Shooting Times & Country Magazine
Severn wonders on a foreshore foray
With a promising November session in his sights, George Downing and his fellow fowler take a trip to the banks of the Bristol Channel
The forecast looked too good to miss. With winds in excess of 40mph and scattered showers due to hit the south-west, it promised to be prime fowling weather. November was also finally here, bringing with it the bulk of our winter migrants. Good numbers of wigeon and mallard had been reported recently and there was always the chance of a Canada goose, or even an elusive whitefronted goose. The scene was set for a foray on to the foreshore.
It had also been too long since my good friend Luke Weaver and I had last ventured out for a flight on the Severn. We were both members of Gloucestershire Wildfowling and Conservation Association when we crossed paths at a club gathering five years ago. A wildfowling club is a great place to find like-minded company if you are looking to take your first steps in the sport. Most wildfowling clubs welcome new members and typically run mentoring schemes in order to provide a safe start for newcomers to begin their fowling careers. It was at one such event that Luke and I had met, and we quickly struck up a rapport around our shared passion for hunting.
The windscreen wipers fought to clear a view through the streaking rain as I navigated the last winding single-track lane leading towards the estuary. Arriving at the farmyard that sits tucked under the embanked sea wall, I parked up beside the two vehicles already there. After exchanging a handshake and a grin with Luke, I turned to welcome
Brad, the photographer, who was looking slightly apprehensive at the photographic conditions he was about to face. “So is this good weather for the ducks?” Brad asked. “It’s better for the fowlers, really,” I explained. With the strong winds due to continue into the evening, any ducks moving at last light would have to fly low to escape the worst of the storm, hopefully putting them in range and affording us a decent chance.
A strong ebb tide
Another bank of swollen rain clouds drew closer, darkening the afternoon sky further as we donned waders, shouldered gun slips and began an eager hike up the embankment. Cresting the ridge, our two labradors, Peppa and Wigeon, cantered down to the shoreline, flushing four redshank that shrieked away in alarm. Below us, a strong ebb tide drained inexorably into the Bristol Channel but the driving south-westerlies were fighting it all the way. Whipped white crests topped churning earthy waves in the centre of the river, but the margins provided some shelter from the worst of the strong winds and tidal current.
Our destination was a stretch of marsh half a mile away. At the
highest part it comprises a narrow strip of grazed saltmarsh that gradually crumbles away on to the heavily scoured bedrock of the river Severn. The plan was to sit out on the saltmarsh during daylight, on the off chance of birds flighting the water’s edge, before pushing out on to the stony flats, which would start to be exposed at last light when we hoped a few ducks might start to move.
Scores of mallard
We made our way along the path atop the sea wall, pushing off a pair of mallard that rose from the loose rocks along the shoreline ahead. This was shortly followed by a group of four mallard, again peeling away from the rocky tide’s edge and out into the estuary. Stopping for a moment, we squinted into the driving rain. The rocks on the tide’s edge were not rocks, but in fact scores of mallard tucked close to the sea wall, exploiting its shelter. Around 60 mallard lifted in total and began tacking back and forth downstream against the wind. We watched as a small bunch peeled away from the pack and disappeared rapidly upriver with the wind at their backs. Wildfowl flying with the wind behind them like this are some of the hardest quarry for even the most experienced Shot. We pressed on however, since there was still a few hundred metres to go before we reached the club-leased marsh
“Wildfowl with the wind behind them like this are some of the hardest quarry”
where our shooting permission began. Nevertheless, it was an auspicious start and our spirits were high and undampened, despite the prevailing conditions.
We arrived at our spot, and Luke began making a simple hide for the three of us. I set to work putting out a rig of four wigeon decoys nearby on the tide’s edge. With a fishing weight at one end and a spool of line on the other, this set-up is not complicated and, crucially, can be easily carried and deployed with minimal fuss. Despite the decoys, my hopes were not high for a chance at a duck before last light. It would probably have been better to intercept them flying in to graze the fringes of the saltmarsh at high water. More likely was the prospect of a skein passing us as they hand-railed the water’s edge in transit up or down the river en route from their daytime feeding to night-time roosting ground.
I loaded my trusty Beretta
Xtrema 2 with some 42g No 1 steel in anticipation of the latter. I also switched out the open choke for something a little tighter. I typically opt for a tighter choke and heavier load when fowling next to strong tidal flows. I would rather see a cleanly shot dead bird floating on the water which my dog can pick easily than having dog and duck racing each other out to sea. In this sort of environment, understanding the capabilities of your dog is a crucial factor. Fortunately, with my veteran dog Wigeon by my side, I had little to worry about.
We watched quietly from our hide as rafts of waterborne mallard drifted past out of range on the strengthening ebb tide, but there had scarce been any quarry seen on the wing as the daylight began to fade. The
dropping tide was now fast exposing shelves of ruddy-coloured bedrock, leaving little prospect of any ducks coming to us in our newly elevated position. We readied ourselves for the evening flight by packing away decoys and collapsing our hide. A pocket-full of cartridges, gun and dog were all that would be required from here on. I find that travelling light and moving often is key to success at dusk, especially when the tideline is also moving, since birds often prefer to fly close to the water’s edge.
A shooting chance
Scanning the dim horizon while slunk on a stony outcrop, I glimpsed a dark smudge sweeping low over the water well upwind of us. Despite the distance, I felt sure this was a skein of geese. I hurriedly pushed a little further out to join Luke, who was tucked in on the front edge of the retreating tide. We hunkered ourselves down into a patch of bladderwrack as the small party of maybe a dozen Canada geese bore down on our position. Within seconds they were on us and then gone, disappearing rapidly and silently into the gloom. Too far out this time. Perhaps 80 yards closer and there would have been a chance. Moments later, a pair of mallard skipped over the sea wall behind us. Evening flight had begun.
We split up and moved even further out on to a new section of broken foreshore to wait out the critical final moments of the flight. The wind and stinging rain made it hard to look downriver for more than a second, so naturally this was the direction a pack of four mallard chose to approach me. The first I saw of them was their departing silhouettes fading fast into the shadows with the wind at their tails. I saluted their retreat ineffectively with a single shot.
In almost total darkness, I staked my final hope on a slower-moving chance coming from downwind, which I might more easily convert. I felt my luck turn with the appearance of a mallard tacking its way steadily towards my position, but it was not to be. A single shot rang out to my right as an unseen pack of duck passed Luke. The lone mallard veered away sliding silently across the shrouded estuary and into the night.
Empty gamebags
Luke’s only chance had unfortunately also eluded him, so it was with empty gamebags that we met up and made our way to the sea wall to then head homewards. The birds had been present, much as we had hoped, but we had not quite managed to put anything on the table. At the vehicles we said our farewells and chewed over a plan to get back out again with strengthened resolve. Success is seldom assured when it comes to wildfowling, but if you enjoy pitting your wits against truly wild quarry in their own backyard, it takes some beating.
“The first I saw of them was their departing silhouettes fading fast into the shadows”