It is the final day of the shooting season - it is the 1st February 2021.
Well it is the first of the month and a few minutes past midnight. This finds me (every month) logging onto the Premium Bond website and frantically checking that this month, this month, my numbers have come up.
This is becoming more important with each month of lockdown. I am aware that I am spending on reloading gear as if I have already won on the Premium Bonds. It is proving to be a risky strategy and thus far, I have utterly failed to make it come true.
Today is the last day of the shooting season. I do not normally bring a gun to the shoot on which I Keeper. It is not a big affair and most of the birds are known to me by name and I have always felt a sense of unease about shooting those I have tended. That said. I have not lifted a shotgun since the 1st February 2020 Beater’s Day and they do need to be managed.
I confirm my plans with one of the Guns who lives on the ground. If by serendipitous happenstance, he should find himself at a particular location at a particular time and with a shotgun under his arm – might we take our exercise together in the countryside in a Covid compliant manner?
My wife (a Nurse; in a rare day off from her Covid ITU ward) will bring our Spaniel and she and he can enjoy the fresh air, for a few precious hours before she returns to the fray in the morning.
“Where is the zapper for the gate?” I ask.
“Where you left it”.
Whilst that may be accurate it is not helpful. I rack my brains. Where have I left the zapper for the gate? Ah I remember..
“It’s in my gilet”.
“Well where is your gilet?”.
I remember instantly that I put it in the washing machine about an hour ago.
“Oh don’t bother I will use the one in the truck”. If I listen carefully, I can hear the damn thing banging around the drum. FFS!
We rock up at the farm as the village clock strikes nine. My mate is carrying an AYA No.4 28 bore and has his black lab. with him. I am carrying a .410 and my wife has our ESS.
Off we trot.
As we walk down a hedge lined field, he and my wife, one side of the hedge, me the other; a Cock gets up and breaks to my side of the hedge. I fire a shot and before the pellets have left the barrel my mate does the same with his 28. The Cock drops stone dead and honours are even – a shared bird.
I pick him up and it is “Graham”. I say a silent prayer and thank him for the joy he has brought to our day. I salute him by taking a photograph alongside both shotguns that claimed his life and draw solace in the fact that he will not go to waste.
The next two hours proves to be exhausting and utterly devoid of pheasants. There is a real risk that “Graham” could be the bag. We see plenty of Roe – they have been pretty much left alone this past year and numbers are definitely up. They look to be in good condition and I relish the majesty of them.
My wife’s ESS has come into his own this year and is working like a “working dog”. I enjoy watching him do what he was born to do. I also enjoy watching my wife getting some NHS respite.
On almost the final “drive” (what is a drive called on a walked up day?) my mate tells me that it is on the site of one of only two “double ditch” Iron Age forts. This wood belongs to a neighbouring Estate and we would not normally be allowed to be there with a shotgun but they have not been shooting this season and are grateful for the help. One of our Stalking seats is on the edge of the wood which contains this fort. I have sat in the seat several times and I never knew what was in the wood. I am both embarrassed and fascinated.
As I make my way into the Iron Age fort I am utterly mesmerised. How did an ancient people move so much earth? How many people did it take? How long did it take them?
I must take a photo for SD. I put my shotgun down and dig out my phone. As I do so the biggest most beautiful Cock Pheasant got up from about ten yards in front of me. By the time I had dropped my phone and mounted my shotgun the bird was out of the wood and away. Is that not always the way? I take the snap (see below iv) and put the phone away.
I crack on; like Private Jones from Dad’s Army. I am stalking pheasants. Heavy undergrowth but I know they are there. In the next two minutes. I somehow, manage to drop three Hen Pheasants.
The morning has lasted longer than I anticipated. I have machine washed to death a gate “zapper”.
I have murdered “Graham”. I forgot both a whistle and a Game Bag and have not had a drink or food for way too long.
We head back to the finish.
As I can see the tape in sight my mate says:-
“Keep loaded there are feral pigeons on the barns”.
In the space of two minuets we account for four of them. Only one drops to the ground – the other three onto the roof of the grain stores.
The village clock strikes two.
The final bag is five pheasants (one not picked) and four pigeons. Both the lab. and ESS are exhausted. I had the wrong wellingtons on and am now hobbling like a lame donkey. My mate has had a good day and my wife is beaming with pleasure at how “her” dog has performed.
As so, for just a few hours, we managed to enjoy the countryside, work the dogs, share good times with old friends and watch wives forget what they will have to endure again tomorrow.
Not many, but I am mindful to count each small mercy...
