Flat Broke - 20/02/2013

Resistance is futile.

Try as I may have done to resuscitate what once was. To resurrect and continue the set of circumstances I once enjoyed. I have accepted the past as having passed. To fight what is, to resist and linger in the shadows of memory, to dwell in the realm of what is now dead would serve only to sabotage and pollute the present with needless suffering.

The period for grief and mourning is over. Now is a time of acceptance and excitement at the prospect of engaging in what will be my next experiment.
I lived in a caravan in the woods, I existed on my own terms and provided what basic human needs I could for myself and my family. In the non-physical aspects, it was the ideal way of life. Practically, it had its challenges, take floor space as an example!
So now I have the mirror opposite.

Following the advice of relatives of friends and family, and facing scant alternatives we put our plight to the local council. They deemed us entitled to a property and a few weeks of bidding culminated in the offer of a potential shelter and site of permitted existance.
Make no mistake, a price has to be paid, the invasion of privacy that comes with the numerous questions asked. One must submit time and again in return for the 'benefits' and 'privileges' desired. For this reason I rebut the widespread belief perpetuated by propaganda that authorities provide services for free. This grates and grinds my fibre purely due to the fact I am capable of housing and providing for myself as I have demonstrated. To beg another to grant me the right to live in their creation has been bitter and hard to swallow.

Despite succeeding in securing a place, I was hit by a tide of sorrow and pain. I did not feel that here was where I could be who I am.
This of course was a fiction created by my pride and ego. I have come to embrace my circumstances as a blessing and canvas upon which I can attempt to demonstrate how one can reconcile the two ideals. Mainstream outsourcing of needs at financial cost vs Self reliance.

Here is what I have to work with (photos taken Friday 15th whilst herding my youngest around);

Living Room

Kitchen

Master Bedroom

Second Bedroom

Bathroom

Generous Garden

I have spent each day and night since, decorating, collecting furniture, carpets and beds destined to landfill from local businesses, utilising freecycle, and generally attempting to outfit the place without much money. Through the sale of my air rifles, I have purchased a secondhand cooker which I will fit myself.

In conclusion, I am supremely excited to get cracking. I would like to demonstrate how one can exist this way in a manner that is in balance with my core. Measures that have come to mind;

Growing veg of course!
12v solar powered lighting?

Re-opening the fireplace,
Converting the attic space to a rifle range,
Securing shooting permissions in the local area.

Whilst a vehicle may not be in keeping with what most would expect, living so removed from resources make it indispensable presently justifying the compromise and expense.

I hope that those who dismissed my work on the grounds that not all can up sticks and move to the woods in a caravan, will now be better able to relate to my endeavours and find hope and encouragement.

The Hunters Chronicles - Tuesday 4th December 2012

For a town mouse, the opportunity to venture out is never as frequent as desired. My accounts, as they reportedly do for many, had the motivations of my friend Mawders enlivened. I cleared his presence with the landowner, and we were set. Keen to capitalise on his window of opportunity, he did not wish to hang about. 06:30 this morning, man and gun were chomping at the bit.
A quick coffee and chin wag and off we trotted. On the way I explained that the quarry marked for termination were the numerous, loud and mischievous magpies. My plan was to slit the squirrel caught on my previous outing (whom the freezing temperatures had kept fresh!) and place the crow decoy nearby.
As the farmyard and chicken enclosure that they raided were far from being safe to shoot in, the nearest ambush site was a small grove of tall trees they were known to haunt.

As the sun rose, we approached, but it was not magpies that were plentiful. Mawders attempted an ambitious shot on a seemingly dozy pigeon. Potentially a superb boost straight out of the blocks.

We holed up in our ambush positions and waited.

Nothing. Not even a cackle. In the distance sea gulls lazily traversed the sky. Later a large buzzard wheeled, sunlight bouncing from its majestic and impressive wingspan.
The magpies may not have been around, but we both spotted numerous pigeons landing and idly perching in a sunlit tree just a few yards down the hedgerow. In favour of a stalk, we abandoned our ambush.
Amazingly, we crept within range undetected. We each got a shot off. Though my aim seemed good and the shot sounded true, somebody neglected to inform the pigeon that this was the point he should fall to earth. Defying credibility, if not physics, He elected to continue his day.
This pattern and outcome repeated itself more times that either myself or my shooting partner dared nor cared to count.

