"Can you make me a couple of sandwiches for tomorrow morning?"
"Already done. There are a couple of wraps in the fridge".
"What are they?"
"Chicken".
"What type of chicken?"
"Chicken surprise".
I do not sleep when I know I am out in the morning; it is I think, a throwback to my working days. And so at Silly o'clock, this morning I am crashing about the house getting myself ready. I help my wife by emptying the dishwasher: too late do I recall her plea for me to stop emptying the dishwasher at 0200 hours.
The plan is to drive to the farm and have a sit out, to try and meet at least some of the cull plan, then roll onto feeding the birds that still need to be cared for notwithstanding the cessation of hostilities for the duration.
On the way to the farm I need to collect some fuel for the farm Jeep. Regular readers of my drivel will know why. It is about 0330 hours and I walk into the (almost) deserted petrol station.
I am over 6' 2", wearing full camouflage, a face mask, beanie hat (with head torch) and the lady behind the jump does not bat an eye. Truly the world has changed its paradigm post virus.
I have checked the weather and am layered up. I count them. Seven layers on the top and three on the bottom. When I pull into the parking space it is only about a 500 yard walk to the seat. I say walk, more of a waddle. By the time I get there I am sweating like a wrong 'un at the school gates.
Hauling myself up, what seems to be, Jacob's ladder, I arrive triumphant and survey my Kingdom. As always, I have arrived way too early but I enjoy the tranquillity of this time. I can now relax, I am here, I am in position and there is nothing now for me to do, other than wait for the world to turn into the heat of a new sun. Which, by the way, cannot come quick enough. The sweat from the waddle to the seat has now evaporated and the wind has picked up and I am starting to feel a wee bit chilly.
A quick scan with the TI confirms that I share the countryside with one rabbit and half a dozen roosting birds. It is now 0445 hours. I wait.
0500 hours and the village Church clock strikes the hour. All I hear is the dinner bell. I dig out one of the wraps and start to chow down. Yeah. Chicken and (if I am honest) a wee bit dry. If you do not put some kind of sauce in a wrap it can feel like you are eating your refs out of a Camel Trader's sandal. There is only one mouthful left and I throw it down my neck. That last mouthful contained no chicken but did contain enough Encona Hot Pepper Sauce to explain my wife's description of "Chicken surprise". With eyes watering and my tongue seeming to fill my mouth I make a mental note to be kinder to my wife.
I sip two cups of coffee from my flask, more for the heat on my hands than to quench a thirst. Last month you may recall, I had real problems with my optics - all covered in rain and mist and very hard to see through. This morning is different. In relation specifically to my binos, it is very different. Firstly there is no rain. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, I have just realised I have left my binos on my study desk.
It is now 0725 hours and it appears to be the "Witching Hour" as all around me seems to awaken. I revert to the TI. In the next field along I can make out three deer but cannot ID them sufficiently well to warrant a dismount.
Then at 0825 hours about 180 yards to my front a Roe Doe. She walking from left to right. When she is just past my 12 she stands. I take the shot and see the strike. It looks good but she appears to have turned and run back from whence she came. I give her five minutes and dismount for the follow up. She will have come to rest in a shaw and I search the direction I saw her run. After about twenty minutes I start to dig out my phone to call my mate and "Mauser" to the rescue. Then I have a thought. I always seem to get the direction of shot deer wrong. Describing a shot scene makes a liar of me - every time.
What if she had run up hill? Off I went up hill. Ten minutes later and there she is 20 yards the "wrong" way from the shot site. The carcass will go to a Beating pal and he and his family will made good use of the venison.
I drove onto the farm and fuel the Jeep with the cans of petrol bought for the purpose. The farmer is about and so are some of his chaps. Something is amiss.
It transpires that the farm was "visited" last night by those that do such things. Smashed their way through an electric gate and drove around the Estate in their 4X4. Some CCTV available and the Police are involved and they are still assessing what is damaged/stolen. The sense of helplessness and sheer frustration is apparent in all of us.
Spin feed the birds all the while reigning down curses and oaths of those that need to see the inside of a prison cell.
I drop off the carcass to my mate's house - he is a front line worker.
I return home to my wife - she is a front line worker.
I rage at the injustice of the day and the actions of those that have (in all probability) never worked a day in their lives. I did say it was a mixed morning.
