an Klye, Master of The Northern Hunt Club in Tasmania, must have thought I was deaf as a post. I had repeatedly asked him the same question because I couldn’t wrap my mind around what he was telling me.
My daughter and I stood among the eucalyptus on this far-flung island, south of mainland Australia. We felt honored to see the hunt’s hounds and talk with Ian about Tasmanian style hunting. Although not a horse person, Rachel had agreed to take part of our holiday for this sortie to meet hunt folk whom I had found online. Anna Hayward, Hunt secretary/treasurer, invited us to visit her and asked me to speak to the Hunt members as part of a fund-raiser for their coffers.
“What do you mean, there are no wells for water?” I asked again. I am from Indiana where we have so much water that floods are a nemesis and wells are an unspoken part of the landscape. I’d seen Tasmanian lakes, ponds, creeks, and serious flooding (part of the calamitous storm in Queensland) so I couldn’t comprehend the phrase, ‘no wells’.
“Nah, no wells here,” said Ian with his broad Aussie accent. He grinned at my confusion and repeated questions.