Stalker62
Well-Known Member
After a six month sabbatical on my little syndicate, the 1st November, and the new Doe season, signals that it is time for me to show my face.
The plan is simple. Rock up to the farm (the Farmer has been 'nudging us') and thin out the does. Once I have added to the quota, I will roll on to the shoot and carry out some brush cutting in time for our next shoot day. I need to make some 'paths' for both the Beaters, Birds and Dogs, in the heavy bramble that surrounds our duck pond.
With the truck loaded up, (save the rife) the previous night, I am woken by the Bitch barking in the kennel at 0300 hours. No big deal. I was going to walk the little cow at 0400 hours anyway. I trudge around the woods, wearing my stalking gear and a head-torch. The Dog is sporting a flashing green collar, and the Bitch a fetching, flashing pink.
Within the hour I am back in the kitchen, to find a post-it note from my wife. She has drawn a "tick box" list (literally a tick-box) of gear I need to take. Does she think me stupid?
Anyhoo.
Off I go, the roads are quiet, it is dark and I am going to be watching the earth roll into the sun and bringing another day. It is my most favourite time of the day, and perhaps getting towards my most favourite time of year.
As I roll into the farm, I stop the truck and break out the thermal. I see four Roe (as expected). The field also has a healthy population of hares and I draw comfort in seeing the odd pheasant. I dive on, until I near my located seat for the morning. I dismount and kit up. The wind is fairly strong and bitterly cold. I cannot see much coming out of the shelter off the woods in this. Cleary, they have more sense than me.
I haul myself into the seat, ready the rifle and just enjoy those few moments of utter contentment. I am here. Where I should be. In plenty of time. Nothing to do now, than await the break of a new day. I pour a small cup of coffee from the flask and chow down on a rather dry roll. In that moment, I feel my wife no longer loves me.
I treasure the time that sitting in a high seat gives you. It is; to use that dreadful phrase "quality time". It is "Me time". No one else about. No distractions. Time to think. Time to contemplate.
Time to ask yourself the big questions:-
1) If there is a God, what is her name?
2) Why did I forget to bring my shooting sticks?
3) Why did I forget to bring the harness for my bush-cutter?
FFS.
I refer back to my wife's list. No mention of shooting sticks and no mention of the brush-cutter harness - so it is all her fault.
The thermal shows a solitary young badger, plenty of hares and no deer. I stick it out until 0700 hours - plenty of light now.
I dismount and make towards the field in which I have seen the deer at about 0430 hours. The wind is on my neck and so I have to chuck a right and cut back in, but eventually I have it.
I move slowly down a hedge line and there in a gap in the hedge I see three deer. They are in a horse field and they are safe there. I think they know this.
Moving my way slowing down the hedge line, I come to the corner of the wood. I dominate the corner and look back up towards where the deer would be. At least three have moved out of the horse field and are now standing in cover crop about 80 yards away. Two of the deer are presenting themselves for any man armed with a rifle and shooting sticks. Sadly, that man is not me.
Dropping to the prone, I set up on the bipods. My plan is that they will very soon wind me, break cover from the crop and run out into the field where I will cover myself in glory.
Suddenly as they get my scent, they are off like the runners at Ascot. Four does joined by a 'unicorn' buck. I had not seen the buck this morning, but I have seen him about this summer.
They all ran out in the field and then swung back away to my left. I frantically manoeuvred myself in order to be able to take a shot at any one which stopped. The only one which did so, left me with the Farmer's Father's house as my backstop. My head dropped to the earth (literally) and I gave the resigned giggle of a man bested.
There was one long shot left. Cut across the field, through a gap in the hedge and see if they have come to rest in the next field. I jogged across the wet and muddy field; as I reached the gap in the hedge I saw a jogger (in black) running passed the other end of the gap. Time to call it. Call it I did.
Yomped backed to the truck and took a mouthful of coffee. Drove over to the shoot duck pond, and spent the next two and half hours brush-cutting paths. Harness? Who needs a harness when you have a length of rope in the truck.
Now if you will excuse me, I need to find some ibuprofen for my shoulder pain...
