Sunday, 3 November 2024

Pimp My CZ 527. The Parts List Part 1



You could spend all kinds of money on a lightweight mountain rifle, or you could buy a 2.66kg [5.87lbs ] mini Mauser and spend the change actually shooting it. It comes with a highly adjustable single set trigger at 3 lbs and 1.5 lbs but adjustable to a lot lower, an idiosyncratic 'backwards' two position safety. It's also offered configured for the left handed. The legend that is the CZ527.

Petite and pointable, [no not her, that's petite and surly] available in some wonderfully cheap-to-keep calibers it's the mini Mauser with a cult following. Introduced in '89, it's an update of the Brno Fox, which in turn is a modest evolution of the ZKW465 from the 40’s. Available in the.17 Remington, .17 and 22 Hornet, .204 Ruger, .221 Fireball, .222 and 223 Remington, 6.5mm Grendel, .300 AAC Blackout and 7.62×39mm. The 527 is a really nice starting point for a custom rifle, loads have been made and there are secondhand options at all price points. There's at least one gunsmith selling a custom 6mmPPC. I've always wondered, as the later .223's are 1/9 twist , perhaps a .223AI would be a good idea?

There have been quite a few factory stock offerings over the years: Full stock, Laminate, Lux, American, Carbine, Night Sky, the stunning Ebony, a particularly nasty Synthetic, a swoopy Target stock by Bell and Carlson, a Kevlar by HS Precision, and a 'Marmite' MTR Target/Varmint stock that looks to virtually double the weight of the rife, but would make a wonderful war-club/canoe paddle.

CZ themselves seemed to know they needed to do something with the 527 range , but seemed at a loss as to what to do. So they stopped making them. The aftermarket has taken the rifle in lots of different directions, for both hunting and competition.

The 527's traditional lines are part of its charm, but at the same time they're its greatest limitation. Famously, the bolt throw, clearly intended for shooting with open sights, limits the rifle to medium and high rings, so an aftermarket cheek riser is a good idea. There are a couple of aftermarket bolt handles and an improved design can be sourced from the factory. The factory new bolt handle's part number appears to be 5270-0631-08ND if you can find one. 


Glade Armoury do at least three different bolt handles, personally I like the Anschutz style swept ball 


James Calhoon is a gunsmith who has made a specialty of the 527, he does his own bolt handle with better scope clearance, his own very low rings and bases, a single shot sled, and his own wildcat the mental .19 Calhoon. Don't worry if you can't get his site to load, it does exist he's just hosting on the world's slowest server.

Richly deserving of a mention are RVB Precision who will, for a modest fee, machine your bottom metal to give you the svelt flush look that the factory only got around to with the Ebony.


The now discontinued factory three round conversion 

JNP Gunsprings claim to significantly reduce your locktime with their custom wound spring and make a set of Weaver adapters for those of you who want a more traditional looking mount 

For those of you adverse to a set trigger there are two options by Rifle Basix and Timney [listed for the 550] 

Form make a version of their Cromwell for the CZ527, not sure who made the trigger guard 
also by Form 



GRS very chunky, but probably the best ergonomics 
Boyds 

Klinsky also from the Czech Republic do target stocks, 

and something more sporting 


Bell & Carlson

And then there are the customs...


This very well executed AI clone is a one off, seen on some UK forums 


An even more ambitious build is this 6.5 Grendel from NZ, a full description of the build is HERE

Paul Green of Thames Valley Guns has written up the journey of developing his CZ527 into a 6.5 Grendel tack driver. you can read about it HERE

Last but not least. My absolute favourite 527 project is this stunning full-stock by Mike Connor

CZ Model 527-FS Full Stocked Rifle .223 Rem.
20" tapered round barrel with ramp front sight, barrel-band tie-down, and standing blade rear sight on integral island base. Custom stocked to the muzzle by Mike Connor with fully figured walnut, steel forend cap, borderless wrap-around fleur-de-lys checking, steel pistol grip cap, beaded left-hand pancake cheekpiece, European sling swivels, and Biesen checkered steel buttplate. Marked .22 Hornet but chambered for .223 Rem. Right-handed, controlled-feed action with detachable box magazine for .223.
Swarovski Z3 3-9x36 scope with 4A duplex reticle on CZ rings fitting directly to receiver dovetailed double square bridges without separate bases. Pull: 13 3/4". Weight: 7lbs, 8oz.
Details from Hallowell Co 

If you see any more parts, or custom builds please let me know 

your pal 

SBW 

















There's a Piccatinny rail by Britannia 
LSS-XL Gen2 Chassis System

https://www.burrisoptics.com/mounting-systems/rings/cz-style-rings
bisley
sport match
warne

Sunday, 27 October 2024

CZ BRNO ZH202 - Cold War Combination Gun



12 bore CZ BRNO ZH202 over and under, 26 ins ported barrels, solid rib, 2¾ ins chambers, 14½ ins stock 

The ZH Series was introduced in 1958. It’s probably fair to call the design unconventional.


