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.

Camouflage and Concealment

The change in the season, as it often does, has brought about a reassessment. Specifically, my clothing.

For the past two years I have lived in two pairs of cheap DPM trousers that have now faded to the point of exuding a pale cream hue, the knees have worn thin, buttons on the pockets long lost and the disruptive pattern not even that disturbing. No wonder my hunting trips have been more challenging and less fruitful!

I didn't honestly expect trousers I work in to also remain effective in the field, certainly not for long. I do have work trousers, but not wishing to upset the washing cycle I often neglected to change in to them.

Even if the above were not the case, it is optimistic to expect predominantly green camouflage to provide concealment in autumn and winter. Whilst the knock off DPM's have been placed in the 're-purposing' bag, and proper heavy duty replacement ones purchased in their stead, still I am conscious that soon the shading canopy above me will disappear completely, and the woodland will be much lighter as a consequence. The basic principles of camouflage and concealment are as follows;

Shape, Shine, Shadow, Silhouette, Sudden movement, Surface, Spacings.

Adhere to these and you should succeed in bagging game. Even dressed in Jeans and a yellow t-shirt. Of course, wear the same colour as the predominant one around you, generally green or brown, and you should see improved results. Wear a disruptive pattern in those colours and you should fare better. The other end of the scale is a full blown hide. But lets stick to the context of clothing.

I decided to research camouflage patterns and available products that would better conceal me these next two seasons where foliage and cover are thin on the ground.

There are a multitude of patterns from a wide variety of manufacturers. The selection is greatly narrowed if you consider your landscape and the plant species that predominantly grow in it. Not only that, but I also had the seasons as a criteria.

Now consider this. Many patterns are sold that appeal to the hunters eye, but I don't wish to avoid detection from humans. So lets consider our prey. This is mostly rabbit, wood pigeon and squirrel.

Of the three, the wood pigeon certainly has the keenest sight, so movement (or lack of it) is key with them. Rabbits and squirrels, are a touch more forgiving, but they all have difficulty with depth perception.

As we know, the pigeon overcomes this to an extent by bobbing its head, the squirrel by moving its head up and down or side to side relative to the subject, and rabbits are just plain terrible. Why is any of this of any relevance? Well some of the most effective patterns have what is called a 3D effect to them whereby the pattern includes blurred background and sharp foreground, this all helps in confusing the senses of what is looking at you. The aim and result is that your shape is broken up almost by employing a 'magic eye' optical effect.

What about colour?

Well rabbits can differentiate only between green and blue, seeing shades of light and dark. Squirrels have 'dichromatic' vision comparable to a human with red-green colour blindness and wood pigeon can see the same spectrum as humans plus ultraviolet!

The latter two species make your choice rather important even if they have trouble gauging your distance.

Then of course, there is that very human factor. Price!

So I have chosen to go with the HSF Stealth Evolution Camo Jacket and Trousers (both just £29.95 each) from Stock and Tackle (www.stockandtackle.com)

I will be testing this outfit and posting a full review soon so watch this space...

The Hunters Chronicles - Saturday 27th October 2012

As anticipated, the grey wet that has lingered over the valley and been woven among the trees, passed. With it went the warm it trapped.

In spite of the chill, the sunshine that was cast was most welcome indeed. The light lifts the mood and aids my motivation, though any plans I had made for the day evaporated with the clouds.

Around 10:37 I received a call. It was the owner of my permission and neighbour. Exasperated by the thievery of magpies, she put out a contract. I accepted it with enthusiasm. My efforts of late have reaped little reward, so the offer appeared akin to shooting fish in a barrel. A sup of coffee, and I was eagerly marching to the location.

Though the camera fails to do them justice, the contrasting mix of colours in the ferns is most pleasing to the eye.

As I neared the house, three of the miscreants were seen fleeing the scene of the crime. I circled the house after identifying the bird table that had been robbed of its offerings. The landowner was not home, so I carried on with my assessment, reconnoitre and setting up.
The bird table was in a poor position for safe shooting. Its proximity to the house narrowed options down considerably, to shoot from the direction of the house made unsafe by the farmyard and stables below and beyond it with no safe backstops.
But, there was a much much much better spot for my 'pest control'.

The raised platform proffered many safer alternatives as well as concealment. I considered siting my position below the platform, behind the tree with the rifle rested in the vee of the two trunks.

Whilst the wall would trap any over-penetrating pellets, and the platform above conceal my presence from the air.
Still scouting and weighing up the pro's and cons, I climbed up to have a quick look.
After slotting myself snugly into the corner, I was joined by my favourite of the avian species.

 As promising as the omen was, I will spare the reader the many and foul obscenities that gushed through my mind. My rifle was still in its bag. Below me.
Of course, I attempted an agonizing super slow motion crawl to try and get behind the cover of the tree trunk, but it was inevitable that I was spotted and my sharp sighted acquaintance hurriedly took his leave. Ahh well.
Very much encouraged, I set out my crow decoy along with the two wood pigeons.

