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| The Wise Hunter knows his continued existence depends not only in the taking and destruction of life, but the nurturing and giving of it also. |
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The Hunter's Chronicles - Wednesday 16th May 2012
A brief return to the neglected woodland, possibly the last too as the weekenders have decided to move in full time. Nice to have neighbours and in honesty my pigeon roost shooting techniques don't seem to be yielding many juicy breasts. I'll find somewhere else to pop em off.
My pigeon hunting techniques are so poor in fact...I came home with a squirrel! I opted to explore a bit and try out a new vantage point. This had an excellent kill zone, the slope put me midway up the trees, with a panoramic view of the woodland floor out to a perfect 40 yards. I was presented with a couple of chances, but threading the pellet through the newly grown foliage was seemingly impossible. The shots I did get off must have ricocheted or impacted into branches, or I fluffed them all.
As my right leg had fallen soundly asleep, and I feared I would soon follow, I went for an "ahhh, ohhh, owwww JEEZZZUS CHRIST" wander...
A tail dangled from the fence. It was attached to a small female squizzer. As I eyed her up in the glass, she gave me a wink. I was most excited and blew an RWS Superfield in her direction...
The RWS Superfield entered beside the right eye, only just visible in the picture above. She fell back and dangled from the wire, slumping into the carpet of Ramsons.
I was amazed when I performed the autopsy to find a .177 in the left shoulder blade! Evidently the pellet had travelled through the skull, down the neck and expended itself between the muscle and skin. 10.87ft/lbs at 40 yards. Astounding.
My first thought was "Wow, maybe JFK was killed by a 'magic bullet'!"
I'm keen to chuck her in my 'oven' and see what she's like with some Patak's Rogan Josh curry paste!
Only a short one this time friends!
Oven Cooking Your Kill Without an Oven!
Had rather a brainwave today.
I realised that by simply raising what I wished to cook off the bottom of a pan, i could create an oven effect. So i borrowed the steamer tray that goes in the pressure cooker and flipped it over. Voila!
Don't laugh, that's pretty clever for me!
The meal!
I realised that by simply raising what I wished to cook off the bottom of a pan, i could create an oven effect. So i borrowed the steamer tray that goes in the pressure cooker and flipped it over. Voila!
Don't laugh, that's pretty clever for me!
The meal!
The Hunter's Chronicles - Sunday 13th May 2012
Due to a low battery warning in our carbon monoxide alarm, I was awake at 04:00 whether I liked it or not.
A dawn patrol.
The sunrise was awe inspiring. My old friend, the woodland, transformed in my absence. The cover now blocking the rising light, vibrant green providing a screen from the multitude of pigeons cooing from the dizzying heights of the giant beech trees.
Whilst no quarry presented itself, I witnessed something I have not seen before. A crashing thundering sound suddenly erupted ahead. I dropped to my knee expecting to see a cyclist hurtle past at breakneck speed. Instead, four deer stampeded past weaving frantically through the trees... an incredible sight and most unexpected.
I exited the woods the other side.
Over the hill I strolled breathing in the fresh dawn air. It has been too long since I prowled the woods at this, a most vibrant hour so full of anticipation and promise it is almost palpable.
Out of sync with the terrain, and distracted by the scenes around me, I only managed to send the three rabbits that were seen scurrying back to their tunnels and warrens.
My focus switched to the pigeons as I embarked on the return leg of my tour. Only two shots of the many opportunities were possible and my closest attempt took a feather or two off the backside of one as I struggled to master shooting at near vertical angles. I have yet to learn this with the .177 let alone the .22 and I do not fancy scaling those arrow straight ancient beeches in order to mount targets to practice!
At 14:15 I set out to the fields on the lower slopes of the valley. After 3 hours I really did question my sanity entering on the forum a thread entitled "How I Know For Certain I'm Insane..." with the following post;
"...and it's the air rifles fault.
I read that one of the definitions of insanity is "the repetition of the same task or activity, with the expectation of a different outcome each time".
As I sit outside this warren for the umpteenth time, I can't help but wonder if the men in white coats, not rabbits, are about to jump out..."
I gave up on that warren and elected to 'mooch' instead.
