Ducks and fluffy towels

Do you have any duck days going for tomorrow?

It was a short and to the point enquiry from a broad Yorkshire accent.

To be honest I didn’t have anything available at that short notice, but I asked for a couple of hours to make a few calls.

The enquiry was for a team of four guys who were in Dorset on a mini break with their wives. They later told me how they’d negotiated a deal where by a beauty therapy session in their hotel spar would offset a days pheasant shooting. Keeping everyone happy.

However the days pheasant shooting that they had booked directly with a local shoot had been called off at the last minute (not sure why), and they were desperately trying to find some shooting.

But for me, the best part of the weekend agreement was that everyone had been booked to go for the beauty therapy as well as to go shooting.

Anyway back to my calls to find some duck shooting.

As luck would have it, a very good friend of mine offered an evenings duck flight on his estate, with the added spice of the possibility of some Canada Geese. I also recruited three pickers up and reported back.

We agreed on a one off fee for the whole party. And so, not twenty-four hours later, four guns with partners, sat in woodland hides around two ponds in the early evening, waiting for the evening duck flight to come over the treetops.

Thankfully the wind was blowing reasonably hard, which is normally a good sign. In windy weather the ducks tend to leave the nearby exposed estuary early and come inland.

Things stared a bit slow. As normal I had given instructions to let the first few mallard settle in, which appeared to be back firing, as the guns left eight or more ducks. Then as the light was fading and my anxiety level rose, the action started. Mallard and teal arrived at regular intervals over the next forty minutes.

At close we had sixteen duck in the bag and after picking up, everyone retired to the local pub for a warm by the fire and very welcome pint.

What great folks they are. We enjoyed a hearty meal and lots of laughs together, but of-course I couldn’t leave the subject of the day’s spar beauty session hanging. These were four big Yorkshire lads, who I couldn’t see walking around in a fluffy white towel being serenaded by soothing elevator music. But I was wrong.

As well as booking a 50-bird pheasant day with us in January, they’ll be staying in the same hotel and have booked a detox spar session. Who knows, I may even join them.

Written by Sporting Agent.

Dogs and friends

One of the big pleasures I have in life is working a dog on a pheasant shoot. I have to say that I enjoy picking up, just as much as standing on a peg. Indeed probably more. What could be better than a days shooting with a good dog?

As the years roll on, one tends to remember all the good times and try to forget the embarrassing moments when dog and man had an ‘off day’ and were defiantly not working in harmony. Of-course that’s where friends come in. Friends, who can remember every details of those days and remind you about them every now and again, especially in the pub after a shoot.

Whatever your background shooting people have a great way of light heartedly enjoying a day in the field together. I can’t think of a day’s sport that hasn’t included lots of laughs, mickey taking and comradely banter that comes from being in the field with like-minded people.

And if one has a dog or two to enjoy the day with, then even better.

Written by Sporting Agent

It’s a hard job, but someone has to do it.

September 2012 found me guiding a party of two hunters and their wives on a South African Safari.

The two couples had booked a mixed package of plains game hunting and big five game viewing over ten days that gave a nice mix to their tour. Something for everyone.

Plains game hunting on our in Mpumalaga, with a trophy Kudu at the top of the list for both guys, was to be followed by big five game viewing in the greater Kruger National Park.

As ever we like to keep things relaxed and easy going with our Safaris. Indeed the main reason for hunting on our reserve is to thin out the numbers of Antelope and prevent over grazing/browsing.  That would normally be managed by game capture, but in these mountains chasing animals with a helicopter into a boma, leads to animals breaking legs as they run and is just not a viable option. However hunting is.

The guys had asked to hunt together with one PH. A toss of a coin set the order of who would shoot first as they took turns in shooting.

At the end of day five we had a couple of nice Impala, two warthogs and a Kudu cow in the bag (which made for great eating). However, although we had glassed some of the monster Kudu bulls that this area is famed for, we hadn’t had an opportunity for a shot.

Day six put all that right and was one of those days that will stay with me for a long time. We were on the move before dawn and drove down through the reserve on a chilly morning. The sun was just creeping above the mountains, as we set off to stalk an area of around 2,000 acres where we had seen several Kudu bulls the day before.

We had only been on the move for ten minutes and were still shaking off the morning chill, when our tracker held up his hand and motioned for us to stop.

All eyes followed his to a huge set of spiral horns sticking up above some dense bush about 500 meters to our right. Quickly back tracking to better cover we made a plan to get one gun and tracker into shooting range.

As he went forward and out of sight, the rest of the party remained behind, waiting anxiously for some sign of what was happening.

I have to say that it is those waiting moments that I have fingers crossed hoping that all goes well and my client gets a shot.

There was no need to worry. A bang echoed around the mountains, soon followed by the sight of our tracker with a big grin on his face, beckoning us to join them.

A 56” Kudu lay within thirty meters of where it had been shot. There were smiles on faces and relief on mine.

With gun number one happily making his way back to the lodge with his prize, it was time for Kudu number two.

