The Hunters Chronicles - Friday 17th August 2012

The last shades of summer are melting off the leaves to be replaced by the first tones of the brown livery of autumn. The repetitive and defiant monsoon that has surely been sent to purge the Earth and cleanse her of us let up briefly to present an opportunity I seized with both legs.
I have a hankering for the breast of the bird that morning and evening calls to me. The wily pigeon that has a habit of being present only when you are unarmed. Its getting to be uncanny and frustrating. The trees are alive with these chameleon birds. Their ability to conceal themselves matched by a strange talent for 'throwing' their voices like a polyphonic surround sound ringtone makes locating my prize most challenging indeed. Stalking is simply off the cards unless lady luck is in your pocket.

I sat at my chosen spot, and I waited.

A clearing in the trees allowed a clear shot and view of the roosts.

My static hunting is not only good sense regarding calorie expenditure, but serves as a meditation. In broadleaf woodland such as those found in the UK, the abundance of life means it is ordinarily only a matter of waiting before something edible ambles past.

I was not the only one who was aware of this.

Being still is a very simple yet effective method of avoiding detection.

  I had a couple of potentials, but the leaves still cause plenty of obstruction. If you shift, you often alert the lofty prey and its bye bye yum yums. My gastric juices began to urge me to reconsider. I had heard the rustles of a squirrel amongst the hazels and soon a male bounded into the branches of one of the trees in the clearing. He was clicking and twitching at another male who returned his aggression from his concealed position.
The HW95k stepped in and settled the confrontation.
The .177 AA Field hit the intruder in the head. I followed through the shot and watched as he keeled round the branch and hung by one leg, blood dripping quickly from his head and nose. Quite obviously a mortal wound. Yet still he hung on. I would have to shoot him down anyway if it was nerves keeping him in suspension, so another AA Field impacted the back of his head and down he thumped.

A superb display from the HW95k newcomer.

I reclined back against my tree. Showers came and went. As did the pigeons.

You soon learn the sound of a tree rustling in the breeze versus the sound of the rustle of a tree rat in the branches.
Off to the right such a sound emanated. I believed I could only see the body, and yet as I glanced through the 3-9x40 Hawke Sport HD he was in fact peering under a branch staring straight at me.
What I sent back took his life.

The Pellet certainly hit his head, perhaps between his eyes though the entry was hard to find.

Another swift despatch for the HW95k.

Two Squirrels do not make a pigeon. They do make a good curry though.

I hung about for my pigeon, but to no avail. The rain returned and I trudged home, I may not have got the quarry I was after, but I did find what I was looking for. Peace and Dinner.