large willow tree.

The ever-enthusiastic diggers arrived on the scene and commenced massive excavations. Several times the mink was spotted but doubtless exhausted he simply would not bolt. The men dug, dug and dug. Their trench must eventually have been all of 5ft deep before, at about 6.00pm, excited holloaing and joyful whoops from hunters indicated that their quarry had bolted again.

The hounds were unleashed in frantic chase but then stopped when this fleeing mink was seen to be totally black. The dejected hunters realised that their original quarry was still hiding in the earth. The newly found black mink was allowed to escape to provide ‘sport’ on another day.

Digging restarted and not long afterwards the silver/brown mink bolted once more. Running out like a bullet from a gun he dived into the river and disappeared. This agility both surprised and pleased the onlookers. Usually animals that are bolted after a long dig and a long hunt come out very stiff and are all too quickly caught.

Arlin drew the hounds back up the Lugg. I had actually seen Mr. Mink go down the Arrow but nevertheless I assured Arlin that I thought he was right—- that the mink had gone up the Lugg. I was playing the best card I had to try and save the life of this courageous mink, but my ploy was foiled when there was a holloa from supporters standing in mid-stream down the Arrow. I swiftly excused my error by saying that I must have seen another mink. There were after all several about. The last hunt now commenced with nearly forty hounds all on and in full cry.

The gallant victim again went to ground in a small stick pile but was dislodged by supporters. He made a final dash for the river but was caught by the pack just a yard short. There was a brief skirmish with the mink hissing and spitting as it tumbled over and over with the lead hounds in battle, then it was all over. The time was nearly 7.00p.m. That was some 7 hours after Kindly had first spoken at the rivers’ confluence.

The torn carcass was brought to our side of the river and held aloft in triumph by Peter Cooper. The mask, pads, tail and penis bone were removed. Months later the mounted mask was presented to Arlin in recognition of his ‘great exploits’. The supporters enthused over the day’s hunting.

Many regarded it as the best they had enjoyed since the ‘heady’ days of otter hunting.

Mike Huskisson went undercover deep into the hunting community from 1981 to 1983. This is his story. Undercover he followed Stag, Fox, and Mink hunts, taking photos and videos. The work he did exposed the hunting community’s animal cruelty to the spotlight which helped to bring about the hunting ban. Although this did not stop hunting, it is a step towards final abolition.

You can buy his books, Outfoxed Take Two and Outfoxed Again, on the HSA’s web store.