The ZH's were hand made. With that 'hewn from a sold lump' feel Mercedes used to have. Like many BRNO/CZ guns of the period, when compared with the Italians, the finish was a bit ‘wrong side of the iron curtain’, but they have a certain rugged charm. The only plastic is the butt plate, everything else is steel and walnut.  


The skeet barrels are 26" with the muzzle ends "flared" into a muzzle brake that looks a bit like the ventilated "cage" on the Cutts Compensator Skeet chokes of the 40’s and 50’s.  



The barrels are joined at the cage and the breech, with space between them for the rest of their length. and have fixed skeet chokes, made to cover a 30" circle at 20 yards with a nice, even pattern using most target loads.

There are other shotgun versions; fixed chokes, usually tight and barrels in either 28" or 30" and combination offerings. Durability is an understatement with these guns. The action is made to handle everything from 22 Hornet, and 5.6x52 [I know me neither] to 7mmx57R, and 7x65R. Typically over a 12g, although 16g were also available. The stock came drilled for recoil weights. 




A sliding breech block is pushed forward by springs when it is closed, and cams back when opened.

The barrels pivot on trunnions that project out of the sides of the barrel set and engage with slots in the receiver. The fore end is screwed to the barrel set and doesn't get removed during take down.

The two triggers are an interesting set up. Front trigger fires the top barrel only, the back trigger has two functions; 1st pull fires the bottom barrel, 2nd pull fires the top. This is for when you’re using a rifle/shotgun set up, the top barrel being the rifle. The auto safety is in the front of the trigger guard, like a U.S. M1, and set by two independent systems.


The lockup is very strong, the breech system was intended to allow other barrel sets to be matched to the gun with minimum fitting effort by your gunsmith. They are not truly interchangeable but required less fitting when installing a barrel set, than from many contemporary brands. 


This one slams shut with a bank-vault clunk and feels ready to do the next 50 years of service. 


More peculiarities as time and cash permit

your pal 

SBW

Monday, 26 August 2024

TV Chefs & Foodies: Adam Richman

L


et’s take a moment to big up Adam Richman Eats Britain on the Food Network .

The researchers have found him some charismatic cooks and foods that are eaten all over the world and take their names from the towns and villages where they were first made. He’s taken full advantage of the costume budget, tools around in a Mini and manages to see fagotts being cooked with a straight face. 


If the rhymes aren’t to your taste: 

Clotted Cream, your cardiologist’s dream. 

The recipes will be:

At a boozer on the edge of Windsor Great Park they knock up some Venison Bon-Bon’s which are basically a béchamel free croquetta. 

Method: poach trim, ribs etc in veal and chicken stock - 4 hours should do it  

Cool. 

Fork over so it’s shredded 

Roll into balls

Dip: egg, flour, egg, panko, egg

Deep fry. 

Serve with homemade mustard mayo. 


Adam has an excellent grasp of English culture.  On helping his host cut up some onion’s

“I’m crying like it’s the end of Blackadder”


He is big, and he is clever.  It doesn’t matter if he is seeing mylene klass, the fact that the gossip pages say he is, is enough to give hope to fat boys everywhere 


More soon 

Your pal

SBW 

Monday, 12 August 2024

If You Stand Very Still....


 




Drive to Ahab's without getting lost. Harder than it sounds.



Ahab has no mixers, so we slam neat Gin for a while, uncharicteristicaly I'm allowed to sleep until 8am.

Head north. Cross the border into Scotland - receive abusive phone call from an angry ginger motorist who has tried to stop us merging, photographed the phone number on the liveried wagon, and is now triumphantly announcing he'll CC us into his email to Police Scotland. An email which never comes.

There's a lay-by we always stop at to let the dogs have a run around, we're joined by a cheerful German chap in a motor home who is exercising his offspring. Ahab's dogs are amazingly well behaved (especially for a cloud of spaniel) and mill about playing with the kraut kids. For a reason that's never adequately explained we also have Ahab's sister's dogs with us, one is fine, the other is completely useless, it has none of the attributes you might want in a dog. The crap dog somehow slips its lead and skedaddles into the forrest, hotly pursued by a raging Ahab. The German chap, in a fantastic display of droll, deadpans "Basil Fawlty in cameo". Which was the funniest thing to happen that day, until from a thicket Ahab screams "It's not fucking funny!! I've lost this dog before" which kills me and the German.



