Stalker62
Well-Known Member
Long time coming, but yesterday was the first day of the little shoot where I masquerade as the Keeper.
I was on plot early, unlocking gates and making the final preparations for the day. 0830 was to be a sausage and egg roll, cooked by one of the Guns and his Father.
Scooting around the farm in the mythical Jeep, I spied a group of five Roe in one of the fields. I stop and spend just a few moments, just enjoying them in their natural environment. Only one is a Buck - a one antlered buck and the rest are Does. I reminded myself that the Doe season is soon upon us and I will need to dust off the rifle.
Anyhoo. Back to the day.
Trying not to seem too keen for the tasty treat that was shortly to arrive, I stood at the open barn salivating like a Pavlovian dog - all the while feigning disinterest in the beautifully smelling meats. The Head Beater arrives. She is Mrs S62. We have arrived at the farm in separate vehicles. I was keen to get to the farm early and Mrs S62 has quite a relaxed attitude to punctuality.
"Just go in the truck and I will see you at the barn".
I did not argue. Pointless to argue with her. I never win.
Slowly in dribs and drabs the Guns and Beaters roll up. The farmer is late. When he turns up, he looks dreadful and is begging for a bottle of coke. It is obvious he has had a good night. He is only a young man and I envy him his constitution.
Nice to see some old faces, even nicer to see a new Gun and the girlfriend of one of the young Guns. It is her first time on a shoot and she has brought an ESS with her. Good to see the next generation coming through. We have two coveys of English Partridge on the ground and rather that run the risk of a misidentification, the decision is made that no partridge will be shot.
Crisscrossing the farm we somehow mange to complete seven drives. There are shots taken on every drive and every drive adds to the bag - not always the case.
One drive was interrupted by a pedestrian, and for the first time, I blow the safety horn to stop the drive. The Guns that had "line of sight" of her, had already broken their guns; the horn was for the benefit of those guns on the other side of the field's hedges. Our walker continued on her way and I sounded three blasts of the horn to signal that hostilities could recommence.
Elevens was for me a can of some exotic cider, the Guns passed the Sloe Gin and the dogs were all watered.
Final bag for the day was - Pheasants 16, Pigeons 6 and Magpie 1 - so a total of 23.
Eight Guns and a total of 207 shots. Before anyone has a go, a lot of those shots were taken at pigeons at 'optimistic' heights.
Although I have sleepless nights about these days, (ironic) I always, always, enjoy them.
The Guns are good fun, the Beaters are there for the love of it, and the dogs get to do what they were born for. I love these days.
One of the regular Guns (not shooting with us today) turns up as we are heading off home and persuades me to join him and a mate (to whom he had gifted his place on my shoot) for a quick pint in the local. Mrs S62 has already headed off home. I tell him to order me a shandy and we retire to the beer garden. Nice to catch up.
The day gets even better, when I get home.
I recently lent a set of tweeds to a family member, when he went on a boys trip to Dalwhinnie earlier this month. His "thank you" was unexpected but very well received.
The perfect end to a rather perfect day.
Slangevar.
I was on plot early, unlocking gates and making the final preparations for the day. 0830 was to be a sausage and egg roll, cooked by one of the Guns and his Father.
Scooting around the farm in the mythical Jeep, I spied a group of five Roe in one of the fields. I stop and spend just a few moments, just enjoying them in their natural environment. Only one is a Buck - a one antlered buck and the rest are Does. I reminded myself that the Doe season is soon upon us and I will need to dust off the rifle.
Anyhoo. Back to the day.
Trying not to seem too keen for the tasty treat that was shortly to arrive, I stood at the open barn salivating like a Pavlovian dog - all the while feigning disinterest in the beautifully smelling meats. The Head Beater arrives. She is Mrs S62. We have arrived at the farm in separate vehicles. I was keen to get to the farm early and Mrs S62 has quite a relaxed attitude to punctuality.
"Just go in the truck and I will see you at the barn".
I did not argue. Pointless to argue with her. I never win.
Slowly in dribs and drabs the Guns and Beaters roll up. The farmer is late. When he turns up, he looks dreadful and is begging for a bottle of coke. It is obvious he has had a good night. He is only a young man and I envy him his constitution.
Nice to see some old faces, even nicer to see a new Gun and the girlfriend of one of the young Guns. It is her first time on a shoot and she has brought an ESS with her. Good to see the next generation coming through. We have two coveys of English Partridge on the ground and rather that run the risk of a misidentification, the decision is made that no partridge will be shot.
Crisscrossing the farm we somehow mange to complete seven drives. There are shots taken on every drive and every drive adds to the bag - not always the case.
One drive was interrupted by a pedestrian, and for the first time, I blow the safety horn to stop the drive. The Guns that had "line of sight" of her, had already broken their guns; the horn was for the benefit of those guns on the other side of the field's hedges. Our walker continued on her way and I sounded three blasts of the horn to signal that hostilities could recommence.
Elevens was for me a can of some exotic cider, the Guns passed the Sloe Gin and the dogs were all watered.
Final bag for the day was - Pheasants 16, Pigeons 6 and Magpie 1 - so a total of 23.
Eight Guns and a total of 207 shots. Before anyone has a go, a lot of those shots were taken at pigeons at 'optimistic' heights.
Although I have sleepless nights about these days, (ironic) I always, always, enjoy them.
The Guns are good fun, the Beaters are there for the love of it, and the dogs get to do what they were born for. I love these days.
One of the regular Guns (not shooting with us today) turns up as we are heading off home and persuades me to join him and a mate (to whom he had gifted his place on my shoot) for a quick pint in the local. Mrs S62 has already headed off home. I tell him to order me a shandy and we retire to the beer garden. Nice to catch up.
The day gets even better, when I get home.
I recently lent a set of tweeds to a family member, when he went on a boys trip to Dalwhinnie earlier this month. His "thank you" was unexpected but very well received.
The perfect end to a rather perfect day.
Slangevar.
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