Stalker62
Well-Known Member
Well the shooting season lurches towards its end, and today was the last 'formal' day of the season, on our wee shoot.
I am (as always) there early, and am almost 'boating' around the farm in the Jimny, (with its new ventilation system). The ground is maxed out with water, the going is tough, and not made any easier with the clutch which is now "slipping" (whatever that means).
It is chucking it down.
The Guns arrive and we all enjoy the cooked sausage and bacon rolls, prepared as always, by the Father and son team. The Father explains that he will not be shooting today, as he is not confident with balance in these conditions. We have two Guns, who have looked out of their respective bedroom windows to see the sheet rain, rolled over and cancelled their day.
Obviously, they have more sense than me.
I give a briefing, and herd the reluctant teams out of the warmth and dryness of the barn.
I change the order and then reverse a couple of the drives, to try and make the best use of the wind and sheet rain. I am wearing a military cape to try and keep out the worst of the weather, and pick up the unavoidable adverse comments from several of the young Beaters (none older than about 11).
After two drives, the bag stands at one Hen Pheasant. This is going well.
We retire to the Barn for 11s. There are plenty of drinks (soft and not) for all...
No-one wants to leave the warmth of this haven, and it is a bit of a mission to get them all out again into the elements.
By about 1300 hours, the rains are easing off and we have completed a further four drives - none of which is particularly productive.
One of the Guns manages to bring down a Red Legged Partridge. Part of the briefing, part of every briefing is not to shoot the Partridges. We have English on the farm, and are doing our best to look after them. The truth is that most Guns cannot (in the heat of the moment) differentiate between the two - and so we do not shoot any.
I cannot bring myself to publicly admonish the Gun, and he cannot bring himself to look me in the eye. We both know - and today, that it enough.
The final drive (usually the 'signature' drive) produces a steady flush of fifteen birds - the Guns account for one of them.
I blow the whistle for the last time this season.
My elderly ESS has worked himself to a standstill and has enjoyed every moment of the day.
The Guns and the young Beaters (and the odd parent), all appear to have enjoyed the day.
The final bag is Pheasant x 3, Partridge x 1 and Pigeon x 1 - it is the 'lowest' bag of my time on this shoot.
It has been an atrocious day for the weather. The birds (wisely) are obviously elsewhere.
And yet somehow, it has been a good day.
It's not all about the size of the bag, it is not even about the weather.
It's the folk that make the day, and the craic to be had.
At least that is what I will be telling myself tonight, as I fill in the Game Book...
I am (as always) there early, and am almost 'boating' around the farm in the Jimny, (with its new ventilation system). The ground is maxed out with water, the going is tough, and not made any easier with the clutch which is now "slipping" (whatever that means).
It is chucking it down.
The Guns arrive and we all enjoy the cooked sausage and bacon rolls, prepared as always, by the Father and son team. The Father explains that he will not be shooting today, as he is not confident with balance in these conditions. We have two Guns, who have looked out of their respective bedroom windows to see the sheet rain, rolled over and cancelled their day.
Obviously, they have more sense than me.
I give a briefing, and herd the reluctant teams out of the warmth and dryness of the barn.
I change the order and then reverse a couple of the drives, to try and make the best use of the wind and sheet rain. I am wearing a military cape to try and keep out the worst of the weather, and pick up the unavoidable adverse comments from several of the young Beaters (none older than about 11).
After two drives, the bag stands at one Hen Pheasant. This is going well.
We retire to the Barn for 11s. There are plenty of drinks (soft and not) for all...
No-one wants to leave the warmth of this haven, and it is a bit of a mission to get them all out again into the elements.
By about 1300 hours, the rains are easing off and we have completed a further four drives - none of which is particularly productive.
One of the Guns manages to bring down a Red Legged Partridge. Part of the briefing, part of every briefing is not to shoot the Partridges. We have English on the farm, and are doing our best to look after them. The truth is that most Guns cannot (in the heat of the moment) differentiate between the two - and so we do not shoot any.
I cannot bring myself to publicly admonish the Gun, and he cannot bring himself to look me in the eye. We both know - and today, that it enough.
The final drive (usually the 'signature' drive) produces a steady flush of fifteen birds - the Guns account for one of them.
I blow the whistle for the last time this season.
My elderly ESS has worked himself to a standstill and has enjoyed every moment of the day.
The Guns and the young Beaters (and the odd parent), all appear to have enjoyed the day.
The final bag is Pheasant x 3, Partridge x 1 and Pigeon x 1 - it is the 'lowest' bag of my time on this shoot.
It has been an atrocious day for the weather. The birds (wisely) are obviously elsewhere.
And yet somehow, it has been a good day.
It's not all about the size of the bag, it is not even about the weather.
It's the folk that make the day, and the craic to be had.
At least that is what I will be telling myself tonight, as I fill in the Game Book...
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