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SHOOTING GAZETTE - SEPT

I was talking to a man, some little time ago. This man is a Head-shed in the British Deer Society, which is a charity devoted to the welfare of deer – it is a great pity that it does not extend its charitable feelings to its fellow men. But, as I may have said before, a great and wise friend of mine reckons that most stalkers are socially dysfunctional, because they spend so much of their time alone in woods and lonely places. It may be the other way about. People may take to stalking, because they are socially dysfunctional to begin with. I think that this may be so in my case. I spent 25 years as a Master of Foxhounds, being force fed, like a Perigord goose, with social interaction, which is totally alien to my nature. So when I retired, I recluded and attend social functions very rarely and with great reluctance. I think that my sociopathic tendencies are why I adapted happily to writing, shepherding and roe stalking – all of which tend to be solitary occupations. Sometimes, in the course of duty, I attend at Newspaper offices. I regard these huge noisy open-plan word factories with horror, rather on a par with battery hens and intensive pig keeping. Such methods may be necessary from a practical and economic point of view, but they are unnatural and I want no part of them, with all their tail-biting and feather pecking. But, as usual, I am rambling, so back to the beginning. As I was saying I was talking to this man (a very senior man) and he told me that every deer he shot dropped where it stood. With every possible respect (and that is not a huge amount) I believe that this man was being a little sparing with the actuality. It simply does not work that way. In my experience the only time that a deer does drop where it stands is when the spinal cord is severed. I shot a nice buck the other day and his reaction was typical of a heart shot. He did a compulsive leap and disappeared into an acre of brambles and blackthorn. My first reaction was ‘oh shit!’. My second reaction was to put the bell collar on Tigger and click my tongue. He was gone in a second. For some minutes, I listened to the bell in the thicket – then it stopped. There was nothing for it. I removed the bolt from the rifle, took off my pack and set off on my poor creaking old knees to crawl into the tangle. I was raked by thorns and embrangled by brambles, but, at last, steaming gently and cursing strongly, I emerged into a small clearing to be greeted by a grinning dog with dripping beard and an expression that said – ‘what kept you, Boss?’ I did not bother to answer that. He was standing over the deceased deer. I was right. It was a clean heart shot, but the buck had run the thick end of 100 yards. I thought of the man, whose deer always dropped where they stood, quite a lot as I dragged the carcase back to the track and I thought that he was either an impossibly good marksman or a possibly good spinner of yarn.

I am very fond of my Ruger Stutzen 30/06. It is a neat, sweet, little rifle and with a 150 grain round, a real stopper. I used to load my own rounds, but found it too time consuming, so I now buy my ammunition. It may be more expensive, but when I cost out the time that loading my own used to consume, I do not grudge the expense. The rifle was getting a bit battered, so I ordered a composite stock from Ruger, over a year ago. It arrived last week and is being fitted at this moment by the excellent Weldon Gun Room. I hate going to this Aladdin’s cave of firearms and shooting widgets, because I always come away having bought something that I did not know I wanted and would never have thought of if I had not gone to the blasted place. Stephen is also fitting a sound moderator for me. This seemed a good idea, although I am always surprised by the reaction of deer to the sound of a shot – you would think it would clear out every deer in the area, but I remember shooting a doe in the old quarry. Having done the honours, I poked my head round the corner of the trees and there, feeding quietly by the burn and only 200 yards from the first shooting was another doe – ah well, such is stalking, I suppose.

This is being written just after the shocking news that our Mr Barnes is to be taken from us, or vice versa. It was the Great Man himself who invited me to write this column and whilst it would be untrue to say that we have never had a cross word (he once called me an ‘arrogant bastard’) we have rubbed along very well and I have enjoyed working for him. In spite of my arrogant bastardism, he has built up this magazine so that it is ‘the pine that overtops them all’. I wish him every success and happiness in the future and hope that our paths will continue to cross. Also I wish his successor the best of good fortune.

Thank you, Mike, it has been an honour to work for you. Go well with God.

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