The Hunter's Chronicles

[milegajo]

Thursday 23rd August 2012

Earlier in the year, I woke at dawn and went to bed at sundown. I enjoyed the rhythm and the feeling of being 'in tune'. Of course, it was a lot easier then when the Sun rose at 06:00 and set around 18:00, getting to bed by 20:00 was straight forward, and most pleasant!
Now the days are getting shorter, and the Sun is starting to rise at a respectable hour, I thought I would try again.
My ulterior motive was to endeavour to reverse my frustrations in hunting the woodpigeon. This species is rapidly becoming my 'Moby Dick'.
So it was that I woke with the alarm at 05:00, boiled a cup of joe and set off, full of anticipation and salivating at the thought of the breasts that would materialise in the 'sitty' tree.
Mist in the valley on a dry, promising morning.

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In spite of the fine morning and the glorious sights seemingly gifted to me alone, it took mere paces for my heart to sink.
Wet boots. Soaked through from the heavy dew.
I cursed myself vehemently for failing to wear my wellington boots.
Still, onwards I strode, boots squeaking, socks squelching and feet cold.
I entered the second of the three fields.

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No rabbits spotted. Nothing. Nadda. Zip. It has been a long time since my last visit, and then it took over two hours for one small young survivor to emerge. Still, my remit was extermination, and it would appear that my task is complete with the aid of the foxes and myxomatosis. Thankfully, rabbits were not my target.

I holed up in my usual hedgerow hide and sat on my game bag amongst the nettles.
Traffic on the road rumbled in the distance as the first yummy pair of meaty treats alighted in the tree.
The other side of the canopy.
Darn it.
I was cooed at, and my rumbling stomach set my legs to purpose. I inched and stalked underneath the thick foliage through the water logged knee to waist high grass. I was super careful, yet he melted into the ether.
My audience, mighty racing beasts, suitably unimpressed.

I took up a new, dryer, more comfortable ambush site, and for the next three hours got nothing more than a crick in the neck.
I dejectedly wandered the hedgeline scanning the treetops. Plenty of delicious nutrition flew overhead, but straight on to the chosen site of theft and pillage.
As I wandered back, two playfully landed on the roof of a small storehouse. Another on a telegraph cable. All out of range, and the two playmates didn't loiter.

I was not the only one suffering poor sport this morning. Riding the unseen thermals and elements in the sky a Buzzard incessantly and repeatedly cried his mournful and frustrated call.
As I sat and summoned the energy to return home empty handed, he too, rested in a tree screeching piercingly over the valley.

That helped me a great deal. I'm forever grateful that hunting is at present a hobby not a necessity, and when I do hunt,

It isn't with my mouth.

 

[milegajo]

Friday 7th September 2012

Whilst my passion for, and enjoyment of, airgunning and shooting remains, I have not been out hunting for quite a while now.

Opportunities have come and gone without regret nor mourning. I have recognised them as such and have allowed them to pass and analysed my thoughts and feelings upon each occurrence.

Whilst I had designs for the Hazelnuts that grow here and intentions to harvest them, I can see that my fears of them being completely devoured by the Squirrels with none left for me are unfounded. There are plenty to go around for us both. Times when a squirrel has shaken a branch above me, even though I have had my rifle in my hands, he has continued unmolested in his foraging. I cannot justify his death solely on the grounds of perceived 'burglary' nor can I really find motivation to honour his body fully by preparing it for consumption. Which leads me to my next realisation;

I have had a much lowered desire and hunger for meat whilst the temperatures have been mild. I recall in Winter and Early Spring a hunger and lust bordering on something almost vampirical in its magnitude.

When I compare then to now, I am reminded of Henry David Thoreau's - Walden; Or Life In The Woods. In it he made reference to hunting animals and decided that he disliked the 'mess' it caused in its processing in comparison to the other foodstuffs he had available such as beans and fish. I feel that at this time of year when I have so many vegetables, fruits and nuts available to me, I can relate to his logic, albeit temporarily.

The local rabbit population has decreased dramatically on the land I had permission to shoot over and now I have been asked to end my visits until the Pheasant season ends on the 1st of February. On the one hand, this news saddens me as the fields I have roamed for nearly nine months now have become familiar and though I may not always be successful in my hunting, I do value my time spent wandering and watching. The gains will be harvested, I hope, come February when healthy, recovered, and abundant rabbit numbers greet me. The meat will be most welcome during and after the 'hungry gap'.

Recently, Blackberries and Elderberries have been a very welcome addition to my diet. I have long awaited the arrival of the Elderberries, to the point of foregoing the delicious Elderflowers, as I intend to make cordials and tonics to combat the coughs and colds of Winter.

For now, the Armoury will undergo further tweaks and changes. My .177 HW95k and TX200 rifles are now crowned with new scopes that have vastly improved my shooting. A fair number of pellets have been sent downrange zeroing and learning the half mildot reticle and aimpoints.
The .22 SMK TH208 is the next to benefit from my attentions. This requires yet more paper punching due to the different behaviour of the calibre and sharper drop off of the pellet. I hope to utilise the hard hitting medium range capabilities of this rifle in Autumn and Winter when meat returns to being a regular on the menu. Perhaps another reason I have abstained from gunning down the squirrels, a subconscious restraint.

