Invasive Deer Sika A First Attempt.

You can see just how much use the Peli Air has had, it arrived about two weeks before the first lockdown.

40% lighter and easily swallows two guns, or a bow and a gun. Been collecting dust ever since.

Here's one I wrote a while back 

Heading North of the Wall SBW?

Are you going to tell us about an enthusiastic stalker who wasn’t allowed out?
No. That would be too predictable
Did you manage to take on some Sisyphean task, in the name of so-called “bargain” transportation?
No. Nearly but it bounced off the bar.
Are you going to tell us about Scotland’s apex predator? 

Did you have trouble leaving the house? 

Will you blame ‘work, that curse of the stalking class’ ?

You know me so well. 

SBW: We’re on our way!

Ahab: What are you talking about you cancelled!

SBW: No I told you one dropped out. We’re literally on our way, like in the van, almost in Scotland 

Ahab: I'll ring my missus and call you back!

A quick primmer, Sika: where they are seen and how to say it.
Cervus Nippon aka Sika a medium sized deer, from Manchuria, and more famously Japan. Hence the name. 
There are released populations as far afield as Ukraine and New Zealand, Eire, and the USofA’s Chesapeake Bay. Travel to Ukraine being somewhat curtailed, NZ being a multi week commitment, so I'm going with Scotland. I’ve never shot or eaten a Sika, so when I ran into Captain Ahab online and he told me he was guiding in the highlands I booked a slot in the un-pressured opening days of the stag season. Most people don’t want to shoot deer still in velvet, and will wait until September or October , I have a pressing reason to, but that we’ll come to later.

Its been said that Sean Connery [wife beater formerly of this parish] had a Scottish accent, but not one any other Scottish person ever had. it’s easily learned as whole chapters of Irvine Welsh’s social commentary Trainspotting are narrated in the inner dialogue of one of the characters Simon aka Sickboy, as an imaginary conversation between himself and Sean Connery - 'precisely Simon' becomes “Pershishley Shimon”. Circuitous route I know, but now we've gained a fair facsimile of the correct Japanese pronunciation 'Pershishly, it'sh pronounshed “Sheeka”'. 

All I need now is that second most powerful hunting talisman, a newbie. 

I've had great results with taking new people, they see deer but never get a round off, I see three and shoot two. The Sika trip also represents my first chance in a while to add a Red Stag to the menagerie of deer I’ve shot. That’s going to need some powerful ju-ju, an absolute beginner…..

Super Plumber seems like the perfect candidate 

I've actually managed to take someone more angsty and superstitious than myself, a man who sees imminent downfall in every puddle, and fundamentally believes it always rains on him. 

The first stalking clothes. Always a hard choice for the newbie stalker: your boots are too short, and your walking clothes are more park than hill. In Scotland there are all four seasons, if not every hour, then certainly every other hour, and to make matters worse the only shop still open in Inverness is a hardware store which only stocks the noisiest waterproofs yet devised. 

Super Plumber is one of those friends you’ve  had for years, talk with on the phone, but rarely actually hang out with. So the 8 hour drive represents a good chance to catch up and do some shopping for  junk food, a car, ammunition and a rifle. 

With our meet up now hastily arranged we drive though the charismatic Scottish countryside, staying in radio contact. After a while a heavily laden estate car hooves into view. Ahab pulls into a lay-by and enthusiastically jumps out, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. The car's hand [parking] brake isn't engaged, as he strides towards us the car rolls away, as it rolls over a bump it's now steering itself back into the road. A look of blind panic crosses his face, and he dives, somewhat heroically, through the door of the car and overts disaster. needless to say Super Plumber are in stitches 

After my own bloody baptism, where the first time I fired a centre fire rifle it was at a living being, I hope to do a bit better for others. 

I’m from the “buy an air rifle and shoot it” school of shooting advice, but there’s a strange anomaly to living on this island, I can own a sub 12flbs air rifle and lend it to anyone over eighteen. But I can’t take it to Scotland where it’s a licensable firearm. It would need a licence I don't have . Fortunately I’ve got a reasonable hoard of 22lr Super Plumber  can practice on until he’s comfortable. 

My posh 22lr doesn’t have any glass and it was either the trip or the glass so it stayed at home, the trick 10/22 will have to do. Who amongst us didn’t start out with a 10/22? I've received a bit of coaching and watched much much more. There’s one central piece of advice thats the only piece of the puzzle worth starting with. Natural Point of Aim, by the time I’d heard of it I’d already developed the bad habits that have marred my accuracy all these years. 