In the next field over I spied two illuminated red elliptical shapes close to the ground. I dropped to my knee and inspected through the glass. As I suspected, the sun was shining through a pair of ears attached to a feeding rabbit. As I rose to advance, the wind, strong and unpredictable, and possibly over eagerness in my movement, gave my presence away and I had milliseconds to act. No time for laser range finding, it was shooting by the seat of the pants. The gut put range at 40 plus yards, the mind responded with the calculation of a mil dot hold over, she was turning to launch into a run. I fired from a standing position. She was out of the blocks and at full tilt. She failed to reach 572.5ft/s and the pursuing AA Field crashed into her skull. Two front flips and a side roll and four legs pointed upwards, twitching at the heavens.
'Bagged n tagged', we headed home. Within minutes she was 'dressed' (ironic, as being skinned surely she was undressed!) and in the pot. An old jar of Madras curry paste, its contents separated into 'brown' and 'liquid' provided the foundations of a very large and satisfying meal.
The possibilities and adventures that exist when the Sun doth shine!
A dawn patrol.
The sunrise was awe inspiring. My old friend, the woodland, transformed in my absence. The cover now blocking the rising light, vibrant green providing a screen from the multitude of pigeons cooing from the dizzying heights of the giant beech trees.
Whilst no quarry presented itself, I witnessed something I have not seen before. A crashing thundering sound suddenly erupted ahead. I dropped to my knee expecting to see a cyclist hurtle past at breakneck speed. Instead, four deer stampeded past weaving frantically through the trees... an incredible sight and most unexpected.
I exited the woods the other side.
Over the hill I strolled breathing in the fresh dawn air. It has been too long since I prowled the woods at this, a most vibrant hour so full of anticipation and promise it is almost palpable.
Out of sync with the terrain, and distracted by the scenes around me, I only managed to send the three rabbits that were seen scurrying back to their tunnels and warrens.
My focus switched to the pigeons as I embarked on the return leg of my tour. Only two shots of the many opportunities were possible and my closest attempt took a feather or two off the backside of one as I struggled to master shooting at near vertical angles. I have yet to learn this with the .177 let alone the .22 and I do not fancy scaling those arrow straight ancient beeches in order to mount targets to practice!
At 14:15 I set out to the fields on the lower slopes of the valley. After 3 hours I really did question my sanity entering on the forum a thread entitled "How I Know For Certain I'm Insane..." with the following post;
"...and it's the air rifles fault.
I read that one of the definitions of insanity is "the repetition of the same task or activity, with the expectation of a different outcome each time".
As I sit outside this warren for the umpteenth time, I can't help but wonder if the men in white coats, not rabbits, are about to jump out..."
I gave up on that warren and elected to 'mooch' instead.
In the next field over I spied two illuminated red elliptical shapes close to the ground. I dropped to my knee and inspected through the glass. As I suspected, the sun was shining through a pair of ears attached to a feeding rabbit. As I rose to advance, the wind, strong and unpredictable, and possibly over eagerness in my movement, gave my presence away and I had milliseconds to act. No time for laser range finding, it was shooting by the seat of the pants. The gut put range at 40 plus yards, the mind responded with the calculation of a mil dot hold over, she was turning to launch into a run. I fired from a standing position. She was out of the blocks and at full tilt. She failed to reach 572.5ft/s and the pursuing AA Field crashed into her skull. Two front flips and a side roll and four legs pointed upwards, twitching at the heavens.
 |
A large and heavy Doe with seven fetuses. I was taken aback by her size. |
'Bagged n tagged', we headed home. Within minutes she was 'dressed' (ironic, as being skinned surely she was undressed!) and in the pot. An old jar of Madras curry paste, its contents separated into 'brown' and 'liquid' provided the foundations of a very large and satisfying meal.
The possibilities and adventures that exist when the Sun doth shine!
The Hunter's Chronicles - Saturday 12th May 2012
Saturday 12th May 2012
Nature, my mistress, provider and dictator has limited my activities and resources somewhat of late.
Though today, just when required, she changed her mind. Bathing myself and the solar panels in glorious celestial warmth. The heat that nurtures all life...including the netbook...
Between this, and my last reported adventure I have been a hunting guide, dodging rain and shooting rabbits with success and failure on both counts.