On arrival its such a nice evening we decide to go for a walk. The drumlin remains the perfect vantage point so we crawl up onto the top where we're joined by some natural cover. You've not lived until you've had your rifle licked by a cow.



The morning dawns at about 4am and the first client arrives, is escorted up on to the hill, where he makes sight of a Roebuck, and has has to lie very very still for a couple of hours whilst being savaged by wee flying beasties. To his massive delight he shoots what comes to be known as the Bottle Opener Buck




Couple of days later the next team of guests rock up. I've seen the aphorism attributed to Richard Prior "You can stalk deer in a white shirt if you make use of natural cover" this week it was tested to the max.


It seems this is how stalking clients dress these days, her Hubs wasn't dressed much more appropriately.


We've got some more ground, it's not as good looking, but it teems with deer. This is incredible ground.
A thick forestry block is surrounded with wildly over optimistic and ineffectual deer fencing, which separates it from a lush meadow. We split up, I get Hubs. It's great to have someone to carry my rifle.
Hubs gets an incredible introduction to stalking; we see deer, we see deer vanish into dead ground less than 50m away and reappear as if by teleport 200m away. Only to hop the fence and disappear again. He gets the perfect lesson in natural cover.


There's a fortuitous hedge where the farmers get a grant to plant, but as neither neighbour trusts the other with the maintenance, and the grant money depends on the hedge being maintained the hedge is planted between two fences, leaving us a perfect approach. we find a smashing spot. So I give Hubs the binoculars to keep him occupied, roll up my jacket, and lie down to wait for sun down.


Hubs: you having a nap?
SBW: do you like Lou Reed?
Hubs: Yeah! I do
SBW: 'He's never early, he's always late. First thing you learn is you always gotta wait'.
SBW: Bet you didn't know copping horse and stalking deer had anything in common?




I'm wrested from the arms of morpheus by wee flying beasties sucking my blood, the wind has dropped, provoking a feeding frenzy, and then has the temerity to change ends, putting an end to the bites, but blowing our scent into the deer's obvious exit point.

Hubs gets that bit where the deer stand looking directly at you, unsure of whats discombobulating them. Tentatively going back to feeding. Wind changes and boom! They're off.

With the wind blowing over us into the plantation the deer have extra reason to head to the meadow, as we round the corner, as predicted, there they are. Gloriously milling about, in season and unaware we're there. This is the hard bit. Standing completely still watching three become eleven. Waiting for twenty two eyes to face away simultaneously. All the time my skin throbbing with Midge bites. All feeding. Viper sticks set up. Wait. All feeding. Resist urge to claw at my own face. Rifle on top of Viper sticks. Wait. All feeding. Hubs and I swap places. All feeding. The long long wait for Hubs to shoot his first deer. All feeding and still we wait. My skin crawls. Hubs whispers "nothing is happening". Push the safety off for him. Wait. All feeding. Wait. Bang-thwack-thump-meat on the ground. The sheer orgasmic joy of being able to scratch my face.

More soon
your pal
SBW




Monday, 24 June 2024

Review Stuart Mitchell Muntjac. Form And Function

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay to greatness.” Oscar Wilde

 I've had drawers full of knives over the years, The Itch has been upon me more than once. Nearly every time I've given them away or sold to fund my posh glass habit.  A million times I've championed 'spend 10 on a knife and a 100 on the sharpening kit'. But who am I kidding? Gorgeous pays for itself in the first five minuets.  

Plenty of years ago when the much missed forum British Blades was still a thing, one knife maker [and perhaps more importantly knife designer] appeared and swept all before him. 

The sion of a Shefield Knife making dynasty, Stuart Mitchell had spent his teenage years working in the family business, left cutlery and returned, bursting onto the 2000's bushcraft and stalking scene fully formed. Ive nearly bought one several times. When I was offered this one my resolve crumbled.  

I've wanted a Muntjac for a long, long time. I've seen a few me-too knife makers come and go with their embarrassing knock-offs. I say embarrassing, as the best known of the menagerie of imitators can't tell that he lacks the sense of proportion that every Stuart Mitchell knife so effortlessly has. 

Any muppet can stick a Mauser action in a stock. Only Rigby is Rigby.

More soon

your pal 

SBW




Sunday, 19 May 2024

Occasionally, Just Occasionally, Deer Stalking Is Very Exciting.


