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

3D Archery with Stickman

Ages ago I got an invite to spend the afternoon shooting recurve bows in an Essex woodland, and when diary's and childcare and work all worked out: what an afternoon it was. I journeyed to Romford; an easterly commuter town in Essex, where the girls are bright orange, and the Louis Vuitton handbags are made in China, to meet with my new friend Stickman from the British Bowhunters forum for a lesson in instinctive archery. And what a revelation it was. My previous efforts at target archery were less than distinguished. All that squinting at a pin wasn't making things easy and the lesssons were on a one-shot-and-get-to-the-back-of-the-line basis which didn't help either. I knew I wanted to learn to shoot 'instinctive', I just wasn't sure how I was going to. 

Stickman hails from the Kimberly - the diamond fields of South Africa - and has hunted most things since he was a lad, like many of the more experienced hunters I've met, his passion for the process of hunting itself had led him to traditional bowhunting; where the chance to take a shot is 
hard won, without the surgical strike at 100+ yards of a hunting rifle, field-craft and even dumb-luck become big parts of the contest. At these distances the chance to even draw the bow in the presence of an animal a major achievement. This is hunting at 15 yards or less. Hunting on an unlevelled playing field.

Note: really neat wrist guard with sheath for his field scalpel

One tale that he regaled me with illustrates just how much skill (and luck) is involved in hunting bare-bow. Stickman had been hiding in a blind near a water-hole when a 'Big Impala Ram' in fact the big-impala-ram-of-a-lifetime, had approached the water-hole coming within 15 yards (i.e 45 feet) of the blind Stickman was hiding in. Having been practising to the tune of 500 arrows a day in preparation for the hunt, he drew back and loosed an arrow. Only to be String Jumped. 

The arrow was travelling at approx. 200 feet per second, lets call the distance 50 feet to make it easier, so in a QUATER of a second the Big Impala Ram was able to sense the movement of the arrow and spring into the air letting the arrow pass harmlessly underneath him.  It gets better - if we call the speed of sound 1200 feet per second that means that the sound of the bowstring got to the Big Impala Ram in a twelfth of a second. When the sound of the string arrived at the Big Impala Ram in the next sixth of a second the  Big Impala Ram had taken flight. literally.

Stickman had invited me to the woods his archery club use for 3D archery - instead of the circles on an straw board the targets are various prey animals, there is a tradition of throwing in a couple of humorous examples.


My first shot was a master stroke of beginners luck, Stickbow was impressed, I was double impressed!! Obviously once I started thinking about what I was doing I was back to my usual lummox self. Where I would have remained if it hadn't been for the light touch of Stickman's coaching. In between the banter and storytelling he paitently coached me to - actually hitting the target! Both eyes open, none of that squinting and aiming malarky, just launching arrows that either grazed the target or pounded into it! Yea instinctive archery!

"Call for Mr O'Shay, a Mr Rick O'Shay?"

Ok There were a few that went astray. Although sometimes the arrow, seemingly by magic. regains its trajectory, usually it's found embedded in a tree. If you're lucky. 

A large part of the sport is the time spent searching for lost arrows, not always successfully. Opps! Sorry Stickman.

Any prey animal taken with a stick bow is a trophy - even this plastic fella

I was defiantly well taken with Bare Bow and even felt the first throbbing certainty, that tickle of obsession yet to come, archery is a lot like casting when fishing. The first time you cast perfectly you're hooked, the simple elegance of the motion, the economy of movement and the cybernetic connection between spring and soul. Launched by love and magic the arrow seems to fly on the wings of intention. Once.

By which time you've started to think about how you did it and the next arrow goes at a right angle to you, before burying itself in a pile of leaves.When fishing: the line is now tightly bound around the reel so you cant even turn the handle. But despite the set back, you've been tantalised, you've seen the magic, by then you know, you must, you will. If you could just send another few hours, if I could just spent another few pounds, stay up for just one more hour surfing for infomation. Whoa...

...whoa, you like to think that you’re immune to the stuff, oh Yeah it’s closer to the truth to say you can’t get enough, you know you’re gonna have to face it, you’re addicted to [Insert latest obsession here]

might as well face it, you’re addicted to [fishing, archery, deer, blogging, the american girl - delete as appropriate]

So many hobbies, so few pounds to spend on them. Such is suburban life dear reader.

Big shout to Stickman - for a great afternoon - One of the Good Guys

Your pal

SBW

Note to self: my victory over The Northern Monkey in last years archery competion needs mentioning again

Blogger Loses Gunfight

Round One: Gun 1 - Blogger 0

Can you guess what happened? It all started innocuously enough, Goofy Girl and Stonecutter (you'll meet them later) had set me up with a 'play date' with GG's friend Ean, and his pal Mike. I was to be inducted into the great american tradition of 'heading to an out of town quarry to fire guns'.

Ean: "Ever fire a muzzle loader? This one I fire prone, we're allowed two shots or two guns so I take the other one along for a follow-up shot." Hmm "I fire prone" Hmm maybe there was clue there?