Presented with the opportunity that was this day, I fed the new S200 a whole tin of RWS Superfields. She spat them out rather erratically and it was clear that they were not to her liking. When I changed her diet to AA Fields she started to behave, if she wasn't pumped too full (170 BAR seemed to side step the two magazines of 'two mildot high' pellets that had troubled me the whole day).
With a pretty thorough work out on the pump burning in my back muscle's, I decided it was time to turn her loose in the fields.
Rather than wander the entire land, I went prone outside of a warren whose population were as equally grateful for the return of the Sun. Shortly after, the cross hairs were rising and falling scribing an imaginary line of death down the side of the nearest rabbits face. They rested a mildot high at nine times magnification with a range of 53 yards. The S200 let wind.
The pellet struck the earth behind him...I'd over filled her! She was at 190 BAR... The Kit paused at the hedgerow, his play fellow evidently oblivious to his chums dance with death. I aimed straight at him. The Reaper visited and claimed a soul.
As I awaited the return of the remaining quarry, my mobile rang. It was my dear sweet lady love.
"Don't ask me how, but the chickens have escaped and are all in the garden, I would round them up, but the cockerels out too".
"On my way..."
Our Old English Game Cock appears to believe my partner and our oldest daughter to be hens that require rounding up. He's not averse to resorting to flying kicks and pecks to the buttocks to exert his will. He only avoided execution after an escape and assault earlier in the day as I couldn't be bothered to pluck him.
I returned to the fields around 19:00 with food in my belly, anxious to test my new found understanding of the .22 calibre pellet.
Progress was slow and silent as I patrolled a bramble patch. Improbably close to my right, barely 4 yards ahead, a grey/brown shape moved through the fence!
I was astounded. A fully grown rabbit boldly going about her business.
My senses searched to identify the factor that was facilitating this experience.
It was plain. Her fur was patchy, eyes narrowed slits, blinded by the grip of her decay at the hands of Myxomatosis. I suddenly found myself the victim of a moral dilemma. I, rooted to the ground, observed her for what seemed a long while as I deliberated on a course of action. Reason said Myxomatosis victims are edible, instinct told me not to eat a diseased animal. Added to this, her fur was of little use and appeal to me.
Eventually, I decided she was searching for death. She had been seeking me for a while now and the gods had chosen me to end her suffering. They guided my hand to lift the sights to 4 mildots holdover and send a pellet precisely where it was required. She rolled over and left this existence with barely a shudder.
She reminded me of the admiration I have for all those beings who, through whatever ailment/circumstances, are without one of the senses I take for granted and rely upon almost every waking moment. Whilst my phone and camera had run out of battery denying me the ability to record that event, it will remain forever branded in my mind. A personal experience granted exclusively to me, to be shared only in words.
My appetite for death escaped me, my hunger for meat forgotten.
For now...
Nature, my mistress, provider and dictator has limited my activities and resources somewhat of late.
Though today, just when required, she changed her mind. Bathing myself and the solar panels in glorious celestial warmth. The heat that nurtures all life...including the netbook...
Between this, and my last reported adventure I have been a hunting guide, dodging rain and shooting rabbits with success and failure on both counts.
Presented with the opportunity that was this day, I fed the new S200 a whole tin of RWS Superfields. She spat them out rather erratically and it was clear that they were not to her liking. When I changed her diet to AA Fields she started to behave, if she wasn't pumped too full (170 BAR seemed to side step the two magazines of 'two mildot high' pellets that had troubled me the whole day).
With a pretty thorough work out on the pump burning in my back muscle's, I decided it was time to turn her loose in the fields.
Rather than wander the entire land, I went prone outside of a warren whose population were as equally grateful for the return of the Sun. Shortly after, the cross hairs were rising and falling scribing an imaginary line of death down the side of the nearest rabbits face. They rested a mildot high at nine times magnification with a range of 53 yards. The S200 let wind.
The pellet struck the earth behind him...I'd over filled her! She was at 190 BAR... The Kit paused at the hedgerow, his play fellow evidently oblivious to his chums dance with death. I aimed straight at him. The Reaper visited and claimed a soul.
 |
| "Death wuz 'ere" |
As I awaited the return of the remaining quarry, my mobile rang. It was my dear sweet lady love.