Sphagnum moss, used as field dressing during WW1, twice as absorptive as cotton, can hold up to 22 times its own weight in liquid.

Which also means you're never more than a stride away from disappearing up to your knee, hip, or even neck in icy water. You may get your boot back. 

Mistaking myself for a version of myself from 20 years ago I hop nimbly, or so I thought at the time, over a ditch. My landing foot plunges into the muck, my ankle bends, my calf stretches beyond its tearing point and I plummet backwards into the ditch, which has been generously appointed with sharp sticks and cold water. Can’t say it would have been my first choice of landing spot. 

The pain and cold water that's gone down my neck provide a powerful incentive and I spring out of the ditch like a champ. gaining a sudden anatomical understanding, I could tell exactly what I'd torn. To my great surprise the money pit’s barrel wasn’t knotted like a pretzal and the whole rifle was bone dry. 

It's a long,  slow, and indeed agonising walk back across the clear-fell. `fortunately as im within shouting distance of the road I see Ahab's car crawling down the logging road. he and Super plumber hear me and I'm rescued.  


I confine myself the high seats for the rest of the trip. Sika are heard, but not seen or shot 

Super Plumber nails a Red and sanguine we make our way home. 

More sonn

your pal SBW

Johnie's Passion For Deer

My old mate Johnny McGee has been has been up to his old tricks, shooting shooting in the UK. Johnny's films and photography are really top notch, with incredible attention to detail and a colour balance that shows the difference between the pro's and video-lummoxes like me. He's just posted Part 1 of A Passion For Deer where he accompanies Shavegreen Shooting Services stalking in the New Forest. This is just what woodland Deer Stalking in the south of the UK looks like. Minus the inane banter and bickering. Still with parts 2 to 6 still to come I'm sure that can be addressed.
More soon
Your pal
SBW

Skull Pix pt?

This Skull road sign was spotted on the A22 by The Bambi Basher. Considering the over 250 rta's involving deer do far this year on that stretch of road alone it's plausible  they're all road kill !

SBW

Deer Management - Stupid Is As Stupid Does

Have you ever noticed how people create false arguments, the answers to which support their agenda? Here's this morning's example, from the NY Times

“Deer have entered our backyards and essentially become unruly guests,” Dr. Rutberg Disney said. “We are bound by suburban rules in dealing with them, and violence is not how we deal with neighbors we don’t like.”

There is a town called Hastings, (not the Hastings I fish) it's about two square miles, with a population of 70 to 120 deer. For such a small space to support so many deer there must be artificial food plots AKA gardens.  In 2011, there were 16 car collisions that were reported, and presumably a few near misses for each collision. Biologists and deer managers seem to think that 5 to 15 deer per square mile is a more appropriate number for the deer's well being.

Built up area, so rifles are perhaps not the ideal solution, the sound of shot guns tends to upset the neighbours. So Bowhunting from highseats is the way forward. Safe, quiet and effective. Start with a doe season. Give the meat to food banks that will feed the hungry.

But no the bleedin' obvious isn't for hastings residents, oh no.

Someone has managed to create a false choice between trapping the deer and killing them like factory farmed cows with a bolt gun, who would want that? and spending $30,000 [and up] on a deer contraception experiment.

You can read the story sorry debacle HERE

More soon
SBW

Stalking Red Stags In Scotland

I've been reading/watching Roestalker's blog for a while now and he's getting very good at filming his Hunting/Stalking. The patience he must have to nonchalantly film for what seems like ages before taking the shot is amazing. Well worth a watch.

SBW

Deer Crossing Donna

The Deer Crossing Warning sign (W11-3) is used to alert motorists in advance of locations where unexpected entries into the roadway by deer might occur. Size is 24" diamond shape and easily read by deer and motorists alike
A couple of posts ago I asked Deer Collision What Next? Prevention is better than cure right?

The LSP has found a woman on the internet who has all the experience and commonsense required to stop this from happening to other people

Donna has been in three separate accidents involving Deer, she feels its irresponsible to put the signs up on the highway or the interstate. She would like to see the signs moved, so the Deer 'know where to cross'

No one seems to be listening to her. I feel her frustration.

LISTEN HERE

Crazy is as crazy does
Your pal
SBW

Deer Collision - What Next

It's that time again, on both sides of the pond as the weather cools the deer become more mobile, extending their wanderings in search of extra calories, and the chance to pass on their genes. Sadly for many of them their end will not be at the swift unseen hand of the hunter, but in collision with a car or truck.