Well it is the first of the month and a few minutes past midnight. This finds me (every month) logging onto the Premium Bond website and frantically checking that this month, this month, my numbers have come up.
This is becoming more important with each month of lockdown. I am aware that I am spending on reloading gear as if I have already won on the Premium Bonds. It is proving to be a risky strategy and thus far, I have utterly failed to make it come true.
Today is the last day of the shooting season. I do not normally bring a gun to the shoot on which I Keeper. It is not a big affair and most of the birds are known to me by name and I have always felt a sense of unease about shooting those I have tended. That said. I have not lifted a shotgun since the 1st February 2020 Beater’s Day and they do need to be managed.
I confirm my plans with one of the Guns who lives on the ground. If by serendipitous happenstance, he should find himself at a particular location at a particular time and with a shotgun under his arm – might we take our exercise together in the countryside in a Covid compliant manner?
My wife (a Nurse; in a rare day off from her Covid ITU ward) will bring our Spaniel and she and he can enjoy the fresh air, for a few precious hours before she returns to the fray in the morning.
“Where is the zapper for the gate?” I ask.
“Where you left it”.
Whilst that may be accurate it is not helpful. I rack my brains. Where have I left the zapper for the gate? Ah I remember..
“It’s in my gilet”.
“Well where is your gilet?”.
I remember instantly that I put it in the washing machine about an hour ago.
“Oh don’t bother I will use the one in the truck”. If I listen carefully, I can hear the damn thing banging around the drum. FFS!
We rock up at the farm as the village clock strikes nine. My mate is carrying an AYA No.4 28 bore and has his black lab. with him. I am carrying a .410 and my wife has our ESS.
Off we trot.
As we walk down a hedge lined field, he and my wife, one side of the hedge, me the other; a Cock gets up and breaks to my side of the hedge. I fire a shot and before the pellets have left the barrel my mate does the same with his 28. The Cock drops stone dead and honours are even – a shared bird.
I pick him up and it is “Graham”. I say a silent prayer and thank him for the joy he has brought to our day. I salute him by taking a photograph alongside both shotguns that claimed his life and draw solace in the fact that he will not go to waste.
The next two hours proves to be exhausting and utterly devoid of pheasants. There is a real risk that “Graham” could be the bag. We see plenty of Roe – they have been pretty much left alone this past year and numbers are definitely up. They look to be in good condition and I relish the majesty of them.
My wife’s ESS has come into his own this year and is working like a “working dog”. I enjoy watching him do what he was born to do. I also enjoy watching my wife getting some NHS respite.
On almost the final “drive” (what is a drive called on a walked up day?) my mate tells me that it is on the site of one of only two “double ditch” Iron Age forts. This wood belongs to a neighbouring Estate and we would not normally be allowed to be there with a shotgun but they have not been shooting this season and are grateful for the help. One of our Stalking seats is on the edge of the wood which contains this fort. I have sat in the seat several times and I never knew what was in the wood. I am both embarrassed and fascinated.
As I make my way into the Iron Age fort I am utterly mesmerised. How did an ancient people move so much earth? How many people did it take? How long did it take them?
I must take a photo for SD. I put my shotgun down and dig out my phone. As I do so the biggest most beautiful Cock Pheasant got up from about ten yards in front of me. By the time I had dropped my phone and mounted my shotgun the bird was out of the wood and away. Is that not always the way? I take the snap (see below iv) and put the phone away.
I crack on; like Private Jones from Dad’s Army. I am stalking pheasants. Heavy undergrowth but I know they are there. In the next two minutes. I somehow, manage to drop three Hen Pheasants.
The morning has lasted longer than I anticipated. I have machine washed to death a gate “zapper”.
I have murdered “Graham”. I forgot both a whistle and a Game Bag and have not had a drink or food for way too long.
We head back to the finish.
As I can see the tape in sight my mate says:-
“Keep loaded there are feral pigeons on the barns”.
In the space of two minuets we account for four of them. Only one drops to the ground – the other three onto the roof of the grain stores.
The village clock strikes two.
The final bag is five pheasants (one not picked) and four pigeons. Both the lab. and ESS are exhausted. I had the wrong wellingtons on and am now hobbling like a lame donkey. My mate has had a good day and my wife is beaming with pleasure at how “her” dog has performed.
As so, for just a few hours, we managed to enjoy the countryside, work the dogs, share good times with old friends and watch wives forget what they will have to endure again tomorrow.
Not many, but I am mindful to count each small mercy...
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. The local estate has only had a couple of family walk up days to end the season with, haven't seen so many pheasants and red-legs wandering about at this time before. Hopefully they'll have a lot of wild stock for next season.
