Driving to one of my shooting permissions early this morning, I slowed down at a roundabout. My eyes were drawn to the buzzard perched on top of a huge, red “Vote Labour” sign on some adjacent land. I hoped it wasn’t an omen. This roundabout represents the Western end of the Norwich Northern Distributor Road … Continue reading Jeremy and the Buzzard
November, for the shooter, is the month (due to the clock change) to load the freezer with woodpigeon breasts. You can be out in the roost wood at 3pm, before the incoming birds arrive and shoot through to sundown. Whether you choose a shotgun or an airgun is a matter of personal choice. As someone … Continue reading Wildscribbler’s Diary – November 2019
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
I was on a late afternoon squirrel sortie around my shoot, under a rustic autumn leaf canopy, when I spotted them. All around me, the floor was strewn with the spikey kernels of sweet chestnuts. Hundreds of them. Most were split open, the brown fruits peeping out like hares eyes. Some were fresh and unripe … Continue reading That Old Chestnut
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
The early morning air in my SUV was blue with curses as I drew onto the farm. I’d spent the previous evening gathering my decoying kit and studying expected weather and wind for the morning. I woke and loaded the motor with a very definite field in mind which adjoined a small copse that would … Continue reading A Morning On The Stubbles
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
I’m long enough in the tooth now not to get too ‘rattled’ by the antics of those opposed to shooting as August 12th approaches. The opening day of grouse shooting, every year, prompts not just salvo’s of lead but also a barrage of verbosity from both sides of the shooting divide. Yesterday saw the usual … Continue reading Gloves Off On The Glorious Twelfth
