LOST ON THE ALLEGHENY As told to his master by various methods by Toby

The following article appeared in the Better Beagling magazine and in the Rabbit Hunter magazine, May 2017 issues.

The story is reprinted here with permission of the author and under the auspices Big Woods Hare Hunters of the Allegheny.

All photography is by the author unless as noted.

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LOST ON THE ALLEGHENY

by

TOBY (Crain’s H. H. Little Toby Creek Toby)

As told to his master by various methods

Based on a true story.
As written down by Joe Ewing, March 2001.

My name is Toby and I am a hunting beagle.  I was lost for twenty-five days on the Allegheny in the dead of winter.  I just found out how much trouble a young fellow can cause when he fails to come home.

The author, Crain's Hickory Hill Little Toby Creek Toby.

  I know what you’re thinking, no sir, I was not running deer.  The fact of the matter is I have never chased deer.  Even as a young pup I refused to go along on a deer chase. Some of my kennel mates cannot resist those whitetails but that’s on them.  I must have been lucky or maybe it's in my DNA. I got a good start on cottontail and I’ve stayed on rabbits.  I like chasing cottontail rabbits.  I love those big white rabbits. They put out a great smell and they don’t play around.  They like to run but they can be very tricky.  In the big woods of the Alleghenies the snowshoe hare run “big”.  On clear brisk day in the dead of winter there is nothing better than chasing those big running snowshoe hare. 

  I still remember that fateful day.  How could I ever forget?  The hunt started out like all the ones before.  My kennel mates and I were up before dawn and into the dog-truck for the ride to the big woods.  We always wait while the boss eats his breakfast.  A short ride onto the Allegheny, a turn or two and we were soon there.

Toby and his pack. (Toby is in the very back).

  After jumping off the tailgate, it wasn’t long before we picked up some hot hare scent and it was off to the races.  That old hare pulled a fast one, immediately leaving the slashing, and running to another.  My kennel mates, which include two of my offspring and one from where I was born in Illinois, are young and full of enthusiasm.
They really go for this hare hunting business too.  The snowshoe hare ran several circles in that clear-cut. Then the hare lit out for another clear-cut several hundred yards away.  Round and round the old hare took me in the thick cover. The scenting conditions were ideal, warm, wet with an inch or two of fresh snow.

Lepus Americanus

  The air was warm at first.  Later in the day, it started to snow and the wind picked up.  The wind began to blow hard and the temperature dropped.  Before long, it was cold but I didn’t care. Mr. hare was keeping me warm and I was keeping the heat on him. The wind started to blow even harder but it did not matter. By dark, the temperature was way down and the wind made it worse. It was not the kind of conditions I like because I can’t hear the boss calling.

    It was one week before the big trip to the Adirondack Mountains I think I overheard my master say.  We were training for the “big hunt”.  The alpha dog of this operation, the boss, says in order to get good, stay sharp and in top-notch condition, we have to train hard all the time.  Today was to be an eight-hour session.  The last big training run before the big hunt.

Snowshoe hare.

  Somewhere the young hounds dropped out of the chase but I didn’t care.  I chased that old hare to yet another clear-cut and then another.  Then a very bad thing happened.  I kicked a new and different snowshoe hare which wanted to run.  He was fresh and ready to roll.  He ran straight away for a long ways.

  When I realized I was tired it was dark-thirty, totally black, and bone chilling cold.  No problem I thought, just over the hill and around the bend, find the forest road and be back home for supper in my nice warm box.  I couldn't find the forest road.  I ran and looked and ran.  Sometime way after dark I couldn’t run anymore.  My feet were stinging, my back hurt, my muscles ached and I was cold.  What I really needed was a nice warm spot to curl up in for just forty winks.

Winter on the Allegheny.

