Hunting reports from our young correspondent

Teenager Georgie Archer won our "Young Countryside Writer" competition in 2012 and since then has been a regular correspondent, reporting back from days out with the Golden Valley Hunt. Here she writes for you about Boxing Day and New Year's Day with the hunt.

My stomach churning with excitement, I led Bugsy from his luxurious bed of shavings in his temporary stone stable to the trailer. Sitting in the car on the way to the meet, not even the waterlogged fields and grey skies could dampen the post-Christmas atmosphere. The warmer temperatures did challenge my layering predicament, but thankfully this was not going to be a problem.

Sporting gleaming tack and a freshly clipped coat, bedecked with tinsel and reindeer antlers, I led Bugsy off the trailer into Hay car park to join the gathering crowd of jiggling ponies, horses and children. Walking purposefully through the centre of the town, even before reaching the Clock Tower, where the meet was to be, excited faces turned to watch. Locals, tourists and those simply passing through the idyllic streets turned to watch us striding by and upon reaching the corner before the meet, the crowds of people clustered around the edge of the square became evident. Bugsy's reindeer antlers certainly received a lot of attention! Giggling faces peered from underneath woollen hats, bright eyes followed pointing hands, gazing at the tinsel on horses' bridles and hats – despite it being after Christmas Day, opportunities to make the most of the festive season were not ignored.

Mulled wine splashed around in gesturing hands as conversation flowed. People from near and far locations exchanged greetings and introductions; old friends were reunited both on horseback and on foot as new ones were made. Babies bounced in the arms of parents, enveloped in warm coats. A child was placed on the pommel of the Master's saddle – a young Pony Clubber eager to hunt on his Shetland pony and a likely candidate for a future member of the Hunt Staff! With a smile that stretched from ear to ear, he perched atop the smart chestnut with the Master, content to stay there for a while.

A bubble of celebration and anticipation rested in the heart of the eccentric town as people waited. Finally, the Master removed his hat and, holding it in his hand, he began his speech. He talked of the gratitude owed to the landowners who facilitate the season's riding and the kindness and support that they express towards us. He spoke of past and coming seasons and of the future of the hunt. Finally, he stated that we would hunt within the law and we were off. The gathering of horses parted to let the scampering hounds and hunt staff through, followed by the sound of the hunting horn and the clattering of hooves. We followed in hot pursuit, following behind the Field Master. My saddle bag, in which several chocolate bars resided, waiting to be eaten, bounced on Bugsy's freshly clipped shoulder and his ears were pricked. His white socks and tail wouldn't stay so clean for long, but as we trotted up the road in pursuit of the hounds, he proudly flicked his heels and swished his tail, staring intently up ahead, eager for the coming action.

After a burst of roadwork, we reached a field in which we stopped for a short while to watch and listen to the hounds scouting for the scent in the woods. After this resulted in little success, we headed further up the road, into the increasingly strong wind. Almost at the top, we stopped for a bit of stream jumping (at which point Bugsy decided that staying clean was far too arduous and it was necessary to attempt to roll) before blowing the cobwebs away with a brisk canter across the foothills of Hay Bluff. The following hours were spent jumping logs and gorse bushes, leaping through ponds on the hill, galloping behind the hounds and crossing streams and tracks. At one point, we found ourselves cantering into wind so strong that it felt as though the horses had a tight band around their chests, holding them back. Unfortunately, this also meant that the scent was poor and an amount of time was spent seeking refuge behind hillocks and trees whilst waiting for the hounds to pick up the trail once more.

After reaching the road again, the majority of the field trekked back to trailers and lorries parked in Hay, but a few of us continued on to experience the rest of the day. Following this, Bugsy and I enjoyed an exhilarating gallop along tracks in the woods as well as a few essential snacking points, with him tucking into a grassy verge whilst I dug out yet another chocolate from my dwindling collection. After our efforts in the woods, we left, looking for the hounds and Master (or the tell-tale trucks and quad bikes always nearby) as the wind meant that we could not hear them well. I discovered that it is possible to keep a packet of Mini Cheddars almost entirely intact after a whole days hunting - they were much appreciated by those remaining as we wandered along a quiet country lane.