Check you kit everyone, check your kit.
The plan is simple. Rock up to the farm (the Farmer has been 'nudging us') and thin out the does. Once I have added to the quota, I will roll on to the shoot and carry out some brush cutting in time for our next shoot day. I need to make some 'paths' for both the Beaters, Birds and Dogs, in the heavy bramble that surrounds our duck pond.
With the truck loaded up, (save the rife) the previous night, I am woken by the Bitch barking in the kennel at 0300 hours. No big deal. I was going to walk the little cow at 0400 hours anyway. I trudge around the woods, wearing my stalking gear and a head-torch. The Dog is sporting a flashing green collar, and the Bitch a fetching, flashing pink.
Within the hour I am back in the kitchen, to find a post-it note from my wife. She has drawn a "tick box" list (literally a tick-box) of gear I need to take. Does she think me stupid?
Anyhoo.
Off I go, the roads are quiet, it is dark and I am going to be watching the earth roll into the sun and bringing another day. It is my most favourite time of the day, and perhaps getting towards my most favourite time of year.
As I roll into the farm, I stop the truck and break out the thermal. I see four Roe (as expected). The field also has a healthy population of hares and I draw comfort in seeing the odd pheasant. I dive on, until I near my located seat for the morning. I dismount and kit up. The wind is fairly strong and bitterly cold. I cannot see much coming out of the shelter off the woods in this. Cleary, they have more sense than me.
I haul myself into the seat, ready the rifle and just enjoy those few moments of utter contentment. I am here. Where I should be. In plenty of time. Nothing to do now, than await the break of a new day. I pour a small cup of coffee from the flask and chow down on a rather dry roll. In that moment, I feel my wife no longer loves me.
I treasure the time that sitting in a high seat gives you. It is; to use that dreadful phrase "quality time". It is "Me time". No one else about. No distractions. Time to think. Time to contemplate.
Time to ask yourself the big questions:-
1) If there is a God, what is her name?
2) Why did I forget to bring my shooting sticks?
3) Why did I forget to bring the harness for my bush-cutter?
FFS.
I refer back to my wife's list. No mention of shooting sticks and no mention of the brush-cutter harness - so it is all her fault.
The thermal shows a solitary young badger, plenty of hares and no deer. I stick it out until 0700 hours - plenty of light now.
I dismount and make towards the field in which I have seen the deer at about 0430 hours. The wind is on my neck and so I have to chuck a right and cut back in, but eventually I have it.
I move slowly down a hedge line and there in a gap in the hedge I see three deer. They are in a horse field and they are safe there. I think they know this.
Moving my way slowing down the hedge line, I come to the corner of the wood. I dominate the corner and look back up towards where the deer would be. At least three have moved out of the horse field and are now standing in cover crop about 80 yards away. Two of the deer are presenting themselves for any man armed with a rifle and shooting sticks. Sadly, that man is not me.
Dropping to the prone, I set up on the bipods. My plan is that they will very soon wind me, break cover from the crop and run out into the field where I will cover myself in glory.
Suddenly as they get my scent, they are off like the runners at Ascot. Four does joined by a 'unicorn' buck. I had not seen the buck this morning, but I have seen him about this summer.
They all ran out in the field and then swung back away to my left. I frantically manoeuvred myself in order to be able to take a shot at any one which stopped. The only one which did so, left me with the Farmer's Father's house as my backstop. My head dropped to the earth (literally) and I gave the resigned giggle of a man bested.
There was one long shot left. Cut across the field, through a gap in the hedge and see if they have come to rest in the next field. I jogged across the wet and muddy field; as I reached the gap in the hedge I saw a jogger (in black) running passed the other end of the gap. Time to call it. Call it I did.
Yomped backed to the truck and took a mouthful of coffee. Drove over to the shoot duck pond, and spent the next two and half hours brush-cutting paths. Harness? Who needs a harness when you have a length of rope in the truck.
Now if you will excuse me, I need to find some ibuprofen for my shoulder pain...
Check you kit everyone, check your kit.
he’s like an old bull elephant 
