Deer Hunting In The UK Pt5

Continued from Part 3 and Part 4

Meanwhile back where we started: High Seat - Day Two:

My reverie is broken by TBB's 'pssst' and I go through the High Seat Drill - open the bolt, push the top round (bullet) back down into the magazine, close the bolt over the now empty chamber, apply safety so the bolt is locked shut and now it's safe to climb down the ladder.

We cross the bridle path and are consumed by the darkness of the woods, for about five or six minutes we pick our way up the slight hill. Just as we're reaching the end of the block we're in, part of the herd has decided to go for breakfast and they suddenly start to run past us at only 30 yards. Their way is restricted by a fence which they must duck under, one doe stands still and looks at me. Time slows. The does in front have bottlenecked where they will cross the bridle path so now I'm face to face with an eminently shootable Doe. I shoulder the Rigby, swing the rifle's wing safety down into the ready position and start the flinching - my eyes close as my finger presses against the machined surface of the trigger, I wrench them open, the Doe is still looking at me, I'm 30 yards away and miraculously the point of aim is still on the magic circle behind her shoulder, she tips her weight onto her back legs and presses forward, I squeeze, my eyes stay open. A clean miss.

The Bambi Basher doesn't need to say anything [and being the gent he is, doesn't] the bullet must have passed over her back, at that range the scope's cross hairs aren't a representation of where the bullet will go - I'd have been better off looking down the side of the barrel.

Now in the aftermath, we know only where the deer that remain on our side of the bridle path aren't, we are at a fenced corner ourselves. I sigh. That's why its called hunting.  I hand TBB the Rigby and take a few steps in the direction of the departed Doe herd. I'm about to duck under the fence myself but just obscured from our view is my Doe, lying perfectly dead on the ground.

My shot had been six inches further back than my intended point of aim and six inches high.

I gralloch the deer, [I'm still not sure why we use the Gallic word for gutted] the round had clipped her spine on the way in and exited bellow the point of impact. Dead is still dead and the hunting gods must have been on my side, only one of the deer's stomachs had taken a passing clip leaving a hole less than an inch long, using her blood to rinse out the small amount of snot, bile and part digested grass, I'm delighted to see that apart from the back straps having had a bite out of them, the rest of the meat was good. Together we heaved her into a tree, the foxes would go for the ease of the gut pile [AKA the gralloch] and leave the carcass, with the first Doe cooling in the tree we set off in search of the next one. Which eludes us.

Coming soon
Deer: Nose-to-Tail eating

Your pal
SBW

Deer Hunting In The UK Pt4

Armed rambling: in Jinx Wood 

Day One: After our trip to the range we head to Chez Bambi Basher. The Tea Lady AKA Mrs Bambi Basher is just giving me a guided tour of forthcoming plumbing works when TBB interrupts "you'll have plenty of time for that later - we're going stalking"

SBW: "275 Rigby - In the footsteps of WDM Bell!"
Mc Shug: "Bell-end more like"

We creep into the woods as quietly as the ankle deep mud will allow, once we're off the bridle way and into the timber things quieten down and start to scout the different blocks of timber. Until I win the prize for biggest stick [trodden on].

There was sign everywhere - McShug points out some Polecat tracks crossing the deer trail

It's a delightful evenings walk, apart from the rifles and camo outfits, there is nothing to distinguish it from a bushcrafters 'bimble'. We meet a herd of 30-ish Fallow does, but once again the only backstop is a farm house so no shots are taken. The Bambi Basher has catered the outing and we sit watching the biggest wild rabbit any of us has ever seen while drinking coffee and feasting on Yorkshire tea cake.

Most non-hunters I speak to seem to imagine hunting as being a very high intensity, all action, kind of activity - I found it very relaxing.

There's more...
SBW

Deer Hunting In The UK Pt1

Deer Hunting In The UK Pt2

Deer Hunting In The UK Pt3

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

Range Time In East Sussex

I'm on safari in East Sussex with The Bambi Basher.
First we got a bit of practice in, unfortunately due to the 'play date' Goofy Girl set up I seem to have developed a bit of a flinch. Opps! Where's a Jedi when you need one?

