Shooting Times & Country Magazine
Serious matters
Maybe we should check our sporting privilege
It is more than three decades ago this week that I shot my first grouse. It was on a moor in Perthshire and it was not until several years later that realised how lucky I was to have been there. There is much talk these days about considering one’s privileges and with every passing season I become ever more grateful for the invitations received and the experiences that have flowed from them.
My first grouse was a case in point. The father of a friend was invited to walk-up a few brace on a pal’s bit of moor. “Bring the boys if they’re about,” suggested this kind and generous host. Well, one of the boys was about and I was staying in the vicinity so I got parcelled in for the adventure.
Just like that.
We met outside a sporting-looking house and decanted with our gear into an elderly Land Rover that trundled us up the hill to where a keeper met us with a couple of his friends who were his regular dog team. We were six Guns in all: two from the senior generation and four eager youngsters, so with the keeper’s crew we lined out nine. I remember the briefing we were given almost word for word. Keep in line, take it steady, stop as soon as there is a shot. Mark the fallen — if any — pick up any empty cases, reload and on the signal move steadily up to the mark. “There’s a few birds about and the cheepers tend to break first, so where there’s one, there is often another!” Anything breaking back could be taken but choose your shots because picking-up behind takes more time than collecting birds as we move ahead.
And woe betide anyone seen swinging through the line. Untold disgrace and immediate dismissal from the line awaited any offender. “All set? Forward then, gentlemen, please!”
It was sunny and we were in breeches and shirtsleeves. The heather stretched away into the distance and though it rolled somewhat like a rucked up carpet it was not steep and the going was straightforward. By the standards of some of the moors I have walked-up since, it was much like ambling across a cricket pitch. It was, I came to recognise with experience, an absolute jewel. Beautifully positioned atop the hill, beautifully kept with a patchwork
“Perhaps there will come a day when picking-up a grouse won’t thrill me”
of heather growth and home to a healthy population of beautiful grouse.
Fortunately, I was not the first to come to terms with the birds, so I had a valuable opportunity to watch how others dealt with matters. A cry of, “bird! bird!”, a shot or two. Or three or four. A pause while we all tried to mark the downed birds. “Onward then!” And a couple of paces later, more action. Moving up to collect those birds, another covey bursts from the heather and there is more shooting. And so it goes.
Unforgettable
I could give you a blow-by-blow of my first grouse — I can see it clearly enough even now — but no mere description can convey the excitement of that moment when a handful of grouse explode out of the heather almost under your feet. Or the profound, essential joy, as one, or even two, cartwheel into the heather up ahead.
Or the dizzy delight as you come up to them lying side-by-side and, feigning a casual familiarity, slip them finally into the game bag.
It is an experience that never palls. At least, I hope it never does. Perhaps there will come a day when picking-up a grouse won’t thrill me to my very core, in which case I hope I have the good sense to hand my gun to someone who will be properly delighted before turning for home.
Utterly wonderful!
Do you agree with Giles? Let us know via Stletters@futurenet.com
Giles Catchpole is a freelance journalist as well as a keen Shot and angler, and he has written several humorous sporting books
We were about to start the harvest in South Ayrshire when I got my hands on the new Zeiss DTC 3/38. I planned to use it for fox control on the stubbles around Garryloop, but as my new toy arrived the day before I was due to travel south for some stalking, I decided to try it on English vulpine instead.
When I contacted the estate keeper, to let him know my ETA, he informed me that foxes were not the issue. Rather, he was having a problem controlling deer in the formal gardens, where deer numbers had exploded during lockdown.
The damage was becoming serious, he reported, and the culprits were mostly muntjac. As the gardens were dissected by a maze of well-trodden footpaths, the keeper had found that the most productive time to operate was the period just before dark, when the footfall was lowest and disturbance at a minimum.
Testing conditions
However, in this time frame, culling opportunities were limited. Muntjac, like most deer, are most active around dawn and dusk and don’t stand still for long. They are always scurrying about. Their movement is challenging enough without the added problem of dense, low-growing cover and low light. These are far from ideal conditions but exactly the sort of opportunity for a thermal scope to liven things up a little bit. Let me be clear, though: this was not stalking for sporting purposes. I do that with a day scope and will continue to do so. Deer, for me, are a sporting quarry and should be respected as such. This outing was purely for population control — the estate owner required action as soon as possible.
Nevertheless, it was the perfect opportunity to validate Zeiss’s claim that the DTC range provides a clear enough image to allow positive identification of the target species. Most of the handheld (and clip-on) devices I have used do not offer a sufficiently clear image and require confirmation with the binoculars. I was hoping to avoid the use of glass on this occasion.
Stalking with a thermal scope is not something I could do north of