Stepping from the motor into my own frosted breath, I applauded myself for adding an extra base layer to the shooting attire this morning. The low winter sun wasn’t going to win against a scything Easterly breeze today. Before donning my shooting mitts I loaded two magazines with .22 Air Arms field diablo pellets. I … Continue reading Long Walk, Little Rifle
A walk to the hill, with the gun, in the chill The woodcock moon hangs upon high. No leaf on the bough, light frost on the plough Skeins of pinkfoot and greylag pass by. Climbing up to the crest, to where view is best A small silhouette catches the eye. The stance of a hare, … Continue reading The Moongazers
The Night Before Boxing Day She pulls up her collar and tugs down her cap Her ruddy cheeks stung by the Eastern winds slap. With rifle on shoulder, and spaniel at side She sets off for a last check of covert and ride. It’s now snowing lightly, the sun lowering red She leaves behind family, … Continue reading The Night Before Boxing Day
The walk around one of my shooting permissions this morning was later that usual. The crows laughed at my tardiness and most of the grey squirrels had gone back to the dreys to sleep off breakfast. Not that I was worried. I stole through the wood with a grin like the proverbial Cheshire cat. The … Continue reading The Complete Airgunner – #amwriting #amhunting
The mellow Autumn morning mists have given way to more sombre weather already. We’ve yet to see a first frost here in East Anglia but the overnight temperatures have hit middle-scale single figures. The driven-shooting fraternity are two weeks into their sport where the birds have matured. I won’t join in, despite generous invitations. Put … Continue reading Wildscribbler’s Diary – October 2019
It’s been pouring for an hour now and I sit here listening beneath my glass canopy; the drumskin of a rainwater percussionist. The sound, like a rock anthem or a classical overture, is awesome. Not just because it’s natural, not just because it’s rhythmic, but because it pulses like the push of blood through an … Continue reading Rain Dance
I stepped outside and the cool morning mist caressed my face like a lover's gentle kiss. The swirl of vapour swathed the motor and for the first time since winter, I had to scrim the moisture from the windows of the vehicle. The yellow halo of a veiled sun was already auguring an Indian Summer … Continue reading Wildscribbler’s Diary – September 2019
On the second weekend in August (while the rest of the UK was subjected to a battering, torrential rain, and flooding) here in East Anglia we got off lightly with just warm, gale-force winds. Yet the temperature was about 26C. It reminded me of the tent-tearing ‘scirocco’ I endured on my only ever camping trip … Continue reading When The Wind Blows
It’s a sad truth that the older you get, the faster the days fly by. Life seems to be logarithmical. The slow, impatient pace which frustrated your youth becomes the steady progress of mid-life. Before you realise it you’re trying to snatch the essence of every day in later life. You regret the indolent teenage … Continue reading A Strange High Summer Fox Encounter
There was a feeling of deja-vu when the BASC notification came through on my mobile phone today. Buried in the mundane depths of a day job which is the anti-thesis of my outdoor persona, I had to grit my teeth. My shooting, my addiction to being in the wild (and writing about it as often … Continue reading Sun Tzu and the War Against Shooting
