Bank holiday Monday. 29th August.
I visited a permission that I have not shot for a few months. This is due to recent deaths in the farmer's family and an ongoing dispute that will probably be sorted out in the courts, a lot of it hasn't been farmed for the last year. I drove past it a couple of days ago and saw which fields were still fallow and which were now stubble, and made a plan.
The Met Office came up with the right forecast for Monday morning, so it was a very early reveille - 03.30 - and I was in position just before it got light. Then I discovered that my intended field of operations had been ploughed!
I quickly revaluated the situation and moved to another area about half a mile away.
I got into position in the high seat and got settled as it was getting fully light.
Not only that, but I picked up one strong heat source straight away, but it proved to be a prowling fox. Before getting ready to take that shot, farmer's orders, I noticed another one way across the other side of the field. This turned out to be a mature roebuck who was ambling around the stubble looking for odd bits of greenery that had appeared since the harvest despite the East Anglian drought. The range finder said 483 yards, which is a tad much for my .243.
I found my trusty Buttalo caller and squeaked. His head came up immediately but there was no sign of any other interest and I had already reckoned that the local rut was over and this, sort of, confirmed it but, after a few minutes, I gave another couple of squeaks. The result was the same, head up but no movement towards me.
I repeated this a couple more times with exactly the same result on each occasion. He was interested, but much more so by his breakfast.
I then watched him for about ten minutes, and he just wandered from one bunch of a daisy sort of plant to the next and munched away quite happily.
Then I got an idea. If I could keep his attention, and his head, pointing in my direction then, just maybe, he would wander from plant to plant but always in my direction.
This I did for the next one hour and thirty-five minutes.
While he slowly ambled towards me, I kept quiet. When he strayed from my direction I gave just one quiet squeak which was usually all that was required for him to turn back onto the straight and narrow path which led across the stubble towards me.
I decided that 150 yards would be my decision point. When he, eventually, got to 165 yards, he vanished behind a square bale for about ten minutes. When he reappeared, I took the shot and down he went.
The whole operation had taken about one and three-quarter hours.
My Grandad told me that life was too short for carp fishing and training spaniels. He was right on both counts, but he should have added deer stalking.
He was a very old chap, the roebuck not my Grandad (although he was too) so it was a good one to take. It was the only one I saw that morning.
My dog got very bored and went to sleep until I fired the shot.
I visited a permission that I have not shot for a few months. This is due to recent deaths in the farmer's family and an ongoing dispute that will probably be sorted out in the courts, a lot of it hasn't been farmed for the last year. I drove past it a couple of days ago and saw which fields were still fallow and which were now stubble, and made a plan.
The Met Office came up with the right forecast for Monday morning, so it was a very early reveille - 03.30 - and I was in position just before it got light. Then I discovered that my intended field of operations had been ploughed!
I quickly revaluated the situation and moved to another area about half a mile away.
I got into position in the high seat and got settled as it was getting fully light.
Not only that, but I picked up one strong heat source straight away, but it proved to be a prowling fox. Before getting ready to take that shot, farmer's orders, I noticed another one way across the other side of the field. This turned out to be a mature roebuck who was ambling around the stubble looking for odd bits of greenery that had appeared since the harvest despite the East Anglian drought. The range finder said 483 yards, which is a tad much for my .243.
I found my trusty Buttalo caller and squeaked. His head came up immediately but there was no sign of any other interest and I had already reckoned that the local rut was over and this, sort of, confirmed it but, after a few minutes, I gave another couple of squeaks. The result was the same, head up but no movement towards me.
I repeated this a couple more times with exactly the same result on each occasion. He was interested, but much more so by his breakfast.
I then watched him for about ten minutes, and he just wandered from one bunch of a daisy sort of plant to the next and munched away quite happily.
Then I got an idea. If I could keep his attention, and his head, pointing in my direction then, just maybe, he would wander from plant to plant but always in my direction.
This I did for the next one hour and thirty-five minutes.
While he slowly ambled towards me, I kept quiet. When he strayed from my direction I gave just one quiet squeak which was usually all that was required for him to turn back onto the straight and narrow path which led across the stubble towards me.
I decided that 150 yards would be my decision point. When he, eventually, got to 165 yards, he vanished behind a square bale for about ten minutes. When he reappeared, I took the shot and down he went.
The whole operation had taken about one and three-quarter hours.
My Grandad told me that life was too short for carp fishing and training spaniels. He was right on both counts, but he should have added deer stalking.
He was a very old chap, the roebuck not my Grandad (although he was too) so it was a good one to take. It was the only one I saw that morning.
My dog got very bored and went to sleep until I fired the shot.