Deerstalking and Cricket are like marital sex. Occasionally it's very exciting.

 
Usually it's a game of patient observation, sitting in the high-seat listening to birdsong, waiting and watching for a brown and grey thing to move amongst the green, grey, and brown things. Its a pastime for people happy in their own company, who don't mind sitting very still in all weathers. 

Just occasionally it's unbelievably, heart-poundingly, exciting. 

When the glacier retreated north it left behind the range we know as the highlands, to their north, the relatively flat bits, the lowlands of Sutherland. With their fertile flood plains and estuaries. It's a geology teacher's field-trip dream, like standing in geo-history's giant footprint. 

This farm is also a giant fieldcraft textbook, called Red Deer and Where to Find 'Em. As the steep side of the valley drops away there's a deep drainage gully full of gorse and birch where the deer bed down, it leads to another area of gorse that overlooks the fields where our friends are growing hay. I've spooked Reds into and out of them both. The deer can see for miles, and hide for days.

Meanwhile back on the geology field-trip: Drumlins, from the Gallic Droimnín [little ridge], are  teardrop hills, composed of glacial debris, they formed beneath a glacier and like aerodynamics in super-super slow-mo they are aligned with the direction of the ice flow. Ours is about 20m high and has a bloody big rock on top. Technical term for the rocks is '
Erratics'. 

I've learned my lesson, or at least one of them, so I don't approach by the road. I manage to cross the burn without falling in or renting a hamstring. I start the ascent and about half way up there's a slight terrace on the east side of the Drumlin, which I crawl along working my way left to overlook the gully. Of course my rifle is still across my back when I pop my fat head up and the guard matriarch and I are eye to eye. I proper freeze. 

Oddly she remains interested, but gives the situation the benefit of the doubt. My heart's in my mouth. She keeps me fixed in a steely glare but lets the family keep feeding. Kneeling I wait, like a frozen Meerkat, I defocus my eyes and wait and wait and eventually I out-wait her curiosity. Unconcerned she leads her little troop out of view around the 
Drumlin

Quickly. Back onto all fours and speed crawl back the way I came , there's only one place I can be, and I can only be there if I'm there first. I'm sweating like a Racehorse, and wheezing like a divorced Walrus. Up at the top of the mound there's the bloody big rock, on the right hand side facing north, there's the surface that 'catches the weather' just like that one window frame on your house that needs painting before the others. As they blow down the estuary from the Isle of Skye, the wind and the rain have abraded the earth and left an uncomfortable-sized divot under the 
Erratic

In my divot-fox-hole I'm now doing mortal combat with a long-legged and deeply unpleasant bipod, I've said a lot of bad things about the Harris bipod design, this is some kind of awful unbranded Harris Clone,  I've spent a lot of cash on bipods, none of them are with me, clearly I've angered the bipod gods. The bipod lacks the much needed forty five degree position. It only has 90 degrees, legs up and legs down, they are supposedly adjustable for length, but it all seems like a cruel parody of what could be. Finally, flattened behind a tuffet,  I have half a semblance of a shooting position. Wiping the sweat from my eyes either the deer have gone back around the way they came or about to appear. Another stress inducing mystery. If I bet on one, I will surely blow the other. If only I could stop wheezing.  

Just before I'm ready. Bold as brass. The Hinds saunter into view, and start the umpteenth meal of the day. A quick squint through the scope. I've never been one for the calculation of cosine on the fly, but hash one is 200 yards, hash two is 300 yards. I opt for hash two. Ping!! Goes the .243. A hind drops to the 100gr bullet and the rest of the crew high-tail it away. 
Occasionally, just occasionally, Deer Stalking is very exciting!

more next time

your pal

SBW





Wednesday, 10 January 2024

Scotland : A Thrilling Encounter With Big Boy

 Morning is dawning the sun plays on the self seeded field of xxx pine. `I'm in the highest sheltered from the wind with my back to one block, a ride to my left and the fence line falling away infant of me. 

Ive seen the little Roebuck break cover and cross the ride a while back, but now only the wind in the trees, the creaking of the dead lower branches, and a terrible racket coming from behind me. The way the seat is it's not easy to turn around that far. 

Ahab is a notorious, and compulsive practical joker so my first thought is this is yet another of his practical jokes. The thrashing and cracking continues. Twisting my head there's defiantly something there.