• Do take note of deer warning signs, by driving with caution at or below the posted speed limit. Such signs really are positioned only where animal crossings are likely. 
• Peaks in deer related traffic collisions occur October through December, followed by May. Highest-risk periods are from sunset to midnight followed by the hours shortly before and after sunrise. 
• Be aware that further deer may well cross after the ones you have noticed . 
• After dark, do use full-beams when there is no opposing traffic. The headlight beam will illuminate the eyes of deer on or near a roadway and provide greater driver reaction time. BUT, when a deer or other animal is noted on the road, dim your headlights as animals startled by the beam may ‘freeze’ rather than leaving the road. 
• Don't overswerve to avoid hitting a deer. If a collision with the animal seems inevitable, then hit it while maintaining full control of your car. The alternative of swerving into oncoming traffic or a ditch could be even worse. An exception here may be motorcyclists, who are at particular risk when in direct collisions with animals. 
• Only break sharply and stop if there is no danger of being hit by following traffic. Try to come to a stop as far in front of the animals as possible to enable it to leave the roadside without panic.

If the worst does happen, or you are first-to-the-scene when it's happened to someone else, here's the drill.

• First of all, stay calm.
• Avoid contact with the deer, its hooves or antlers.
• Call the emergency services or ask another driver to do so.
• Set up road flares [or warning triangles] if you have them in your emergency kit.
• Contact your insurance policy provider.

In the USA not all insurance policys cover Deer Collision so it maybe a good idea to check with the lovely people at comprehensiveinsurancequotes.com to see if its worth getting cover in your state.

For a more detailed look at the issue in the UK see the excellent Deercollisions.co.uk

More soon
SBW


PS There's more read Deer Crossing Donna 

Deer Hunting In The UK Pt7

Pricket skulls found in the woods

A chap, we'll call him HunterX, wrote to me a few weeks ago, said he was a reader and invited me to go stalking with him.
We to'd and fro'd over the email and finally his commitments match up with my commitments and we ended up at this weekend, the tail-end of the Fallow buck season. So once again; I set off to meet a man, an armed man, I met on the internet, in the woods.

Escape Velocity

Over the phone - [shouting, not at each other but just to be heard over the din of older brother tormenting younger sister in background]

SBW: Can I take the kids out on Sunday instead? I'm going away on Saturday
Ex Mrs SBW: Excellent! Where are you taking them?
SBW: I can't take them! I'm going deer stalking!
[Sound of The Littlest Bushwacker wailing in the background]
Ex Mrs SBW: She's crying because you won't take her deer stalking
SBW: [laughing] That's why she can't come deer stalking, and her legs are too short

We agree to meet at 4am for the two hour drive to his stalking ground, and what a stalking ground. An estate that borders a national park, four species of deer, lots of small game, and a 200 yard rifle range.

My Host HunterX

On the way there the temperature drops and it stars to rain, perfect weather in other words. Our arrival turns out to be auspicious, I've always been taught that an unloaded rifle is just a stick, so load-up as soon as you get out of the truck because your first [or only] chance might be in the first few yards. Hmm yes. This time the first chance was a very chubby Grey Squirrel waiting for us on the estate side of the gate. Air rifle still in truck, 17HMR missing magazine, .308 not really what you'd call a Squirrel calibre, .22LR finally hauled out from under the other cases only for HunterX to miss at, well he called it ten yards but more about his range estimation later.

Woodland Stalking in southern England

Much sniggering ensues as we stalk up into the woods, long 'rides' separate blocks of woodland. Mist clings to the ground, it couldn't look more 'woodland stalking' if it tried. A shootable Roe Buck scoots across the ride we're walking on, head down, and intent on something other than evading us. 

The next opportunity is also a squirrel. We're neatly concealed by some coppiceed Beech trees and the Grey Menace is cavorting on a fallen tree, I crawl into what looks to be child's-play range and send a .22 sleeping pill straight over his head, he doesn't stick around for me to take another shot. Honor looking decidedly sketchy on both sides we retreat to the range.

Not too shabby - for 50 yards!

HunterX was curious about PCP air rifles and had asked me to bring the Parker Hale Phoenix .177 which acquitted itself admirably even out at 50 yards! - i.e + 60% of its effective range. In case you're wondering, yes at that distance the time between 'phut' and 'dink' is a long one!

We worked our way up through the calibres, the .22 first shooting a one inch group which then expanded to a four inch group. Phew! We we're now both able to blame the equipment.