We continued on to our favourite woodland and spied numerous birds. To add to our hopes and expectations of what still seemed a potentially very high scoring day, a large flock of pigeons swooped over our heads and amassed in a sitty tree right to our front. Certainly to my eye, once they landed, they disappeared. A wrong move and a number lifted off. Thinking they were gone, you could scare off the hidden remnants. And again! Unbelievable. Nearly all shots were fouled by twigs or branches in some manner. If not, then fate would bar the way or the pigeon would simply lift off just as a bead was being drawn.

Keen to check on the squirrel bait and decoys, I periodically left Mawders under his tree and patrolled the hedgerows. In my absences, pigeons either dodged his rounds or were impervious to them.
A text message kept me abreast of developments and his rising bewilderment, bordering on frustration. My luck was no better.
Upon one of my returns, he was clearly lining up for a shot. Not seeing a target, I crouched. I awaited his impending shot as I scanned the tree his rifle muzzle indicated.
His HW95 thudded. No bird fell nor lifted. It was at this point he gestured. 2. Ears. ahead.
Being that rabbits have yet to develop the ability to climb trees, I deduced he must have seen two squirrels. After he'd reloaded, I waited what seemed an age for him to take the shot he appeared moments away from taking.
Carefully, I crept forward to the right of the target tree. I scanned it and yet could find no evidence of any living creature. I discussed this with him. He was adamant they were there, so I resolved to flush them out.
Standing at the base, I raised my gun aimed high into the branches and fired into the wood.
It was then I saw the tail. Protruding from the bark was a wispy bit of fluff that could only be attached to a squirrel, as I took this in, its mate burst out from cover and made an all or nothing run home. I shouted to Mawders, "That one's yours!" figuring as it was running almost at him he could hit him head on. My squirrel nervously bolted a short distance, but stopped, pausing and exposing her flank. I shot her broadside factoring in the extreme angle and the higher point of impact of the pellet.
She dropped like a stone. A small wound behind her left shoulder indicated heart and lung/spine shot. Though life was clearly absent from the eyes, the expiring heart was still beating. A follow up shot was granted that passed across the brain, exiting the other side.

The Diana 280k .177 (right) and Weihrauch HW95k .22 (left)

I was extremely grateful to the squirrel. Not just for the nourishment she would provide, but also for the affirmation of mine and my rifles abilities.

Clearly, the Diana was spitting death, but what about the HW95?! Yet more opportunities came and went. The shooter was not seemingly at fault. Not the scope, nor the rifle.

I have subsequently concluded that Mawders must have been firing jelly beans.
Either that or pigeons have become immune/impervious to lead which may be the true reason shotgunners have changed to steel!

In truth, I feel that this is just how it is. Sometimes there is no physical, reasonable explanation as to why a hunt may be unproductive. I can fully appreciate how and why in the past Gods such as Diana were worshipped and revered.
Tonight, a squirrel has been left as an offering in her name to the Gods, Diana has returned and lives again in these woods and I shall see her satisfied.

The Hunters Chronicles - Saturday 1st December 2012

The bite in the wind has been relentless and unforgiving. Time for hunting may have diminished in direct relation to the temperature, but needs must. The need on this occasion was not meat but material. My friend and occasional shooting partner told me that he had misplaced his gloves and suspected they were under a certain tree one of my hunting grounds. Whilst there last we were unarmed, our intention being to shoot with the camera to assess camouflage patterns, of course not one but three squirrels were spotted! This time, I took the gun!

On my walk there, numerous clusters of 'vermin' (magpies, crows and pigeon) could be seen in pockets in the fields and hedgerows. I am keen to observe their habits as the cold comes and hope to identify likely feeding sites. I did not intend this to be a serious expedition, in fact hunting was the secondary purpose, the retrieval of my friends gloves and the putting his mind to rest, primary.
The errant gloves were very quickly located and stuffed into the side pocket of my trouser leg. Having watched at least twenty pigeon lift from the trees in this small young patch of woodland, I thought I would simply sit and let them come to me.

It wasn't long at all before my first customer glided to a perch in the tree I was observing. As luck would have it, his head was comfortably settled back and consequently shielded by a stout branch. Without my noticing until later, he was joined, but this bird was the other side of the tree and the shot meant threading a pellet through the eye of a twig and branch 'needle'. I took the shot as I knew if I missed it would be a safe one, if I hit, it would mean instant death.

