The Friday morning was one of those days we expect Scotland to deliver. Windy, rain coming in waves. Richard and Jason were back at the spot from yesterday, still hoping to connect with a red or sika. We went a mile away to the other end of the property and tried to find something, but the weather was unrelenting. We called it early, headed back to the estate where I had shot the troublesome stag the night before. We knew there was a sheltered woodlot in a bowl that might hold some animals. I volunteered to be the beater, pulled up my collar and walked into the wind. I enter the woodlot up wind, and immediately heard a clatter of rocks. Those on overwatch said I had pushed out 2 reds, but no one had the shot. Then we retreated to a little bakery for some sticky toffee pudding, coffee, warmth. Evening was spent at the same spots as morning, but the heavy rain and wind took its toll on us and no targets were seen.
The next morning Frank opted for us to head to a wooded valley, where he thought the deer might still be out. Brother and I took the south end, while Jason and Richard took the north. We had barely got across the moor and just peeked into the valley to see 3 roe does. We both lay down on the rifles, brother shot first, I followed and we had 2 more roe. We were hoping for sika, but after trekking up the little valley face first into more of the same cold driven rain, we were thankful these were little roe. At the truck we discovered that Jason and Richard had also been fortunate and had a grassed a pair as well.
Back for a change of clothes, some warmth, then we all met up for a proper Saturday lunch. I finally got my fish and chips with a cider. Afterwards we said our goodbyes to Jason and Richard, knowing we had made another set of like-minded friends. Evening was just spent in the cottage telling tales and listening to Frank discuss the non-stalking aspects of his life (several meetings with Queen Mum, friends with some lesser nobility, musician in a fairly decent folk/rock band, early 20s as a motorcyclist and roadie for Led Zeppelin, and all sorts of other bits before he arrived into Caithness and made it home). We also used the evening to continue to pour kit on Frank. He was like a child at Christmas, and when the evening closed he walked out with his arms full. Camo shirts, decoys, rechargeable hand warmers, socks socks and more socks, and a new set of camo breathable waders.
Sunday morning we went out briefly, not to shoot but rather to just scout with the rising sun. The cold blowing rain had not lessened, and was perhaps a bit stronger even. No complaints though, because in my mind that sort of weather is just part of Scotland. In some ways it’s a raw beauty that keeps that keeps the soft types away.
Sunday afternoon was again spent at the Pentland Hotel for luncheon with a carvery. The meat was good, the veg as well – but they had a magnificent sticky toffee pudding. Then back to the cottage for more craic, the last of the gifts, and lots of tea/coffee. Our option for the next and final morning was a likely lackluster goose shoot (rain and wind stopped, now forecast warm and calm) or to a spot with a good population of reds that needed the hind cull started. We opted for the reds.
The next morning Frank and John greeted us in the driveway and off we went. The wind/rain had died down and the reds were out feeding everywhere. Scott had first go, and managed one then two just that quick. We marked them were they lay and went west a bit and came upon a hind and calf. My shots were true, and we had 2 more down. We opted to stop at this point – 4 reds were going to be a job. We had planned to leave for Aberdeen at noon – but with this much work we didn’t want to leave it all for Frank and John, so we went back, grabbed the Argo, then started gralloching and loading our reds, Once loaded it was off to the chiller.
Looking at 11 carcasses hanging we realized it was a productive week, and along with all the great craic we truly had helped his culling.
We said our goodbyes and promised we would be back next year, not quite tearful but not far from it either, and then went into the cottage. We cleaned, we packed, and started the drive south. The first bit of the trip, along the A9 from Dunbeath to Tain was stunning. The sun was out, we were blasting some Peat and Diesel on the car stereo, and all seemed right with the world. From Inverness on we were in the grey dreich until the sun set and it became black dreich. We eventually got to our hotel and then next door for meal at the carvery (and I finally got my mushy peas).
Next morn we were up early, and at the Aberdeen airport. Brothers flight left an hour before mine – and when he boarded the plane I felt a sense of foreboding and loneliness. It was more than a great trip being over – it was a sense that it may never happen again. We had noticed Frank slowing down a bit -but in fairness, none of us were young and we were all slowing down abit.
Another grueling travel day, with Frank and I texting each stop along the way. He was prepping for another group of guests to come shoot geese next week and we were also sharing all the pictures each had taken. I was back home in my own bed just after midnight – and up early the next morning with my body confused to when and where it was.
