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SHOOTING GAZETTE - December

Oh dear! December again and that means Christmas. I hate Christmas and please do not tell me that it is a wonderful time for the ‘kiddies’, because I hate ‘kiddies’ too. Thanks be that they were not invented when I was young. We were just ‘children’ – human puppies who needed training to make us into passable human beings. The Jury is out on whether this succeeded in my case, but I have little doubt that the current PC cult of ‘kids’ is a total failure. Had you been going through Gatwick airport at half term, as I was, the failure was writ large and plain for all but total fools to see and understand. It is unfortunate that we are becoming a nation of fools. We must be to allow ourselves to be governed by the current load of criminal lunatics. But enough of the political polemic – let us turn to more pleasant matters. Matters such as a loud welcome to our Editor, now confirmed in place and ‘lang may his lumb reek,’ in spite of his regrettable tendency to forget the ancient custom of ‘The Scribbler’s Dram’ at Game Fairs – verb sap.

As this is being written in October – such is the way of magazines – I cannot comment on the political situation at the time that you read this. It will be…interesting, I feel, as in the old Chinese curse – ‘may you live in interesting times.’ There is a lot to be said for boredom, which is why people read this column.

Tigger and I went out this morning to see if we could round off the Buck season. The morning started badly. I forgot the binoculars and had to go back for them. Then I found the lane blocked by a tractor. Mark explained that he had to have the tractor across the lane to get the lights on the troughs to check the cattle when they came to feed. This I can understand – Galloways are bad to see in the dark. At last I got to the wood side. It was still black dark, so I tied Tigger to the back of the truck, whilst I loaded the rifle. Then I remembered that I had taken the bolt out whilst I parked in the town on the previous afternoon, for the sound reason that a rifle without a bolt is a secure rifle, because it is impossible to load a rifle without a bolt in place. That is a very valuable bit of advice for all you young stalkers. The next valuable bit of advice is not to leave the bolt locked in the safe when you go out stalking. It was fortunate that I was close home, so I just had to pop Tigger back in the truck and…But Tigger was there none. He had slipped his collar and legged it into the wood. I think I have explained Tigger, before, but he is a GWP who came to me from the Rescue after he had (rather literally) been ‘through’ three different homes. He was 15 months when I got him – totally charming, but just a bit old for perfect training. He and I have come to a good working relationship, but we have not achieved perfection. The dog hates being tied up and loves to hunt. My nurture has not totally overcome his nature. Added to this, his natural camouflage makes him difficult to see in full daylight. In the dull grey of a creeping dawn he is invisible. I managed to ‘lamp’ him and explained to him that had I but had the bolt in the rifle and one up the spout, I would have… He grinned at me as only a GWP can and we went home to fetch the bolt.

In the sheltered valley there has been minimal leaf fall and the willow herb and bracken have not had their welfare compromised in any way. Deer are difficult to spot and I thought that Tigger was pointing the cock pheasant that had rocketed away from the side of the ride. He was right and I just glimpsed the two does as they slipped away into the trees. Anyway, their time was not yet come. We stalked through to the far end. There is a fairly open patch of bracken there, where I have seen a half decent buck in the past. We went and sat there and watched and waited. I was fixed on the open space, so I never saw the little buck come up behind me, but I felt the dog go rigid. I had a few seconds of a chance – if only I had remembered to take the lens cap off the sights. Tigger looked at me and was obviously thinking something very rude – probably in German.

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