There's only one stop where Ahab could possibly get out of the close-planted block, I'm not going to point even a de-cocked rifle at the spot. I'm just preparing a witty retort for when he steps out when a Red deer with a neck larger than my waist tears his antlers free of the branches and steps into the gully where the ride borders the trees. As I shoulder the rifle he hears something of my movement and spins 180 disappearing into the forest block. Never to been seen again. Easily one of the two biggest Reds Ive ever seen in Scotland 

Every dawn, and every dusk, for two or three hours a time  for the next five days I sit there. Not a sausage. 

Every day I stalk up the ride to glass the fence line, every day I find hooj deer turds, steaming a couple of times, big foot prints, but I never see him again. 

Should I have pointed my de-cocked rifle at the gap? No. Should I have sat still and waited? Of course. 

Hunting, not shopping. 

more soon

your pal 



SBW


Saturday, 29 July 2023

The Shrewsbury Reds Pt1

The Shrewsbury Red, all 11 points of him. 

My friend Captain Ahab invites me to go stalking with him in Shrewsbury, where a herd of parkland escapee Reds are eating a local farmer out of house and home. He's been sending me pictures of some crazy big deer, one so big it couldn’t be lifted into the chiller. I've seen pictures and the slots left by monster Reds in Norfolk where they live by crop raiding rather than fighting for every calorie in the highlands. These boys get the same (or better) nutrients without the wind chill the fens are rightfully famous for so I'm pretty stoked to be invited  

Shrewsbury is almost exactly in the middle of the country and mainly famous for a tiny herd of long-coat Fallow which are miles from a huntable population, plenty of Muntjac, Roe and Ahab's feral herd of turnip raiding Reds  

The pre-dawn drill is familiar to stalkers everywhere. Stumble across a field just before first light, gap in the hedgerow, turn back on yourself and there’s a highseat. Pop the magazine, try to climb the ladder without mishap, mag back in, work the bolt, make safe and adjust clothing to exclude drafts  

Once comfortable the despondency sets in. kvetch kvetch kvetch

Are 120gr big enough? 

Has Ahab already shot em all? 

When have you ever seen deer on a dry ploughed field? 

Turns out that: yes, no, and in the clear light of day the field abounds with rape, that's Canola not sexual assault .  

Ive been scanning the more promising looking field behind me for a while, when i turn back to find a smallish horse has rocked up, a smallish horse with ANTLERS! Seen Reds with antlers, never seen one, in season and through a scope! This young gobshite has eaten his last turnip, I gave him a round and he drops to the shot within three steps. Antlers are nothing to write home about, but as we've already seen, I’m no trophy hunter and on this trip we’re here to generate meat for Ahab’s game butchery and to keep the farmer who wants his fields deer free happy. No sooner than I've put the phone back in my pocket and huddle of Reds make their way into view, including this mighty brute, all 105kg of him, if his pal looked like a pony he's a shire horse. He gets a round, his pal gets one too, and loading loading through ejection port the forth deer of the day goes down. 120gr S&B Blue Energy are suitably destructive. I never found the bullets but it's safe to say expansion was, er, complete.The biggest deer Ive ever shot, and the most deer Ive ever shot in a day, or hour for that matter.

Lots more to tell
Will try to post more regularly
Your pal
SBW







Sunday, 22 May 2022

Target Master review



There's a great trope of English life; the story goes that two guys in a shed, have a lightbulb appears over their heads as the bleedin’ obvious reveals itself, they go on to invent some world-beating innovation and then rise to greatness. Like most founding myths, it's usually somewhere between revisionist half-truth and outright bullshit. So its come as something of a surprise that for once I'll be able to park the cynicism and tell you a tale where the trope came true. Half true, it was one guy  

Anyone who has ever slaved away into the night; tapping at a trickler, trying to get a set of beam scales to balance so they can get on to charge No.2 of 250, has wondered if perhaps there could be a timely middle ground between the inaccurate dispense-by-volume and the tedious dispense-by-weight. 

There are lots of offerings; scales and dispensers, dispensers with built in scales, at all kinds of money from a round of drinks, to well over a grand. Some are very accurate, some are very quick, at the spendy end some are both. When you come to think about it all of them top-out at one kernel accuracy. 

Way back in the early 80’s Working from home, in his shed or spare room, Allen Edwards was looking for a solution to the problem of accurately dispensing small pistol loads. When he hit upon the bleedin' obvious.

 If all the kernels are the same size all you need to do is dispense them one at a time, and a trickler already does that very well. What a trickler doesn't do is monitor itself. But it could do  

Target Master : an all together better trickler.  

As it rises to zero The beam of your existing scales breaks a beam of light, the photoelectric cell stops receiving a signal, and turns off the motor driving the trickler.  

That's all it does. Brilliantly. 