I missed. But through no fault of the rifle I might add. Just physics and my failure/inability to adjust for the trajectory as well as to accommodate the numerous obstacles. On the three separate occasions, pellet thumped into solid wood.
I was not dispirited at all. The weather was dry if cold, the surroundings beautiful as well as quiet. Paradise.
Behind me came a scuffle that took me aback. It was within ten yards. After ruling out wayward walkers, I correctly deduced that this must be a squirrel. It was. A wary one too. She wobbled along her naked ash branch and leaped to the stout arms of the tree under which I hid. She did not present a shot, and would not have, had I not given her a squeak.
An intrigued head peered down from its vantage point.
The new Diana 280k .177 sent a pinch and a punch for the first day of the month and displaced her. She crashed down to the leaf litter.

Shortly after, with my toes now numb, I took my bonus prize home with me. I happened upon the farm owner who expressed her delight with my efforts and renewed my contract on the magpies. I was very much pleased with how things had worked out.

Diana, my Goddess of the Hunt is now by my side. She and I will romp this land, and have lots of fun in the woods together. She will keep my belly and heart full this winter I am sure.

How To Get The Best From The ACME Crow Call

A bad workman may blame his tools, but I feel he may be forgiven if he was the recipient of poor instruction. The ACME Crow Call appears to be a very capable tool, like all too many otherwise excellent products, I believe it is let down by the inability/unwillingness of the manufacturer to properly express to the customer its operation to achieve optimum results.
My short experience has gleaned that a low pitched, almost growl of a 'blow' achieves the very best 'throaty' and 'gravelly' call that is associated with the European Crow.
Available from Stock And Tackle .

The Hunters Chronicles - Friday 9th November 2012

On a walk through the woods to setup the trail camera, I received a phone call from the owner of my permission.

She wanted to know whether I had been using a shotgun on the cereal field. I informed her that no, I hadn't and I didn't own a shotgun.Her enquiry was prompted as her horses acted strangely last night and one of them "aborted".
This was interesting as upon my walk home I noticed the horses in the field below running in circles and snorting. As I left they were lined up looking in my direction. I could only think that my couple of crow calls had peaked their interest. I did consider texting her, but decided against it as they didn't appear overtly distressed and I've often seen horses galloping at the end of the day possibly venting energy.
But as a layman, its hard to say. Equally, what I witnessed may have been unrelated.
When told her this, she wondered if the pitch of the caller had upset them. Potentially, though I wouldn't have thought to the level of inducing a miscarriage.

Suffice to say, she has understandably asked me to abandon shooting there. Whilst she has promised to call if the biopsy on the foetus comes back negative, I am rather pessimistic.The very fact I was present the day the incident occurred warrants enough doubt to ensure my indefinite exile.

It is early yet, but I believe it may be better to concentrate on securing another permission than to wait and hope.

A door has shut. Time to open a window.

The Hunters Chronicles -Thursday 8th November 2012

My ventures of late have been... How shall we say?

Unproductive.

As a result, I have been left with the odd photograph, but not much to report.

Well, today I felt the lack of trophies and any incident of note, was in and of itself, worthy of note. Not once have I despaired in spite of the mild disappointment that can potentially arise within. I also feel that it is of value to report the misses as well as the hits, both on a shot to shot basis as well as an overall outing one.

So far my dry run stands at three excursions. I have not necessarily gone without meat however, as two pheasants in that time were caught and shot after wandering into my dormant veg patch.

I suppose my ability to accept coming home empty handed is rooted in my expectations and motivation. When I set out, I have only the rough idea of what quarry it is I seek, and thus hope to find. I do not go out shooting, I do not go out hunting.
I go for a wander in the countryside with the air rifle.
In that respect, I have never failed, not once. I have always successfully achieved what I set out to do! The resultant outcomes, kills, whatever they maybe, are invariably a bonus.

On this occasion, as I 'wandered' down to my permission, I gazed at an empty, barren expanse of land that only weeks ago had been teaming with air rifle quarry.
This, I pondered, realising that identifying your preys food source and adjusting to their habits is one key to hunting success. The greater truth of course, is change is inevitable and it is how we go about adapting, and how quickly we do it, that sets us apart.

Evidently, I am a tad slow!
 The trees, not the fields, seem to be where the action is found now. The leaves have fallen, exposing the perches that so recently beckoned with promises of concealment and security.  Conversely cover is becoming harder to find, but nonetheless we are entering my favoured time of year for hunting. The cold allows for my field jacket with many very useful pockets to be worn, (its essentially my 'Hunters Handbag') the heat of spring/summer usually curtails movement for fear of salty rivers gushing from the orifices!