I do hope those of you who have looked forward to more regular entries are not too disappointed. It would appear that this may be a rhythm of the seasons for me. I will say that Autumn is most certainly here and I expect that my avian brothers and sisters will be as eager as I am to gather all those berries that too briefly hang from the branches. I would be most grateful if the Pigeons were to take an interest!
The neighbours seeking respite from the ravenous midges, mosquitos and horseflies. An August absent Summer.

 

[milegajo]

Saturday 8th September 2012

It is said that as a door closes, a window opens.

The temporary suspension of my permission, barren as it appears to be now, has weighed heavy on the heart and mind. I was resigned to being philosophical about it and hoped to remain content at punching paper, despite my 'bloodlust' being rather suppressed of late, I was deluding myself.
In truth, for me, hunting is the call of nature. We seem to require excuses in order to venture out and experience it in this era of our species. To aimlessly wander has its merits, and yet does not always appeal. Rather it can feel a waste of energy regardless of the fact you may be suffering from a frustrating abundance of it and are struggling to channel it.
A mental state we commonly call boredom.
I infrequently experience it despite my best efforts and irrespective of a long list of tasks worthy of my attentions.
Before despair set in, I resolved to remedy my condition. I grabbed the Eden XP 10x56 Binoculars with an idea of observing the crows and pigeons that can be heard in a cereal field nearby. Now the crop has been cut and harvested, I was afforded a superb view.

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The evening was warm and visually spectacular. A setting sun cast its orange hue on the golden stubble. The smoke of a bonfire hung in suspended animation, cloaking and obscuring the feeding birds before melting and fading away. The smell, a synonymous aroma and essence of the countryside I so dearly treasure.

Through the binoculars I was able to see a sharp, crisp image of the crowd in the field. To the naked eye they were merely a rabble of corvids. With the aid of these optics I quickly saw that peppered amongst them, were pigeons!

I knew what I had to do. I will secure a supply of that delicious rich tasting meat I crave. It may not be organic, but this is about as local as they come. I'm sure the farmer could be swayed with a promise to sling some of my trophies his way so his teeth can exact sweet revenge for the incessant pillaging and robbery.

Soon enough I was at the door. A dog that looked rather like a 'labradoodle' barked without pause, yet would not approach to be introduced. It was this, rather than my knocking, that brought his master to the door.
My reputation had preceded me, evidently I am known locally as 'The Squirrel Man'!

After apologising for the disturbance, my introduction was concise and direct. I explained my predicament, my observations of the pests and made my request. It transpired that this landowner was a relation of my previous one, so I believe I was already at an advantage. I make a point of always referring to, and addressing people who grant me permission, by their titles and surname, the respect this denotes may have aided my plea. Regardless, I strongly urge others to extend the same courtesy as I believe it keeps clear your relationship and standing.
I will skip the details, but suffice to say my offer to target the crows and pigeons was gratefully accepted without hesitation. Unsurprisingly I was encouraged to do what I do very well to the squirrels in a small woodland on the land.

I am very grateful indeed and look forward to capitalising on what seems an excellent opportunity for year round pigeon and squirrel meat. Here's to a new setting for many future stories and meals!

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[milegajo]

Tuesday 11th September 2012

I could barely contain my excitement and enthusiasm as I made the short walk to my new hunting grounds. The weather was very agreeable, sunny but not sweltering and the fields looked radiant and most welcoming. I could feel in my bones that today was going to be a very special experience.

The raucous call of the crows beckoned me to enter the fray.

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I wrestled with the urge to run, my stride fast and uneven as it quickened and slowed betraying the battle I was waging with my legs. I distracted myself by focusing instead on what may be ripening in the hedgerows.

Rosehips now coming very close to being ripe for the picking.

The Blackberries are rather random. The biggest and best are to be found in the sunny spots.

A break in the hedge brought back a surge of impatience.

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If I was careful, I was able to observe my prey no more than 40 yards away from the hedgeline. No chance of harvesting any from here though, as the public highway runs the length of this side of the field.

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After seeing this, any observer could have been forgiven for thinking I had come over rather ill and suddenly very much needed the toilet. I nearly tripped over my feet and sweat broke from my brow as I hastily scurried to the footpath.

Once in the shade of the trees, I deployed and loaded the mighty 95, donned my face veil and gloves to complete my camouflage, and did my best to completely reprogram my legs into stealthy creeping mode. Above and to my front were trees heaving with very full and very relaxed pigeons, magpies and crows.

Up and to my right, 25 yards away, I spied a very content pigeon bobbing with the movement of the branch in the shallow breeze. This shot would require a bit of threading through the leaves, but rifle raised, I drew the crosshairs onto his head, breathed and fired. Miss. The hedgeline erupted and my hopes of bagging an early kill evaporated with the wings. Ahh well.

I continued down the path peering through the tiny gaps into the field hoping to spot any wayward bird that wandered close to the perimeter.

It wasn't until I reached the corner where the hedge finishes that I saw two magpies hopping about. Although they were possibly 35 yards, I knew the shot was optimistic and I rushed it in my excitement. Another miss. Still, undeterred and spirits very high I sauntered down another track with a young woodland that borders the cereal field. Here I was sheltered from view and from my reconnoitre the day before I knew there were some superb ambush points in the breaks of the undergrowth. With senses on high alert and my eyes in the trees overhead I was rather taken aback when by luck, my vision lowered and I saw movement 15 yards ahead. My focus had been so distant that for a fraction of a second I feared it was too late and the squirrel had seen me and would run. He didn't and the lightning fast standing shot took him cleanly with a hearty thud.