"Don't ask me how, but the chickens have escaped and are all in the garden, I would round them up, but the cockerels out too".
"On my way..."
Our Old English Game Cock appears to believe my partner and our oldest daughter to be hens that require rounding up. He's not averse to resorting to flying kicks and pecks to the buttocks to exert his will. He only avoided execution after an escape and assault earlier in the day as I couldn't be bothered to pluck him.
I returned to the fields around 19:00 with food in my belly, anxious to test my new found understanding of the .22 calibre pellet.
Progress was slow and silent as I patrolled a bramble patch. Improbably close to my right, barely 4 yards ahead, a grey/brown shape moved through the fence!
I was astounded. A fully grown rabbit boldly going about her business.
My senses searched to identify the factor that was facilitating this experience.
It was plain. Her fur was patchy, eyes narrowed slits, blinded by the grip of her decay at the hands of Myxomatosis. I suddenly found myself the victim of a moral dilemma. I, rooted to the ground, observed her for what seemed a long while as I deliberated on a course of action. Reason said Myxomatosis victims are edible, instinct told me not to eat a diseased animal. Added to this, her fur was of little use and appeal to me.
Eventually, I decided she was searching for death. She had been seeking me for a while now and the gods had chosen me to end her suffering. They guided my hand to lift the sights to 4 mildots holdover and send a pellet precisely where it was required. She rolled over and left this existence with barely a shudder.
She reminded me of the admiration I have for all those beings who, through whatever ailment/circumstances, are without one of the senses I take for granted and rely upon almost every waking moment. Whilst my phone and camera had run out of battery denying me the ability to record that event, it will remain forever branded in my mind. A personal experience granted exclusively to me, to be shared only in words.
My appetite for death escaped me, my hunger for meat forgotten.
For now...
The Hunter's Chronicles - Sunday 6th May 2012
My recent acquisition, though it has nigh bankrupted me, and tentative
return into the world of PCP's enabled me to engage in something not
recommended with a spring powered rifle. The use of my DCR-SR32e Sony
video camera as a scope cam.
When I bought my first PCP, the Webley Raider 10XS, I went positively all out and bought almost every accessory I could think of which included an IR bulb with my L2 Solarforce Lamping setup. Whilst I haven't fully explored the night vision capability, it was most enjoyable observing the rabbits and photographing them. It also had the bonus of occupying my mind as I observed those out of range, so more often than not, when I glanced up, a rabbit would have popped up in my kill zone.
Unfortunately, when the opportunity presented itself to capture a kill, the Stealth (or my .22 marksmanship) failed to deliver. I believe that either the shot fell short, or the bottle is finally low. Without a pump however, I cannot rule out the latter and for the sake of the rabbit I sincerely hope it was the former.
For those purists amongst you who have always rooted for the TX200 over the Stealth, have maintained the springer will be more reliable and deliver when asked, well so far, I have to concede you are right. I too am one of those purists, and so far PCP is not living up to my demands and requirements.
I returned with 'Old Faithful'...
Within minutes she did as her master asked.
But, I am willing to extend my benefit of the doubt. I believe the Stealth and I maybe reconciled despite our calibre differences and preferences. With a tin of Bisley Long Range Gold or H&N FTT I believe she will be able to perform at the ranges of the TX200 yet with a bit more punch.
Lamping is where I think the Stealth will excel, so let us wait, exercise patience and thus be rewarded.
When I bought my first PCP, the Webley Raider 10XS, I went positively all out and bought almost every accessory I could think of which included an IR bulb with my L2 Solarforce Lamping setup. Whilst I haven't fully explored the night vision capability, it was most enjoyable observing the rabbits and photographing them. It also had the bonus of occupying my mind as I observed those out of range, so more often than not, when I glanced up, a rabbit would have popped up in my kill zone.
Unfortunately, when the opportunity presented itself to capture a kill, the Stealth (or my .22 marksmanship) failed to deliver. I believe that either the shot fell short, or the bottle is finally low. Without a pump however, I cannot rule out the latter and for the sake of the rabbit I sincerely hope it was the former.