Normally after a shot I would move to a different part of the reserve to try our hand elsewhere, but Finius (our tracker) took me to one side.  He’d seen an even bigger Kudu bull up on the mountainside. It would be a hard stalk but he wanted to go for it. Both gun and wife were keen, so we grabbed some extra water bottles and set off.

A three-hour trek around the base of a mountain had us overlooking a valley where several Kudu bulls browsed below. Crawling the last 15meteres on our bellies, we came up to a small ledge and more importantly to within 150 meters of a 60” bull.

First shot knocked the Kudu flat, but he tried to stand up again, so a second dropped him on the spot.

What fantastic day. Two very nice Kudu bulls were on their way to the taxidermist and we were headed to a luxury lodge, in the Kruger Park for big five game viewing and relaxation. It’s a hard job, but someone has to do it.

Written by Sporting Agent.

A great end

Sika stalking - even in the rut it is not without its challenges. Last week we had two clients (Alan and Robert) from Surrey stalking with us in Dorset. They had booked two days and were both keen to take a representative stag home. Not to mention the little friendly rivalry going on between them.
After shooting tests were completed on the first morning (both nailed the bull at 100 yards......sorry meters), we split into two teams with each seeing plenty of sign, but neither getting a shot.
I had Alan with me and we did see a nice eight pointer that was frustratingly too far away to get a safe shot. By the time we had stalked around him into wind he'd slipped away (accompanied by the odd expletive from yours truly).
Later that day we did find a pricket that Alan took as a management hunt, which set us up nicely for day two.
As day two dawned we were on the ground early, enjoying a beautiful sunrise. The morning dew and a light mist were clearing away as the sun rose, so Alan and I decided to take five behind a gorse hedge and watch the morning unfold. Glassing across a large meadow in front of us, surrounded by woodland, we were ideally placed, or so I thought.
What's that they say about the best laid plans of mice and men?
As we were looking across the meadow to our front a ten pointer walked out from behind us on the right hand side. He was no more than 50 meters away. We were tucked down in a drainage line in good cover, dead still. Surely he would wind us, but he didn't. He jumped through the hedge and trotted out into the meadow.
Steadily walking away from us, there was no shot possible.
Just when it seemed as though he would never turn around, he slowly turned full broadside on to us. I ranged him at 140meters, we had a good back drop and Alan took a perfect heart shot.
By the time we had called in a quad bike and recovered the stag it was time for a celebratory full English breakfast and then a trip to the local taxidermist.
Later that day Robert got a six pointer as well, having put in a lot of miles walking himself, yet finally having success from a high seat.
It would be fair to say that we raised a glass or two back at their hotel that night. A great end to a great hunt.

Written by Sporting Agent

Week three in Dorset

Week three in Dorset and I’ve fallen into the old routine that will be familiar to all those who are looking after pheasant poults. Early morning finds me out with the birds, checking all is well from the previous night. Cleaning and topping up feeders and drinkers, checking the water is flowing and all the maintenance jobs that need to be done. I’ve started the birds ‘on the whistle’ while I feed. Not the tune I would use (after all I’m only standing in for Roy until he is up and about), but the few notes that Roy uses to familiarize the birds. They will soon register that the tune means food and come a running when they hear it, which will make life a lot easier as they grow bigger and wander further.

I’m not normal an early morning person, but I love these mornings in the woods. We’re far enough away from roads and traffic for there to be no man made sounds, save perhaps for the odd tractor starting up away off in the distance. We’ve been blessed with some sunny mornings; enough to take the nights chill out of the air. My favorite pastime is to sit on a straw bale in the pheasant pen, enjoy the sun on my face and watch the young poults scrabbling around my feet. Of-course it also gives me a chance to check the birds for any problems. None so far to worry about, Roy has done a good job in sizing his pens and ensuring there is the right cover for the birds to enjoy. I haven’t seen any sign of sickness; coughing or feather pecking that can occur if you don’t get it right. There are low rails for the birds to stand on and some small trees for them to hop up into as the fancy takes them. We did loose two poults earlier in the week to an owl, but I have used the old trick of placing a flashing amber beacon on the fence line (the type you used to see on road works), which seems to have done the trick and we haven’t lost any since. Fingers crossed that continues.

Kat usually joins me and we take some time after the checks to do the romantic walk in the woods. You would think we’d be old enough o know better but the setting makes our hearts young. Just the two of us and Ed (Roy’s Springer Spaniel that now follows me everywhere I go, Roy is seeing that as disloyalty, but he’s taking it well).  There is an old gas stove in the shoot store, where Roy stores sacks of pheasant food and all the other paraphernalia you need to keep the birds happy. Kat usually knocks up a bacon sandwich and puts the kettle on when we have finished our rounds. There is some thing magical about cooking and eating outdoors, even Ed gets a piece from my sandwich, another traitorous act which Roy would not see the funny side of, but we’re a team and why not, he works hard.

