Precious memories from the moor
Nick Ridley reminisces about some wonderful times with his dogs and friends on the moors of Cumbria and Yorkshire
Iam a man of simple means. I do not live a luxurious lifestyle. I am certainly not rich in cash terms, but I am happy and content for most of the time. I feel hugely privileged and extremely lucky to be able to visit some of the most stunning and tranquil locations in the UK.
Each year, I try to make as many trips to the north of England as I can. In fact, I need little excuse to do battle with the never-ending road works on the M6 to reach the moors and fells of Cumbria and North Yorkshire. For many shooters, having the opportunity of engaging with a pack of grouse screaming over stone-built butts is the ultimate challenge. Most will only see a grouse moor in its stunning glory dressed in swathes of pink heather; however, over the years, I have been lucky enough to experience this very special landscape at various times of the year.
As well-informed people will know, a grouse moor is not only home to the king of gamebirds, but also a huge variety of other sporting species. Many years ago, I had the opportunity to shoot a few head of mountain hare high up on a Scottish hillside. My cocker Harry (who is now 13 years old) was with me, and it was a chance that I knew probably wouldn’t ever be presented to me again.
In the end, I only shot one hare and ended up just standing and taking in the breathtaking scenery and listening to the grouse calling across the moor. Regular readers will also know of my frequent and most favourite trips to the Cumbrian fells when I head up to work the dogs and hopefully shoot a few rabbits. Rabbits abound on grouse moors and cause untold damage. As well as shooting, there are intense efforts to trap them in an effort to reduce numbers.
Grouse counts
Getting ready for the Glorious Twelfth involves a huge amount of year-round work, and in June and July teams of gamekeepers, dog handlers and willing helpers head out across the moors undertaking grouse counts. Take it from someone who has done a couple of grouse counts, they are hard work, especially if you come from the flat lands of southern England.
The basic idea is that the team covers an area that has been traditionally counted over many previous years, and each time a covey is flushed a count is made of the adults and of the current year’s chicks. The keeper can then make a calculation of the approximate density of the grouse population over the moor. Then, depending on numbers, a decision can be made as to whether the moor can be shot and how many days may be available.
I have never been beating on a grouse day, and I take my cap off to all those who partake in that particular pastime; it is really tough. A heather moor in the height of summer is an inhospitable place with dense clouds of pollen, the sun beating down with no shade and strength-sapping ground to walk over. Move on a few weeks and it can
“For many, doing battle with a pack of grouse screaming over stone-built butts is the ultimate challenge”
be totally different. There are high winds, thick fog, and torrential rain. In fact, I have experienced all of these weather conditions on the same day.
Last year, I managed a trip in between lockdowns to help out picking-up on a driven grouse day and we walked miles, sweeping back and forth behind and in front of the butts. In truth, most of the birds had already been picked by the incoming beating line, but we managed to find a few birds and that made the experience worth the effort.
On my bucket list is to one day enjoy a small driven grouse day, and up until a few years ago, I had never even had the chance to pull the trigger on one. A good friend had a chat with an accommodating gamekeeper and got permission for me to shoot a grouse while out training the dogs on rabbits. To say I was excited is truly an understatement; however, I was not feeling on top form and it proved to be a very testing day.
Without going into detail, I had been suffering from a bad stomach and I was pretty well wiped out. I was struggling to hit a fleeing bunny let alone a grouse taking to the wing over the heather and limestone landscape. To make matters slightly more challenging, the wind was extremely strong and as soon as any bird lifted and opened its wings, it was whisked away at a breakneck speed.
I missed quite a few and was gradually becoming more frustrated as we were running out of time when Ted flushed a single cock grouse from a small, insignificant patch of heather. I managed to mount the gun and pull the trigger before the bird got carried away on the ever-increasing wind and, to my utter amazement and joy, it tumbled to the ground. The dog had stopped perfectly to the flush, and I sent him out for the retrieve. It was a memorable first for both of us, as the dog had never retrieved a grouse and I had achieved a long-cherished ambition.