Shooting Times & Country Magazine
From cornfields to a Scottish snowscape
Every year, a US hunter brings a team of Guns across the pond to enjoy the challenging birds Scotland can offer. Matt Cross joins them
Mike Kuchera was unfazed by the weather: “We have Canadians shooting today, they will be fine. If we had guys from Florida or Alabama it might be different but Canadians are used to this.” Outside the windows of the luxurious Trump Turnberry the snow was coming down horizontally. The frozen edge of a winter storm was hitting the coast of Ayrshire and Mike’s team of Guns were getting ready to head out into it.
As the owner of Mike Kuchera’s SD Guide Service Inc, his usual hunting ground is the farming country around Mitchell, South Dakota. But for two weeks a year Mike trades his semiautomatic and blaze orange for tweed and an over-and-under and brings parties to Scotland.
I followed the convoy of Land Rovers down the hotel’s sweeping drive and up the coast road to the old Culzean kennels, now converted to a comfortable base for the Cassillis & Culzean estates’ shooting operation.
Foxes and woodcock
Headkeeper Tommy Johnston gave the welcome, safety talk and instructions for the day. Ground game was out except foxes, which could be shot if safe. Woodcock had been given a break this season but, considering how far the Guns had travelled, they could shoot a woodcock if they wanted to. With the Guns prepared, we headed to our first drive.
The tarmac roads steadily gave way to estate tracks and finally the convoy pulled up deep in a wood. For Guns accustomed to shooting in the cornfields of the Midwest, this was an alien experience. Tommy and his pickersup put the Guns on to pegs through a woodland ride and out on to a barley stubble and we waited for the drive to begin.
For a few minutes the wind tore a hole in the thick, low cloud and
Arran’s snow-capped hills shone clear across the Firth of
Clyde. But before the beaters came into
“Woodcock had been given a break but, considering how far the Guns had travelled, they could shoot one”
earshot, the clouds closed in again and Arran disappeared.
A couple of pegs to my left, David Frattaroli, the sole American, was waiting for his first taste of driven shooting. Like most of the other Guns, David was experienced in the walking-blocking method of shooting favoured by American pheasant hunters, where a curved line of walking Guns push birds towards a static line of blocking Guns. But the high, fast birds of a Scottish driven shoot were new to him.
The first few shots came from the Guns on the woodland ride and it was a few minutes before the birds began to come over the stubble. The tall trees pushed them up and a strong westerly wind brought them over fast. In the wood a well-drilled beating line was putting birds out in sharp flushes. They were challenging but the Guns were up to the task. David, accompanied by loader Sam, was tumbling birds and pickers-up were busy.
The Scottish side of Mike’s operation is run by sporting agent and shooting coach Andrew Case. The first day of the trip had been on his clay ground at Forrest estate near Dalry and the time devoted to the driven targets had clearly been well spent.
As the weather worsened, we headed to our second drive. “It’s not many people can claim that they have shot pheasants in the dark,” Tommy joked as thick, grey snow clouds filled the sky.
It was distinctly gloomy as I joined Mike’s wife Debra behind Mike’s peg. Behind us on the banking of the old Maidens and Dunure railway the pickers-up took position. Debra works as the sole dog handler for 20 Guns on Mike’s hunts. People who like dogs will always find common ground and we were soon discussing the different styles of dog work. Debra has recently imported a cocker spaniel to join her team of Labradors and pointers and, as a cocker man myself, I applauded her good taste.
Fine snap shooter
Mike was bouncing from foot to foot on his peg. Unhappy with his performance on the first drive, he was keen to put his Winchester Model 101 to work. Mike’s stance, with feet wide and square, had something unmistakably Western about it, but he made it work. As the birds came in, Mike and neighbour Jim Saunders quickly got among them. Jim’s style may have been more classic but Mike was showing himself to be a very fine snap shooter and few made it past them.
As the bag steadily built we moved on to the Heather Belt. The wind was blowing hard from the west so Tommy had decided to reverse the way he usually did the drive. The Guns were split either side of a narrow country road. I Joined the bulk of the Guns on a barley stubble. It was a decision I was to regret as the icy wind sliced in from the sea.
The Guns nearer the wood may have had more shelter, but those on the field had the bulk of the shooting. The birds came from the bottom corner of a conifer wood and, with the wind behind them, they flew with incredible speed. This was truly challenging shooting, but on the hedgeline one of the visitors was dropping birds with a neat precision that impressed the seasoned pickerup behind him. “Well, that boy did a tidy job,” he remarked at the end of the drive. By New World standards it was scarcely a compliment, but from a Scot it was high praise indeed.
Walking back to the cars I fell in with Mike Mannas, a tall, bearded Canadian and a repeat visitor to
Scotland. He had been out of the shooting on that drive, but was delighted nonetheless with the sight of a woodcock, the first he had seen in Scotland. It seemed to offer him a shot before dipping low and, mindful of the beaters in the wood, he left it.
As the birds were brought in at the end of the drive, one of the Guns caught sight of a hen and made a goodhumoured demand to know who had shot a female and if the $50 fine had been paid. Every October Andrew travels to work alongside Mike in South Dakota guiding clients and teaching shooting. There, most of the pheasants are wild birds and shooting females is strictly taboo. Only “roosters”, as they call cock birds, are considered to be fair game. The opportunity to shoot any bird that offers a shot and the lack of the three birds per hunter or 60 birds for the party limits, which restrict hunters in South Dakota, are part of what brings Mike and his Guns back to Scotland.
“The birds came from the bottom corner of a wood and, with the wind behind them, they flew with incredible speed”
Adventure
Our last drive before lunch was marked not only by high birds going hard, but also by the adventure of reaching it. Deep dips on the track had flooded and the vehicles’ capabilities were thoroughly tested ploughing through the water. It is rare I worry that a Land Rover may not make it but as we drove into deeper and deeper water I had my doubts. Eventually, though, we powered through and arrived at the drive. Again,
a well-disciplined
beating line pulsed birds out of the woods and they presented challenging targets. Alberta oil man Doug Ramsay put on a fine display, including a right-and-left that felled first a cock in front then a hen safely behind. By the time the horn went there was not much room in the bag.
Lunch was served back at the kennels and hot soup, good food and a little wine helped to warm up the damp Guns. The formality of Scottish pheasant shooting is not something that is part of American shooting culture; wearing a tie, being addressed by your surname and being served a sit-down meal by staff would not be typical. But the tradition is as much part of the draw of Scotland as a shooting destination as the high birds and the striking scenery.
Unpredictable
After lunch Tommy took us to the best drive yet. The Rancleuch Glen — known to pickers-up and beaters simply as the Ranka — is a long, narrow steep-sided glen clothed in mature deciduous trees. The Guns were spaced up both sides and the beaters pushed down from the top. The birds were stunning. They came off the glen, high, fast and totally unpredictable. There were singles, twos, threes and sudden big flushes. There wasn’t a bad peg on the drive and everyone was busy.
A couple of days later, Mike’s team came to a nearby shoot where I was beating. They had none of the British reserve in expressing their delight in their visit and no stuffiness about talking to beaters. Recognising me from earlier in the week, they were keen to talk about that day. Scotland had proved yet again it can provide sport worth crossing the Atlantic for.
Follow Matt on Twitter @wildforest_matt