We normally have the rest of the day to ourselves and return to the wood around 7pm for the evening checks. If necessary we’ll replace the battery on the electric fencer and then test to see that 5,000 volts is running down the wire. As everyone who has touched a fencer wire will know it ‘kicks’. Not enough to kill anything or anyone but enough to deter a fox. I have known keepers who can grab a fence wire to test it, but I prefer to use a test meter and avoid my hair standing on end. Then it is back to Roy’s for dinner. Jennie is wonderful cook and most of the ingredients come from their garden and game from their freezer.  I may need to take up jogging to keep the weight down. Last night we enjoyed roast venison with veg from their garden, followed by homemade strawberry tart. It’s a hard life.

Written by Sporting Agent

It’s not every day that I get to play at gamekeeper again.

It’s not every day that I get to play at gamekeeper again. I say again as I have from time to time been involved in wildlife conservation and game keeping. For some the two may not seem to go together but they undoubtedly do. Gone are the days when Game Keepers were killers of anything that even seemed to threaten game. Thankfully a keeper’s job (at least in the UK) is now more to do with wildlife management and conservation than anything else.  I relish every opportunity to be involved again especially during an English summer. When the sights and sounds of an old wood, especially in those precious moments just after dawn as the early morning sun bring everything to life.

The reason for my call to duty was that an old friend needed help. Roy is the keeper on a lovely 3,00 acre estate, one of those country estates that have been cared for by a long line of dedicated keepers. Roy had somehow managed to crash his Quad bike with the result that his leg was now in plaster and his wife Jenny was struggling to keep everything going. With two kids to look after and a part-time job to keep going the last thing Jenny needed was more work. The accident couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Roy had one thousand six week old pheasants due for delivery that would need his care and attention. As well as all the other estate duties, there were rumours of deer poaching in the area. I could hear in his voice just how worried he was, so I packed and headed to Dorset.

Not only was there much to do if he was to save his livelihood, if the poachers knew that he was incapacitated then they would create devastation in a matter of no time. Sadly this last minute change to my plans meant that I would not be able to speak at a Charity event to highlight the plight of Rhino poaching in South Africa’s Kruger Park. A cause that is very close to my heart, but my wife said she would stand in for me and make the presentation on my behalf. Kat is as dedicated to Wildlife Conservation as I am, so I knew she would do a good job.

I arrived in Dorset late on Sunday evening, to a very warm welcome and a grand Sunday Dinner all washed down with a nice bottle of Pinotage (a little South African influence never hurts).  Sadly only one glass for me as I knew I had to do the rounds of the estate once it got dark, but very nice all the same. I just wanted to drive around to let folks know that there was someone keeping an eye on the place. A quick tour around the estate in Roy’s landrover just after midnight was all I could do, but at least we were ‘flying the flag’.

Monday morning was one of those bright beautiful sunny June mornings. Jenny was up early and had made a grand English breakfast to set me up for the day. As we ate Roy filled me in on what he needed done, all the while I had one eye on the TV watching the early morning news reports that were focused on the days tennis due to be played at Wimbledon. Thankfully, Roy had managed to delay the delivery of the young pheasants for another week, which gave me some time to catch my breath and see what else needed doing before they arrived. My first job was to head down to the Hanging wood (so called because, in times passed, that is what it was used for), to check out the main release pen. This is an old English oak and elm wood that has been allowed to mature naturally. Sure rides and paths had been maintained, but in general it is as nature intended. Or should I say Capability Brown who designed the wood in the eighteen century. A reminder that most of England’s countryside was shaped by man and not truly wild.

I took Roy’s Springer Spaniel ‘Eddie’ with me for company and to give him some exercise. It is an absolute pleasure to be out with a well-trained dog such as Ed. Although he was clearly enjoying himself, he knew that were do’s and don’ts and as soon as we entered the wood he came sharply to heel without being told. We didn’t want to disturb the resident wildlife, just observe.

To my relief Roy had completed all the necessary maintenance to the main pen before his accident. The boundary fence was in tiptop condition; drinkers and feeders were ready to go.  Empty now but all that would change in a week’s time. The pen store was dry and well kept and stocked with pheasant food as well as some tools, disinfectant, wormer and all the bits and bobs you need. It looked like my job was going to easy. With everything in order, I took some time to enjoy one of my favorite pass times. Ed and I walked back into a dense part of the wood and found a fallen oak tree to rest against. The sun was finding its way through he dense canopy lighting up a little clearing. I sat down with my back against the oak and the sun warming me. Ed lay down at my feet and we settled in to enjoy the moment.

I must have dozed off for a while, but when I woke I found Ed sat bolt-upright watching Roe deer as it wandered towards us feeding from the Gorse flowers. Or at least that’s what I thought Ed was looking at. It turned out that he was actually watching a Weasel as it scurried around in some of the decaying fallen wood. It’s hard to describe how I felt at that moment, but if you want to put a word to it I was in heaven. However, I knew this was just a brief respite before the action that was bound to come later in the week, but for now Ed and I enjoyed the moment.

Written by Sporting Agent