There's more to tell
your pal
SBW

Pig Hunting In The UK - East Sussex

I found this tale by John Carver at the most entertaining www.sabotagetimes.com

...The reason we were meeting was to shoot some wild boar.

There are more wild boar where I live (in East Sussex) than anywhere else in England. Thousands of the buggers and they’re all at it like rabbits. As a result there’ll be thousands more before you can say “Pint of Harvey’s”. I squeezed into the double cab, having spotted a space that wasn’t occupied by a chainsaw or a roll of barbed wire and we drove across the field to the edge of the woods. We parked and I walked behind as Al carried a motherfucker of a something bore rifle and I carried a torch. He told me I was gonna be his “light-man”.

As we made our way along a track the evening was drawing in. It was getting darker by the minute. Up another track, down a further track. Across deep undergrowth. After a few moments me and Al found ourselves at the base of a dark green, metal ladder permanently attached the side of a tall tree. You’ll be forgiven for asking yourself what a ladder was doing in the middle of a forest. Don’t worry. The same thought ran through my mind.

Here’s the clever bit. Boar are bloody good at sniffing. Go after them and the last thing you can wear is Brut or Old Spice. They’ll smell fear or fags a mile off. However if you position yourself high up in a tree any aroma you might emit will waft its way high over the heads of your quarry. These country folk are a canny bunch.

Twenty feet up the tree was a “seat”. This is what they call it out here. A metal platform with a metal bench built into it. Not comfortable. Just practical. Al and I climbed up the ladder to the seat. I had his torch. He had his gun. We sat down and settled in behind a wall of camouflage netting.

Al told me not to talk. Not to move. Just to sit. And wait. There’s a lot of waiting in the country.

Al lifted his shooter and looked through the site at an open area. A clearing about 80 yards from our hideout. This is where Al reckoned the Wild Boar might roam as night drew in

Al lifted his shooter and looked through the site at an open area. A clearing about 80 yards from our hideout. This is where Al reckoned the Wild Boar might roam as night drew in. By now it was about 6.10pm. In the last 15 minutes we’d walked and climbed and sat. Now we were ready for action. Quite often people sit and wait and wait and wait. Then go home empty handed. There’s no guarantees. It could all be a waste of everyone’s time. Failing is all part of the fun. Tonight we were in luck. MORE HERE

Off to East Sussex myself - a full report on my return

SBW
Picture credit goes to Beastwatch

Conventional Ammunition Seems Mild

Yes it's one of those 'filler posts' where I repost something amusing or interesting while I'm away from the laptop.

Back soon
SBW

PEAK COFFEE!!!

The sweet black taste of morning AKA: Americano. Battery Acid. Bean Juice. Beans. Black Gold. Black Ichor Of Life. Brain Juice. Brew. Brewtus. C8H10N4O2: (The molecular formula for caffeine). Café. Caffe. Caffeine Fix. Cup of Brew. Cup of Joe. Cup of Jolt. Cupped Lightning. Daily Grind. Day-Starter. Demitasse. Dishwater. Drip. Embalming Fluid. Express Train. Go Juice. High Octane. High Test (after the high-octane gas). Hojo. Hot Stuff. Ink. Jamoke: (Java + Mocha). Java. Jet Fuel. Jitter Juice. Jo. Joe. Kaffe: (Swedish).Kape: (Manila). Leaded. LAS-Legal Addictive Stimulant. Lifeblood. Lifer's Juice. Liquid Energy. Liquid Lightning. Misto. Mocha. Mojo. Morning Mud. Morning Thunder. Mother’s Little Helper. Mud. Muddy Water. Murk. Norwegian plasma. Oil. One's Daily Infusion. Pentecostal Whiskey. Perk or Perky. Plasma. Roast. Rocket Fuel. Swedish gasoline. Tar. The Fix. The Regular. Turpentine. Unleaded. Vitamin C. Wake Up Call. Wakey Juice. Warmer Upper. Zip or whatever you want to call it...

The shortage of high-end Arabica coffee beans is also being felt in New York supermarkets and Paris cafes, as customers blink at escalating prices. Purveyors fear that the Arabica coffee supply from Colombia may never rebound — that the world might, in effect, hit “peak coffee.”