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The pellet strike just behind the ear dispelled any doubts in mine or the rifles accuracy.

My stalk along this side of the field was rather cursory as I wanted to be seen to be fulfilling the owners request that I hit a small woodland beyond the house and make an impression on the squirrel population there. I slit the squirrel and spread his insides about abit in an attempt to bait the crows in so they were distracted when I returned. That was the idea anyway...

There were a fair number of cars parked by the farmhouse and a white van was manoeuvring about the car park so I thought it prudent to keep my profile low and return the 95 back to its slip. As I approached, I was hailed by the owner with "What impeccable timing! Could you help unload my new chicken coop?". I was happy to assist, though I doubt if my efforts were indeed of any value. I think I just got in the delivery mens way. When the lifting and positioning was done I and the owner shared a brief conversation, the result of which was the arrangement for me to take four hens who are due for execution. This is not just lucky for the hens. We have lost three chickens in almost as many days due to dog walkers not controlling their animals. These four will serve to keep the sole survivor company and lift the spirits that the massacre has dampened. Eggs will be a bonus though the decline in them is what has prompted their disposal. Most likely they will become dinners in winter, I hope not for another dog.

I arrived at the nominated woodland carefully traversing the stile.

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I entered through the gate on the right, disturbing some pigeons as I did. I often curse farm gates for the difficulty in operating them noiselessly. At the very end (this is only a small copse of predominantly ash trees) I observed two pigeons come and go from a branch of a dead tree. These skeletal remains are a godsend in summer for the lack of growth, and evidently appeal to birds for the same reason.
I missed two opportunities and could not for the life of me ascertain why. The angle was indeed steep so a one mildot holdover, I thought, was sufficient. I plinked at the horizontal twigs up high and no pellets were striking. A quick check on the Strelok app revealed that a shot at nearly 60 degrees at 30 yards required not one, but two mil dots of hold under! Now my pellets were hitting home. But no pigeons returned.
I sat and watched as the sunlight dappled through the branches and leaves and danced on the woodland floor. I was snapped out of my reverie by the 'chuff' of a curious squirrel. Perhaps summoned by the impact of my pellet on the hollow trunk, she appeared to be chastising me for my disturbing her day. I obliging ended her state of annoyance for her.

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The Bisley Long Range Gold 7.9 gr .177 pellet struck a touch forward and low for my liking. The instant death however, would indicate the pellet passed up and across the brain.

Squizzer number two was in the bag. I was still hopeful that a pigeon would come so stayed where I was. Behind me I heard voices on the footpath from a young man and woman accompanied by a dog. Knowing the footpath does not run through this wood I noted their presence.
Unbeknownst to me, the wood evidently appealed to them. An opportunity for a lovers tryst perhaps? All I know is first the dog, then the young lady jumped out of their skin when I rose from beside my tree. Shock and surprise passed as the chap apologised for their disturbing me. He commented on my kill and enquired about the culinary potential of grey squirrels, I happily enlightened him. They proceeded past and exited (how and where I do not know) and I left to return to the main field and place my latest victim with the first 35 yards out from my 'hide'.

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Time passed and I ventured out, not into the field, but to the young woodland to the rear of my position. Though none had landed for my bait, I heard numerous crows in the branches above. I slowly crossed to the other hedgerow and saw a corvid perched in a vee of the tree. With half a mildot hold under for the 35 degree angle at 31 yards, I'm pretty certain I scored a head shot. I watched through the scope as he crumpled and twitched but in an instant he disappeared. The ivy that hugs this tree is so dense I presume his body got caught and is still cradled in it.
The branches belched black bodies as they scattered noisily. I patrolled south along the trees and back again. Upon my return to my hide I spied these fellows 151 yards out;

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It was as I shifted and craned my neck to watch them that I observed a concentration of feeding birds back at the north corner. Cue another hedgeline stalk.;

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Just over this bramble, 4 or 5 pigeons munched away on the spilled grain. I chose the closest one at a lased 44 yards. This called for a 1.5 mil dot hold over from a standing unsupported position. Nothing but a headshot would suffice here. I'm very proud to say I got him. His chums took to flight as he slumped to the floor.

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The HW95 .177 is lightweight and hold sensitive, yet if mastered, blisteringly accurate. Matched with Bisley Long Range Golds, the results have impressed me no end.

Here was the break I was looking for and had long anticipated. Forget my agonising wait and craving to bag one of these wonderful (and delicious) birds, I wanted his body!

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The stubble proved effective at turning this pigeons body into a plausible decoy.

View from the bait and decoys to the hide

I now hoped that not only would another pigeon take notice of my decoy and land, but primarily the crows would see the bait.

I was in for a long wait.

Every now and then I would patrol, though the day was drawing in and the birds less willing to perch in the trees. Plenty were still in the middle of the field feeding and I got a few opportunistic shots off through the hedgeline if any proved close enough.
As it happened, my luck changed when I revisited the spot where I got the first pigeon.

This time he was 54 yards. That is further than I would have liked, 2.5 mildots hold over again, from a standing unsupported position, but the clarity of my new scope and the time and effort put into its calibration had me confident I could pull the shot off cleanly. I did too.

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Another decoy to begin a pattern.

Though my decoy 'pattern' was growing, the number of feeders had diminished considerably. Into the game bag went my prizes and I returned to the squirrel wood to try and catch some roosting birds.