Finally, the day had to come to an end. The wind was proving to be a challenging aspect to the day and the scent had been poor, but we had had an enjoyable day, one which will be remembered for many seasons to come. It was drier than expected and although not as cold as last year, when we had returned covered in snow with frozen fingers and toes, the wind made up for the higher temperatures. It had threatened at points to blow us out of the saddles, but a secure seat had meant that nobody succumbed to anything other than skidding in the extremely soft ground in some areas.

A full hay net was appreciated by my steed on returning to the trailer after a long trek back down to Hay and the discovery of yet another chocolate bar in my saddle bag put a smile on my mud-splattered face. The colour of Bugsy's legs and tail did not remotely resemble its original sparkling whiteness, but it had been worth it.

New Year's Day

The chill in the early morning air woke me up as I was dropped at Bugsy's loan home, ready for a few hours of preparation before the meet. Bright eyed, he and the other horses nickered from the warmth of their stables, plastered in inches of mud, left even after a late night hose before going to bed the previous evening. It was going to be a fun time cleaning him! However, after shampooing the filthiest parts several times to the harmonious tunes of the impatient and hungry pig close by, he more resembled a respectable hunter. It was time to tack up and go.

The journey to the meet was uneventful and brief, although upon arrival it became clear that the meet had been relocated to a dry section of road, presumably due to the proximity of the river Wye to Llanstephan House, where the meet was intended to be. Last year the waters of the river had provided a tranquil background for photographs of bleary-eyed riders and those on foot, but this year, the trucks and cars lining the road by the meet would have to do! A few minutes late, we watched the hounds and hunt staff pass, although the (joint) Master did pause and ask me to tuck leather bits into keepers on his bridle, much to the amusement of his partner, who simply observed that it was clear who had done the tack cleaning last night!

After trotting up the road to the meet ourselves, we were greeted by a host of children and foot followers whilst the hosts handed out hot sausage rolls and drinks for all. The atmosphere did not fail to be one of excitement, despite the bags under the eyes and headaches of many participants. An array of young children perched atop smartly turned out ponies, eager for the day ahead. Tales were exchanged of raucous parties, as well as others of quieter nights in and more of brilliant firework displays. Snorting clouds into the air, the horses stood tall, waiting for any sign of departure and watching intently as the hounds scoured the edges of an adjacent field, against the wills of those trying to herd them back together.

After the Master's speech, we were off; my chocolate-filled saddle bag bouncing against Bugsy's shoulder. This was followed by several hours of crossing precariously-bridged ditches, galloping alongside the fast-flowing river being pelted with clumps of wet mud and jumping logs in the woods. Blindly, children cantered through the woods, unaware of the perilous situation those on larger horses faced; being whipped by branches as you attempt to duck underneath them, or being hit by twigs flicked back at you by the rider in front are not the best elements of hunting, but the scratches and bruises associated with bashing legs on gates and others' stirrups are all part of it. The mud and filth also make up essential parts of the day's excitement – after getting stuck behind someone with large hooves it is satisfying to escape this and find a horse with smaller hooves to ride behind! It's all part of the health benefits, too; the exercise and mud mask leave you feeling revitalised, despite the drawbacks of chocolate bars and, in some cases, alcohol.

Once leaving the confines of the river, we headed up onto a large estate, where the field stood to exchange hip flasks and chocolate bars. With pricked ears and a snort of cloudy breath, Bugsy watched as a small group of deer sprung across the field opposite, before heading into the sanctuary of the woods. We stood listening to the hounds and huntsmen below and wriggled toes to keep warm as the dark grey clouds rolled in, bringing with them the first drops of rain. Unfortunately, due to time constraints and the incoming weather, I had to leave. The walk back down the long track to the road took a lot longer than when we came up at a canter! However, we finally reached the bottom and trekked back to the trailer, where the last of my food supplies were consumed and the horses untacked, before leading them to their overflowing hay nets in the trailer and stepping into the dry (although not noticeably warmer, until the heating kicked in) car, looking significantly less smart and clean than we had on the way to the meet!