Wet sheep, no wine

Climate change hasn’t yet turned boggy meadows into Mediterranean terraces – but it has put the wind up the pigeon, says Editor Jonathan Young

FLOWER shows can be bloomin’ disappointing. The veg section is usually all right (who doesn’t like an outrageous parsnip?), and I’m intrigued by the predatory nature of carnivorous plants; but all those perfect roses and petunias remind me of failure, the wasteland of weeds that purports to be our herbaceous border.

Yet I was intrigued by a theme running through the Chelsea Flower Show some years ago addressing the drought that would surely come with global warming. Our gardens would have to adapt to the dry and our planting become more Mediterranean, thyme and rosemary to the fore with perhaps a suggestion of cacti and grape vines. My few acres of chalkland would no longer be grazed by a scattering of sheep but support groaning rows of merlot, cabernet sauvignon and cabernet franc grapes ready to be trodden into Château Young.

Somehow, it’s turned out differently. Global warming round here hasn’t produced the bikinis-and-sunglasses weather anticipated but only wind and sog. The winterbourne now hurtles through the pastures and every walk ends with two sealyhams smothered in mud. The Chelsea Show pundits seem to have been mistaken: marshy mosses seem to do best now, especially on my lawn, soon to become a passable imitation of a snipe bog.

The weather change has not been advantageous for most of our game. Wild partridge and grouse broods were clobbered by summer rain last year and the dank winter allowed parasite and harmful bacteria to thrive and attack cold and wet adults.

But there is one consolation to be drawn from the changing weather: we’ve had some tremendous blows this winter, and whilst gales can of course topple trees and damage property I can’t remember a season when so many so-so drives were transformed into spectacular tests of sporting ability as gamebirds hurtled over the guns. That old keeper’s Get Out of Jail card – “if only we’d had a bit of wind” – was hardly ever heard and the accompanying rain soon forgotten as we desperately tried to load fresh squibs as yet another steepleskimmer flashed over us.

The real bonus, however, came at the close of the season when we were finally allowed into the roost woods to cull the pigeon. For many of us pigeon addicts, the preceding year had been frustrating in our attempts to control their population. The spring drillings produced meagre returns as the early budding of ash had persuaded the birds to stay in the woods for an easy bed-and-breakfast. Summer rain then flattened the wheat and barley, allowing pigeon to parachute into big fields without fear of quick demise. The harvest stubbles were also unproductive, with so many crops being cut at once that birds simply scarpered onto other ground after a few shots.

But the late-winter roosts finally gave us the chance to carry out a cull and put some pigeon into the pot. And what splendid birds: fattened on rape and maize, practically every one had a thick layer of yellow fat. And each had to be earned.

It’s not easy shooting pigeon that are hurtling over wind-bent trees but as sport it bears comparison with any formal day, particularly if you like being alone, reliant on your own fieldcraft.

A fortnight ago, I coaxed the Jimny along the track to the Black Wood, a favourite roost for local pigeon. It seemed early – 2pm – but they go to bed early; arrive an hour before twilight and you’ve missed the action.

As it was, there were plenty aloft already, having filled their crops easily on cut maize, but it’s a mistake to try and bag the birds as you walk into the woods; far better to spend the time studying the birds’ flightlines. They want to land into the wind easily and then settle somewhere warm, such as larch or ivy-clad oak.

Having located the favoured roosting spot, one then has to find a gap in the trees wide enough to pick up the birds’ line with the gun but narrow enough to conceal you from the incoming flocks. Then you have to find a suitable holly bush to hide behind. It all takes time but finding the right place is essential to success.

Often it takes two or three attempts, especially if the wind veers, but once settled the sport can be hectic and fruitful if you keep to a few rules. The first is to remember not to shoot at birds out of range while remembering that a pigeon just clearing the treetops might look tall but is probably no more than 35 yards high - easily killable with 11/16oz of No 6s. The second is to shoot only at birds presenting their heads or sides; if you can only fire at a departing bird’s stern you’ve seen him too late to make a certain shot and it’s better to wait for another. And the third rule is to pick up the fallen as you go and not try to gather them in failing light after the flight.

A proper blow, Force 5 or above, helps enormously as the pigeon commit to coming in rather than circling endlessly trying to spot their mates – and then seeing you. It also muffles the sound of the shots. In such conditions, it’s not uncommon to shoot 30 or so in a few hours, birds of a quality that equal any gamebird but without the £1,000 bill that would come with the latter.

And given that such windy conditions are more frequent, thanks to climate change, the roost shooting has never been better. But as for the promised Mediterranean climate? Well, so far it seems Château Young is unlikely to replace sodden sheep.

The weather change has transformed so-so drives into spectacular tests of sporting ability