After a brief chat to the landowner, I followed up her 'hot tip' on where the magpies appear to congregate and meandered down to where I believe she described.

 Sure enough, flashes of white on black shoulders of departing birds as they evacuated told me the match box shakers were here abouts.

Finding somewhere dry and comfortable as well as suitably concealed proved difficult.
After an hour I returned to my favoured strip of trees at a known stop over. I had just got settled in when my phone rang. My friend and former employer needed a 'five minute' job doing.
Four hours later I returned to catch the crows as the light drew in.
The sitty tree I chose, though looked the ticket, was an unknown and evidently not a sitty tree after all. I did see two lesser spotted woodpeckers which was a pleasure. Their sideways shuffle and curious calls were fascinating and delightful.

My time was up. The sun was now below the horizon and my legs told me that home should be my next port of call. Though hope remained with the fading light, it was pointless to argue.

Still. I had begun the day wondering how I should fill it. I filled it. And I did so in a manner that pleased me, no time was wasted, just spent doing what I enjoy. It may not have gone as expected, but it has gone regardless.
Besides, though it may never come, there is always the promise of tomorrow.

The Hunters Chronicles - Tuesday 30th October 2012

Keen and eager to utilise the bodies of the fallen magpies (my research tells me they are edible, though "fishy chicken" is not an appetizing proposition for me) I was up this morning before dawn.

Daybreak is surely the most magical time of day.
The peace, the clarity, the promise.
Saddled up and fuelled by the mandatory caffeine I tramped down the old bridle path to the grounds upon which I would test the wits and cunning of my sky dwelling brothers.

Whilst there is some remaining semblance of natural cover and concealment from the bushes and trees still sporting leaves, I do my utmost to harness it to my advantage. This essentially means finding a gap big enough to squeeze my backside in and doesn't leave my feet poking out.

An old tractor harrow, gripped in a thorny embrace seemed ideal. The support it offered would have been useful too. Things looked most promising when, within minutes, a crow swooped in to investigate and landed on a branch to the right of my position. I took my time, lined up the crosshairs and thud. I succeeded in burying the pellet in the slimmest of branches and promptly away the guardian of Valhalla flew.

Still, it was early, the day had yet to unfold.
But I don't think it ever did.
I tried all magpies.

I tried just the one magpie.

I moved positions.

I went home.

Whilst slurping on a cup of joe I read up on crow decoying and found an entry on how a chap had had good results by plucking some of the feathers from a dead magpies breast to suggest the crow was tucking in. This, upon my hasty return, I did.

This got the attention I craved, and yet so long I sat there with the same routine occurring out of sight above my head, I fancied I learnt the language of the crow.

You'd get the lone one lazily flapping along his way, then he'd exclaim "Oh dear god! What are you doing man!" This would turn to an indignant "Errrr who are you? ANSWER ME!"
Now a bunch would join in the circular flight pattern.
"Yeah" "Yeah" "Answer" "Maniac".
Some would swoop almost threatening to land then pull away. More than once this caused me to toss my phone into the hedge mid text thinking 'this is it!' Only to find they were jerking my chain and at the arrival of a magpie chatter, would melt into the horizon with "He's not with us!""We tried to tell him"...
This set piece twice drew in offended and horrified magpies. First shot I missed and pulled right due to holding the rifle too tight.  The second ducked just at the last minute as he clacked his disapproval at my stoic and silent bird.

A while later, a third mag pie materialised. God only knows what happened with that shot. I fired and watched through the scope. He almost seemed to lean back. I heard the pellet impact, but I guess it was the ground behind.

Its hard to be certain, but I think that magpie may well have 'Matrix'd my pellet!

He flew off seemingly unharmed, I checked the trees and tracked in the direction he flew with no sign of feathers nor dead maggie. Most perplexing.
I'm out of ideas and my backside ran out of blood.
I've ordered an owl. That should do it!

I sloped off to the 'feed room' to collect my bounty,

and now await....The Raptor!

Waste and Dishonour

I had the pleasure of receiving a communication from a forum member today.

He wished to know how he may reduce the waste and fully utilise the parts of the animals he hunted. It was/is a firm belief featuring heavily in the mythology of hunting tribes that to do so is to honour and respect your prey, to neglect to, a sin and a crime.