In 2006, Colombia produced more than 12 million 132-pound bags of coffee, and set a goal of 17 million for 2014. Last year the yield was nine million bags.


The Specialty Coffee Association of America warned this year, “It is not too far-fetched to begin questioning the very existence of specialty coffee.”

Wherever you stand on Peak Oil [realists in one pile, la-la-la-I'm-not-listening-'s in the other] here's some very bad news. PEAK COFFEE. Seriously. Yield of the good stuff is down as much as 70%. Imagine life with 70% less coffee! I'm honestly too flustered to know what to do? It doesn't even keep that long in the freezer! What are we going to do?

Your worried pal
SBW

PS The first person to suggest that most fraudulent of products "instant' coffee is banned.

Pic is Cafuerteras by Javier Jaén

The Most Massively Useful Thing A Bushcrafter Can Have?

A micro fibre travel towel: 
shown in the traditional outdoor blog style, 
with brass and blade [for no discernible reason]

The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy has a few things to say on the subject of towels...

"A towel, it says, is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have. Partly it has great practical value - you can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound across the cold moons of Jaglan Beta; you can lie on it on the brilliant marble-sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the heady sea vapours; you can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine so redly on the desert world of Kakrafoon; use it to sail a mini raft down the slow heavy river Moth; wet it for use in hand-to- hand-combat; wrap it round your head to ward off noxious fumes or to avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (a mindboggingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can't see it, it can't see you - daft as a bush, but very ravenous); you can wave your towel in emergencies as a distress signal, and of course dry yourself off with it if it still seems to be clean enough.

More importantly, a towel has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a strag (strag: non-hitch hiker) discovers that a hitch hiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, face flannel, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitch hiker any of these or a dozen other items that the hitch hiker might accidentally have "lost". What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his towel is is clearly a man to be reckoned with."

The Hitch Hikers Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams www.douglasadams.com

All true, great advice, and well worth keeping an eye out for in the sale bin of your local outdoor store.

More soon

SBW

Unboxing: Spyderco Urban Knife Review

Big, big fan of the Spyderco design aesthetic; some very well thought-out knives at price points from cheap to mid range. If you're spending £25 or £175 the knives represent very good value, (even better value in the USA where prices are 30-40% cheaper) and the choice of steels is enough to satisfy the most anal collector discerning enthusiast.

As ever my choices were determined by:
A, the second hand market (contrary to popular belief there is a limit to the amount I'll spend on toys kit)
B, the time I have to put into watching the second hand market. I've missed a few bargains, this catch was not the spec I really wanted but the price was about what I wanted to pay.

In folding knife design what I really like are 'integral or frame locks' (like the Subcom F) but in the UK this most ingenious of safety features is deemed to make your knife 'weapons grade' and is therefore only permissible with 'good reason' and good reason is to be determined by a costly visit to the local courthouse.

Unit of Measurement .270

As is so often the case, restriction has led to innovation, with many makers seizing the opportunity to provide a 'street legal' knife for our EDC needs. Spyderco have been leaders in this field with the UKPK (UK Pen Knife) and the Urban both being slip-joints i.e held open but not locked open - just like a traditional penknife. Blade length for UK pocket carry is restricted to 3 inches (75mm) and the Urban comes in at 2 and 9/16ths (65 mm) with the whole knife only 6 and 1/16ths (154 mm).

The Urban is made in Japan with VG10 blade steel and G10 for the handle. Although the Spyderco-rati deem the made-in-Japan models to be second fiddle to the USA made knives in terms of finish, as users they are the same.

I already own a VG10 bladed knife (its the centre section of the laminated Fallkniven F1's blade [Reviews here] ) and while it's one of the more difficult steels to sharpen, when you get there it really takes and holds an edge.

I'm going to be using a Spyderco Sharpmaker (review here) to care for it.  I've had the Sharpmaker for a few years now and I'm even happier with it now than I was when I got it. The Sharpmaker sets the angle between stone and blade. As its Spyderco/Spyderco the angle of the stones is 20/20, perfectly set to the blades grind. I'll let you know in part two how easy a blade it is to maintain.