I scared them off and none came in.
Alone I sat, happy and contented with my day out. I was struck by how vivid the silence of the dusk was. Vivid is perhaps a word more associated with vision, but it seems the most apt on this occasion. I pondered what I had done and what I had seen this day. I had been hunting, gathering food primarily in the form of pigeon. The species I had seen were likewise hunting and feeding. I simply cannot come up with a more natural way to spend a day. There simply isn't. Food is number one on the priority list for all things that live. Okay, we humans have developed a very imperfect system for the provision of this need and it frees us up to have time to do a myriad of other things. With a wry smile I thought how ironic it is that I and numerous others find deep, meaningful reward in going 'back' and gathering food/hunting. I am certainly very grateful that should my hunting not bear fruit I am not condemned to death by starvation, though in this instance we do have bugger all food at home so I would have gone hungry for a short while...

As the sun dipped below the horizon, I packed the mighty 95 away and was about to rise, when silhouetted against the fading light, a female squirrel leaped from twig to branch on her journey home. What followed was the very quickest unzipping, deployment, reload, parallax and zoom adjustment ever seen before. Just as I thought she'd disappeared and she believed she was safe, I spotted her outline and I took another standing unsupported shot. Down she crashed. Another trophy in the dying seconds of the game.

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With weary legs, but a smile on my face, I trudged home with my prizes. The church bells pealed from across the valley, I like to think in celebration of, and congratulating me on, my efforts this day.

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[Dannytsg]

I have really enjoyed your posts thus far. Can I ask what do you use to accompany your game when cooking? Do you forage wild greens or buy in veg?

 

[milegajo]

I have really enjoyed your posts thus far. Can I ask what do you use to accompany your game when cooking? Do you forage wild greens or buy in veg?

Some home grown bits, foraged greens jack by the hedge, dandelion, wood sorrel etc, and yes some bought veg too. Thanks!

 

[milegajo]

Hope the pics are working now...

 

[milegajo]

Here's what happened to the pigeons...

http://www.bushcraftuk.com/forum/showthread.php?t=96397&p=1165094&posted=1#post1165094

 

[santaman2000]

Meat for the pot. Skins salted and drying. Heads kept for brain tanning. Tails feet etc 'offered to the woodland gods'.....

The fishing lure companies (Mepps) will pay you for those tails.

 

[milegajo]

The fishing lure companies (Mepps) will pay you for those tails.

I only recently became aware of the large(ish) industry of fly fisherman and squirrel fur/tails. Fascinating stuff. The blue feathers of Jays are highly prized too i've learned.

 

[swright81076]

Good thread. :thumbup:

sent from my Jelly Bean'd galaxy nexus.

 

[milegajo]

Good thread. :thumbup:

sent from my Jelly Bean'd galaxy nexus.

Thank ye kindly.

 

[milegajo]

Thursday 25th October 2012

By noting the date of the first frosts, and comparing to my observations, I can say with some degree of certainty that we are approximately two to four weeks ahead of schedule this year.

Every so often, the trees seem to randomly and spontaneously shiver, dropping a shower of leaves that as they fall, make a sound similar to that of rain.

Clouds, heavy and laden with moisture, find themselves snared in the near skeletal forest, trapped until the Sun eventually burns them away or the wind manages to dissipate them.

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The same clouds, though they make for a grey day, keep temperatures fairly even. So it was in preparation for their dispersal and the resultant plunge of the thermometer that the procurement of fuel took precedence over meat and food.

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These activities still provide windows for surveillance, an important part of hunting. An empty garden trolley rattling and bouncing along the woodland path can make for a lonely afternoon however...

The savvy hunter, certainly in this day and age, has a few modern technological aids at his disposal. A recent sell off of surplus rifles has released equity with which I have purchased a 'Trail Camera'. This sentinel may be secured via an adjustable strap to a tree or suitable anchor at likely 'hotspots'. This tool has provided useful intelligence on the intrusions and visitors to my little patch of woods.

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As one hunter sleeps, another prowls...

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By analysing the time stamps, and recording the positions the photographs were taken, I am quickly building a picture of the various species and their habits. I am not the only one.
As shown above, a fellow hunter (albeit utilising a far more primitive and specialised 'aid') has been doing the same. I cannot say how his rabbit hunt is faring, but we have lost two chickens in as many days during the night following the pictures captured and a recent dip in temperatures. The raids have been expert. I have not proof a fox is to blame, though I do have my suspicions.
As I followed the trail of feathers of the ill fated cockerel, I experienced how easy it is to take the 'theft' personally. It was as though my ego delighted in there being an adversary. I had purpose, focus, an aim, an objective, a goal. It rapidly constructed plans of how to trap, capture and ultimately exterminate this new foe.
But he is not my enemy. Quite the opposite. We have much in common.
I will continue to offer the remains of my kills that are beyond my use to the 'gods'. Though my gifts may in fact attract carnivores I would wish repelled, I keep the site of the sacrifices on the extremes of our boundaries and trust they will appease and distract those who would take more than I wish to give. For let us not forget, I too take from my environment. I too maraud the countryside, raid and slaughter (of course, only where permitted!)

The information gleaned from my sentry has resulted in the fine tuning of my timings. I know better when to keep the rifle to hand and not long after, my tax was exacted and the toll for entering my domain paid.

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As I plucked this errant bird, I marvelled at its plumage. I was fascinated at the multitude of subtle colours, more so by how, collectively, the pattern served to create one of the finest woodland camouflage patterns I have ever seen (or not as the case may be!)
I pondered how it may be put to use. I am certain my ancestors would have sought to put such a gift to good use, to provide that edge and advantage on the hunt. It also led me to question how much of the new is really better than the old. An interesting line of enquiry warranting further investigation, though for another day.