I may know a smidgeon more than many regarding this field, but I cannot by any means claim to be an expert. I would guess they live in Africa and the Rainforests of South America, but I shall do my best in future posts to share what experience I do have and the knowledge I have gained.

Before I do, I have to say that it was the enquirers mention of having witnessed the people of Afghanistan and “seeing what they do” that really caught my attention and set the little cogs turning. I believe I understand what he is referring to.

When I was fifteen I had the privilege of visiting India. This was a profound experience that I have no doubt has shaped my present and will my future. I, a teenager at the time both blessed and cursed with having been born in an age of rampant technological progress and the economic boom of the 90's, seeing people living in abject financial poverty. These people had few to no possessions of monetary value and yet were seemingly happier and more content with their lot than any single person I had ever come across. From the overcrowded train carriage, a relic of a bygone age, I observed filthy young scamps very much enjoying a game of cricket in the Sun, wickets constructed from gnarled sticks, laughing and evidently happier than any of my fellows in Britain with their Playstations, televisions and mobile phones. An impossible number of houses lined the railway banks, constructed from a myriad of salvaged waste materials. Here was necessity mothering invention on an awesome scale though now the materials were not natural, rather the economic and industrial cast offs in an urban setting.

It is therefore little wonder that whilst my local tip proudly displays a sign claiming to have recycled 73% of the waste handled last year, countries such as India and those in Africa can easily claim over 95%. The common denominator? Money, or rather the lack of it.

Money is a magic bullet that can often bring about a desired outcome or secure an acquisition that outsources the challenge of manifestation to another. I view each pound sterling as a unit of time. Sometimes the exchange is very efficient, for instance an air rifle. How long would it take you to construct and manufacture such a device? If a good quality rifle costs £300 new, and you earn £50 a day, six days of paper shuffling/labouring/bin collecting/filing sees you outfitted with something that it is fair to say would have taken you a damn sight longer than that to make!

Conversely the hundreds of pounds spent heating, running, renting/buying your home each year and the hours spent working a repetitive job you ultimately resent and despise and keeps you from those you hold dear in order to meet those bills is an example of the insanity money perpetuates. I find it more efficient to live close to my family in a caravan with a wood burner and collect and process the wood myself. Gas for heating costs me £35 every five months! Barely a days labour if I do choose to sell my time...

Now it may seem that I have digressed, but the above is intended as a background illustration of why most of us (myself included to an extent) do not fully exploit the resource and opportunity each of our kills presents. We lack need.

I am told that food is the cheapest, for us wealthy countries, than it has ever been before. - We do not need to eat that rabbit.

Clothing is practically disposable, - No need for the fur. 

No need to tan, - no need for the brain.

Needles are mass produced and lets face it, with clothes no longer mended who the heck needs those anyway, so – bones not required.

Glue is readily and cheaply available manufactured from chemicals, - no need to boil the scraps of hide/ eyeballs.

I daresay the list could go on but I think you catch my drift.

To the enquirer and the curious, as a start, I refer you to my 'Make Your Quarry Pay' post.

Regarding pigeons, it did seem somewhat shameful and criminal to use just the breasts, and with this in mind I experimented with skinning it in order to cook it like one would a chicken. Please see this post for further details. Unfortunately I do not believe in this case that the extra effort required is beneficial for anything but the conscience. Amazingly those birds are seemingly 95% breast!

Feathers are the most obvious usable item of avian quarry. Jays for the electric blue wing feathers, prized by fishermen, magpies I believe also. 

For the remainder of my life I will endeavour to experiment, test and research further ways that I may honour that which I kill, but I will say this. In nature, ultimately, there is no such thing as waste. This is by no means a truth upon which we may excuse ourselves, only you can be the judge of the acceptability of your habits, but it is a truth nonetheless. Parts that are presently unusable to me, I 'offer to the woodland gods'. To date, no offering has thus far been rejected and in this knowledge my conscience is soothed.

Video Review of The SMK TH208

Review of SMK's Superb Flagship TH208 Air Rifle.

Really 'Living The Dream' - Thursday 28/07/11

The marriage between myself and my newly acquired TX200 has bourne fruit. Levi and I decided to forego sleep so that we could go a-hunting at sunrise 05:25. About half to three quarters of an hour in,  I shot a young rabbit. We had opportunities at squirrels and another rabbit but for me the purpose of our outing had already been fulfilled. One rabbit was all we needed.
I find it ironic that to date my hunting experience has bucked the ".177 for feather, .22 for fur" adage.
Despite the fatigue, this morning was a welcome return to the life and activities that make me feel alive. Regardless of 'trophies' the experience of acute awareness and presence makes the whole venture extremely pleasant and satisfying for me.