First impressions:
Neat and Petite - Not ideal for slicing a whole ham, but perfect for sausage or biltong
Well Made - The fit is good, all the parts are tight, some of the surface finishs could be better
Excellent Materials - VG10 is a great knife steel, and the handle's G10 is totally uniform
Good Value - Just that little bit nicer than the cheaper knives, almost as nice as knives twice the price.

Looking forward to some thorough field testing

Your pal
SBW

I Want One - A Not So Occasional Series Pt19

Now this is seriously cool, and for once not only something I cant afford but something that isn't on sale at all. Hopefully that will change an it'll go into production. I want one!

We've all seen small wood and wood gas burning stoves, we've all seen them with electric fans, but this puppy uses no batteries AND generates electricity to power your gizmos afield!

For More Click Here


More soon
SBW




http://biolitestove.com/Full_Demonstration.html

Oetzi: Putting A Face To The Name

Twenty years after his ice preserved body was found the 5,000-year-old "Iceman" discovered on the border between Italy and Austria we can now see Dutch artist Adrie Kennis' impression of what Oetzi would have looked like.

Picture credit and more here

PS This is a really great resource to learn more about Oetzi/Otzi

More soon

Your pal

SBW

Hat's Off For The NorCal Cazadora!

A few of you have posted disparaging remarks about my choice of headgear. Only Holly has put her money where here mouth is and sent in a prospective replacement.

The Littlest Bushwacker "It's cool"

Ex Mrs SBW "Looks, er, like it'll keep you warm"

The Northern Monkey picked up the hat, assessed the size and asked
"Did she measure your head or does she just know you? Most people don't make 'em this big"

Your pal
The Suburban Bushwacker

Timewasters - For Fox Sake

In London we love to build hooj vanity skyscrapers, the next one is called the Shard, it's supposed to look like a piece of broken glass, yeah. We also have the most hilarious attachment to the disneyfication of animals, even mangy foxes that live off dropped takeaways. 

A fox has been found living on the job site that's the Shard, so instead of  ignoring it until it made its own way home, the chaps saw the chance to loaf around for a couple of hours and chat to the pretty girl the newspapers sent to cover the story. So they gave the fox the name Romeo (the papers are hardly going to send Lucinda Posh-Bit down for a nameless fox are they?) and called the council, who despite having better things to spend our money on sent Les Leonard, pest control manager at Southwark Council to spend the afternoon fooling about catching the fox.

The work-shyness doesn't end there! One Barrie Hargrove, cabinet member for transport, environment and recycling at Southwark Council, felt he had nothing better to do with the time we pay him for and chipped in "Romeo has certainly been on a bit of a jaunt, and proved rather elusive, but I'm glad our pest control officers were able to help out. He's obviously a resourceful little chap, but I'm sure he's glad the adventure is over and hopefully he'll steer well clear of skyscrapers in the future."

Timewasters!

SBW
PS Picture credit and more of the story - told in a less angry and more cutesy way

Preparedness: NYC

My connection to recent events in New Zealand has moved preparedness to front-of-mind, instead of actually doing something to be prepared, I thought I'd take a look at a time when I was in a city that suddenly switched off and see what if any lessons could be learned.

A while back I was visiting the New York office of an English company while writing my long lost book "The Ankle Swingers of Rat-dog Land". It was getting towards the end of the afternoon. Stifling an air conditioning inspired yawn I ventured down 39 floors to the lobby in search of sugary snacks and coffee. But instead received a lesson in preparedness, and the publics response to surprise.

Thursday, August 14, 2003, at approximately 4:11 p.m

The First Signs
There were slowly increasing numbers of people standing around, checking their crackberries, and just standing, where only moments before the torrent of worker ants was relentless it was now suddenly momentum-less. I went back to the lift [elevator] where the doors were half open and a woman was about to get in, she turned to me and chirpily asked "wanna take a chance?". I don't know about you but I've been led astray my glamourous older girls before, but this time the doors didn't look like they'd ever close so I bowed-out.