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Funds were also put towards decoys. Twice into the grey I ventured out with them. One Crow, two Pigeons. The first thing to be attracted took me most unawares. A buzzard plummeted from above and booted my crow three to five feet across the deck. The hollow sound of talon upon plastic shell took him by surprise causing him to retreat a good metre. As he regained his composure I watched in fascination and awe. Half fearful he would make off with my decoy. I soon had camera in hand, though he took his leave just as I pressed the 'on' button. Typical.
The next species to be fooled, was again, not any of the ones being targeted. In many ways it is one of the potentially most ignorant and stupid of all those that walk the earth despite its capacity for awe inspiring intelligence. I'm not talking about the dog, I mean Humans!
A woman, her son and black lab were heard approaching from my left so I made my rifle safe as they passed. The footpath runs to the rear of my position, yet some choose to not to stick to it.
It wasn't long before the dog and boy bounded past. It looked, for an instant, like the labrador would pass my pattern and leave it unmolested. The boy stopped to catch his breath and bent over, leaning on his knees. The dog, no longer being pursued, had a chance to glance about and quickly investigated the birds that did not flee. He went straight for the crow and nosed it.
Bugger. He's going to make off with that, I though to myself.
The womans voice called out. The boy communicated his confusion. The lad stood not three yards to the front of my position. In the hope he would call off the dog, I shouted "They're DECOYS mate!" He cast his eyes about the hedgerow uncertainly. "I just heard a voice" he intoned, half to himself and evidently forgot the message, even that one had been issued.
For the next ten minutes, a back and forth ensued reminiscent of a farcical pantomime. The boy twice took to hurling stones at the plastic birds, the woman seemed unwilling, even fearful of approaching them. Over and over they would ask each other, why weren't the birds flying away, were they dead? Why would someone leave birds out in a field? What should they do? Should they enquire at the house?
As the dog had been put on the lead I kept quiet, watched and listened incredulously. I was dumbfounded. Eventually and thankfully, they returned from whence they came and I was left in peace. Very much amused, I packed up and counted what I had seen as reward enough. I smiled and chuckled to myself all the way home, not before congratulating myself on what must have been excellent concealment.

 

[milegajo]

Saturday 27th October 2012

As anticipated, the grey wet that has lingered over the valley and been woven among the trees, passed. With it went the warm it trapped.

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In spite of the chill, the sunshine that was cast was most welcome indeed. The light lifts the mood and aids my motivation, though any plans I had made for the day evaporated with the clouds.

Around 10:37 I received a call. It was the owner of my permission and neighbour. Exasperated by the thievery of magpies, she put out a contract. I accepted it with enthusiasm. My efforts of late have reaped little reward, so the offer appeared akin to shooting fish in a barrel. A sup of coffee, and I was eagerly marching to the location.

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Though the camera fails to do them justice, the contrasting mix of colours in the ferns is most pleasing to the eye.

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As I neared the house, three of the miscreants were seen fleeing the scene of the crime. I circled the house after identifying the bird table that had been robbed of its offerings. The landowner was not home, so I carried on with my assessment, reconnoitre and setting up.
The bird table was in a poor position for safe shooting. Its proximity to the house narrowed options down considerably, to shoot from the direction of the house made unsafe by the farmyard and stables below and beyond it with no safe backstops.
But, there was a much much much better spot for my 'pest control'.

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The raised platform proffered many safer alternatives as well as concealment. I considered siting my position below the platform, behind the tree with the rifle rested in the vee of the two trunks.

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Whilst the wall would trap any over-penetrating pellets, and the platform above conceal my presence from the air.
Still scouting and weighing up the pro's and cons, I climbed up to have a quick look.
After slotting myself snugly into the corner, I was joined by my favourite of the avian species.

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As promising as the omen was, I will spare the reader the many and foul obscenities that gushed through my mind. My rifle was still in its bag. Below me.
Of course, I attempted an agonizing super slow motion crawl to try and get behind the cover of the tree trunk, but it was inevitable that I was spotted and my sharp sighted acquaintance hurriedly took his leave. Ahh well.
Very much encouraged, I set out my crow decoy along with the two wood pigeons. The Crow decoy was later relocated onto the wall.
This time, I had brought the two wooden eggs we use to tempt the hens to go broody, and once the landowner was back, I procured a reject egg that I split and lay at the crows feet.
The railings, I knew would be attractive to any magpie curious to wish to survey the scene.

I settled down to begin the wait. The wind was very unpredictable and icy cold. Thankfully it came from the one direction, directly behind me, though in gusts of varying (and sometimes worrying) force. I was soon grateful for my numerous layers! The hours soon merge and the concept of time fades, but it did not seem too long before the first 'Curious George' was smacked off the railings with a fatal and precise heart and lung shot.​

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His addition to the pattern was most welcome, and I had only just started shivering when a second was spied hopping from branch to branch then alighted onto the rail.​

