Shooting Times & Country Magazine
Watching a fairway show
During lockdown, Burghley Park became a stage for wildlife. Jamie Tusting watched in wonder
It wasn’t long after we had finished building our new deck and lowering the adjacent stone wall that the golf course we live next to closed its doors temporarily. Cynthia and I spent many evenings sitting on the deck with a gin and tonic in hand, watching the wildlife reclaim what was once theirs.
The rabbits arrived first, followed closely by the foxes. As the light faded each evening, we would see a vixen follow the same route up through the trees on the 12th fairway and explore different areas in search of some supper. The muntjac were the next to venture out onto the calm grass of the golf course, grazing contently now the general hum of golfers had subsided.
This re-colonisation was watched over by the kestrels, buzzards and kites ever present in the skies above. The last to arrive, and perhaps fashionably late, was a magnificent roe buck. Each evening, he would come sauntering down the ride through the woods and strut boldly out onto the course. It was his stage and he revelled in the limelight, often coming close up to the deck from where we watched on, as though we were looking down on a dancer from the gods at the Royal Opera House.
Sadly, however, as the weeks wore on, and perhaps like any ballet dancer after a long run of performances, his condition began to fade and after a while we saw him hobbling out onto the course; a sad fall from the rather triumphant march of a few weeks previously. After some time, he stopped coming out at all and our hearts sank. The rabbits and the fox, the muntjac and the birds seemed to continue their roles without noticing the absence of their lead performer.
Fore!
In time, the golf course reopened and the wildlife relinquished its stage and retreated back to the woods. The golfers, pleased to be back out and playing again, were oblivious to the fact that, for a couple of months, they had given over their club to a whole host of amazing animals.
May rolled into June and the sunny weather hesitated momentarily,
10 minutes, a muntjac buck came grazing up the side of the brambles and into an area of recently thinned woodland. The clear open space this provided caused the muntjac to check, listening in turn for anything that might cause it alarm. We stood motionless and silent. The muntjac stepped forward and looked up, allowing Harry a clean shot, which he took swiftly and the buck fell.
Harry gralloched it neatly and we hung it in a young beech tree close to the track, ready to collect later in the evening. It was a good size and would be perfect for the freezer; clearly it had fed well on many of the young saplings and trees across the park.
The drizzle continued as we set off again. Although we were in
Cambridgeshire, it felt like we could have been deep into Scotland; the sweet smell of the bracken, standing tall amongst the larch trees, and the bright purple rhododendron flowers just beginning to fade. The water dripping down the back of my neck added that extra Scottish feeling.
“She came towards us like a freight train, her full summer coat glistening”
We stopped again in a much more open area, where the understorey had been given enough light to grow, providing what felt like a great habitat for deer. With our backs to a dark-green rhododendron, we set the sticks up and I rested gently on them with the rifle. We stood quietly for a moment, listening contently to the sound of the rain on the leaves around us. Harry squeaked on a deer call and that was all it took to bring a doe out of the undergrowth. She came towards us like a freight train, her full summer coat glistening in all its glory. She was splendid. Stopping to sniff the air, she sensed us and turned, putting in a giant leap over a ditch before ducking under some lonicera and disappearing. We tried to call her back just to get another glimpse of her, but she was having none of it.
It was almost as though he knew we were there. This accomplished performer had an audience and was happy to give us a show. He came to within 25 metres of us, not stopping for a second. With a final toss of his head and what I could have sworn was a bow, he ducked back into the woodland; exit stage left.
Heightened senses
Stalking for me isn’t about pulling the trigger but about feeling connected with nature in a way that you can’t experience by simply going for a walk.
Your senses are heightened and you become so much more aware of your surroundings. Like going to the ballet, you are soon absorbed in what is on the stage in front of you, marvelling at the majesty of it all. This handsome roe buck had clearly picked up something or injured himself, hastening his decline into a hobbling and rather frail old boy. But seeing him on show again, he had recovered remarkably well and was looking stronger. I had a strange feeling as we called it a night and went to collect the muntjac from earlier in the evening. On reflection, I think it was perhaps a sense of pride.
It seemed like a swansong from a former great – reminding me of the adage that form is temporary but class is forever.