So every year for almost as long as I care to remember, I have visited my “good” friend (for reasons which may become clear) in north wales around this time of year for a day of woodcock over pointers followed by a go for goats.
Thus far every time we have visited “ goat mountain” which to me has has just been “mountain” but you never know, sooner or later luck might change…. Yeah right.
So, 4.5hrs drive from Suffolk had me arriving on Friday evening in time for a few ill-judged whisky’s meaning the morning alarm clock was not a welcome sound.
We had planned to be early to the ground as the other dog handler has a fierce temper and would be hilariously entertained by the sight of us being there before her, our record has normally dictated we be late and incur her wrath for the rest of the day. Well, best laid plans of mice and men, despite being up early, all ready to leave, we were missing one key ingredient, the keys to his truck. Nowhere to be found, an hour later they materialised having fallen behind the tumble dryer. So we were despite best efforts doomed for the usual “warm welcome” on our arrival at the woodcock ground.
The weather was very welsh, by which I mean torrential, we got soaked with sleet, hail, rain of biblical proportions. The mood was low, birds were flushing way ahead of the dogs, nothing sitting tight for a point. I had only dirtied the barrels of my gun on an unlucky squirrel, hardly the target of the day.
Come lunch time with just 2 woodcock in the bag, it was clear the other dog handler had had enough and called time.
We (against better judgement) decided to scoff a sandwich and keep going before the chill kicked in. So, soaked and chilly we left them and walked off for the afternoons fun.
Not 50m from the truck, whilst walking along a track, I stepped in a puddle. Said puddle (so it transpired) was hiding a secret. Under the 4 inches of water sat a still very frozen layer of ice. I duly faceplanted the ground, flat out in the puddle, my gun slammed into the track denting the barrels at the muzzle, and my dear friend who went to save me, managed to slap me round the head with the stock of his gun (thanks Alex) before also dropping his gun and knocking the front bead off his barrels. Suffice to say, at this point we elected to call time on proceedings and head home.
So, roll on day 2……. Goat mountain, aka “mountain” to me…..
We made sure we had located car keys the evening before so we wouldn’t relive the fun and games of that faithful day again. I also curbed the whisky consumption so I was reasonably fresh faced come alarm clock time.
We left shortly after 8 and headed to the mountain. Now, I’ve been to this place on probably 5 or more occasions and never seen goats on the permission, the one time we saw them they were over the boundary, and yet, to much hilarity many other friends (and forum members) have all had successes here on their first attempts, so my lack of any success had become a bit of a sticking point, would today be any different??
Well, we arrived and an initial glass found goats instantly, but initial sightings only showed nannies and kids, but then then I spotted a Billy. He vanished from view and Alex took a bit of convincing before he finally found it after it emerged from some bracken and into view through the telescope. Ok, we have a stalk on.
For me the setting could not have been more welcome, a boy (in his 40’s) from the flat lands of Suffolk, isn’t the most accustomed to those things that protrude from the ground they call mountains, and having felt on previous trips all too close to my own end, I was relieved to see this party of goats were actually at a very manageable altitude not more than 300m from the access track, and probably only at about 100m of elevation.
The stalk was on, we left the warmth of the truck to brave the weather, which in fairness was vastly better than the previous day. As we approached them the goats moved into an un-shootable spot, and were lost from sight. So we elected to split up, he went one way and I stayed put hoping that his movement would push them past my position.
Sure enough the plan worked perfectly, and they broke from their cover and crossed the mountain in front of me, however, they never stopped, just carried on merrily marching until the vanished below the rocks in front of me.
All was not lost, he still had eyes on them, and a few shouts of directions and some hand gestures I stalked on and there they were, 80m in front of me, the Billy stood broadside. I didn’t need much time. Rifle up, a quick check out of the corner of my eye to mark where Alex was, suitably safe and well back, the shot rang out. The Billy stood still, I questioned the shot but everything felt fine, the rest of the group ambled off and the Billy took a step forward, I was covering him with the rifle all the while and happily watched him roll over sideways and vanish behind a boulder, job done, and countless years of abuse and torture finally over.
A long awaited handshake and obligatory pics, he was gralloched and we were heading back down the mountain with our prize.
Now to anyone who thinks goats and Billy’s especially smell and are nasty, they are not, yes he had a whiff about him but nothing bad, and on returning home we butchered a haunch and are currently cooking a lovely goat curry. (This isn’t the first Billy we’ve done this with so I have faith it will be lovely!)
So, after many many years of waiting, it finally happened, and what an epic weekend of sport and (reasonably) good company, with the exception of being brain damaged by a beretta….
