Gamekeeping 101 Pt1

If you were going to choose a day for a work party you wouldn't choose the hottest day of the year would you? But that's not the way we roll.
The late start sounded like a good idea, relaxing even, but 'roasting evenly' would be a better description. By eleven the sun was high in the sky and the mercury was high in the vial, hitting 30C. The Bambi Basher and yours truly rocked up and drove across the estate to an overgrown Pheasant pen. The pen's position is a game of two halves, good its very sheltered from the winds that howl off the south downs, bad its effectively a drainage for the field, right next to a stream, and heavily overgrown with Willow. It was cool and damp on the hottest day so far, so in the winter it must be pretty parky and very wet.

The estate is massive and owned by a retired Colonel who with our new friend Keeper Du Bois runs a small informal shoot for family and a few friends. I first met The Col. and KDB helping out on a fox drive a few months ago. TBB is a member of the shoot and as KDB seemed to have his hands full I'd offered to help out as one of his under keepers. Time and tide had kept us from catching up but as the poults will be arriving soon we have a few jobs to do around the estate.

TBB and I set-to with the enthusiasm of un-caged dogs and had cleared a way around the pen when a cheery shout announced KDB's arrival. In one of those 'Youtube gold' moments his greeting and the position of the truck led him to slightly miss the landbridge crossing the stream and he disappeared into a gully; quad bike, trailer and all.

Much hilarity later, with the other fellas from the work party having arrived, we divided up the tools and began clearing some pathways for the beating team to push birds onto the drives. KDB issued me with a Jungle-Buster (basically a more robust weed-whacker or Strimmer). A tool that had led a hard hard life. I was wearing it hanging from a harness with the motor behind me, and swinging the pole from side to side letting the tool do the work. I was suddenly aware of something else behind me and looked over my shoulder. The fuel tank had leaked, the housing had shaken itself loose, and touching the exhaust had ignited. I was on effing FIRE!

I made a few nerve-wracking attempts to un-hook the now blazing machine from the harness, but soon saw sense and wriggled out of the harness and dumped the whole kit into the stream. Which having had a bit of fuel spilled into it from the trailer's earlier baptism promptly burst into flames.

The rest of the day was thankfully a little less dramatic.

Big Shouts to the people who have sent me useful stuff for testing:

SG-20 who sent me some of their two-pack adhesive with which I reattached the sole of one of my beloved Lundhags. The glue is good for mending waders and a lot of your other outdoor gear, I've already used it to reattach the other sole and it's really good stuff.

3M Ultrathon for their slow release insect repellant - DEET incapsulated to provide slow release protection against flying biters - good gear I've used it a few times and it works well, and being Tick Season much appreciated. If you are going afield please read this primmer on Ticks by longterm reader Pablo from Woodlife

Trucker's Friend who sent this hammer, pry bar, nail puller, zombie-whacker, thingy which we used to take some fencing down.

More soon
your pal
SBW

Boil In The Bag

Perhaps a little over dressed: note the steam rising from me

Other things have keept me away from blogging for the last few weeks but rest assured dear reader I've not fallen off the edge of the world. I did make it out of town for an 'Armed Ramble' the The Bambi Basher and McShug. With the season over we took the guns and dogs to look for Pigeons and Squirrels. Is it just me or are Squirrels much rarer after last years cold winter? Our bag for the morning was Zip Ziltch, Nada but as you probably know a crap mornings hunting beats any morning at the office so the outing was a great success. I took the opportunity to 'test some gear' AKA wear clothes.

Kifaru Arctic Parka

As the thaw was underway and temperature was above freezing it was still too warm for a proper test, I boiled in the bag.

Lundhags Ranger Boots
I can see how a pair of made to measure boots could be a more custom fit, but I cant see how they could be any better made or more waterproof. I wanted a pair of Lundhags for over twenty years and went through a couple of pairs of of half decent boots, and several pairs of mil-surp boots in that time. These are very very good, not cheap, but very very good.


Mini Bambi Basher gave me a hand testing the ESS goggles

RedRam Thermals
Very good indeed, and sadly it would seem very delicious to that evil predator Tineola bisselliella, the Clothes Moth!

As we set off for home McShug very kindly produced this from his pocket, "shot last week so it hums a bit, but I know you wanted to try one" Now hanging from the Gas Cock in my basement. Ripening.

More tales of feral failure, reviews and of course a traditional Woodcock recipe to follow
Your pal
SBW

Deer Hunting In The UK Pt6

Zombie Jesus weekend dawned warm and dry and with it our last chance to hunt Fallow bucks this season. I'd finished [for the time being] the works on the Ex Mrs SBW's house, so I seized the chance to get out of town and hooked up with The Bambi Basher for another trip to Jinx Wood. 

The entry point to Jinx wood is very convenient, you can park at the farm house and usually stop for a chat with the couple who own most of the wood and then walk into the wood over a meadow or up a bridle way depending on the prevailing wind. Prevailing! Prevailing my arse. This time the wind was more changeable than bank-holiday-weekend train timetable, it blew hither, it blew thither, we stalked into it, only to have it change round and announce our arrival.

Bluebells were out in force, but the ground was bone dry and we crunched our way into the woods for an afternoon stalk. A mile or so away some kind of super pneumatic excavator had thoughtfully been laid on to drown out the worst of it, but it wasn't our sneakiest hour by a long way. I was once again the winner of 'biggest stick' this time by sitting on a hurdle made of 4 inch thick telegraph poles, how was I to know it was going to make that much noise?

We saw movement in the thick stuff several times, but nothing daft enough to confirm itself as a deer.

Still that's why it's called Hunting rather than Shopping or Killing, and that's why it's called Jinx wood.

More soon

your pal

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