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 -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.

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.

The Hunters Chronicles - Tuesday 11th September 2012

I could barely contain my excitement and enthusiasm as I made the short walk to my new hunting grounds. The weather was very agreeable, sunny but not sweltering and the fields looked radiant and most welcoming. I could feel in my bones that today was going to be a very special experience.

The raucous call of the crows beckoned me to enter the fray.

I wrestled with the urge to run, my stride fast and uneven as it quickened and slowed betraying the battle I was waging with my legs. I distracted myself by focusing instead on what may be ripening in the hedgerows.

Rosehips now coming very close to being ripe for the picking.

The Blackberries are rather random. The biggest and best are to be found in the sunny spots.

A break in the hedge brought back a surge of impatience.

 If I was careful, I was able to observe my prey no more than 40 yards away from the hedgeline. No chance of harvesting any from here though, as the public highway runs the length of this side of the field.

After seeing this, any observer could have been forgiven for thinking I had come over rather ill and suddenly very much needed the toilet. I nearly tripped over my feet and sweat broke from my brow as I hastily scurried to the footpath.

Once in the shade of the trees, I deployed and loaded the mighty 95, donned my face veil and gloves to complete my camouflage, and did my best to completely reprogram my legs into stealthy creeping mode. Above and to my front were trees heaving with very full and very relaxed pigeons, magpies and crows.

Up and to my right, 25 yards away, I spied a very content pigeon bobbing with the movement of the branch in the shallow breeze. This shot would require a bit of threading through the leaves, but rifle raised, I drew the crosshairs onto his head, breathed and fired. Miss. The hedgeline erupted and my hopes of bagging an early kill evaporated with the wings. Ahh well.

I continued down the path peering through the tiny gaps into the field hoping to spot any wayward bird that wandered close to the perimeter.
 
It wasn't until I reached the corner where the hedge finishes that I saw two magpies hopping about. Although they were possibly 35 yards, I knew the shot was optimistic and I rushed it in my excitement. Another miss. Still, undeterred and spirits very high I sauntered down another track with a young woodland that borders the cereal field. Here I was sheltered from view and from my reconnoitre the day before I knew there were some superb ambush points in the breaks of the undergrowth. With senses on high alert and my eyes in the trees overhead I was rather taken aback when by luck, my vision lowered and I saw movement 15 yards ahead. My focus had been so distant that for a fraction of a second I feared it was too late and the squirrel had seen me and would run. He didn't and the lightning fast standing shot took him cleanly with a hearty thud.

The pellet strike just behind the ear dispelled any doubts in mine or the rifles accuracy.

My stalk along this side of the field was rather cursory as I wanted to be seen to be fulfilling the owners request that I hit a small woodland beyond the house and make an impression on the squirrel population there. I slit the squirrel and spread his insides about abit in an attempt to bait the crows in so they were distracted when I returned. That was the idea anyway...

There were a fair number of cars parked by the farmhouse and a white van was manoeuvring about the car park  so I thought it prudent to keep my profile low and return the 95 back to its slip. As I approached, I was hailed by the owner with "What impeccable timing! Could you help unload my new chicken coop?". I was happy to assist, though I doubt if my efforts were indeed of any value. I think I just got in the delivery mens way. When the lifting and positioning was done I and the owner shared a brief conversation, the result of which was the arrangement for me to take four hens who are due for execution. This is not just lucky for the hens. We have lost three chickens in almost as many days due to dog walkers not controlling their animals. These four will serve to keep the sole survivor company and lift the spirits that the massacre has dampened. Eggs will be a bonus though the decline in them is what has prompted their disposal. Most likely they will become dinners in winter, I hope not for another dog.

I arrived at the nominated woodland carefully traversing the stile.

I entered through the gate on the right, disturbing some pigeons as I did. I often curse farm gates for the difficulty in operating them noiselessly. At the very end (this is only a small copse of predominantly ash trees) I observed two pigeons come and go from a branch of a dead tree. These skeletal remains are a godsend in summer for the lack of growth, and evidently appeal to birds for the same reason.
I missed two opportunities and could not for the life of me ascertain why. The angle was indeed steep so a one mildot holdover, I thought, was sufficient. I plinked at the horizontal twigs up high and no pellets were striking. A quick check on the Strelok app revealed that a shot at nearly 60 degrees at 30 yards required not one, but two mil dots of hold under! Now my pellets were hitting home. But no pigeons returned.
I sat and watched as the sunlight dappled through the branches and leaves and danced on the woodland floor. I was snapped out of my reverie by the 'chuff' of a curious squirrel. Perhaps summoned by the impact of my pellet on the hollow trunk, she appeared to be chastising me for my disturbing her day. I obliging ended her state of annoyance for her.