That was a LOUD one! The 17HMR split a case

50 yards is a long way with an air rifle, and 

200 yards is a long way in anybody's book!

Parker Hale .308 - within 4.5in. at 200 yards and within 2in at 100 yards. 

My suburban air rifle practice is starting to make a difference!

Note: Plywood is not an effective backstop

Remarkably, despite the range being 'well used', deer and fox trails cross the range, and both have been taken there.

Perhaps this would be a good place to set a snare?

 Who's House? Mr Fox's House!

Mid Morning

We took a break for an amazing 'full english' breakfast and enough coffee to wake the dead, before dedicating the afternoon to bunnies. 

At the bottom one of the woods we had a great view of some dairy fields which the bunnies were busy mowing. I've never been very good at estimating range, in fact I'm so bad at it that you'd never get me to venture an opinion, having learned my lesson on one one of our trips to Jinx Wood, where The Bambi Basher had shown me the strange optical effect of 'dead ground' when a hidden dip in the terrain can double the perceived distance. HunterX is a very encouraging sort of chap, "I really think it would help if you were ten yards closer" he said. 

Gralloch

At the bottom of the wood we found this Gralloch, as any of the estate stalkers would either have buried it or used it for fox bait HunterX took this as evidence of poachers being there probably less than a week before us

Holding our noses we crawled into a gully which gave us a discrete position to snipe at the Rabbits from, a position which sadly was well outside the .177 Phoenix's range, when after several misses we paced it out, turned out to be some 45 yards beyond the air rifles effective range. HunterX "thanks you've cured me of the temptation to buy an expensive air rifle" 

Some more up-hill-and-down-dale stalking led us back across the estate, we did make sight of a fat Muntjac doe doing a very credible Usain Bolt impression, but no shot was taken. All the walking had

renewed our appetites and we enjoyed forced down the worst Kebab and Cheese burger yet seen before heading to the high seats to try to catch the fallow having their evening meal. On the way we went to see a field outside the permission where this group of 70-80 Fallow were herding, Does, this years fawns and last years yearlings all being bossed about by a one antlered buck. HunterX reckoned he's soon be chased off by a master buck come the rut.

A bossy buck shoo's does into one group and fawns and yearlings into the other

A field of Fallow bait - but no Fallow 

Highseat hunting is always colder than I remember it, as the light started to turn a cool breeze chilled me to the bone. The crop field looked promising but no deer came, at one point a Hare so big that on first sight I thought it was a Muntjac hopped past, but I didn't think the .308 would leave much worth eating so I turned down the shot, and as the light soon faded I walked back to the truck. HunterX smiled ruefully

HunterX: "I guess I put you in the wrong highseat, I saw two prickets you could have shot, sparing with each other"

SBW: That's why its called 'hunting' and not 'shopping'

All in all a fantastic day afield, massive thanks to my host HunterX, one of the good guys.

More soon

Your pal

SBW

Dozy Bitch (Stay Calm The Four Legged Kind)

Big shout to Sir Hiss who found this one, very funny and safe for work too. For once.
Thanks to everyone who has been sending me books, I'll be posting reviews as I read through the pile
Stay tuned for a new series of posts, a pile of new gear reviews from the 'super cheap' to the 'HOW MUCH!!!', and some nose-to-tail eating
SBW

Venison Carpaccio

First shoot your deer. 

This is the loin or backstrap, the muscle that runs down the animals spine. 

Not having sufficient larder space, instead of hanging the meat I let it stand in the fridge for a week, before marinading it in maple syrup for 36 hours then coating it in ground pepper.

I seared it all the way round in a very hot pan with a little sunflower oil (too hot to use Olive oil) and left it to stand until stone cold.

 Served sliced thinly with a 'drizzle' of Olive oil added just before serving.

Your pal
SBW

Blood Thirsty Killer On The Bus

True Story: The rucksack is both big and full, it's Saturday evening and the bus is full too.
On a London bus there's a luggage space as you get on, I've wrestled the pack up on to it but there's no way I'm leaving it perched there to fall over so I'm standing next to it. Pretty Girl is standing next to me. The bus breaks and the pack lurches. I catch it before it crushes Pretty Girl. She smiles in thanks and says "that looks pretty serious"
SBW 'Probably weighs more than you, it's got half a deer in it'
Pretty Girl 'Road kill deer?'
SBW 'Nah I shot it this morning"

You should have seen the look on her face!