The Crow decoy was later relocated onto the wall.

This time, I had brought the two wooden eggs we use to tempt the hens to go broody, and once the landowner was back, I procured a reject egg that I split and lay at the crows feet.
The railings, I knew would be attractive to any magpie curious to wish to survey the scene.

I settled down to begin the wait. The wind was very unpredictable and icy cold. Thankfully it came from the one direction, directly behind me, though in gusts of varying (and sometimes worrying) force. I was  soon grateful for my numerous layers! The hours soon merge and the concept of time fades, but it did not seem too long before the first 'Curious George' was smacked off the railings with a fatal and precise heart and lung shot.

His addition to the pattern was most welcome, and I had only just started shivering when a second was spied hopping from branch to branch then alighted onto the rail.

In the periods of inactivity I pondered the term 'pest control' with mild amusement. What constitutes a 'Pest' is completely subjective. Any annoyance is within us and therefore not based in fact. We have numerous grounds for justification of course, but nothing is truly, fundamentally, a pest.

'Control' is a myth and completely inaccurate. By shooting and killing I am not controlling numbers, I am reducing them. My activity isn't even an effective, lasting deterent. In conclusion, this was contract killing plain and simple. A more accurate term for it may be 'Bird/Animal Reduction and Depopulation'. So why, I asked myself, was I doing it?

Brownie points. Here was someone who has something I want, land to shoot over. This person wanted me to shoot on it, not only that, but trusted me and my skill enough to allow me into the curtilage of her dwelling. This was a high honour indeed, not to be dismissed out of hand, certainly not when I wish to visit this land for as long as I am welcome. It still chaffed on the morals though that I was killing a being I could not eat.

But, Gods bless him, a pigeon came to assuage and alleviate my conflicting emotions somewhat and perched barely 15 yards away with his back to me.

I gave him a swift, clean, instant dispatch in thanks.

My third 'pest' hove into view and repeated the behaviour of his fellows. Bowled off the railing, he joined my latest victim.

By now I feared for my extremities. I had been here from 11:00 and the Sun was sloping to the horizon, 15:30. The odd crow had passed, but with activity having slackened I packed up. I knew that if I hung on I could potentially bag some more, but in honesty I had done, and had had, enough by now.
A bag that impressed the owner, with supper thanks to the woodpigeon, thrown in as payment.

The walk home got the jellified blood moving again and warmed the limbs I had feared the wind had cooled to beef chunks. Still, a day spent doing what I love, though bear it in mind chaps, you want permission? Sometimes you need to put yourself out to earn it. Oh, and dress warmly eh!

The Hunter's Chronicles - Thursday 25th October 2012

By noting the date of the first frosts, and comparing to my observations, I can say with some degree of certainty that we are approximately two to four weeks ahead of schedule this year.

Every so often, the trees seem to randomly and spontaneously shiver, dropping a shower of leaves that as they fall, make a sound similar to that of rain.

Clouds, heavy and laden with moisture, find themselves snared in the near skeletal forest, trapped until the Sun eventually burns them away or the wind manages to dissipate them.

The same clouds, though they make for a grey day, keep temperatures fairly even. So it was in preparation for their dispersal and the resultant plunge of the thermometer that the procurement of fuel took precedence over meat and food. 

 These activities still provide windows for surveillance, an important part of hunting. An empty garden trolley rattling and bouncing along the woodland path can make for a lonely afternoon however...

The savvy hunter, certainly in this day and age, has a few modern technological aids at his disposal. A recent sell off of surplus rifles has released equity with which I have purchased a 'Trail Camera'. This sentinel may be secured via an adjustable strap to a tree or suitable anchor at likely 'hotspots'. This tool has provided useful intelligence on the intrusions and visitors to my little patch of woods. 

As one hunter sleeps, another prowls...

By analysing the time stamps, and recording the positions the photographs were taken, I am quickly building a picture of the various species and their habits. I am not the only one.
As shown above, a fellow hunter (albeit utilising a far more primitive and specialised 'aid') has been doing the same. I cannot say how his rabbit hunt is faring, but we have lost two chickens in as many days during the night following the pictures captured and a recent dip in temperatures. The raids have been expert. I have not proof a fox is to blame, though I do have my suspicions.
As I followed the trail of feathers of the ill fated cockerel, I experienced how easy it is to take the 'theft' personally. It was as though my ego delighted in there being an adversary. I had purpose, focus, an aim, an objective, a goal. It rapidly constructed plans of how to trap, capture and ultimately exterminate this new foe.
But he is not my enemy. Quite the opposite. We have much in common.
I will continue to offer the remains of my kills that are beyond my use to the 'gods'. Though my gifts may in fact attract carnivores I would wish repelled, I keep the site of the sacrifices on the extremes of our boundaries and trust they will appease and distract those who would take more than I wish to give. For let us not forget, I too take from my environment. I too maraud the countryside, raid and slaughter (of course, only where permitted!)