The Bisley Long Range Gold 7.9 gr .177 pellet struck a touch forward and low for my liking. The instant death however, would indicate the pellet passed up and across the brain.

Squizzer number two was in the bag. I was still hopeful that a pigeon would come so stayed where I was. Behind me I heard voices on the footpath from a young man and woman accompanied by a dog. Knowing the footpath does not run through this wood I noted their presence.
Unbeknownst to me, the wood evidently appealed to them. An opportunity for a lovers tryst perhaps? All I know is first the dog, then the young lady jumped out of their skin when I rose from beside my tree. Shock and surprise passed as the chap apologised for their disturbing me. He commented on my kill and enquired about the culinary potential of grey squirrels, I happily enlightened him. They proceeded past and exited (how and where I do not know) and I left to return to the main field and place my latest victim with the first 35 yards out from my 'hide'.

Time passed and I ventured out, not into the field, but to the young woodland to the rear of my position. Though none had landed for my bait, I heard numerous crows in the branches above. I slowly crossed to the other hedgerow and saw a corvid perched in a vee of the tree. With half a mildot hold under for the 35 degree angle at 31 yards, I'm pretty certain I scored a head shot. I watched through the scope as he crumpled and twitched but in an instant he disappeared. The ivy that hugs this tree is so dense I presume his body got caught and is still cradled in it.
The branches belched black bodies as they scattered noisily. I patrolled south along the trees and back again. Upon my return to my hide I spied these fellows 151 yards out;

It was as I shifted and craned my neck to watch them that I observed a concentration of feeding birds back at the north corner. Cue another hedgeline stalk.;

Just over this bramble, 4 or 5 pigeons munched away on the spilled grain. I chose the closest one at a lased 44 yards. This called for a 1.5 mil dot hold over from a standing unsupported position. Nothing but a headshot would suffice here. I'm very proud to say I got him. His chums took to flight as he slumped to the floor.

The HW95 .177 is lightweight and hold sensitive, yet if mastered, blisteringly accurate. Matched with Bisley Long Range Golds, the results have impressed me no end.

 Here was the break I was looking for and had long anticipated. Forget my agonising wait and craving to bag one of these wonderful (and delicious) birds, I wanted his body!

The stubble proved effective at turning this pigeons body into a plausible decoy.

View from the bait and decoys to the hide

I now hoped that not only would another pigeon take notice of my decoy and land, but primarily the crows would see the bait.

I was in for a long wait.

Every now and then I would patrol, though the day was drawing in and the birds less willing to perch in the trees. Plenty were still in the middle of the field feeding and I got a few opportunistic shots off through the hedgeline if any proved close enough.
As it happened, my luck changed when I revisited the spot where I got the first pigeon.

This time he was 54 yards. That is further than I would have liked, 2.5 mildots hold over again, from a standing unsupported position, but the clarity of my new scope and the time and effort put into its calibration had me confident I could pull the shot off cleanly. I did too.

Another decoy to begin a pattern.

Though my decoy 'pattern' was growing, the number of feeders had diminished considerably. Into the game bag went my prizes and I returned to the squirrel wood to try and catch some roosting birds.

I scared them off and none came in.
Alone I sat, happy and contented with my day out. I was struck by how vivid the silence of the dusk was. Vivid is perhaps a word more associated with vision, but it seems the most apt on this occasion. I pondered what I had done and what I had seen this day. I had been hunting, gathering food primarily in the form of pigeon. The species I had seen were likewise hunting and feeding. I simply cannot come up with a more natural way to spend a day. There simply isn't. Food is number one on the priority list for all things that live. Okay, we humans have developed a very imperfect system for the provision of this need and it frees us up to have time to do a myriad of other things. With a wry smile I thought how ironic it is that I and numerous others find deep, meaningful reward in going 'back' and gathering food/hunting. I am certainly very grateful that should my hunting not bear fruit I am not condemned to death by starvation, though in this instance we do have bugger all food at home so I would have gone hungry for a short while...

As the sun dipped below the horizon, I packed the mighty 95 away and was about to rise, when silhouetted against the fading light, a female squirrel leaped from twig to branch on her journey home. What followed was the very quickest unzipping, deployment, reload, parallax and zoom adjustment ever seen before. Just as I thought she'd disappeared and she believed she was safe, I spotted her outline and I took another standing unsupported shot. Down she crashed. Another trophy in the dying seconds of the game.

With weary legs, but a smile on my face, I trudged home with my prizes. The church bells pealed from across the valley, I like to think in celebration of, and congratulating me on, my efforts this day.