As we lurch towards the end of another shocking year, I crawl out of bed and get ready for the last "formal" day on our little shoot.
Walking the dogs in the dark and sporting the new head torch (as recommended @gixer1) the damn thing fails, and I end up stumbling around the woods in the dark, trying to keep taps on the flashing Green and Pink collars of my two ESS. Not a great start to the day.
MrsS62 cannot make it today, and so the ESS that would normally come to the farm, is consigned to the living room with his "Auntie" and he is not happy.
As much as I want to take him, running the day, herding the guns, and the beaters and their dogs will prove too much of an ask. Also, and I am not sure why, but the last "formal day" always produces a hoard of young children, who are thrown into the fray by their parents. No doubt pleased to let them burn off some of their festive season energy.
I go to one of the barns to recover the farm Jeep, I decide to put my 110 in its place - right next to the biggest bit of farm equipment on the Estate. As I get out, I note how close I was to disaster with the roof-rack. I offer a silent "thank you" to the Gods of serendipity.
After the usual scoot around, opening up gates and laying sewelling lines, I return to the barn to find dramas with the electrics. The usual Father and Son team keep overloading the (ancient) wiring in the barn. The son dives off home to make the coffee and returns with it in a variety of flasks.
Somehow, they manage to pull it off, and once again everyone enjoys a hot drink and roll full of meats.
About 0900 we finally deploy onto our first drive. This has not gone well in the past, but somehow we get the Guns into place (silently), and using just myself and one other Beater, begin to drive the birds down hill towards the guns. It is going well. It is obviously going too well. A woman, runs screaming across her large paddock (which abuts the drive).
I will not repeat here her exact words. Suffice to say I blow the horn ("cease fire and unload"). One of the Guns is talking to her. She is "talking" at him. I call it, and blow the whistle for the end of the drive. It appears she had just released a two-year-old horse into the paddock. It appears the Farmer had not warned her of the shoot day. Lessons to be learned and bridges built, but for now, a tactical withdrawal. Somehow, she is laughing and pleasant by the time we do so.
A couple more drives and then 11s. One of the young Guns has made sausage rolls and they are just about the best I have ever tasted. She has also made some kind of Ginger cake which was also wonderful. Salmon sandwiches and a variety of nibbles, and there is fizz and Sloe Gin for the Guns and all the Ladies - I settle for a can of Stella.
The children have been exhausting. They were all polite and inquisitive, and their rather intelligent questions throughout the day kept me on my toes.
"Excuse me Keeper, what crop is this?"
"Excuse me Keeper, why are there no birds?"
"Excuse me Keeper, if we made a noise in that bush would that be a good or a bad thing?"
It is also a wee bit harder to keep a line of Beaters in a line, when some of them have very small legs - but I would not have had it any other way, and they made the day.
It is a long and pleasant 11s. One of the Guns puts away his gun and brings out his dogs. This will help the afternoon drives - of which there are three.
A gently drizzle is in the air for the rest of the day. On the last drive we fire 70 shots and I am hopeful that the bag will creep to twenty.
The final bag is 25 Pheasants for 117 shots.
I am as tired as I can remember, but it is 'over' for another year.
We will have a couple of 'informal' walk-up days in January, and I hope to add to the final bag - whilst being able to thank those that have given their time and their dogs to help for another season.
Now if you will excuse me, there is a glass of whisky in the kitchen with my name on it.
Slangevar.
Walking the dogs in the dark and sporting the new head torch (as recommended @gixer1) the damn thing fails, and I end up stumbling around the woods in the dark, trying to keep taps on the flashing Green and Pink collars of my two ESS. Not a great start to the day.
MrsS62 cannot make it today, and so the ESS that would normally come to the farm, is consigned to the living room with his "Auntie" and he is not happy.
As much as I want to take him, running the day, herding the guns, and the beaters and their dogs will prove too much of an ask. Also, and I am not sure why, but the last "formal day" always produces a hoard of young children, who are thrown into the fray by their parents. No doubt pleased to let them burn off some of their festive season energy.
I go to one of the barns to recover the farm Jeep, I decide to put my 110 in its place - right next to the biggest bit of farm equipment on the Estate. As I get out, I note how close I was to disaster with the roof-rack. I offer a silent "thank you" to the Gods of serendipity.
After the usual scoot around, opening up gates and laying sewelling lines, I return to the barn to find dramas with the electrics. The usual Father and Son team keep overloading the (ancient) wiring in the barn. The son dives off home to make the coffee and returns with it in a variety of flasks.
Somehow, they manage to pull it off, and once again everyone enjoys a hot drink and roll full of meats.
About 0900 we finally deploy onto our first drive. This has not gone well in the past, but somehow we get the Guns into place (silently), and using just myself and one other Beater, begin to drive the birds down hill towards the guns. It is going well. It is obviously going too well. A woman, runs screaming across her large paddock (which abuts the drive).
I will not repeat here her exact words. Suffice to say I blow the horn ("cease fire and unload"). One of the Guns is talking to her. She is "talking" at him. I call it, and blow the whistle for the end of the drive. It appears she had just released a two-year-old horse into the paddock. It appears the Farmer had not warned her of the shoot day. Lessons to be learned and bridges built, but for now, a tactical withdrawal. Somehow, she is laughing and pleasant by the time we do so.
A couple more drives and then 11s. One of the young Guns has made sausage rolls and they are just about the best I have ever tasted. She has also made some kind of Ginger cake which was also wonderful. Salmon sandwiches and a variety of nibbles, and there is fizz and Sloe Gin for the Guns and all the Ladies - I settle for a can of Stella.
The children have been exhausting. They were all polite and inquisitive, and their rather intelligent questions throughout the day kept me on my toes.
"Excuse me Keeper, what crop is this?"
"Excuse me Keeper, why are there no birds?"
"Excuse me Keeper, if we made a noise in that bush would that be a good or a bad thing?"
It is also a wee bit harder to keep a line of Beaters in a line, when some of them have very small legs - but I would not have had it any other way, and they made the day.
It is a long and pleasant 11s. One of the Guns puts away his gun and brings out his dogs. This will help the afternoon drives - of which there are three.
A gently drizzle is in the air for the rest of the day. On the last drive we fire 70 shots and I am hopeful that the bag will creep to twenty.
The final bag is 25 Pheasants for 117 shots.
I am as tired as I can remember, but it is 'over' for another year.
We will have a couple of 'informal' walk-up days in January, and I hope to add to the final bag - whilst being able to thank those that have given their time and their dogs to help for another season.
Now if you will excuse me, there is a glass of whisky in the kitchen with my name on it.
Slangevar.
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