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In the periods of inactivity I pondered the term 'pest control' with mild amusement. What constitutes a 'Pest' is completely subjective. Any annoyance is within us and therefore not based in fact. We have numerous grounds for justification of course, but nothing is truly, fundamentally, a pest.
'Control' is a myth and completely inaccurate. By shooting and killing I am not controlling numbers, I am reducing them. My activity isn't even an effective, lasting deterent. In conclusion, this was contract killing plain and simple. A more accurate term for it may be 'Bird/Animal Reduction and Depopulation'. So why, I asked myself, was I doing it?
Brownie points. Here was someone who has something I want, land to shoot over. This person wanted me to shoot on it, not only that, but trusted me and my skill enough to allow me into the curtilage of her dwelling. This was a high honour indeed, not to be dismissed out of hand, certainly not when I wish to visit this land for as long as I am welcome. It still chaffed on the morals though that I was killing a being I could not eat.
But, Gods bless him, a pigeon came to assuage and alleviate my conflicting emotions somewhat and perched barely 15 yards away with his back to me.
I gave him a swift, clean, instant dispatch in thanks.​

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My third 'pest' hove into view and repeated the behaviour of his fellows. Bowled off the railing, he joined my latest victim.​

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By now I feared for my extremities. I had been here from 11:00 and the Sun was sloping to the horizon, 15:30. The odd crow had passed, but with activity having slackened I packed up. I knew that if I hung on I could potentially bag some more, but in honesty I had done, and had had, enough by now.
A bag that impressed the owner, with supper thanks to the woodpigeon, thrown in as payment.

​

The walk home got the jellified blood moving again and warmed the limbs I had feared the wind had cooled to beef chunks. Still, a day spent doing what I love, though bear it in mind chaps, you want permission? Sometimes you need to put yourself out to earn it. Oh, and dress warmly eh!

 

[milegajo]

Tuesday 30th October 2012

Keen and eager to utilise the bodies of the fallen magpies (my research tells me they are edible, though "fishy chicken" is not an appetizing proposition for me) I was up this morning before dawn.

​

Daybreak is surely the most magical time of day.
The peace, the clarity, the promise.
Saddled up and fuelled by the mandatory caffeine I tramped down the old bridle path to the grounds upon which I would test the wits and cunning of my sky dwelling brothers.

​

Whilst there is some remaining semblance of natural cover and concealment from the bushes and trees still sporting leaves, I do my utmost to harness it to my advantage. This essentially means finding a gap big enough to squeeze my backside in and doesn't leave my feet poking out.

​

An old tractor harrow, gripped in a thorny embrace seemed ideal. The support it offered would have been useful too. Things looked most promising when, within minutes, a crow swooped in to investigate and landed on a branch to the right of my position. I took my time, lined up the crosshairs and thud. I succeeded in burying the pellet in the slimmest of branches and promptly away the guardian of Valhalla flew.

​

Still, it was early, the day had yet to unfold.
But I don't think it ever did.
I tried all magpies.

​

I tried just the one magpie.

​

I moved positions.

​

I went home.

Whilst slurping on a cup of joe I read up on crow decoying and found an entry on how a chap had had good results by plucking some of the feathers from a dead magpies breast to suggest the crow was tucking in. This, upon my hasty return, I did.

​

This got the attention I craved, and yet so long I sat there with the same routine occurring out of sight above my head, I fancied I learnt the language of the crow.

You'd get the lone one lazily flapping along his way, then he'd exclaim "Oh dear god! What are you doing man!" This would turn to an indignant "Errrr who are you? ANSWER ME!"
Now a bunch would join in the circular flight pattern.
"Yeah" "Yeah" "Answer" "Maniac".
Some would swoop almost threatening to land then pull away. More than once this caused me to toss my phone into the hedge mid text thinking 'this is it!' Only to find they were jerking my chain and at the arrival of a magpie chatter, would melt into the horizon with "He's not with us!""We tried to tell him"...
This set piece twice drew in offended and horrified magpies. First shot I missed and pulled right due to holding the rifle too tight. The second ducked just at the last minute as he clacked his disapproval at my stoic and silent bird.

A while later, a third mag pie materialised. God only knows what happened with that shot. I fired and watched through the scope. He almost seemed to lean back. I heard the pellet impact, but I guess it was the ground behind.

Its hard to be certain, but I think that magpie may well have 'Matrix'd my pellet!

He flew off seemingly unharmed, I checked the trees and tracked in the direction he flew with no sign of feathers nor dead maggie. Most perplexing.
I'm out of ideas and my backside ran out of blood.
I've ordered an owl. That should do it!

I sloped off to the 'feed room' to collect my bounty,

​

and now await....The Raptor!

 

[milegajo]

[h=3]Thursday 8th November 2012[/h]
My ventures of late have been... How shall we say?

Unproductive.

As a result, I have been left with the odd photograph, but not much to report.

Well, today I felt the lack of trophies and any incident of note, was in and of itself, worthy of note. Not once have I despaired in spite of the mild disappointment that can potentially arise within. I also feel that it is of value to report the misses as well as the hits, both on a shot to shot basis as well as an overall outing one.

So far my dry run stands at three excursions. I have not necessarily gone without meat however, as two pheasants in that time were caught and shot after wandering into my dormant veg patch.

I suppose my ability to accept coming home empty handed is rooted in my expectations and motivation. When I set out, I have only the rough idea of what quarry it is I seek, and thus hope to find. I do not go out shooting, I do not go out hunting.
I go for a wander in the countryside with the air rifle.
In that respect, I have never failed, not once. I have always successfully achieved what I set out to do! The resultant outcomes, kills, whatever they maybe, are invariably a bonus.