The Assumptions
Meanwhile back in the lobby: the startled stop had been replaced by a belligerence that was taking its toll on the building's security staff. The chick behind the desk looked more frightened than the public.  She was using the words "we'll let you know as soon as we know" as an ever shorter stick to push back the tide of  ever more belligerent requests for information. One of her colleagues spoke to the group so Securi-chick and I got into conversation.
SBW: So I guess, no one is telling you anything and everyone is asking you for everything?
"I just don't trust them terrorists!" she confided in a note of rising panic. I have to admit I had to stifle a laugh. Surely that is the point of terrorism? But telling her that would have been counter productive. I'm an optimist by nature and optimism can be just as contagious as fear, the idea 'it's too early to tell' seemed to cheer her up. Looking out over the sheeple she agreed that panicking wasn't going to help, and I left her, good nature restored, confidently directing people to stay calm.

On the walk home I stopped off to chat with the Dry-Cleaning Guy, as usual a font of wisdom. I told him about the panic mongers working themselves into a frenzy certain of a terrorist attack. He responded with this wonderful ambiguity

"Bullshit! That's the first thing that comes out of their mouths"
He went on to sight a principle that I'm a big believer in. Offering this more likely speculation  'It'll be a blown relay in Canada"

Evil happens occasionally, incompetence is happening right now.

As we'll see in part 2 even in the worst of situations, incompetence is far more likely to get you than anything else. For the meantime I'll leave you with this sobering thought:

'Preparedness' is a process not an event

Its also a catch-all term for people from the heavily armed nut job of popular imagination to the just plain prudent - who have a water container, a first aid kit and some batteries to hand. Just because you don't feel the need for a foil-lined hat doesn't mean you wont feel the need for some batteries and a drink of water. It's worth mentioning that there aren't enough batteries or torches in the supply chain between factories and shops at any one time for everyone who needs them to buy them once the situation has started.

Just sayin'!

more soon
your pal
SBW

PS The art work is by the amazing  Christop Niemann

True Grit A Review By Roald Dahl And SBW

I've neither the time, or anyone to go with, so I've not been to the pictures to see the Cohen Bros version but yesterday I read Charles Portis' True Grit from cover to cover. I was going to tell you how amazing a piece of writing it is, but that's like a street dog recommending fine dining. Here's a review from someone who really really knows great storytelling

"True Grit is the best novel to come my way for a very long time. What book has given me greater pleasure in the last five years? Or in the last twenty? What a writer."
Roald Dahl

David Petzal liked it too, and being yer 'republican gun nut' by nature my guess is he has at least a passing interest in the genre

"The film, in which John Wayne played himself and got an Oscar for it, was a sort of comedy with gunfire, and had little to do with the novel, which was grim, sad, and filled with gallows humor."

He likes the new movie too

While the 'republican' thing means something very different where I come from, I'm not averse to a bit of gun nut-ism myself

The excellent Internet Movie Firearms Database has this nugget for film and firearm nerds to chip in to after dinner conversation.

"Mattie Ross (Hailee Steinfeld) carries her father's Colt Dragoon, as is described in Portis' book. The gun used in the film is an actual percussion Dragoon, while the 1969 film used a cartridge-converted Colt Walker. It can be surmised that the Walker was used due to its even more imposing size in contrast to Mattie's small stature. But the adherence to the source material in this version is much appreciated."

I actually paid the full £7.99 cover price, and consider it a bargain.

More news as I make it up, more views as I raise the funds for more kit
SBW

What Is It About Fly Fishing?

Really what is it? The sight of buds on the trees, the slight shift in air temperature, the sudden realisation that although it's still light the days works are over. A recurring thought rises, like a trout to a fly, 'I must get my fly gear together, and a boat, we need a boat'.

Now as regular readers will no doubt have noticed I only fish for free, wild fish caught in wild places as nature intended. Due to the rampant over crowding of a small island sometimes those wild places are hidden between discarded shopping trolleys and dumped stolen mopeds. But as in all things, we must learn to seek out the simple comforts that nature offers. What is hidden suddenly reveals itself, the elusive wonder of nature poking its head out from between the debris of urban degradation.

So the great dichotomy of the fly continues, the simple life of simple unadorned pleasures, pursued with the aid of kit and equipment that are often stunning examples of the machinists craft, and jaw-droppingly expensive. See:

Some go to church and think about fishing, others go fishing and think about God.