That one small rabbit put meat on the plates of my family (solid food eating members).

The salted hide.

The head and paws went to the Badgers and Cats. I regret giving away the head away as the brain is a natural tanning agent.

Meat left to soak overnight in fresh water. Not sure it was necessary as the rabbit was under a year old.

On the subject of returning, it was Emma that brought my attention to the fact that yesterday marked 365 days since our arrival at Lammas. What we call a year. Very convenient considering that I am nearing the end of this, my third, notebook.
This is also a good point, in light of the above, to pause and reflect upon the journey.
My recent activities are a dream manifested. Providing food for my family. A role many like me wish to fulfill physically. A fulfillment that just doesn't seem to come from turning labour into debt, debt into food. Therefore, I can truly say with conviction and feeling, that I am 'living the dream'. In absolute contrast to the time I wrote those words 365 days ago. I have learned that a dream is realised now, and can only be done so in the moment called now. Dreams are never realised in the future regardless of what self imposed conditions are satisfied. What other moment is there but now?
That is not to advise haste, it is but truth. How you translate that into meaning is for you to decide.

What would you be doing/Where would you be if you fulfilled your 'dream'?
I believe a 'dream' is better described as a persons preferred reality. The word 'dream' commonly denotes something elusive, intangible, even 'unrealistic'. There is also a warning, or rather a consideration. That is cost.
If you are thorough, your payment will be all that you do not need,use or care for. If you do not approach the attainment and creation of your preferred reality in any way but a holistic one, you risk losing something of great value (I don't mean just monetary) and importance.
Listen to your heart and intuition that,for me, has been a practice that has guided and I believe, ensured that I have gained things of immense and immeasurable value.
I was prepared to make large sacrifices. At the earliest stage the largest potential one was my partner and family. Luckily, through open communication with my daughter and her mother, it was not a sacrifice I was called upon to make. By keeping that communication open, we moulded and adapted the shared vision to encompass the needs of us all. I believe I am at the point where I am not chasing the desire/dream, but it is evolving around and with me.
I am still susceptible to all the same emotions as I was before, the difference certainly with the negative ones, is that if they do occur they are not as severe and are very short lived. If emotions are the body's reflection of the mind, then it must be that what thoughts I have, are more positive. By not painting over the cracks with drugs , by addressing the root of what ailed me, the condition known as depression is no longer a part of my world.
More requests for my books are materialising. This brings me happiness and great honour. I thank all those who afford me the pleasure and opportunity to give. I hope by gifting my books to all those who ask, requesting they pass it on, I am paying it forward and perpetuating that positiveness and feeling.
To all those who have cared to read my work, you have my sincere gratitude.
Much love, to you, those who have yet to, and those who may never read this. We are as one.

Namaste.

M Jones.

Dog Gun - Monday 02/05/11

Despite the forecast, no rain has fallen. The broad beans are yellowing and the ground is solid and cracked. No dawn patrol for me this morning. Last night and most of the day today was very windy. The strong squalls creating challenging shooting conditions and heightening the risk of wounding, not killing my quarry. So I had a lie in.
Late afternoon, whilst Emma and Fran were visiting the beach at Mwnt, I re-zeroed my rifle and sampled some of Nicks pellets. He had a mixture of RWS Superdome 14.4gr and Webley Accupells. These performed far better than the cheap SMK Spitfires I've been using. Decent pellets are around £10 for a tin of 500. My knock around Spitfires are £4. Great if like me, you just need to line the rifle's barrel and get it to 'settle in'.
With the Raider zeroed at 40 yards to the new pellets (Nick very kindly gifted me the tin!) I went off for my evening hunt. This time I saw two rabbits. I did everything by the book, even crawling to get as close as possible. And still missed. Afterwards I took a practice shot and found it was I, not the rifle at fault. I was too close. If I had correctly gauged the range, I would've known I'd have needed to aim a mil-dot down and not use the cross hairs. The rifle's accuracy was good and is improving rapidly with these quality pellets. So with practice and experience, hopefully my marksmanship will improve too.
I have chosen to view these situations and occurrences as lessons I have to learn, not as a success or failure. It is becoming quite clear that if I were to get dejected and negative then I may as well sell my rifle. Hunting is not easy. Walking slowly and quietly is easier and I am very much enjoying it. I try with each trip to recce somewhere new, and in so doing have discovered a few hidden and/or overlooked gems. The scenery is beautiful so whether or not the game bag is full, I always enjoy myself.
It's a bit like having a dog in that respect. An excuse to wander about aimlessly.