I remain an angry man.
"Already done. There are a couple of wraps in the fridge".
"What are they?"
"Chicken".
"What type of chicken?"
"Chicken surprise".
I do not sleep when I know I am out in the morning; it is I think, a throwback to my working days. And so at Silly o'clock, this morning I am crashing about the house getting myself ready. I help my wife by emptying the dishwasher: too late do I recall her plea for me to stop emptying the dishwasher at 0200 hours.
The plan is to drive to the farm and have a sit out, to try and meet at least some of the cull plan, then roll onto feeding the birds that still need to be cared for notwithstanding the cessation of hostilities for the duration.
On the way to the farm I need to collect some fuel for the farm Jeep. Regular readers of my drivel will know why. It is about 0330 hours and I walk into the (almost) deserted petrol station.
I am over 6' 2", wearing full camouflage, a face mask, beanie hat (with head torch) and the lady behind the jump does not bat an eye. Truly the world has changed its paradigm post virus.
I have checked the weather and am layered up. I count them. Seven layers on the top and three on the bottom. When I pull into the parking space it is only about a 500 yard walk to the seat. I say walk, more of a waddle. By the time I get there I am sweating like a wrong 'un at the school gates.
Hauling myself up, what seems to be, Jacob's ladder, I arrive triumphant and survey my Kingdom. As always, I have arrived way too early but I enjoy the tranquillity of this time. I can now relax, I am here, I am in position and there is nothing now for me to do, other than wait for the world to turn into the heat of a new sun. Which, by the way, cannot come quick enough. The sweat from the waddle to the seat has now evaporated and the wind has picked up and I am starting to feel a wee bit chilly.
A quick scan with the TI confirms that I share the countryside with one rabbit and half a dozen roosting birds. It is now 0445 hours. I wait.
0500 hours and the village Church clock strikes the hour. All I hear is the dinner bell. I dig out one of the wraps and start to chow down. Yeah. Chicken and (if I am honest) a wee bit dry. If you do not put some kind of sauce in a wrap it can feel like you are eating your refs out of a Camel Trader's sandal. There is only one mouthful left and I throw it down my neck. That last mouthful contained no chicken but did contain enough Encona Hot Pepper Sauce to explain my wife's description of "Chicken surprise". With eyes watering and my tongue seeming to fill my mouth I make a mental note to be kinder to my wife.
I sip two cups of coffee from my flask, more for the heat on my hands than to quench a thirst. Last month you may recall, I had real problems with my optics - all covered in rain and mist and very hard to see through. This morning is different. In relation specifically to my binos, it is very different. Firstly there is no rain. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, I have just realised I have left my binos on my study desk.
It is now 0725 hours and it appears to be the "Witching Hour" as all around me seems to awaken. I revert to the TI. In the next field along I can make out three deer but cannot ID them sufficiently well to warrant a dismount.
Then at 0825 hours about 180 yards to my front a Roe Doe. She walking from left to right. When she is just past my 12 she stands. I take the shot and see the strike. It looks good but she appears to have turned and run back from whence she came. I give her five minutes and dismount for the follow up. She will have come to rest in a shaw and I search the direction I saw her run. After about twenty minutes I start to dig out my phone to call my mate and "Mauser" to the rescue. Then I have a thought. I always seem to get the direction of shot deer wrong. Describing a shot scene makes a liar of me - every time.
What if she had run up hill? Off I went up hill. Ten minutes later and there she is 20 yards the "wrong" way from the shot site. The carcass will go to a Beating pal and he and his family will made good use of the venison.
I drove onto the farm and fuel the Jeep with the cans of petrol bought for the purpose. The farmer is about and so are some of his chaps. Something is amiss.
It transpires that the farm was "visited" last night by those that do such things. Smashed their way through an electric gate and drove around the Estate in their 4X4. Some CCTV available and the Police are involved and they are still assessing what is damaged/stolen. The sense of helplessness and sheer frustration is apparent in all of us.
Spin feed the birds all the while reigning down curses and oaths of those that need to see the inside of a prison cell.
I drop off the carcass to my mate's house - he is a front line worker.
I return home to my wife - she is a front line worker.
I rage at the injustice of the day and the actions of those that have (in all probability) never worked a day in their lives. I did say it was a mixed morning.
I remain an angry man.