The information gleaned from my sentry has resulted in the fine tuning of my timings. I know better when to keep the rifle to hand and not long after, my tax was exacted and the toll for entering my domain paid.

As I plucked this errant bird, I marvelled at its plumage. I was fascinated at the multitude of subtle colours, more so by how, collectively, the pattern served to create one of the finest woodland camouflage patterns I have ever seen (or not as the case may be!)
I pondered how it may be put to use. I am certain my ancestors would have sought to put such a gift to good use, to provide that edge and advantage on the hunt. It also led me to question how much of the new is really better than the old. An interesting line of enquiry warranting further investigation, though for another day.

Funds were also put towards decoys. Twice into the grey I ventured out with them. One Crow, two Pigeons. The first thing to be attracted took me most unawares. A buzzard plummeted from above and booted my crow three to five feet across the deck. The hollow sound of talon upon plastic shell took him by surprise causing him to retreat a good metre. As he regained his composure I watched in fascination and awe. Half fearful he would make off with my decoy. I soon had camera in hand, though he took his leave just as I pressed the 'on' button. Typical.
The next species to be fooled, was again, not any of the ones being targeted. In many ways it is one of the potentially most ignorant and stupid of all those that walk the earth despite its capacity for awe inspiring intelligence. I'm not talking about the dog, I mean Humans!
A woman, her son and black lab were heard approaching from my left so I made my rifle safe as they passed. The footpath runs to the rear of my position, yet some choose to not to stick to it.
It wasn't long before the dog and boy bounded past. It looked, for an instant, like the labrador would pass my pattern and leave it unmolested. The boy stopped to catch his breath and bent over, leaning on his knees. The dog, no longer being pursued, had a chance to glance about and quickly investigated the birds that did not flee. He went straight for the crow and nosed it.
Bugger. He's going to make off with that, I though to myself.
The womans voice called out. The boy communicated his confusion. The lad stood not three yards to the front of my position. In the hope he would call off the dog, I shouted "They're DECOYS mate!" He cast his eyes about the hedgerow uncertainly. "I just heard a voice" he intoned, half to himself and evidently forgot the message, even that one had been issued.
For the next ten minutes, a back and forth ensued reminiscent of a farcical pantomime. The boy twice took to hurling stones at the plastic birds, the woman seemed unwilling, even fearful of approaching them. Over and over they would ask each other, why weren't the birds flying away, were they dead? Why would someone leave birds out in a field? What should they do? Should they enquire at the house?
As the dog had been put on the lead I kept quiet, watched and listened incredulously. I was dumbfounded. Eventually and thankfully, they returned from whence they came and I was left in peace. Very much amused, I packed up and counted what I had seen as reward enough. I smiled and chuckled to myself all the way home, not before congratulating myself on what must have been excellent concealment.

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.

The 'Caravan Mans' 'Make it up as you go along' recipe for Pigeon

So you've had a successful hunt, you've got your prizes home and you've whipped off the delicious bits. (I'll presume you know how to do this, if not, get in touch).

As you've been out all day, and its blooming nippy by the time you get back, best get that woodburner stoked. Plus, although you don't know it yet, in a few minutes it'll come in handy...

Get your breasts of pigeon, rummage under the sink/larder to see what the heck she keeps in there and what you have to play with.

You may find;
2 potatoes sprouting happily in the darkness,
3 carrots you rescued from following the rest in decomposing,
1 onion,
and the last egg before a dog massacred three of your chickens the other day.

Chop em all up however you see fit. I started with the carrots and potatoes to get them boiled up as they take the longest.

Whack em in some slightly salted water, and get them going on the last hob ring that works since the other started acting 'dodgy' last winter and your attempt to clean it and fix it has resulted in visions of your home blowing up whenever you ignite gas.

When you get bored/so hungry you swear your stomach is digesting itself, bung the pan on the woodburner to keep warm and continue bubbling away at 150+ celsius

 
Chop up your onions and halve your pigeon breasts so they look like 'angels'.

Get the spoon you hand carved from a slab of ash ready.

Slap a good amount of butter in the frying pan. Has to be butter, nothing else will do, its the only way to fry...

Flash fry the pigeon breast for two and a half minutes each side.

As the onions start burning, realise that either you do the pigeon breasts or the onions not cut corners to save time.

Chuck the next two in and brown off the potato 'chips'.

Fry that egg, remember that as hungry as you are, low and slow is key.

 Don't keel over when you check the time, you're nearly there!

Eh Voila! Add some chilli sauce, its ace. Tuck in!

A poorly hidden tray of chocolate marsh mallows, probably intended to be 'shared' will do nicely for pudding.

Hit the hay and don't be surprised nor ashamed if you wake up the next morning at 10:14!

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.