Ean: "Ever fire a thirty-aught-six? Care to?"

SBW: "Does the pope shit in the woods? Is the bear a catholic?"

Notorious on my side of the pond for having a fair amount of bark, the 30-06 also has a bit of clack to it, but it didn't seem as hard a recoil as I'd been led to believe. Old school steel butt-plate was a bit alarming though!

Ean: This one seemed appropriate. 

Another treat the chaps had laid on for me was a Rifle No5 Mk1 AKA the .303 Jungle Carbine. Highly point-able and a svelte 7 lb. 1 oz. (3.2 kg) I really  liked it. It would definitely make an excellent deer stalking rifle, although some people use the .303 for larger game.

The boys had some new toys they were keen to test out

I could hear the delighted laughter even through the ear plugs and over the sound of gunfire, 

this is one Chinese import that appears very popular, offer excellent value and does what it says on the tin.

So that's what it's like to be a hollywood action hero

Rumours that I'm a fat Jason Statham will be hotly denied, as usual.

Mike thought I should expand my firearms experience 

As American as Apple Pie - the S & W 1911

.50 cal Muzzle loader off the 'pod: I'd struggled to get my eye lined up with the scope, I 'thought' I had the pad against my shoulder, the sight picture cleared and I was ready to let one go, when.....

It bit me! (OK a sheepish, fat, Jas.....) 

Claret everywhere! Smarted a bit too. Fortunately most of the bruising was to my ego. The cut was nicely placed to be beyond the sewing talents of the junior doctors that work emergency rooms. My policy is that I don't mind going to hospital if A: someone is carrying me and/or B: I'm unconscious at the time. Ean, who has the confidence inspiring air of the ships surgeon about him, produced a seriously well appointed first aid kit and patched me up. One of the good guys.

The last word goes to Mrs Ean:
"That's how we do it at our house. It's not fun unless someone-almost-gets their eye poked out."


Your Pal
SBW

The Dog Blokes - The Dog Blogs

The Bambi Basher and I were standing in the woods the other day talking his new line of T shirts and about bloggers and their dogs when he asked me to recommend him some dog blogs, never one to turn up the chance to turn something I was going to do anyway into a blog post. Here's a covey flushed from the bloggersphere. Boom Boom.

mouthful of feathers

Five scribes put this one together: I was going to post a snippet of my favorite post, but they're all good and many are exceptional - this is their raison d'etre. Better written than anything I could manage.

Why? Because too little upland writing and imagery, particularly in regard to the West, inspires us or seems to reflect our reality. We feel the need for fresh voices that articulate the experience as we know it – wild, elusive birds in massive country, imperfect dogs (and people), dirtbag camps, true field guns, trucks stuck in the mud and days spent putting miles on the boots with nothing to show for it. Is it possible to bring this whole upland thing down a notch and take it to a new level at the same time? We’re gonna try.

We like to get after it far from the beaten track whenever possible, though we’re not immune to a little luxury now and then, more than likely in the form of a good cigar and a flask of bourbon on the tailgate. Now temper this brew with a generous dose of dry irreverence and appreciation for the absurdity of our pursuit – an ingrained, hardwired obsession that truly haunts us, no less than our dogs, for half the year while we wait for opening day. You won’t find any “how-to” articles here, though you may find the occasional example of “how-not-to.” Besides, there are plenty of other places for that sort of information – some of it even useful, in our experience. We’re here to celebrate the “whys” and delve deep into the soul of this thing. So throw your gear and your dog in the back and let’s go. We’ll try to be back by dinner time…

On the Eastern seaboard: Uplandfeathers keeps up a steady commentary on

The adventures of Bella and Cooper our two German Shorthair Pointers, Unboxing posts on the latest upland hunting gear, Gun-owner rights (2 nd amendment), Conservation programs, habitat restoration efforts and the latest news from state and federal wildlife agencies

In Newfoundland Canada a chap called Dan [occasionally] writes

Out On The Rock a diary of hunting and travel with dogs in the pristine boreal wilderness.

No list of dog blogs could ever be complete without name checking Patrick Burns' The Terrierman's Daily Dose - literally one of the great finds of the bloggersphere, really sharp investigative skills, insightful local, national and international political commentary, really sharp writing, my favorite PETA basher, and razor sharp wit are delivered daily. Gawg-nabbit how's he find the time to do anything else?

Last but not least: one of the good guys, miserableist, punk rock aficionado, 6.5x55 evangelist, DIY fishing tackle guru, bibliophile, storm chaser, bait caster, bird hunter, regular commenter on this blog, dog bloke, and renaissance redneck Chad Love. Writes The Mallard Of Discontent

Oh and if you found this while looking online for stuff for your dogs The Tea Lady is the go-to-gal for all the best gear at the lowest possible prices. Catch up with her stand at most game fairs or

you can find her online or on the phone at http://www.dogtrainingsupplies.co.uk/

Enjoy

SBW

PS all pix credited to the blogs they're from - Bambi Basher and The Tea Lady will have the T Shirt soon.