On this occasion, as I 'wandered' down to my permission, I gazed at an empty, barren expanse of land that only weeks ago had been teaming with air rifle quarry.
This, I pondered, realising that identifying your preys food source and adjusting to their habits is one key to hunting success. The greater truth of course, is change is inevitable and it is how we go about adapting, and how quickly we do it, that sets us apart.

​

Evidently, I am a tad slow!
The trees, not the fields, seem to be where the action is found now. The leaves have fallen, exposing the perches that so recently beckoned with promises of concealment and security. Conversely cover is becoming harder to find, but nonetheless we are entering my favoured time of year for hunting. The cold allows for my field jacket with many very useful pockets to be worn, (its essentially my 'Hunters Handbag') the heat of spring/summer usually curtails movement for fear of salty rivers gushing from the orifices!

After a brief chat to the landowner, I followed up her 'hot tip' on where the magpies appear to congregate and meandered down to where I believe she described.

​

Sure enough, flashes of white on black shoulders of departing birds as they evacuated told me the match box shakers were here abouts.

​

Finding somewhere dry and comfortable as well as suitably concealed proved difficult.
After an hour I returned to my favoured strip of trees at a known stop over. I had just got settled in when my phone rang. My friend and former employer needed a 'five minute' job doing.
Four hours later I returned to catch the crows as the light drew in.
The sitty tree I chose, though looked the ticket, was an unknown and evidently not a sitty tree after all. I did see two lesser spotted woodpeckers which was a pleasure. Their sideways shuffle and curious calls were fascinating and delightful.

My time was up. The sun was now below the horizon and my legs told me that home should be my next port of call. Though hope remained with the fading light, it was pointless to argue.

Still. I had begun the day wondering how I should fill it. I filled it. And I did so in a manner that pleased me, no time was wasted, just spent doing what I enjoy. It may not have gone as expected, but it has gone regardless.
Besides, though it may never come, there is always the promise of tomorrow.

 

[milegajo]

[h=3]Friday 9th November 2012[/h]
On a walk through the woods to setup the trail camera, I received a phone call from the owner of my permission.

She wanted to know whether I had been using a shotgun on the cereal field. I informed her that no, I hadn't and I didn't own a shotgun.Her enquiry was prompted as her horses acted strangely last night and one of them "aborted".
This was interesting as upon my walk home I noticed the horses in the field below running in circles and snorting. As I left they were lined up looking in my direction. I could only think that my couple of crow calls had peaked their interest. I did consider texting her, but decided against it as they didn't appear overtly distressed and I've often seen horses galloping at the end of the day possibly venting energy.
But as a layman, its hard to say. Equally, what I witnessed may have been unrelated.
When told her this, she wondered if the pitch of the caller had upset them. Potentially, though I wouldn't have thought to the level of inducing a miscarriage.

Suffice to say, she has understandably asked me to abandon shooting there. Whilst she has promised to call if the biopsy on the foetus comes back negative, I am rather pessimistic.The very fact I was present the day the incident occurred warrants enough doubt to ensure my indefinite exile.

It is early yet, but I believe it may be better to concentrate on securing another permission than to wait and hope.

A door has shut. Time to open a window.

 

[milegajo]

[h=3]Friday 23rd November 2012[/h]
Much time has passed since I last ventured out to the fields with the air rifle, though I have not been left wanting for meat and game. Most fortuitously, my quarry has come to me!
I have not executed all trespassers. Only when the 'hunger' has stricken, have at least three wayward Pheasants who survived the beaters and the lines of guns, fallen to the TX200.

The wonderful Pheasant with its superb camouflaged plumage.

Each feather is collected and stored. Can a pattern be created mimicking that which concealed its former owner so effectively?

Just one pellet is required.

On one rare clear and sunny Saturday, I observed numerous vehicles turn into the driveway of a neighbouring farm. When the gamekeepers 4x4 arrived, up pricked my Predator Radar. With my 16 month old in my arms, I wandered up to the lay-by that overlooks the game crop and farmland where the beaters were flushing out the birds. Baba and I watched as each squadron took off to be greeted by a salute and salvo from the waiting guns. I chastised myself for willing each pilot the best of luck in dodging the gauntlet of lead and death that awaited them. I felt almost as though I were sabotaging the efforts of another hunter.

The naive me stood awestruck at the spectacle that lay before me. The synchronicity and co-operation of the humans working together to effectively and efficiently slay large numbers of food. On this level it was a wonderful sight. A beautiful setting, a fitting last scene for those who were about to die this day. I envisioned the glut of birds, the tables laid with the cooked and prepared meat. The larders to be stocked with hanging poultry. The game dealers soon to be re-supplied. The sights and sounds I was seeing and hearing that have come to epitomise country life and living.

The realist however couldn't help but feel a tinge of sadness, as each of the guns boomed. Now the guns were not a salute as each soul passed from this world. It was the bark of mans collective greed and insanity. The reputed waste generated by these shoots. The numbers of feathered bodies that allegedly are cast into a pit. The profit. The money paid and spent. I cannot, without indulging in a level of hypocrisy, judge the participants for engaging in their chosen 'sport', for I too on a similar level, find release and enjoyment in a similar practice. Though to my morals my choice of sport is rather more....sporting.

When I had seen enough and the beaters moved on, I retired to my little patch of woodland. I found solace in knowing that all who had caught, and would catch, lead from my barrel would not risk dishonour, would not suffer such disrespect as reportedly is wrought upon their brethen by those with reportedly more money than honour. Is this an insight I muse? Is there perhaps a correlation between the increase of wealth and the decrease of decency and honour?
No. The animal known as the Human and Homo Sapien is very sick. The relatively recent though seemingly endless, all consuming pursuit of currency, the lasting, profound fulfilment such wealth falsely promises appears to be just one of the many causes and symptoms of his malady.

