ESTUARY ENDEAVOUR
We often forget that the art of shooting includes so many parts. Last season I was lucky enough to get a high bird in full flight on the peak of a drive we call the ‘Pill’. So named by the syndicate of mainly doctors due to its shape, it’s located where a stunning County Waterford estuary meets the sea near Waterford Castle island. It has a narrow, fast river flanked on either side by a wide, muddy riverbed when the tide is out.
I had three giddy, black retrievers, Oonagh, Scout and Hamish [pictured above], panting at my hip, eager for action on this the first drive. They tore off impulsively, knowing the bird was dropping after the crack-sound of the barrel followed by a chorus of human mumbled, jovial banter.
The dogs slowed as the ground turned to marsh near the estuary’s water, then to sludge. They were rejuvenated diving into the flowing river and leaping out; synchronised swimmers they were not. For the last stretch tiredness caused a heavy-footed approach to the kill on the far side of the estuary. The younger one, Hamish, slowing to a stop, lacking the experience and tempo of a hardy retriever.
Proudly starting the return journey with chin out and headhigh, pheasant gripped between teeth, the eldest retriever, Oonagh, found the going tough and slowed as the weight of the bird pushed her front feet deeper into the soft estuary floor. Stopping for breath at the far bank she released the pheasant only to notice her eldest bitch,
Scout, lift the kill with her teeth and continue to the river edge and fumble in sideways with tiredness. Bird and dog floated away in a relaxed, uncontrolled meander, separating and rejoining more than once. Next, the youngest dog, Hamish, caught the bird as it zigzagged the water and got it to my bank and across most of the march. His approach slowing to a tired crawl just as his mother, Oonagh, relieved him to take her hierarchical place and top prize. Oonagh lay the fat pheasant at the toe of my boot. She was soon joined by her offspring and all three rolled over in mucky exhaustion for a richly deserved tummy scratch and a thank you for providing me with such a rich memory. And dinner.
Frank Carr, Dublin