A bitter north-easterly breeze, born somewhere beyond the Arctic Circle, slapped at my bare skin like a schoolmasters strop. The touch of the blued steel on my rifles barrel threatened to stick-freeze to my gloveless fingers. Abandoning the ‘hard-hunter’ pose I donned a pair of shooting mitts, pulled a snood down around my neck and … Continue reading A Woodwitch In The Cross-Hairs
Many would have called it a day wasted. Ensconced behind a leaf-blind, overlooking a pattern of decoys and attempting random shots at incoming woodpigeons. Not exactly a wastrels day as the act of setting-up for pigeon is an industry of its own. So too had been the dismantling and transport of my equipment back to … Continue reading End Of Day
I cross between two coverts following the tractors trail between a thigh high crop, under a cloudless azure sky. The fronds are still glistening with dawns dew and my trousers are soaked. A head pops up just five yards from me, amid the barley, startling me. Then a second head. Then a third, a … Continue reading Control and Conscience
I'm an addictive and prolific writer but even I get 'writers block' from time to time. You pick up a pen or open up a blank Word document and waste time staring at a blank page or screen as ideas won't come. The best cure for which, I find, is to just put down random … Continue reading Overcoming “Shooter’s Block”
Another walk out this morning with my little rimfire saw me return with a full five-round clip, yet again. On a bitterly cold morning, with icicles hanging from the alloy field gates, I didn’t expect to see much in the way of vermin. Even the hoar-hardened plough forbade the probing beak of rook or … Continue reading A Simple Blast Of Air
. Christmas is always a bit barren for me in hunting terms. Not due to family commitments or work. I to tend to volunteer to work across the break as I prefer to take my holiday days in fairer seasons. The main reason, however, is that it is often the one time of the year … Continue reading Provenance and Pigeons
The decision this morning wasn’t whether to brave the winter weather. It was what guns to take? Looking out of the windows at home I could see the light boughs of young yew and cedar bending under a Northerly blow. In the habit lately of taking both air rifle and rimfire, I glanced at the … Continue reading The Buzzard and The Betrayal
The crunch of all-terrain tyres on the hoar hardened gravel sent a white scut diving into the scrub lining the gateway; the rabbit lost amongst the wilting and frosted nettle die-back. At the tailgate I paused to take stock. The morning after the Woodcock moon. All around me the heightening sun glittered on the blanket … Continue reading Woodcocks and Witches
Sometimes I want nothing more than to sit back from the current round of pro & anti-hunting banter and just get on with my (hunting) life. Today the good folk at The Countryman's Weekly, for whom I write, accidently pointed me in the direction of a seriously worrying piece of biased journalism in The … Continue reading Anti-Hunting? Be Careful What You Wish For!
(An early extract from my forthcoming poetry collection.) "What Can You Scent On The Wind, Old Hound?" What can you scent on the wind, old hound, As you stand with your nose to the gale? What pheromones float on the breeze, all around? And if you could talk, of what tale? The coney's are out … Continue reading “What can you scent on the wind, old hound?”