Thursday I was out scouting for the upcoming waterfowl opener. Friday I was doing more of the same – when I came out of a no signal zone and my phone immediately “dinged” with a voice mail from John. The news was brief – Frank had passed. I was on the phone immediately, international calling rates be damned. We talked and reminisced and then ran out of words. I followed that with a call to my brother – had even fewer words. But – in the three weeks since I have had time to put my thoughts to digital paper, hence these two write ups.
On a closing note – after discussion with his family – I acquired a bespoke hand carved decoy to serve as Franks urn. We all agreed that a walnut box, or porcelain urn would be completely out of character.
The next morning Frank opted for us to head to a wooded valley, where he thought the deer might still be out. Brother and I took the south end, while Jason and Richard took the north. We had barely got across the moor and just peeked into the valley to see 3 roe does. We both lay down on the rifles, brother shot first, I followed and we had 2 more roe. We were hoping for sika, but after trekking up the little valley face first into more of the same cold driven rain, we were thankful these were little roe. At the truck we discovered that Jason and Richard had also been fortunate and had a grassed a pair as well.
Back for a change of clothes, some warmth, then we all met up for a proper Saturday lunch. I finally got my fish and chips with a cider. Afterwards we said our goodbyes to Jason and Richard, knowing we had made another set of like-minded friends. Evening was just spent in the cottage telling tales and listening to Frank discuss the non-stalking aspects of his life (several meetings with Queen Mum, friends with some lesser nobility, musician in a fairly decent folk/rock band, early 20s as a motorcyclist and roadie for Led Zeppelin, and all sorts of other bits before he arrived into Caithness and made it home). We also used the evening to continue to pour kit on Frank. He was like a child at Christmas, and when the evening closed he walked out with his arms full. Camo shirts, decoys, rechargeable hand warmers, socks socks and more socks, and a new set of camo breathable waders.
Sunday morning we went out briefly, not to shoot but rather to just scout with the rising sun. The cold blowing rain had not lessened, and was perhaps a bit stronger even. No complaints though, because in my mind that sort of weather is just part of Scotland. In some ways it’s a raw beauty that keeps that keeps the soft types away.
Sunday afternoon was again spent at the Pentland Hotel for luncheon with a carvery. The meat was good, the veg as well – but they had a magnificent sticky toffee pudding. Then back to the cottage for more craic, the last of the gifts, and lots of tea/coffee. Our option for the next and final morning was a likely lackluster goose shoot (rain and wind stopped, now forecast warm and calm) or to a spot with a good population of reds that needed the hind cull started. We opted for the reds.
The next morning Frank and John greeted us in the driveway and off we went. The wind/rain had died down and the reds were out feeding everywhere. Scott had first go, and managed one then two just that quick. We marked them were they lay and went west a bit and came upon a hind and calf. My shots were true, and we had 2 more down. We opted to stop at this point – 4 reds were going to be a job. We had planned to leave for Aberdeen at noon – but with this much work we didn’t want to leave it all for Frank and John, so we went back, grabbed the Argo, then started gralloching and loading our reds, Once loaded it was off to the chiller.
Looking at 11 carcasses hanging we realized it was a productive week, and along with all the great craic we truly had helped his culling.
We said our goodbyes and promised we would be back next year, not quite tearful but not far from it either, and then went into the cottage. We cleaned, we packed, and started the drive south. The first bit of the trip, along the A9 from Dunbeath to Tain was stunning. The sun was out, we were blasting some Peat and Diesel on the car stereo, and all seemed right with the world. From Inverness on we were in the grey dreich until the sun set and it became black dreich. We eventually got to our hotel and then next door for meal at the carvery (and I finally got my mushy peas).
Next morn we were up early, and at the Aberdeen airport. Brothers flight left an hour before mine – and when he boarded the plane I felt a sense of foreboding and loneliness. It was more than a great trip being over – it was a sense that it may never happen again. We had noticed Frank slowing down a bit -but in fairness, none of us were young and we were all slowing down abit.
Another grueling travel day, with Frank and I texting each stop along the way. He was prepping for another group of guests to come shoot geese next week and we were also sharing all the pictures each had taken. I was back home in my own bed just after midnight – and up early the next morning with my body confused to when and where it was.
Thursday I was out scouting for the upcoming waterfowl opener. Friday I was doing more of the same – when I came out of a no signal zone and my phone immediately “dinged” with a voice mail from John. The news was brief – Frank had passed. I was on the phone immediately, international calling rates be damned. We talked and reminisced and then ran out of words. I followed that with a call to my brother – had even fewer words. But – in the three weeks since I have had time to put my thoughts to digital paper, hence these two write ups.
On a closing note – after discussion with his family – I acquired a bespoke hand carved decoy to serve as Franks urn. We all agreed that a walnut box, or porcelain urn would be completely out of character.