My 'Hunters Map'.

M Jones

The Labour Exchange - Thursday 21/04/11

Exchanged labour with Ayres this morning. We loaded a trailer load of his wood from the quarry, and in exchange for using my truck, he helped load a trailer of my (Kits) wood and gave me some bio-diesel.
I was sorely disappointed my air rifle was not delivered as promised yesterday evening. So I did something about it.
I cycled the 13 miles to Cardigan to pick it up, prepared to cycle back with the rifle in an army canvas sausage bag. Trouble was, the rifle box was massive. I think the shop owner appreciated the trouble I'd gone to and drove me home! I left the bike and lock with him and I'll pick it up tomorrow on our day out. Needless to say I was very appreciative.
The ride there was daunting but by god it was incredible, much like the ride I'd done the day before only better.
It's all about the journey baby!

The Dream, Manifested!

M Jones

Renegotiate - Thursday 19/04/11

I have continued to endeavour to pay attention to, and do, that which moves me. The hardest times are when I have bound myself to another person and thereby to my honour. In yesterdays case, helping another plotholder. Hard does not mean unpleasant in this instance, indeed it never does mean unpleasant. It stands to reason that when doing the bidding of someone else, you are not free to do the bidding of yourself. I was happy nonetheless. It was an arrangement of my choosing. I was bolstered in this happiness when I stayed aware that I was warm, fed, and dry. An important checklist!
If I ask myself why then couldn't I do this in the past in employment and remained there contented? Well, thats easy, I would've been kidding myself. "Truth is that which resonates with the inner being" - Eckhart Tolle. I might have been warm, fed and dry, but at the time I wanted more. My choices of employment sometimes meant that whilst working I was none of the above! I certainly did not want to be bound to a contract that no longer felt of benefit to me. If a trade is perceived unfair, we renegotiate and so, when my trade of labour cost forty hours of my precious week and the compensation felt to be inadequate, its time to renegotiate or cancel.

My air rifle has still not been delivered. After ringing to ask when it would be, I was told by the driver it was not possible until Wednesday evening. What bollocks. I've decided that when he arrives I shall exercise my rights to the full. Documenting any visible scrape to the product or packaging. Actually testing the rifle in front of him before signing what he wants, and by his laws needs me to sign. Needless to say, this will take time. I predict that he will not be released until at least 45 minutes have passed... Yes, I could admit that that would be thought to be vindictive on my part, but I know I don't want to accepted a damaged or faulty rifle. Especially if it puts me at the mercy of a business man I do not trust. Far better therefore to take my time even if it costs him his.

I was very impressed by a victory for Emma and Frances yesterday. The local leisure centre have decided No Card, No Entry". They wanted to take our daughters photo to put on an I.D card. Emma said "No" and with Jasmines help and backing forced the staff to concede it was wholly unnecessary and was nothing more than identity theft (Government condoned) and a breach of the right to privacy and confidentiality. There was definitely a victory, however small.

Toads Crossing At Night....

An Inhabitant Of The Millpond

Cap'n Van Winkle Chilling Out

M Jones

Unfathomable Truth - Tuesday 15/03/10

Was asked to do some paid work work on Friday. Those 6.5 hours knocked 2 weeks off the wait for my £300 Webley Raider 10 Air Rifle. The wait now stands at 2.9 weeks. Handy, as its commonly said, the nicotine cravings pass after this time.

Thankfully the three non laying hens were despatched on a far more leisurely timetable than first thought. Using the method described in my Basic Butchering of Livestock and Game book proved to be efficient and effective, but a very different experience. Shooting provides physical and emotional distance, affording the marksman the luxury of not staring death in the face. Or holding it in his hands.
When using a knife to stick the birds brain, then opening the jugular, there is no escaping the effects of your actions, brought about by your desire. I literally held and extinguished life in my hands. It is not easy. In fact I would invite all those who hunt with firearms to sample killing their usual quarry with a knife and their bare hands.
I for one never have, and certainly never will, kill for sport. It shall always and only be for the table. Mine. I still find it more unfathomable than ironic, that here I am in an intentional community, set up and run by people who wish to live off the land, and I am seemingly the only one prepared to hunt and kill my food.