- Tony Blake

Scholars have long known that fishing eventually turns men into philosophers. Unfortunately, it is almost impossible to buy decent tackle on a philosopher's salary.

- Patrick F. McManus

If we carry purism to it's logical conclusion, to do it right you'd have to live naked in a cave, hit your trout on the head with rocks, and eat them raw. But, so as not to violate another essential element of the fly-fishing tradition, the rocks would have to be quarried in England and cost $300 each.

- John Gierach

See?

All this kit reviewing is getting in the way of buying food so I'm delighted to tell you that this post is supported by boaterexam.com which in my book makes them very very nice people. If you're in Canada and have a boat it's now mandatory to have a ticket to show you're taking the whole health and safety thing seriously, conveniently you can now take your Boating licence online, so you don't have to take a day off from working like a dog to afford that new reel!

See you out there, I'm the one in the silly VERY COOL hat

Your pal

SBW

New Zealand Earthquake and Mrs BoB

I don't know if you've seen this mornings news but an earthquake has hit New Zealand's south island.
Power is out, sanitation is out, the domestic gas supply is unsafe, water is out, and at least 65 people are reported dead, hundreds are trapped and the city is in turmoil. BoB (Brother of bushwacker) lives pretty close to the epicentre in the south islands capital Christchurch.  BoB, Mrs BoB and the small BoB's are safe.

I just wanted to tell you how proud of Mrs BoB I am, she was right in the middle of the city and being properly trained in First Aid was one of the first people on the scene and rescued several people from one of the crushed buses.

On a lighter note MoB (our mum) called to tell me that BoB was already in the garden setting up a trap to collect rainwater and I quote

"He's like Ray feckin' Mears that brother"

Thanks for reading
SBW
PS If you'd like to leave a message for them in the comments - I'm sure they'd be delighted to hear from you - just sayin' 'sall.

How to Buy an Outdoor Knife By George

"Made with infinite care by our most expert old craftsmen, 

and 'actually made far better than is necessary.” 

It is a well known fact [ a favorite Herter-ism ] that 'How to Buy an Outdoor Knife' is one of the most searched for tips amongst outdoorsman, bloggers, gear junkies and kit tarts. With nearly every outdoor commentator or writer chipping in their opinion - usually with a view to selling you one, and that legend of outdoor self promotion, and mail order sales, George Herter was no exception. He dished out all kinds of advice over the years, usually in the 'self published' vein. All delivered in a writing style best described as 'Barking'. Classic stuff.

How to Buy an Outdoor Knife by George Leonard Herter

An outdoor knife must be made for service--not show. Your life may depend on it. Real outdoor people realize that so-called sportsmen or outdoor knives have long been made for sale, not for use. The movies and television show their characters wearing fancy sheath knives. Knife makers advertised them and drugstore outdoorsmen bought them. Nothing marks a man to be a tenderfoot more than these showy useless knives.

Here are some of the duties a true woodsman knife must perform:

1. The knife must stay sharp for long periods of time without sharpening. The steel should combine the best characteristics of electric furnace quality high carbon 1095 steel and high carbon 440 B stainless steel. The blade hardness, known among steel experts as 56 Rockwell C, should not be affected by atmospheric moisture, salt spray, fruit acids or blood. It should withstand extreme temperatures without becoming brittle, no matter how cold it may be. A good steel knife blade will "blue" or darken itself with use, making it pratically rustproof. If knife blade steel is really good, it will cut through nails without bending over the edge.

SBW 56 Rockwell is a bit soft if you're wanting a knife that 'must stay sharp for long periods of time without sharpening'.  440 isn't that good by today's standards

2. The knife must be shaped so it is ideal for cleaning and skinning game of all kinds, from rabbits to moose. The best shape for this is the improved Bowie.

SBW Apparently you had to have one of these to be a "real" outdoorsman. Other knives were just for novices and often as not “like they were made by indifferent schoolgirls.”