Gotta love the public
SBW

Deer Hunting In The UK Pt3

Day Two: I'm sitting in a high seat, it's dawn and cool, but above freezing. I'm waiting for a deer, not just any deer but a Fallow; Briton's only deer with palmated antlers. But that's not where the story begins...

I know a couple of other outdoor bloggers, not very well because we don't spend a great deal of time together, but when we do it's always fun. The last time I was at chez Bambi Basher - I did a few little jobs for him, making his drains flow a little smoother (perils of dog breeding init) and getting a sink or two to drain a little faster. Mrs Bambi Basher AKA The Tea Lady said 'you'll be back' but you know how things are, one thing led to another and, before you know it months of passed and I'd forgotten all about the mixer tap in the kitchen and the dogs outside tap leaking.

Then I received an email the gist of which was - 'Have things that go bang, a new hunting ground and leaking taps, when are you coming down?' Being gainlessly underemployed that week I dressed for deer huntin', packed for leak stoppin' and headed for the milds of East Sussex.

If you don't know what East Sussex looks like think Virginia with smaller mountains (in fact no mountains just hills) it's farmland, and ancient woodland and very pretty. Very mild.

Where there is woodland there are deer, where there are grain farms and orchards there are deer.
Fallow a herding deer who are considered both a native and introduced species. Hunted to extinction in pre-history and then re introduced twice, by the Romans and the Normans. Due to reduced hunting pressure and changes to framing practice there are now more deer in England (particularly the south) than at any time since the Norman invasion of 1066. Some fawns are killed by Foxes in the spring but apart from that the most common cause of death for deer is the Road Traffic Accident. Farming and orchards both offer the kind of smash-and-grab feeding opportunity that the Fallow prefers, breaking from the cover of the forest to graze the pasture at dawn and dusk. With so much ground turned over to food production the land can support quite a lot of deer, although it can't support the numbers the herd has grown to. As deer in the UK don't belong to anyone they're considered wild animals, deer management falls to the landowners and farmers whose crops they're eating. The cull period for Fallow Bucks is Aug 1st - April 30th and Fallow Does Nov 1st - March 31st.

Fallow stand in height between the big red deer and the little roe deer, with the bucks measuring just over 3 feet at the shoulder and weighing a little over 200 lbs. The doe is only a bit shorter, but is more lightly built.

Meanwhile: on the edge of the woods:
Still. It's as thought the wind only works weekends and didn't know it was coming in that morning. What sounds like four different woodpeckers sound as though they're winning a head-butting competition with the local hardwoods. Owl's announce the end if their shift. I keep glassing (not attacking people with a pint glass - in the country it means using binoculars) at the tree line nothing sizeable moves, I say nothing moves but as I've now been so still for so long the mumbling creaking organism that is the forest has swallowed me whole. The bobbing of the tree next to my high seat announces the day shift has begun for the Blue Tits. Dawn breaking casts deer-like shadows.

My ears ache for the crack or scuff of a Fallow's approaching footsteps. The rifle sits cold but not inert in my hands. I know there's 'one in the pipe' I put it there myself. When a Fallow comes, if a Fallow comes, it is my intention to kill it. Firing once. The bullet will clip the top of its heart and puncture both lungs deflating them, the loss of pressure rapidly draining the blood from the Fallow's brain. The bullet will have killed the deer before the sound of the bullet arrives at the deer. No sort-of, no it'll-be-ok, no Hail-Mary shots. Just a bullet placed within a 4 inch circle centred behind the deer's front legs, or no shot at all.  This is not the frenetic action of the Battue, there will be no pressured 'snap shots' at a deer on the run. I must sit still until I can hear my own heart beat, ignoring any thoughts of bragging rites and racks on walls.

I once read a hunting story about a trip to Canada in one of the outdoor magazines where the writer breaks from his trophy quest to interview 'old Ben' (or whatever he was called) the outfits talismanic 'old bloke' who would take to the woods with an old service rifle and a bucket to sit on. Old bloke was famous for his day-long still hunts. Not for him the hour-either-side-of-dawn-and-dusk and back to the fireside, needless to say he'd acquired his talismanic status by being a very successful meat hunter. The incredulous journalist asked 'but what do you do all day? "I sit and think, but mostly I just sit".

I envy him: My thoughts run wild. I develop weird email withdrawal symptoms, I have sudden insights into the whereabouts of lost things, my body seethes with itches, aches and pains. Then the thoughts pass, my eyes defocus, my peripheral vision expands, and I'm seeing without looking.