For those purists amongst you who have always rooted for the TX200 over the Stealth, have maintained the springer will be more reliable and deliver when asked, well so far, I have to concede you are right. I too am one of those purists, and so far PCP is not living up to my demands and requirements.
I returned with 'Old Faithful'...
Within minutes she did as her master asked.
But, I am willing to extend my benefit of the doubt. I believe the Stealth and I maybe reconciled despite our calibre differences and preferences. With a tin of Bisley Long Range Gold or H&N FTT I believe she will be able to perform at the ranges of the TX200 yet with a bit more punch.
Lamping is where I think the Stealth will excel, so let us wait, exercise patience and thus be rewarded.
Sudden Schizophrenia
Apologies for the jump back in time, I just got around to posting the final few entries of my diary and the Diary of the Warless Warrior Series. Will either make those two months of entries into a small book "The Dance of The Warless Warrior" or will tag onto "The Days of the Warless Warrior".
"The Roses Beneath My Window" - Wednesday 05/10/11
Our 'Indian Summer' is at an end. Normality, if that is what it is, seems to have returned.
Friday, Simon and Jasmine took us with them to Picton Castle where an event was being held in the gardens. The theme was light. Interestingly to me, my pleasure came not from the man made attractions. Primarily it was being with Simon and Jasmine and my family and the change of scenery, and once there, the magnificent trees and horticulture, most notably a 300 year old Cedar tree. From its trunk extended sucker like branches that grew outward a distance, just beyond the canopy, and turned skyward.
My favourite of these was one that resembled an elephants head and trunk.
I grant you that its been one week to the day since my last entry. I am finding it increasingly difficult to breakdown my life into newsworthy events. My life just is. What arises, passes. The fact that yesterday, I and others collected algae bloom from the millpond along with its brown trout victims, does not particularly change nor matter much. It is a tit bit of limited interest to another. Collectively, the entries may give my children an idea of who I was and what I was thinking, but that is of little significance to who I am. To me, each day is now a new life. Each night that previous existence fades and serves no role in the present. A death.
The photographs are images, a form of forms, it, like the other forms, will fade and whither into past. Unless one derives identity from these and other forms, their capture and/or demise are of no consequence.
I once thought it mattered to record and to remember the past. I once believed it important to be able to communicate my activities to others. It is not. Not, for me, anymore. These records are and have been entertaining. A distraction from the present.
For those who read this because they want to follow my path, to learn the secrets of how I changed my life, I have not answers, but important questions for you.
It was not particularly useful for me to ask "Where do I want to live/be?" But rather "Where am I happy to die?" I believe the latter of the two evokes much stronger imagery in the minds eye than the former. Also; "If not now, then when? If not here, then where?
"These roses under my Window make no reference to former roses or to better ones; they are for what they are; they exist with God today. There is no time to them...But man postpones or remembers; he does not live in the present, but with reverted eye laments the past, or, heedless of the riches that surround him, stands on tiptoe to foresee the future. He cannot be happy and strong until he too lives with nature in the present, above time" - Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self Reliance.
Skeleton Houses - Wednesday 28/09/11
Emma joked that a Pole Shift must have occurred due to the unseasonably good weather. High temperatures of over 27 degrees Celsius are forecast to last until Sunday.
I made use of this sunshine and the morning dew to finish off some scything I started for Jude. She was most grateful for my help. Allegedly, she is now being denied the help of volunteers due to her honest reply to questions asked by participants of the 'Low Impact Experience' week. For many reasons, she is not a happy hippy. Well, for starters, she's not a hippy...nor is anyone else here for that matter...
Just before lunch, I switched to polytunnel tasks and bolted braces along the top of the frame to the cross members. It was after doing this and gazing at the frame that I was struck by how much like a giant rib cage the structure looked. A whale skeleton. Hit by its natural form, I then pondered if, by planting trees instead of poles, it could be grown. Then a better idea hit me. How cool would it be to not build a house, but grow it! A truly natural living house! In my minds eye, it's possible and somehow, someway, I resolve to do it. When I mentioned it to Jude, she said she'd heard of such and idea being done in Ireland.
The mind can be most entertaining when not torturing.