3. The knife must have a handle long enough so that it fits a man's hand so pressure can be put on the blade when desired. On nearly all outdoor knives the handles are much too short. The handle of the knife must be made to last a lifetime. Leather handles rot and mildew, stag handles crack, plastic handles crack and are highly flammable. African mineral-type woods are best, and they will stand all kinds of weather for a lifetime and more. 

SBW I guess plastics have moved on a bit

4. The blade of the knife must not be hollow ground. Hollow grinding weakens a blade so that the edge will bend or break under heavy usage. A wedge edge is the strongest and most durable ever designed. 

SBW No George that would be the convex edge. More metal behind the cutting edge init.

5. The blade of the knife must be hand forged in order to give the steel maximum strength and hardness.

SBW I guess steels have moved on a bit too

6. The blade of the knife must not have a blood groove. A blood groove is strictly advertising and badly weakens the blade. Professional butchers do not use them.

SBW I make you right.

7. The knife must be easy to carry and light in weight. The blade length must be 4 inches long. Four inches is the length established for a woodsman knife by over 200 years of experience. Blades shorter are all right for Boy Scouts, but not for serious woodsmen, Longer than 4 inches is unnecessary and adds weight. 

SBW apart from the one you're selling eh George!

8. The knife should have no hilt as it only adds weight. If the knife blade is properly designed, that is slightly indented, you cannot cut your finger no matter how hard you thrust. You need only thrust in a hand to hand combat with a man or a wounded animal. 

SBW But it's ok if the fight doesn't work out, because as george has reasured us

"Most people don't realize that being eaten by a hyena doesn't hurt very much".

From The Truth About Hunting in Today's Africa (1963)


9. The knife must be capable of slicing bacon and cutting bread. It must be a comfortable knife for eating and cutting cooked meat.

SBW If you've run out of cash for new knives, not to worry Mr Herter also published
“Milking Scorpions Brings You $150 or More a Week.” Please post a video of your attempts!


More soonish
SBW

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/07/books/review/Collins-t.html?_r=1

http://www4.gvsu.edu/triert/cache/articles/articles.htm

http://thedossiers.net/george-leonard-herter/

Aim Low

Bored and tired SBW entered the 'Silly Pictures' period of his blog in early 2011, results have been 'mixed' to say the least.

SBW

Blogs Of Note And Adult Onset Hunting

Tovar has helpfully outlined a list of my symptoms and come to a diagnosis. You can read the whole post here.

Adult Onset Hunting Know The Signs

When fully developed, the primary symptoms of Adult Onset Hunting are unmistakable: an otherwise normal, heretofore-non-hunting adult repeatedly goes to woods, fields, or marshes with a deadly implement in hand, intent on killing a wild animal.

Other potential symptoms include (1) a feeling of connection to nature, to one’s food, and to one’s hunter-gatherer ancestors, and (2) a re-calibration of one’s beliefs about hunting. Previous beliefs may suffer from atrophy, seizures, and even death, especially when an anti-hunter contracts AOH.

Knowing the early warning signs may protect you or a loved one from the worst effects. These early signs include:

• Excessive reading about the production of industrial food, especially factory meat. 
• Esophageal spasms upon learning that the average pound of supermarket ground chuck contains meat from several dozen animals slaughtered in five different states. 
• Sudden bouts of wondering why the local food co-op—with its cooler full of local, organic, free-range meats—doesn’t sell hunting licenses. 
• Compulsive eating of “real food” purchased directly from farmers. 
• Recurrent realizations that farmers are killing deer and woodchucks to keep organic greens on your plate. 
• Impaired ability to find meaning in chicken nuggets or tofu dogs. 
• Insistence on a literal reading of Woody Allen’s dictum “Nature is like an enormous restaurant.” 
• An uncharacteristic compulsion to initiate dinner conversation about firearms. 
• Impaired ability to see humans as separate from the rest of nature. 
• Repeated contact with real, live hunters (experts suspect that AOH is highly contagious, though transmission mechanisms are not yet fully understood). 

My Name's SBW And I Have AOH - I've recorded some of the outbreaks to help other sufferers 

My best friend kills himself, his brother and I hunt a deer, and I start writing a blog

RGN “ I know you spoke about this with Stuart, and I’d be honoured if you allow me to take you both deer hunting”

Mrs RGN “ No! This is your obsession! They don’t want to hunt!”