Cheers @stalker.308 perseverance finally paid off!
Thus far every time we have visited “ goat mountain” which to me has has just been “mountain” but you never know, sooner or later luck might change…. Yeah right.
So, 4.5hrs drive from Suffolk had me arriving on Friday evening in time for a few ill-judged whisky’s meaning the morning alarm clock was not a welcome sound.
We had planned to be early to the ground as the other dog handler has a fierce temper and would be hilariously entertained by the sight of us being there before her, our record has normally dictated we be late and incur her wrath for the rest of the day. Well, best laid plans of mice and men, despite being up early, all ready to leave, we were missing one key ingredient, the keys to his truck. Nowhere to be found, an hour later they materialised having fallen behind the tumble dryer. So we were despite best efforts doomed for the usual “warm welcome” on our arrival at the woodcock ground.
The weather was very welsh, by which I mean torrential, we got soaked with sleet, hail, rain of biblical proportions. The mood was low, birds were flushing way ahead of the dogs, nothing sitting tight for a point. I had only dirtied the barrels of my gun on an unlucky squirrel, hardly the target of the day.
Come lunch time with just 2 woodcock in the bag, it was clear the other dog handler had had enough and called time.
We (against better judgement) decided to scoff a sandwich and keep going before the chill kicked in. So, soaked and chilly we left them and walked off for the afternoons fun.
Not 50m from the truck, whilst walking along a track, I stepped in a puddle. Said puddle (so it transpired) was hiding a secret. Under the 4 inches of water sat a still very frozen layer of ice. I duly faceplanted the ground, flat out in the puddle, my gun slammed into the track denting the barrels at the muzzle, and my dear friend who went to save me, managed to slap me round the head with the stock of his gun (thanks Alex) before also dropping his gun and knocking the front bead off his barrels. Suffice to say, at this point we elected to call time on proceedings and head home.
So, roll on day 2……. Goat mountain, aka “mountain” to me…..
We made sure we had located car keys the evening before so we wouldn’t relive the fun and games of that faithful day again. I also curbed the whisky consumption so I was reasonably fresh faced come alarm clock time.
We left shortly after 8 and headed to the mountain. Now, I’ve been to this place on probably 5 or more occasions and never seen goats on the permission, the one time we saw them they were over the boundary, and yet, to much hilarity many other friends (and forum members) have all had successes here on their first attempts, so my lack of any success had become a bit of a sticking point, would today be any different??
Well, we arrived and an initial glass found goats instantly, but initial sightings only showed nannies and kids, but then then I spotted a Billy. He vanished from view and Alex took a bit of convincing before he finally found it after it emerged from some bracken and into view through the telescope. Ok, we have a stalk on.
For me the setting could not have been more welcome, a boy (in his 40’s) from the flat lands of Suffolk, isn’t the most accustomed to those things that protrude from the ground they call mountains, and having felt on previous trips all too close to my own end, I was relieved to see this party of goats were actually at a very manageable altitude not more than 300m from the access track, and probably only at about 100m of elevation.
The stalk was on, we left the warmth of the truck to brave the weather, which in fairness was vastly better than the previous day. As we approached them the goats moved into an un-shootable spot, and were lost from sight. So we elected to split up, he went one way and I stayed put hoping that his movement would push them past my position.
Sure enough the plan worked perfectly, and they broke from their cover and crossed the mountain in front of me, however, they never stopped, just carried on merrily marching until the vanished below the rocks in front of me.
All was not lost, he still had eyes on them, and a few shouts of directions and some hand gestures I stalked on and there they were, 80m in front of me, the Billy stood broadside. I didn’t need much time. Rifle up, a quick check out of the corner of my eye to mark where Alex was, suitably safe and well back, the shot rang out. The Billy stood still, I questioned the shot but everything felt fine, the rest of the group ambled off and the Billy took a step forward, I was covering him with the rifle all the while and happily watched him roll over sideways and vanish behind a boulder, job done, and countless years of abuse and torture finally over.
A long awaited handshake and obligatory pics, he was gralloched and we were heading back down the mountain with our prize.
Now to anyone who thinks goats and Billy’s especially smell and are nasty, they are not, yes he had a whiff about him but nothing bad, and on returning home we butchered a haunch and are currently cooking a lovely goat curry. (This isn’t the first Billy we’ve done this with so I have faith it will be lovely!)
So, after many many years of waiting, it finally happened, and what an epic weekend of sport and (reasonably) good company, with the exception of being brain damaged by a beretta….
Cheers @stalker.308 perseverance finally paid off!
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