I have to stress I did not see any evidence to support the notion of waste etc as mentioned previously. Even if I had I am a firm believer in "each to their own". I also recognise that what others do and how they go about it is of little concern to me. Either way the result is;

​

Delicious!

 

[milegajo]

[h=3]Thursday 29th November 2012[/h]

It is evident that this year we have entered testing and trying times. For the first time, due to heavy cloud cover and protracted periods of rain, the battery and solar array have failed, plunging us into the dark both technologically and literally. The effect has been most uplifting. No longer has ones attention been frequently distracted by the 'mobile matrix'. Without emails to check, news to read and opinions to be shared you have the stimulus provided solely by that which is around you. It may frustrate those whom wish to contact you. May concern loved ones who, rather than physically visit and converse with you, have come to rely on a text message. The peace and focus gained was refreshing! Lighting reverted back to paraffin lanterns, as peripheral gadgets such as mobiles and computers are hardly essential to survival, they were left in their state of suspended animation. Such was the delay in the return of our power source, that even the batteries in my little trusted headtorch started to sputter and wane as they gasped for energy.


Now, my time spent hunting has been reduced by the increased consumption of wood and the need for fuel for heating. Whilst my forays may have decreased in regularity, the hunter is always scanning, always seeking to spy a 'source'. More concerning than any of the above, is the distinct and notable lack. The land is still. Quiet. Seemingly devoid, at least by day, of life. No rabbits spotted at dawn nor dusk. The pheasant numbers greatly diminished, though the barrages and salvoes from the guns still echo across the valley from time to time. The leaves remain undisturbed as no squirrels hop and bound and forage amongst them. Songbirds flit from branch to tree. Crows often and noisily frequent their flight paths overhead. Only now and again will the hurried flap and flutter of the distinctive woodpigeon be detected speeding from east to west then back again according to the position of the absent Sun.
The wisdom of our ancestors in their choice to trap and rear livestock now bears new gravitas and meaning. One of our five chickens will die this week. Two more at Christmas as hopes of a pheasant gracing the table have all but evaporated.
I revel in the challenge. I delight in the supposed, though thankfully unreal, demands and pressure this places upon me. Unlike our forefathers, I have a mighty and vast commercial infrastructure to fall back upon should the proverbial poop hit the fan. It may have its failings in the eyes of many for numerous and varying reasons, but as is true of society in general, like it or lump it, whilst it is perceived to fulfill a need and purpose and it works, it works. When it doesn't we'll adapt. Or die. I sincerely hope that my brothers and the sisters of the woods have triumphed over the recent adverse conditions, for if they have succumbed, my reliance on vegetables others have grown and shipped will increase. If not for my captive creatures, it'd be little more than sprouts this Christmas!

 

[milegajo]

Saturday 1st December 2012


The bite in the wind has been relentless and unforgiving. Time for hunting may have diminished in direct relation to the temperature, but needs must. The need on this occasion was not meat but material. My friend and occasional shooting partner told me he had misplaced his gloves and suspected they were under a certain tree one of my hunting grounds. Whilst there last we were unarmed, our intention being to shoot with the camera to assess camouflage patterns, of course not one but three squirrels were spotted! This time, I took the gun!

On my walk there, numerous clusters of 'vermin' (magpies, crows and pigeon) could be seen in pockets in the fields and hedgerows. I am keen to observe their habits as the cold comes and hope to identify likely feeding sites. I did not intend this to be a serious expedition, in fact hunting was the secondary purpose, the retrieval of my friends gloves and the putting his mind to rest, primary.
The errant gloves were very quickly located and stuffed into the side pocket of my trouser leg. Having watched at least twenty pigeon lift from the trees in this small young patch of woodland, I thought I would simply sit and let them come to me.

It wasn't long at all before my first customer glided to a perch in the tree I was observing. As luck would have it, his head was comfortably settled back and consequently shielded by a stout branch. Without my noticing until later, he was joined, but this bird was the other side of the tree and the shot meant threading a pellet through the eye of a twig and branch 'needle'. I took the shot as I knew if I missed it would be a safe one, if I hit, it would mean instant death.

I missed. But through no fault of the rifle I might add. Just physics and my failure/inability to adjust for the trajectory as well as to accommodate the numerous obstacles. On the three separate occasions, pellet thumped into solid wood.
I was not dispirited at all. The weather was dry if cold, the surroundings beautiful as well as quiet. Paradise.
Behind me came a scuffle that took me aback. It was within ten yards. After ruling out wayward walkers, I correctly deduced that this must be a squirrel. It was, a wary one too. She wobbled along her naked ash branch and leaped to the stout arms of the under which I hid. She did not present a shot, and would not have, had I not given her a squeak.
An intrigued head peered down from it vantage point.
The new Diana 280k .177 sent a pinch and a punch for the first day of the month and displaced her. She crashed down to the leaf litter.

Shortly after, with my toes now numb, I took my bonus prize home with me. I happened upon the farm owner who expressed her delight with my efforts renewed my contract on the magpies. I was very much pleased with how things had worked out.

Diana, my Goddess of the Hunt is now by my side. She and I will romp this land, and have lots of fun in the woods together. She will keep my belly and heart full this winter I am sure.