I made use of this sunshine and the morning dew to finish off some scything I started for Jude. She was most grateful for my help. Allegedly, she is now being denied the help of volunteers due to her honest reply to questions asked by participants of the 'Low Impact Experience' week. For many reasons, she is not a happy hippy. Well, for starters, she's not a hippy...nor is anyone else here for that matter...
Just before lunch, I switched to polytunnel tasks and bolted braces along the top of the frame to the cross members. It was after doing this and gazing at the frame that I was struck by how much like a giant rib cage the structure looked. A whale skeleton. Hit by its natural form, I then pondered if, by planting trees instead of poles, it could be grown. Then a better idea hit me. How cool would it be to not build a house, but grow it! A truly natural living house! In my minds eye, it's possible and somehow, someway, I resolve to do it. When I mentioned it to Jude, she said she'd heard of such and idea being done in Ireland.
The mind can be most entertaining when not torturing.
Virtual PC - Monday 26/09/11
The Warless Warrior awoke. 20:30 is the moment this is written. A name, a number assigned so other beings may identify the moment to which is being referred.
Names, numbers assigned. Beings. Divine machines. Machines greater than the sum of their parts. Parts of substance. Substance of matter. All that exists,is matter. Matter manifests/morphs as matter reacts with matter. Matter is not destroyed, it simply changes form. Energy is the force released/radiated as a by product of the interaction of matter.
Beings are biological machines. It is recognised that beings have unique identifier 'codes' that affect the beings make up, internal and external.
Human beings emit noises that conform to a standard and are understood in the same manner a modem does.
Some emit strange sounds that others need to program themselves in order to understand.
Human machines have gone too far. Most are running 'Virtual PC' and are not using th CPU's full resources to maximum capability. 'Virtual PC' is also known as 'ego' and dwells in the sandbox of the mind. The Virtual PC has gotten so powerful, it runs the rest of the machine...with limited capability and and disastrous consequences.
Names, numbers assigned. Beings. Divine machines. Machines greater than the sum of their parts. Parts of substance. Substance of matter. All that exists,is matter. Matter manifests/morphs as matter reacts with matter. Matter is not destroyed, it simply changes form. Energy is the force released/radiated as a by product of the interaction of matter.
Beings are biological machines. It is recognised that beings have unique identifier 'codes' that affect the beings make up, internal and external.
Human beings emit noises that conform to a standard and are understood in the same manner a modem does.
Some emit strange sounds that others need to program themselves in order to understand.
Human machines have gone too far. Most are running 'Virtual PC' and are not using th CPU's full resources to maximum capability. 'Virtual PC' is also known as 'ego' and dwells in the sandbox of the mind. The Virtual PC has gotten so powerful, it runs the rest of the machine...with limited capability and and disastrous consequences.
The Offensive - Thursday 22/09/11
Boy have I got the
'touch' today. I offended Kit's wife this morning and by complete
fluke, his neighbour in the afternoon!
The mornings assignment
was to clear 4 rows of willow so the digger could shape hedgebanks on
the perimeter.
Nigel and Cassie, who's
land borders Kit's lower field, denied their consent for the digger
to drive on their land, and so the willows fate was sealed.
Readers may recall the
days I spent on my tod planting row after row of willow during Kits
absence. I singlehandedly doubled the willow coppice. Since then, I
have watched three to four of those fledgling rows be annihilated by
the tractors when they cut the grass. Now, today, I was required to
cut more down, at the wrong time of year, so some earth could be
pushed and piled. A truly needless sacrifice. This job did not need
doing and definitely not before November.
My first offence
occurred when, after I had cut down the four 50m odd rows of willow,
Saara asked if I would be happy to go back, root amongst the grass
and cut every stump again to ground level. I was truthful but
reserved when I replied “Not particularly, No”. She grabbed the
loppers from my hand without a word and disappeared to the opposite
end of the field. When our paths next crossed and I asked if she had
taken offence, I got “I'll talk to you later” in reply.
I explained myself to
Kit (a man should be warned when you've upset his wife!) who I don't
think really got the meaning but he did his best to understand for
which I am grateful.
Strike Two occurred as
I was splitting logs. Nigel materialised and was visibly upset.