Dump a scoop of powder onto the pan, press go, and the Target Master whirrs away until the beam settles on the mark. To increase the speed, use a bigger scoop. To increase the accuracy, set the trickler to drop the last few kernels a little slower and set a camera in front of your scale to remove the potential for parallax error  

It's very easy to plan out a workflow where you're adding a scoop and pressing go, then turning to seat your next bullet and work the press, as you put the finished round into the box, the Target Master has already come to a stop and you're ready to start again. Simples.

“I designed the first Targetmaster in the early 1980's particularly for light charges of fast pistol powders. I found that no measure was accurate enough for the 1.2-1.5 gn charges required for the .32 S&W Long target pistols of the time.” AE

You can find TargetMaster here if you're not in the UK or you want the extra bits: camera, remote start, and stand, which i would recommend, you can email Allan HERE His name above the door he will sort your order personally 

More soon 

Your pal

SBW



 -


Sunday, 17 April 2022

The Mysterious Ticking Muntjac


While were making a list:

Few months back SSD and I made the trip to horse country to stalk with  Mr 7mm 

left me in a highseat and took South Side D stalking on another farm

It had been a while, at the far end of the field there was no clear backstop so I’d let some fallow walk on by and the light was starting to turn. When a most remarkable thing happened. 

You know that sense that some kind of prey is pressnt, unseen but definitely present. Glassing the hegdes to left and right. Then starts an odd decidedly metallic ‘ticking’ coming from the hedgerow beneath me. To start with I thought it was SSD and Mr 7mm playing a joke on me, but they were nowhere to be seen, the sound was qiet enough that it would have had to be next to the high-seat  i was starting to feel i was playing chicken with some unseen advisory  

The ticking stopped so I stopped looking for its source and just had time to move the zoom ring to 4x  when a muntjac doe exploded out of the hedge and made a dash into the field  At less that 50m I gave her an “Erhum”:she paused, turning first her head back whence she’d come, seeing nothing she turned a little further and caught a 140gr SST had destroyed her front leg and raked her ribcage. SSTs seem to transfer so much energy into the animal, it had flipped her through the air, she came down like a sack of wet cement  

I like to pause for a bit before collecting the carcass but cloud was blowing in so it was getting draker quicker than id like so i retrieved her and waited for the chaps. 

Had covid so didn’t get out on the pigeons, more next time

Your pal

SBW


Tuesday, 12 April 2022

Chinese Water Deer: A tale of hunting hubris, or is that being hunted by hubris?


The idyllic nature of this shot can never show the sheer agony my butt cheeks were in after a couple of hours sitting on the bare metal slats that had once supported the seat

There's two trophies: a full freezer and a great tale. Ticked those two off, nearly got the other kind too. Nearly. Pull up a log, warm your hands by the fire, pour yourself a tin mug of scotch, this one has to be the most SBW hunting saga yet

Long term readers will remember the blogger known as Shooter and his Mountain Lion hunt. In the intervening years his kids have grown up a bit and he's moved to the country. Back in touch I was delighted to accept his invitation to a walked up day which I'll tell you about later, obviously we agree to catch up next time I'm in the area.

The ACL [who features in a few of the more recent tales] and I had made the journey to the fenlands, a hundred miles north east of London, for Shooter’s walked up birds, we'd got chatting to the gamekeepers; they'd shown us some pictures of substantial Red Deer, we'd seen some bloody deep slots left behind by some even bigger deer, and listened to their tales of many many Chinese Water Deer seen on the thermal scope while Foxing. These are the closing weeks of the season. With a much needed freezer top-up on our minds before we sack most stalking off until the big boys are back in season on the first of August. We eere both keen as mustard to get out there

Having been the victim of the curse of the Bushwacker- where I invite you stalking, shoot two deer and miss a third while every deer you see will be siluetted against a farm house or scared off by a dog walker, the ACL had booked us in for a couple of stalks so he was inviting me Prudent

My favourite Russian saying : we wanted it to be different, it happened just the same

The usual early start, the usual delays for all the usual reasons, [misplaced firearms certificate, wrong socks, only one boot] then once on tbe road it’s the usual realisations that the usual X,Y and Z had been left behind. That exhilarating feeling of the open road, the frustration of rounding the corner into a slow moving morass of traffic, the inevitable phone call to announce our arrival would be significantly delayed and the surreptitious roadside consumption of banned foodstuffs

Fortunately the ACL is excellent company and has been avidly following the war in Ukraine and so knows all kinds of great stuff about it. that soaked up a couple of hours and we found our way to Shooter's place. Only driving past it twice

