The Annual Great Hunt

Well, back in 2016--after the election but before the Trump presidency began--I was in mind of Peter Hitchens's wonderful line: "In between the catastrophe and the calamity, we may as well have a glass of champagne."

So I figured it was time to turn our minds away from politics and have a little fun: THE 2016 PALMERWOOD GREAT HUNT!!!!!

Our hunting-party included everyone who RSVPed, friends old and new: Madame de la Stafford Thornton, Madame de la Vangel Malek, P Diddy, Rupert Murdoch and the lovely Megyn Kelly, Messire Whipple, Messire Walter Lawrence Weaksauce--what a fetching chain, sir--Messire Guillaume, Messire Hoberman, JP's co-heads of security Messrs. Miller and Dailey, Messire Polk, Agreeable Louis J., Assertive Emmanuel J., JP's gamekeeper Olivier de Baliviere, Young Leo J., Intrepid Stella A., Mlle. Armstrong, Palmerwood mead-master Miller, Prince Salim bin Salman al-Saud, Madame de la Butler Koontz, and finally, Madame de la Agah Potthast, astride one of the Palmerwood polled prize wild boars. She's the only one who requested to be mounted.

Um. Gosh, that was awkward. That is to say, she's the only one who wanted to ride something.

Oh good God's urge, this simply isn't being expressed well.

Well, anyhow. Tally-ho! LET THE GREAT HUNT BEGIN!!!!





Fortunately, I kept a journal of the Great Hunt of '16. Here's my dispatch from Day Two of the 2016 Palmerwood Great Hunt:

THE FIRST FIELD-DISPATCH FROM THE PALMERWOOD GREAT HUNT '16,
"Perhaps we should have warned the guests that the game here at Palmerwood isn't exactly what they're used to. The mammoth's appearance incited panic in Messrs. Polk and Weaksauce, both of whom fled shrieking like six-year-old girls with their pigtails caught in a paper shredder. I take no pleasure in chronicling their pusillanimity, in spite of the fact that both of them have busted my balls unmercifully over the many years of our acquaintance. No pleasure at all. Really. None.

"I am pleased to report that the mammoth didn't rattle Madame de la Stafford Thornton, who kept mixing drinks like a trooper, or Messrs. Hoberman and Guillaume, who combated the beast valiantly, if ineffectively, although it did cause Madame Vangel Malek some consternation. And my boys, Assertive Emmanuel J. and Agreeable Louis J., maintained the cool head and steely eye for which we Palmers are justly famed. 'Gotta defend my godmother, Pop," Assertive Emmanuel J. said. 'She holds my eternal soul in the palm of her hand.'

"Near tragedy struck, however, when the great beast trampled both Rupert Murdoch and the lovely Ms. Megyn Kelly. 'Medic!' I howled. 'The lovely Ms. Megyn Kelly has been trampled by a mammoth! She's got blood coming out of her eyes! Blood coming out of her... wherever!' But the Good Lord and all the saints be praised, it looks like the both of them will pull through."




THE SECOND FIELD-DISPATCH FROM THE PALMERWOOD GREAT HUNT '16:

"Great zounds, but the unexpected arrival of a woolly rhino escalated things quickly. I was just certain my gamekeeper, Oliver DeBaliviere, had cleared the pesky things out of the far northern reaches of the estate, but apparently he missed a few. Well, now he's going to be missing his holiday bonus.

"The great beast burst out of the bosky and immediately thundered after Madame de la Agah Potthast's prize polled Palmerwood wild boar. Apparently woolly rhinos are a little territorial. Thank the good Lord and all the saints I was there to get between them, or we might have lost a fine hog. And Madame de la Agah Potthast, too, very likely. I was glad to be able to do it, but now my tuchus is killing me, and Doctor Pooley insists he's too drunk to apply any Bactine to the afflicted area.

"I was pleased by the bravery of Messrs.Guillaume, Hoberman, and Miller, in spite of the fact that their actions to stop the beast were completely ineffective. And my crack security team, Messrs. Miller and Dailey, went and got themselves snagged by a thunderbird. Seems my doughty gamekeeper missed a few of those, too. And I was a little surprised to see Ms. Armstrong fleeing in terror, although I did overhear her saying, 'Man, do I hate skirts. I coulda run much faster in jeans.'

"Tragically enough, Rupert Murdoch got stomped yet AGAIN by yet ANOTHER massive Pleistocene beast. Twice in one hunt! What are the odds?

"All in all... not our finest hour in the field."





In retrospect, I should have mentioned to Mmes.Vangel Malek, Butler Koontz, and Stafford Thornton that taking a break from the hunt to go strolling through the woods is a bad idea when Pleistocene cave-bears have been spotted in the vicinity.

Were it not for the presence of Intrepid Stella A. and her falcon, JP shudders to think what could have been.

How Intrepid Stella A. managed to dispatch a Pleistocene cave-bear armed only with a falcon JP hasn't quite figured out. Some questions are better left unasked.