  I found a hollow tree, a lot stinky, but it would have to do for tonight.  The hollow tree had the stench of an old raccoon or maybe some nasty porcupine. The wind had dyed down a little and this hollow tree seemed a decent place.  It was a good spot to rest and listen.  Listen for my master calling.  I fell into a deep sleep.

Porcupine (courtesy the internet)

      I was startled awake by strange howling off in the distance. It sounded like a pack of hounds having a fun time. I wanted in the worst way to go and greet them. Maybe they were friends. They didn’t sound like they were chasing anything. They were just tuning it up for some odd reason.There voices were strange and high-pitched. They sounded very happy. I desperately wanted to answer their calling. Suddenly something deep inside of me said that I should answer. So I did. I bayed as loud as I could bay. Their strange calling suddenly stopped. I heard nothing the remainder of the night.

        Let me tell you about myself.  I was born in La Clede, Illinois at a kennel called “Crain’s Hickory Hill Kennel”.  I'm told I have a lot of Warfield Red DNA in me.  The proprietor of the kennel is a man named Merle Crain.

        At the tender age of seven or eight weeks of age, I was placed on an airplane, of all things, and after a few frightening hours I arrived in Franklin, Pennsylvania.  A strange looking fellow was there to pick me up.  It took a few days to get over that one.  I mean the airplane trip not the strange fellow who turned out to be my master.  I still think he’s a little strange looking though.  One other fact: I’m for some unknown reason shy.  Shyer than most beagles I know.

Toby as a puppy.

        I digress, let’s get back to my story. The next day I couldn’t find my master. I knew he was looking for me.  I knew he would leave his coat if he went home.  I was searching everywhere but I did not know which way to go.  I looked and looked with no results. Sometime during the afternoon of the first day, I heard noises like equipment running.  I took a heading in the direction of the strange sound.  When I got there, no one was around. There was big equipment and an enormous pile of bark.  I climbed up onto the pile.  It was warm so I dug myself a hole and spent that night and the next night.

Toby in his prime hunting on the Allegheny.

         By the fourth day, I was getting terribly hungry.  I couldn’t find a thing to eat.  I found a warm place under a “tank battery“.  Except for the strange new odor, it was a warm place to hang.

        Writer’s Note: In the oil fields of Pennsylvania, crude oil is stored in large tanks before going to the refinery.  When there is more than one tank, they are then called a "tank battery" or a "tank farm".  A natural gas fire is maintained under the crude oil storage tanks to keep the crude oil warm. If the crude oil congeals from the cold it will be too thick to load onto the trucks or flow through the transmission lines.  It was most likely under one of those tanks where Toby spent a few nights.

Tank battery or tank farm.

         During the night, I heard those crazy, goofy sounding dogs again.  This time they were close, very close.  I had this strange and overwhelming desire to answer them but I was afraid so I stayed silent.  When the sun came up everything was quiet. I decide to investigate.  Not far from my new camping spot, I found what all the excitement was about. I discovered a freshly killed whitetail deer carcass and did it taste good.  This must be what those strange sounding dogs were so happy about.  All the while I ate, two peculiar looking large black birds sat in the tree above me making weird calls.  I guess they wanted some fresh venison too.  I was so hungry I ate until I couldn’t hold another bite.  I went back to my bed at the tank battery and fell into a deep sleep.  I was awakened in the dark of night by those weird dogs making those funny calls.  The next morning I decided it was time for more deer meat.  When I found the carcass there was nothing left but the bones.

Marcellus shale gas well and tank battery.

        I started to lose track time.  I don’t know how long I stayed by the warmth of the oil tank and looked for food.  I was getting very hungry.  If I could just find something to eat. Reluctantly, I decided to move on down the mountain.

      I came to a very large, fast flowing creek.  The creek was too wide to cross so I started up stream.  After following the stream for a long distance, most of the day in fact, at just about dark, I came to a bridge.  On the other side of the bridge I could see a building of some type so I decided to cross. 