I keep my thoughts corralled in a sombre place. Waiting. If it's possible waiting without anticipation. Just when I think I may be developing mammalian dive response, (the blood has retreated from my extremities, my heart has slowed), and I'm almost tempted to test if I can actually move my limbs for when the time comes, but don't want to break the spell, the radio beeps and I look down to see The Bambi Basher waving to me. Time for a change of tactics.

Day One - It's about velocity:
As previously reported I have a lot of trouble leaving town, getting to the station is like wading though porridge towing a dead donkey. Clients email, buses break down, trains are re-routed via Hades and I make it to our meeting place two hours after my intended arrival time.  TBB meets me at the station eyes twinkling with enthusiasm. "Feeling accurate?"

Bambi Bashers Paradise: his rifle range.
We bounce the little 4WD down the lane and into the coppice, where we set up the shooting bench and TBB breaks out the rifles.

.275 Rigby Mauser and a Full-stocked 6.5 X 55 Swede

As we're setting up Mc Shug joins us - you'll meet him later.

Shoulders looking a little tense Bushwacker?

The flinch: Veritably it doth suck
I thought I'd gotten on top of it, but after cracking my skull last summer I've developed a flinch, my eye closes and my head jerks away from the cheek-piece. I can get 3 inch groups together, but it's proper stressful and very frustrating. No more 'where two holes meet' action for the foreseeable. Bah!

More in Pt4

Your Pal
SBW

Deer Hunting In The UK Pt1

Deer Hunting In The UK Pt2

Japanese Deer Sign

This afternoon I took a leaf out of Chad's book and spent some time aimlessly surfing the internet for things that would excite my imagination, and perhaps prompt a wry smile to break across your face dear reader. I'll admit that my find on Boing Boing wasn't as WICKED AWSOME as his, but of course Chad gets paid for it and I'm doing it [for you] for free. Just sayin' 's all.

Anyway back to the picture I found: I was heartened to see that there is still one first world country that expects it's people to have what I believe was once known as 'common sense'. Novel idea huh?

Your pal
SBW

Deer Hunting In The UK Pt1

With a squeal of tires a big man swung a small blue suzuki jeep (for readers in the US - golf cart sized) into the station car park sending a shower of gravel into the air. He bounds out of the car, shakes me warmly by the hand and before I can issue the traditional blogger-meets-blogger salutation 'Ah Dr Bambi Basher I presume' he's slinging my bag in the back and we're off.

The car is clearly the hack of a countryman - smells of dog, covered in mud and pro hunting stickers. He drives it like he stole it. In juxtaposition the radio is set to the genteel sound of BBC Radio 4, who are just commencing the third part of a series on the history of the duffle coat, read by a woman who sounds posher than the queen.

We rock up at at chez bambi basher and all hell breaks lose. Two cats, six chickens, TEN dogs, and a pair of teenagers, its the pandemonium of family life, with Bambi Basher and The Tea Lady using semaphore to communicate with each other, they pour me a glass of rum that would floor a sailor and it's a home from home. I fall into a fitful sleep on the couch.

The morning is announced by dogs licking my face, The Tea Lady serves a breakfast fit for a king, well several hungry kings, and we're off into the day. Bambi Basher has about 35,000 acres of woodland to stalk  but it's all parceled up into a bit here and a bit there. One heavily coppiced section is where he holds his pheasant shoot and its also the rifle range. We set up the range table and the lesson begins with a shooting test. I was using a 6.5 x 55 CZ 550 FS.

Defiantly not a group, probably not even an assembly, maybe a coalition?

I've been practicing off-hand with my Air Arms and was keen to see if it had done me any good. I forgot that during the week I'm not your pal the bushwacker, I'm london's gentleman plumber and having run out of laborers had carried many sheets of plasterboard (AKA dry lining) up many many stairs the day before. My left shoulder had taken umbrage at being asked to engage in manual labour with insufficient notice and put a hurting on me in retaliation. I breathed, I focussed but it was all i could do to keep the first six on the board. Opps! The look on the Bambi Bashers face told me things were not going according to plan.

Luckily you can take your shooting test from the bench and the next three were all within a 'Minute Of Deer-Rib' and the last three made a comforting line across the target. Phew!

Bambi Basher cheered up right away and let me have a go with his .275 Rigby. Which was nice.