THE THIRD FIELD-DISPATCH FROM THE PALMERWOOD GREAT HUNT '16:

"Great zounds, what a day. Some of the gentlemen--Messrs. Whipple, Weaksauce, Miller, Guillaume, and Assertive Emmanuel J.--ventured into the bleak and rugged uplands in the far north-northwest quadrant of the Estate in search of game. Messire Weaksauce decided to don a kilt of Campbell Blackwatch -not sure why) and, so say his comrades' reports, spent most of the day strutting around yelling, 'HEY, EVERYONE! COME SEE HOW GOOD I LOOK!!.' He did look good, I'm bound to admit.

"The gentlemen first encountered a glyptodont--a much larger relative of the armadillo. Messire Miller, well-soused on mead and Boone's Farm, attempted to befriend it, while Messire Guillaume, with his customary valiance, leapt atop the brute and attempted to pummel it to smithereens. I must have a word with him about the advisability of attempting to pummel Pleistocene megafauna to smithereens. It's rarely successful. Particularly if they have shells.


"However, thus distracted, they were unprepared for the appearance of a pair of sabre-tooth cats. Were it not for Assertive Emmanuel J.'s insistence that he be allowed to bring along his rocket-launcher (a birthday present from his grandmother), I shudder to think what may have befallen our brave fellow-hunstmen.

"I am heartened, however, by Assertive Emmanuel J.'s gift for snappy repartee in the face of almost certain doom. I'm informed that, as the great cats snarled and roared, the rascally young hound grinned, said, 'Now there's some pussy worth grabbin'!' and dispatched the brutes. The lad's a chip off the old block."

THE FOURTH FIELD-DISPATCH FROM THE PALMERWOOD GREAT HUNT '16:

"Upon hearing that the Serpentine Pheasants were nesting out on the vast and rolling Plains of Palmerwood, some of the chaps headed off to bag some. Had they only checked with my doughty gamekeeper, Oliver de Baliviere, he would have informed them that the adjective 'serpentine' does not refer to the pattern on their plumage. He might also have parlayed the information that nesting always makes the birds a bit tetchy.

"One of them tried to fly off with my co-head of security, Messire Dailey. This is the second time a large bird has tried to make off with him this trip. And my other co-head of security, Messire Miller, dashed off in search of more ammunition (so he said). However, the ever-valiant Messrs. Hoberman and Guillaume once again employed their tag-team strategy of grabbing the creature and attempting to pull it to earth, and leaping astride the beast and attempting to pummel it to smithereens. It's a fine strategy. I'm sure they'll perfect it soon.

"Messire Polk tried staring one of the things down. Interesting approach. Luckily, Doctor Pooley was on hand to patch him up afterward. I'm concerned about the doctor lately. He may be overworked. He's been stumbling over things, slurring his words, and his eyes are quite red, and he keeps mumbling things like, 'These imbeciles make me want to drink myself to death.' Strange sentiment to have on such a joyous outing as the annual Great Hunt. As soon as it's over, I'll send him on a nice vacation. The fourth floor of the southwest wing of the mansion is lovely this time of year."

THE FINAL FIELD-DISPATCH FROM THE PALMERWOOD GREAT HUNT '16:

"Well, it's been magical, but all good things--like 'Mr. Belvedere,' the greatest television program in history--must come to an end, and the Great Hunt is no exception. We gathered in the Great Hall of the Millam Hunting-Lodge in the northern reaches of the estate to reminisce, share stories, and, mostly, drink.

'Messrs. Guillaume and Hoberman continue to practice their tactics, Messire Weaksauce and Mlle.Armstrong, once again clad in her beloved flannel, relaxed on the mission-style sofa, remembering their high-school days, Messire Polk took great pride in showing Messire Diddy the two-headed carnivorous pike he once caught in Palm Lake, Messire Miller and Mme Stafford Thorntondiscussed the brewing and serving of liqueurs; Messrs. Miller and Dailey congratulated themselves on yet another expedition without their boss getting killed, Assertive Emmanuel J. and Agreeable Louis J. enjoyed a leisurely chess-game, and everyone else mostly got tanked.

"I honestly can't recall if we bagged even a single creature this year, but that just means there'll be more to shoot next year. How I love the annual Autumn Great Hunt. We Palmers have been hosting it for 415 years, and I think there were fewer fatalities this year than ever. We haven't located Megyn Kelly yet, but I'm sure she's fine. Meantime, I'm toying with the idea of holding a spring Great Hunt in 2017.

"Well, time to toddle off to bed. Tomorrow, the guests will retire their Palmerwood hunting-tweeds, riding-boots, and ghillie-brogues for the season and will all fly home on the luxurious Palmerwood G-6 private jet, and in any case, I'm soused. Excelsior!"

Well, that was it for the Great Hunt of 2016. We'll report more come 2018, when I plan to hold another gala sporting-event that will, most likely, result in no animal deaths, but a great deal of inebriation.