Shooter, the long suffering Mrs Shooter and all the little Shooters are all in fine fettle. The new house is perfect for playing Tom and Barbara The menagerie has expanded to include rare chickens, peacocks and goats have been ordered. Theres even a puddle rather optimistically being called the pond

Where as the ACL,has one rifle per task, all rare and charismatic, Shooter has a vast collection of rifles all as horrible as i remember them being. On the other hand his shotgun cabinet is as glamorous as a weekend at Downtown Abby and he’s the only person i know with ore than one 10 bore shotgun

After a hearty and sustaining lunch and some trading over a .410 we set off to meet the keepers

Norfolk is pretty big and pretty flat the fields are punctuated by drainage dithlches the locals call sewers. Great banks of rushes line the sewers. You can really see how a deer with water in its name would be at home here. The road kill count suggests there are lots of them. Every 200m there's another dead deer by the side of the road

Chinese water deer are natives of the Yangtze flood plain and Korea. They were introduced to Woburn Park, Bedfordshire, in 1896, and Whipsnade Zoo in 1929-30. I’ve not tracked down why they were deliberately released into surrounding woodlands from 1901 onwards, but that release is often sighted as the start of their spread. Since then there have been numerous releases, translocations, and escapes. Adapting to live in gardens, deciduous woodland, grassland, arable land as well as their native wetlands, coastal & marshland,

A small, even compact deer, a pale fawn colour, with large rounded ears and button-like black eyes. The Bucks are antlerless, but have moody long tusk-like canines.
A bit taller, and paler than muntjac, lacking that hump-backed look. They look more like a mini roe deer.
Between 82-106 cm long with a tail length 2.5-9 cm tails and about 42-65 cm at the shoulder Males weigh 12-18.5 kg; females 14-17.4 kg. Some study’s show them living to at least six years old.
As the name Water deer would suggest they seem to prefer wetlands adjoining woodland and fen, though they often range onto nearby farmland where they will feed in the open. They are most evident in the Norfolk Broads and the coastal wetlands. Although a feral, uncontained, population in the grounds of Whipsnade park inhabits parkland and dry woodland, with no wetland available.feeding mostly around dawn and dusk, on weeds, grasses, herbs and some browse. Although they often feed in arable fields, they seem to be eating weeds rather than crops.

The keepers drop me off and I walk to my highseat, wish I’d noticed what I noticed later. I climb up to find that the seat is missing, tentatively I settle onto the slats that once held the seat arse rest. For a while I manage to space out and even doze a little, but the sheer agony brings me back I roll my jacket up and that alleviate a some of it now I’m cold This is clearly what Buddhism refers to as the sheer unsatisfactoriness of existence Some very encouraging barking is coming from the reeds behind me to pass some time I spend a while twisted round looking into the standing reds and willing something to wander out what looks at first sight to be a car gliders silently past, a human head pops up , it’s the roof of a boat

Meanwhile at the other end of the field The ACL has found his highseat knee deep in water and looking precarious so he sets up shop in the hedgerow a while passes, a couple of Hares bounce past, a Fallow doe rocks up, spooked by something behind ACL. Weary of this life she sets herself down within range and waits to be shot, ever the gentleman stalker ACL decides it’s somehow outside of the pact between hunter and prey to shoot while they are both seated, not used to being ignored she waits a while and then ups sticks and toddles off in search of someone who will release her from the wheel of earthly suffering

Meanwhile back at the SBW end of things three deer have ventured out of the reeds if they turn left they’ll at the only buildings in the neighbourhood. I’m willing at them, trying to lure them in my my Jedi powers it’s actually working ….

ACL feels a bustle in his hedgerows and a little CWD saunters into range having got all his nerves out of the way with the Doe ACL turns theory into practice, pops his cherry and her right through the shoulder. Text book

His story proves something of an interruption to mine. There’s a fizzing whoosh from his moderator, the posse of three deer disappear. Spooked deer usually run them pause to add whatever scared them to the database, if they check and it’s looking like a false alarm they often resume their previous behaviour. I’m promising Artemis the earth and everything on it, for once she delivers and the three of them come back down their unseen camino towards me The X from the X Yz of left at home were my posh binos, the short comings of the Bushnells the ever cost conscious Shooter has lent me are becoming clear, but that’s the only thing that is, I resort to spotting through the scope the Deer’s on the right is wearing some pretty impressive mandibles

The balancing act: wait but don’t let chances evaporate while waiting for better chances