         Writer’s note: The large and fast flowing creek Toby came upon was most likely Tionesta Creek, a tributary of the Allegheny River.  Since the water was moving swiftly, he was up stream from the Tionesta Dam and above Nebraska Bridge. He was not crossing at Nebraska because there are no buildings on either side.  Toby probably crossed Tionesta Creek at Kelletville, home of Cougar Bob’s Tavern one of the finer establishments on the Allegheny.

Nebraska Bridge on Tionesta Creek in summer. Photo by B.K. Ewing.

        The building seemed deserted. There were no people around and there were no cars in the driveway.  The snow in the driveway was deep so no one had been there for a while. There were several large garbage cans and they were full. I enjoyed my first meal in a long time.  I found a nice warm spot under what must be a hunting camp.  I decided this was a good place to spend some time.

         For several days I enjoyed raiding those garbage cans.  I scattered papers, cans and boxes far and wide.   Down the road not far was another hunting camp and I raided those garbage cans too.  I was living high on the hog, as they say.

         One day a man showed up.  I could hear him swearing and screaming.  From my hiding spot under the camp I knew the man was mad and I was terrified.  Somehow, he knew where I was hiding and somehow he knew I was a dog.  He wanted me out of there but I was not about to come out.  He tried to lure me with fresh meat.  I got the meat all right but he wasn’t going to catch me.

         The next day a woman wearing an official looking uniform showed up.  The official woman tried to coax me out from under the camp but it wasn’t happening.  After a while here she came, she was crawling under the camp.  What a brave official lady.  She had a long stick with a rope on the end.  All the while she was crawling she was speaking to me in a soothing voice.  She seemed nice.  She backed me into a corner and suddenly the rope was around my neck and I was being drug from under the building.  The official lady wasn’t that nice.  She placed me in her official looking truck for the long ride to the dog jail.  I knew I was in trouble now.

         A little while after being booked at the dog jail I heard what I thought was my boss’ voice.  How could it be?  How would the boss know I was in jail?  We had a joyous reunion right there.  I overheard the official woman saying something about it being a good thing my boss’ name was on my collar.  The boss thanked the lady repeatedly and paid her my bail money.  She made sure she told him what she went through to catch me.  I think she wanted him to pay her laundry bill too.  Then the boss thanked her several more times and shook her hand.  I think he was so happy he wanted to kiss her.  Soon we were on our way to my kennel, my kennel mates and my nice warm home.  It was a grand day and it was awesome to be home.        

         Writer’s note:  Crain’s Hickory Hill Little Toby Creek Toby (1996-2007) lived at Little Toby Creek Kennels for almost eleven years.  Toby was very prolific and sired some very special and beautiful hunting hounds for many hunters.  He certainly must have had Warfield DNA in his system as he put out many red and lemon puppies.  Toby’s blood still runs through many of the hounds at Little Toby Creek Kennel.

         Toby missed that Adirondack hunt, however, he eventually hunted the Adirondacks, Maine nine times and the Tug Hill Plateau.  Toby hunted the eastern cottontail in numerous counties across Pennsylvania including Southern Clarion County, PA.  Toby ran hundreds of snowshoe hare on the Allegheny during his lifetime.  

Toby (front right) hunting in the wilds of Maine with his master and his kennel mate, John Doe.

          
         On January 7, 2004, tragically, Toby’s left leg was broken when one of his kennel mates ran into him at full speed.  After the accident, Toby never made it back to being the same hunting dog he was before.

Toby recuperating after his unfortunate accident.

         I understand physical pain but certainly I never appreciated Toby's pain for unlike me he could never tell anyone and unlike me he would never ask for sympathy.

           On March 9, 2007, Toby finally gave up.

          On a clear, cold morning in winter, while standing on a mountainside listening, you may hear the ghostly voices of a pack of phantom hounds pursuing the illusive snowshoe hare across the Alleghenies. Little Toby will be in that pack along with all the many great hounds which have departed this world before and since.

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