Tomorrow Emma and Fran are heading to Stroud to visit family for a week, I wonder what it'll be like here home alone...

Its a dogs life...

...and a cats.

But not a chickens.

Life and Death - Friday 04/02/11

A day of death. After more tree planting and moving piles of wood (during which time Teasel killed and ate two voles) we grabbed our guns and went next door to kill some chickens.
No one was home but after a phone call to Nigel, one cockerel was marked for execution.
Taking his life was an experience I shall never forget. Cockerels are exceptionally tough birds and despite a well aimed shot through the side of the head, I wasn't satisfied. I reloaded and fired again. Blood poured from his wounds as he slowly reared his head, closed his eyes, and died. I know exactly when his life expired. He almost sighed his spirit away.
This has enforced my resolve that should I hunt wild game and be presented with a shot, that shot has to be 100% satisfactory. The old cockerel has shown me how hard it is to deliver an instant and clean death. If that Cock did suffer, I hope he'll forgive me on the grounds his long happy life was far better than millions of his kind. His execution, under the Sun and Sky, on green grass, preferable to being slaughtered in a factory.
In butchering the carcass, I did my utmost to extract as much of the meat, and waste as little as possible, thereby paying the maximum respect to the life I had just ended. I definitely could not do what I did today every time I visited the supermarket. Imagine all the slaughtering and butchery you'd have to do when buying your endless meat based products. Burgers, sausages, nuggets, corned beef, gelatine, steak and kidney pies, etc etc.
Am extremely grateful for my profound experience today. Death has brought about a deeper respect for the miracle of life.

One of Emma's Bill Bailey Look A Like Dolls...

M Jones

Alone I Sit - Thursday 03/02/11

Each morning, I get up, empty my bladder and smoke a cigarette as I survey the sky and earth. On this occasion a cloudless night allowed Jack Frost a rather weak return. Next I clean out, reset, then light the wood burner, grab my rifle, and sit at the bottom of the field in hope that the canada geese will take off within range. If the Mill Pond weren't off limits, or more accurately, if I and my family needed feeding, I'd shoot them on the pond if they ventured near the bank. Once again I was empty handed but not disappointed. Sitting alone, quietly on a beautiful morning is rewarding in itself.
Arranged with Nigel next door to execute four cockerels tomorrow, his wife want it done simultaneously and we just have enough guns.
Planted 50 Italian Alder trees, had lunch, then completed the first course of bricks just before 17:00.
The clouds have rolled in on an unsettled and turbulent wind. To me this is an indicator of the seasonal change taking place. Nature shaking down and getting ready.
Not sure I'll hunt the geese tomorrow, not if chickens need murdering...

The first row of bricks completed.

M Jones

Mr Lazy Sun - Sunday 23/01/11

A cold nose and a full bladder tortures me until I rise, consistently around 06:00. The Sun himself is having a lie in and by the time he's dragging his lazy backside over the hills, I've already had a coffee, lit the woodburner, eaten a bowl of crunchy oats and cut a bucketful of kindling. To kill time and to keep warm on these crisp frosty mornings I take a walk along the plot perimeter. To make the walk as productive as possible, I bring along my air rifle. A vain hope. The land is devoid of prey. The only targets being two blackbirds. Two and twenty short of a pie so I don't bother. Plus I like them anyway for their appetite for aphids and other pests. As I make the return loop I spy three wild geese and a smattering of ducks. But they're on the millpond. Common, not private land. Being there is no one else around, there would be no witnesses to my poaching. But they are on the water which is an issue. An issue for retrieval more than anything else. Still after three unsuccessful attempts thus far, I think they're safe.
Have added a scope to my wish list, with as large an aperture as I can afford to enable accurate shooting in low light. Then we'll see how safe those birds are...

Spent all of Saturday with Kit and mobile saw mill owner Adrian. Kit wanted his quota of timber milled 6"x6" and 5 meters long. By god they were heavy. The sort of weight that saps the strength in your arms to the degree that sheer willpower is all that prevents you from dropping the load on your toes. The next morning my arms were weak and sore. similar to that morning weakness that leaves you incapable of squeezing a grape.
Annoying, as we had the same amount again to collect that was left when we finished.
Going to bed at 20:00 used to be a rare occurrence...

The Hub Build.

Same job, helping a different plot holder.

 M Jones