The next part of the training is the simulated stalk where we walk though the woods, seeking out deer targets and assessing their suitability for a safe and humane shot. Nothing through the bushes, nothing without a known backstop to catch the bullet.
A close shot served as a good reminder of just how much you need to adjust for range even with a flat shooting round like the 6.5x55. Bambi Basher told me how a client had managed to shoot right under a trophy Roe doing the same thing. Woodland stalking is sometimes at such close ranges that both-eyes-open and under-the-scope also need to be practiced until they're second nature. A massive learning curve awaits me. Excellent.

We drove to another wood to stalk for Roe and Fallow deer, lots were seen, none were legal. Sadly I'd not set my camera up to work silently so no photos.

More of this one to come - bit distracted from blogging at the moment - work and stuff - good stuff - distracting stuff.
your pal
SBW

Bambi Bashers side of the story

Shoot And Release

Saw this one on Bashing Bambi, I concur. WOW!!!


SBW

Two Down SBW To Go

Good news, Good news, and Bah!

Friends of the blog have been afield having long-dreamed-of success with their hunting; after 10 years of trying Mike Skelly (remember him? Guest post about learning to hunt and a guest post about learning to hunt safely) has a moose on the ground (hopefully he'll be doing us a guest post telling the tale soon)

Meanwhile Holly 'El NorCal Cazadora' has bagged her first deer.

On this side of the pond I'm still in refub hell and hoping to get afield sometime before the winged pigs fly over the frozen wastelands of hell!

Keep well

Your pal

The Suburban Bushwacker

Esplorazione For Beginners Pt5

Facilities were basic to say the least!

But the food was delicious!

This is a pecorino, but not as I'm used to eating it, in it's matured form. Here it's only a few months old. It made by our neighbor who was attacked by the wolf.

We saw plenty of signs that deer were feeding in the area, the dirt road in and out of the property was chris-crossed with tracks. Everywhere big enough and flat enough for cars to pass each other seemed to be a feeding station.

Your pal

SBW

Esplorazione For Beginners Pt1

Well I've made it back in one piece, although sadly I must report that's more by luck than judgement.

A week ago I met up with CHJ in the south London suburbs and we drove to the coast, just in time to miss the boarding of the ferry, so after a delightful two hour nap on the quayside we go on board. Fortunately CMJ is a frequent traveler on this crossing and marched us strait to the only bit of the ship with couches big enough to sleep on and I didn't wake up until we were already docked in France.

France soon passed and we were treated to an insight into the Belgian plan for European supremacy. Not for them the subjugation of their neighbors by force or even economic might. No their plan is far more fiendish. They welcome you to their little country and all roads take you through their capital, a place where war and a town planning department staffed by Ferrari owners have left them with the strangest mix of architecture.

Once you're there, there you'll stay. There is no escape.

Signage to Brussels is everywhere, clues as to how to leave are non existent. Those fiendish Ferrari owners are so contemptuous of escape attempts that at a T junction they frequently present you with two opposite choices of direction to the same destination. Being six in the morning there were no locals in sight, just angry foreigners driving every more erratically in their desperation to leave. Brussels has become the capital of Europe, not through superior fire power, force of arms or political machination, but by holding visitors hostage on their labyrinth system of ring roads. After two hours in the vortex we did achieve escape velocity and had crossed belgium in less time than we'd spent trying to leave Brussels.

The first good omen of the trip was in Luxembourg, a small country that i could easily have passed through with out noticing.

Feeling a little weary and compelled by natures call. We pulled into a lay by and watched a succession of well dressed women announce their embarrassment by using a strangely exaggerated gait to cross the picnic area in search of the relative privacy of the forest. There is a great French tradition, (I'm using 'great' in it's sense of 'often' rather than 'fantastic') of littering the countryside with unburied toilet paper, fast food packaging, broken drinks bottles and the scat of truckers.

CHJ had elected to have a nap in the car so I took a wander away from the murderous looking truckers, and desperate holiday makers and found my self at the top of a scree looking out over a small marsh that abutted some planted pine forest. As I sat on the scree and scanning the forest's edge, I just 'knew' that I was in the vicinity of deer. I cant tell you how I knew but I was suddenly sure if I sat still a deer would show up. Amazingly it only took a few moments, sitting clam and still with my eyes holding a relaxed focus on the middle distance, before my peripheral vision flashed up a movement in the bushes. A Roe Deer with 6-8 inches of antler was making his way from bush to bush in search of some tasty tips. The whoosh of traffic didn't seem to spook him, the wind varied blowing towards me of across the space between us. He kept feeding. After about five minutes I lifted one butt cheek and farted. He Looked right at me, I held still. An expression of 'I'm sure I heard something' flashed across his face and he went back to nibbling. I thought of you dear reader, and in the light of his unspookability, I thought I'd get get the camera from the car and take a picture to show you. As soon as I stood and silhouetted he was off.