Seething with anger is more accurate, and by God did he let rip. I
was accused of all sorts of wild allegations including cowardice, bad
parenting and spreading of bad karma. Based on second hand
information and presumptions, all were in relation to our dispute
with the leisure centre. His cowardice allegation was negated when I
revealed that his wife had called me on the day in question and it
was I
who had resolved the matter by talking direct to the troublemakers.
His eyes flickered at this, betraying his ignorance of important and
rather key facts. The rest of his speech consisted of perceptions and
opinions. I cannot argue those no matter how ridiculously inaccurate
they may be.
This is not the first
time he has erupted, and I am sure it will not be the last. I find
this emotional outburst crap very juvenile and I attribute my
repeated successful pacification of them partly to be down to the
fact I deal with kids every day. Some, evidently, much bigger and
older than others...
The millpond reflected
an image back to me. It was no less real than the objects portrayed
within it.
A ripple spread across
the surface and the image was distorted.
I pondered this. All
the world is a reflection, made real by us. Our lives have ripples in
them that distort our perceptions.
Ripples can be created
no matter how still we are. The key, I think, is to look past the
ripple to see the image that continues to exist above and beneath.
 |
| What the Willow Died for... |
Paining - Wednesday 21/09/11
It's 20:06. It's fully dark outside, the cat's been
spayed and I am on the couch reading
a book, exhausted and paining from my days labour. Good times (for
me, not the cat, she's looking stiff, scarred and I imagine is
paining more than I)
A Tiresome Train Wreck - Tuesday 20/09/11
At midday, Kit, Saara, Nick, Emma and I plus babies
finally had a sit down chat.
I was rather dismayed, indeed disgusted by some of what
was aired.
I particularly wished to put to bed the recent grumbles
about my perceived lack of input. Somehow, it would appear my efforts
are viewed in an inferior light to those of Nicks. A grossly unfair
comparison to start with and I won't go into detail here.
It is times like these when keeping a diary pays
dividends.
What most shocked me was Kits confession of envy. Not
only of our material possessions, specifically my air rifles, but
also our finances and what appears to him to be our relaxed life
despite our newborn child. I am aware that beneath envy lies
flattery, but it was Emma who astutely pointed out that whilst things
such as money and toys are what they are, who owns the land? Who will
leave here with nothing? Who will gain a house!?
I am writing this shortly after the event has occurred,
so no doubt emotions are still present and issues that may fade still
vivid in mind. I have expressed to Saara that I would like a follow
up chat with them regarding the points raised.
Whilst my emotion charged mind wishes to document all
niggling details, my hearts wisdom and pen hand knows it is for the
better that I refrain. There are no accidents.
If my frustrations become a catalyst for our departure
then that is that.
Am I sabotaging my circumstances in accordance to the
pattern I have observed in my life, I ask myself. I said in their
presence that I attributed this period to a lack of focus (building)
and lack of clarity on our exchange.
A small voice voice in my conscience recalls that Hoppi
and others warned us that Kit can be a challenge. Be that as it may,
whilst I breathe, I am ready to be challenged.
I attended a Lammas meeting in the evening, not much was
different from the others bar two items regarding directors and
outside committee members. My notice that I wished to stand as a
Director was again on the agenda after being dismissed off hand
previously. None objected, bar Andy who belligerently asked me to
repeat myself when I spoke clear enough for all to hear, as he “did
not understand a word” and then declined to elaborate on his
objection when challenged. Either he was being polite, so strong were
his feelings, or he was just being 'difficult'. I didn't take it
personally, just as well too as he was also did not like the idea of
outside committee members. I also have a feeling Melissa would have
objected as well, so the focus cannot be trained on him alone. This
concensus thing seems a waste of time, cited as 'something to aspire
to' it appears as fluffy and as foundless in practice as most other
'enlightened' ideas practiced by incapable aspirational folk.
I have endured all meetings that have taken place during
my time here. I have observed and offered input when it was required,
and/or requested, but watching a train fall off the tracks eventually
becomes frustrating and dull. More so when your insight is most often
seemingly cast on stony ground.
My offer to stand as director was therefore a most
charitable and generous one. I thank Andy for excluding and
protecting me from being obligated to attend these circuses. Lammas
is bankrupt due to gross negligence and financial mismanagement. That
is not hearsay nor speculation, it is a fact. The ship is sinking and
like many others, I'm cashing out.