TNM and SBW “We’d love to!”

SBW “I’m not sure we’ve got the right gear though”

TNM “won’t we need camouflage clothes?”

RGN “you wont need anything special, this is gentleman’s hunting, dress warm I’ll pick you up in the morning”

A Nice Chap Who Writes A Hunting Magazine Teaches Me About Hunting Rabbits With Ferrets

Sunday morning dawned cold and transport-less, so I dressed up in a base layer of nylon sportswear, hoping the static generated would act as on-board central heating, with a layer of cotton work wear on top to keep out the thorns. I chose a bag that I'd be able to hose down if I needed to and said goodbye to the kids. As I was leaving the house I could hear Mrs SBW sniggering and singing Simon and Garfunkel's well known ode to successful rabbit hunting
'Bright eyes, Burning like fire. Bright eyes,How can you close the pain. How can the light that burned so brightly Suddenly burn so pale? Bright eyes.'
After three changes of train due to engineering works I was finally on my way to meet James for a spot of old-school rabbit hunting. With Ferrets.

The Deer Take US By Surprise!

We crept into the woods and were rewarded with a sighting almost strait away, cunningly the deer had silhouetted themselves against someone's farmhouse. No safe backstop - no shot. We stalked on, creeping down the pathways between the trees, after a long slow walk

BB - "think of it as armed rambling" we had worked our way around our half of the wood and met up with the others - they'd seen a highly shootable buck, but it had given them the slip. We split up again and with the chaps walking up into the part of the woods we'd just left. Then We Were Bushwhacked!

In Search Of Tree Rabbits (AKA Squirrels)

A flicker of movement ahead and to the right revealed our quarry, munching on a nut at the base of an Oak. I twisted so my body would obscure my hand signal to TNM. The squirrel froze, and did a very good job of disappearing into the leaf litter. I shouldered the air rifle and realized just in time that the scope was set on too higher level of magnification. Finding a grey camouflaged thing against a backdrop of leaf and shadow wasn’t that easy. The cross hairs danced over his shoulder and as I should have been at my stillest my squeeze of the trigger must have pulled the muzzle to the right. The squirrel jumped four of five feet to the left; I worked the bolt back and forward and sent a perfectly aimed puff of air towards him. Sadly the puff of air wasn’t pushing a pellet.

It appears I'm not the only one exhibiting symptoms. 

Here recent dad Will Stitch gives us an insighnt into the experimental stage of AOH

Our last armed hike at the Geysers almost lead to some kills, but the kills would have been due to hypothermia and would have been us, not pigs. It was on that windy rainy near-death experience that we realized how tricky these animals are. We found a fresh pig hoof-print that day. In the middle of a huge muddy puddle. There were no other prints nearby. None. How is that even possible?! The pigs were taunting us.

We decided we needed to step up our game. If the pigs are going to use ninjitsu on us – flying around magically and leaping huge distances – we need to study their craft and train to be ninjas ourselves. Bingels and I aren’t exactly ninja material, but we have an ex-Marine on our team who was gifted a compound bow from his dad. Plus he has a boat! Everyone knows that ninjas use bows and travel by boat. Oh it was on. 

You can read the whole story here

Further news of the outbreak has reached us from The Bumbling Bushman

Warren is elected to take the shot, for which the rest of us should all be thankful for. As we pull up, Mr. X hands Warren his favorite 30-06 and points to the porker - 200 yards out in the field. Video cameras are deployed for posterity and there stands sleep-deprived Warren, with a bloodthirsty audience breathing down his neck, an unfamiliar rifle, two cups of coffee coursing through his veins and the prospect of the furthest shot he's ever attempted. It doesn't go well. There is a problem with the gun. Warren can't figure out how to chamber a round into the chute. He looks back at the crowd for guidance, gets it, and pushes the receiver button. "SCHWANNNNG" The pig looks up for the first time, sees his would-be executioners and decides life might be better somewhere over in Nassau County. I have never seen a pig run so fast.  It is the only pig we see all morning.
Part 1 and Part 2

More soon

Your pal

The Suburban Bushwacker