The bolt of the SR30!acts as the safety catch, by some kind of German engineering voodoo it snicks forward into battery without a sound our boy turns slightly to look up hill and catches one in the pocket behind his front leg the 120gr S&B blue takes the top off his heart and purées his lungs we are both unaware of this development and he takes off like South Side D’s Porsche for the first time in my life I’m completely invested in the trophy, they usually stagger and die, i e only ever had one run off into the last light and hail of a Scottish hillside I can’t bear to risk it he’s arcing back towards the reeds, he breaks stride and gets another one, staggers a bit and lies down twitching the other two are watching Muntjac doe points herself towards the reeds, the buck presents a shot, jumps to the bullet and legs it too. If it’s in the Reed bed that’s all she wrote the light is dying and the keepers and a dog are a long way off

A long time ago someone who gave me a rifle lesson told me he’d spent a summer reading the accounts of deer stalking written by army officers in the late 1940’s and 50’who brought the concept of Roe stalking home from Germany. smoking wouldn’t be bad for you for years, so smokes were a unit of time ‘Shoot the deer, then smoke a cigarette before going to look’

I’m still worried the Muntjac will have made it to the reed bed. I’ve not walked 25 meters before I find him must’ve pulled the shot a little, bullet entered third rib mashed things up a bit and destroyed the off side shoulder from the inside. Dead is still dead



Finally. The Money Pit a Heym SR30 in 6.5CM doing the job I've always believed it was born to do.

Ive just taken the picture above when suddenly it hits me, a wave of illation the joy of not having to hear my own whining as i look for my much fettled Lapua cases in the long grass beneath the high seat! Turns out there’s a lot to be said for factory ammunition i leave the spent cases where they fell, walk past where much needed seat from the high seat lies almost at the bottom of the ladder and head off to find the ACL

The Y is why did I leave my rifle sling behind?




Shultz and Larsen Victory in 6.5x55 Swedish Nice

He’s standing around looking at his dead deer with a ‘I always wanted one, now I’ve got one I don’t know what to do with it’ look on his face I give him a hug I remember that moment all those years ago, when I had the same face on ‘Sheeet I’m a deer hunter!’

Gralloch and back to Shooter’s place

Just because that part of the story ended on a high don’t think for a moment that the feral failure ends there oh no not for a moment

The hour back flies by but it’s been a long day Shooter is a wonderful host, and a fantastic cook we hang our deer in his outbuildings and set about the feast he’s laid on Pile of carbs and a bucket of Islay malts later we hold a snoring competition for a few wee hours.

“Are you still alive? I thought you were dead for a moment there”. “Why had i stopped snoring?”

I’ll leave it to you dear reader to guess who said what

A brief tussle with Shooter’s coffee machine and hit the road

Trying to learn the ground we set up near a wood we saw muntjac in on our walked up day. Not a lot happens. I start to regret not wearing a smock length coat. By now I’m not only cold but busting for a piss. Out of the high seat and out of the wind it’s a beautiful morning still sling-less I’m pissing with the money pit leaning against me Who should pop his little antlered head out of the bushes but Mr Muntjac, by impatiently raising the rifle when I should have made like a statue , I spook him

The ACL tells his usual tale of dog walkers and we make a shameful detour to the Golden Arches

We’re three little deer up, its a beautiful morning, we’re a hundred miles from home, neither of us is wearing sunglasses and ACL is making all kinds of rash promises to Mrs ACL regarding his arrival time

You could say its all going swimmingly. Could

As we walk over to the hanging Chinese Water Deer Shooter gasps in administration “you didn’t say they were that good! Those tusks are Bronze, or maybe Silver” I grab the CWD lift and turn to check the symmetry and im met by a sickening tale of rural vandalism. During the night something with immense bite strength has grabbed hold of the lowest part of the carcass and rented at it, trying to break it free from its rope the broken off tusk is nowhere to be seen, my broken dream lies all around










Best crack on with the butchery Chinese Water Deer have hair, but unlike other deer it looks almost fur-like and is hardly attached at all, moving the carcass onto a different larder hook it’s coming off in clumps The skin too seems barely attached, even this end of the season theres an impressive layer of subcutaneous fat, you call pull the skin off with no knife work The ACL has just been on a butchery course so Shooter and I are at our most encouraging

“You’re actually in luck today. You want to process your first deer and we're here. I don’t know if you know this but Shooter was in the Indian National team for butting in, and I’m an exceptionally gifted amateur, if you'd like us to mither at you and butt in while you do it, we’re standing by. ready to interfere.”

All bagged up and ready to go we wend our now weary way back home

I cant help but wonder what might have been, so I make one last mistake..I post the good side picture on Facebook


Next time it’s pigeons
Your pal
SBW