More Soon - stay tuned it gets better

Your pal

The Bushwacker

Metsakaamera Or Wild Pig TV

This one may prove fruitful for any other armchair nature watchers. It's a game camera in Estonia that's becoming a bit of an internet phenomenon 75,000 people A DAY have logged on!

See what's happening NOW

The main site is linked here and they have several other cameras featured. I would tell you more about it, but to be honest I've already neglected my homework quite long enough.

Enjoy

your pal 

The Bushwacker.

Rex's Nuts - Thereby Hangs A Tale

About a year ago I wrote about the 400 year old chestnut trees that grow in Greenwich park home of Greenwich Mean Time (GMT) and wrote up my favourite recipe for them. For the nuts that is - not for 400 year old trees!

Rex wrote to me and asked for a few to plant at the famous Christmas place Hunting Club AKA The Deer Camp that his blog is named after. I said 'sure I'd love to' and there by hangs a tale:

By the time I got back to the park the best and oldest trees were totally picked out leaving only a few wrinkled specimens that didn't look like they'd germinate.

So i put 'mail Rex his nuts' in the diary and promptly forgot all about them. The Apple laptop that had been my constant companion finally died, even though it had survived a scooter smash that had me off the road for two weeks, and I forgot all about Rex's nuts. A few weeks ago I was collecting a few nuts in the park and the reminder popped into my head.

Along the way I'd learned of the terrible fate of the North American Chestnut, a tree that was a common sight all over the North American Continent as recently as the 1930s but now only exists in one isolated location. A fungal infection known as chestnut blight which had first been noticed on the east coast in 1904 and, spread westwards carried by burrowing insects and killed off most of the chestnut trees in North America within thirty years. As a result of this and a few other incidents the US postal service irradiate all post entering the USA to prevent the introduction of invasive species, so just sticking them in the post and hoping for the best wasn't going to do it.

I was tortured by thoughts of being responsible for the deforestation of the Mississippi and being hunted down by an angry mob made up of members of the American chestnut foundation, i could see them in my minds eye, distinguished looking but angry, burning torches held aloft shouting 'burn burn burn the infecter!'

I'm guessing that many of you feel the same way: i try to limit my exposure to government and government agencies to Hatchin's, Matchin's and Dispatchin's, but according to my scout around on the net i was now attempting to become a seed exporter, a trade I'd never imagined myself entering in a million years.There was nothing for it, the time had come to contact DEFRA
[cue ominous roll of thunder].
For those of you who don't live in the UK or who rarely leave the city the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs are the most maligned of government departments, they enjoy the same sort of reputation as Americas DMV, a place of Kafkaesque bureaucracy where nothing ever happens and whole forests are consumed to feed the departments insatiable lust for paperwork. In triplicate. Look on any farming forum and you'll see countless tales of their meddling while things are going well, and doing nothing when they could do some good. Nice people work there, but the organisation is too bloated to ever be effective as anything other than a hole to pour public money down.

They have a website! things have changed! there is hope!

The phone number on the website is not connected, hope hangs by a thread.

I call another number, they give me the right number

I speak to a very nice lady, who cant help laughing as she explains what I've let myself in for.

No I cant drop them off at their office or pop them in the post, I must make an appointment for an inspector to visit me at my place of business.
"this isn't a business I'm just sending them to a blogger"
The inspector with have to come to your primary residence then
"who do they think i am? Of course i only have one residence!"

A chap comes round, he's a very nice man. He's got a 'you have no idea' look on his face the whole time. He collects the chestnuts from me. they must now be sent to York to be examined, then sterilised. Then a certificate can be issued, the seeds can be sent back to me, i can pay £41.50 plus postage (ouch) for the privilege. Luckily he cant receive payment, that will have to be done with another department and no they don't take cards or paypal, they want a bankers draft.

A couple of weeks pass

Ring Ring " Hi it's Ruth"
Wow long time no see! how are you? How are the kids?
I'm Ruth from DEFRA
Well hello Ruth from DEFRA I'm guessing your calling about my nuts?
Yes were you really trying to send them to the US?
Err I err was?
Well you can't do that ( her tone suggest that this in fact common knowledge)
Oh


So our hands across the ocean dream of having a stand of Chestnut trees, spawned in Greenwich park, growing at the Christmas Place Hunting Club is, it seems, no more.

Sigh
As ever your pal
SBW