Let us see what next the Fates will deign to weave into
this, my tapestry of life.
Bum Bum Changing - Monday 19/09/11
A morning of blogging, accompanied in the background by
Eckhart Tolle, an afternoon carting nutrient rich muck from the
border of the woodland. Thankfully, with Kits assistance.
The intention was a barrow each, the practice was not.
Kits barrow had a flat tyre, so we relayed the barrow loads. I was
exhausted by the time we eventually completed the task.
I did not have a restful night that night either. Woken
at 03:00 to help Emma with a 'Bum Bum Change'. (For our baby, not
Emma!) I didn't get back to sleep until 06:00. I passed the dark
small hours reading in front of the fire. The library van had visited
and I borrowed 'A Pheasants Revolt: More tales of the Country' it is
so amusing Emma heard my frequent chortles from the next room. (We do
live in a caravan).
A Proper Forum - Sunday 18/09/11
Kit, Saara and Henri came round this morning, During the
conversation, we were invited to join them down at the hub for a
'food to share' meal.
Emma and I went down to Jayne's plot to get some
vegetables and enquired whether, in fact, the meal was intended to
include volunteers. I wasn't much bothered either way but as we had
received an invite, I did not share Emma's concern.
We arrived just after the prescribed time of 13:00.
13:10 to be more precise. It was just us for ten minutes until Kit
arrived. Five minutes after he, Simon, Jasmine, Grandpa Nigel, Elfie
and Cosmo trooped down and we tucked in.
It later transpired that Jayne had shown up to this
informal get together but had given up and gone moments before we
arrived.
A good two hours was spent by all discussing many
subjects. In my view, more is accomplished in these informal
gatherings than is currently at meetings! Not much is concluded or
resolved, but certainly views and personal opinions are shared in the
proper forum.
The Hunter's Chronicles - Tuesday 1st May 2012
With the changing
of the month came change in the weather. 19:00 I saddled up the TX200
and sauntered to my pigeon patch. Of course, there were bunnies a
plenty. Kits lined the roadside, diving for cover when their nerve gave
out. Each seemed to hold out longer than the last as though daring the
next to out-do his bravado.
As I past my usual rabbit field there were four at least way beyond their usual limits, a quick scamper, but when I froze and remained a statue, they quickly resumed feeding. I enjoyed their company for a while smiling wryly to myself. Soon I tired of them and as I resumed my way, all scurried to the hedgerows in an instant.
I arrived in my favoured spot. A small woodland, unclaimed and unowned, inhabited at the weekend by two very friendly people and their equally friendly dog, Foxy.
I plunged into my secret garden through the thicket on the left that conceals the path to the treasures within.
A few paces in I like to stop and remain motionless for a minute or two. I fancy I am 'tuning in' to the surrounding life, calibrating my radar, becoming more sensitive to the subtle signs that betray quarry lurking in the depths... In spite of this, when I move again I very often disturb numerous pigeons who in turn scare the rest with the frantic beat of their wings and snapping of twigs. This has been almost unavoidable as the high winds of late have littered the floor with dead twigs, veritable land mines to the stealthy predator. More ominous and deadly than that are the shining and only recently exposed roots that lurk beneath that will take a foot and send it down the steep slope threatening at best to knock the rifle off zero, or worse, break a bone.
I threaded my steps with purpose. So slow and cautious was I that a heavy female squirrel nibbled upon a branch ahead oblivious to my presence. I took a standing shot the impacted below the ear. The crack sent two more pigeons off into the skies as she crumpled sideways and rolled off the branch impacting the leaf litter with a muffled thud. As I approached her shivering body, it was evident the life had vanished from the eyes, and yet the nose and whiskers twitched. I placed another pellet through the back of her skull to end the throes of Death.
Onwards, deeper into the forest I went. Songbirds chirped and twittered their chorus above and around me. Pigeons cooed but far off.
I arrived near to my position, eyes roving the canopy, My attention dropped nearer to the floor and it was then I spied the silhouette of another tree rat. This time a tree was perfectly positioned for a rested standing shot.
Crack, thud, roll.
I came to his remains and inspected the damage. There was no reaction, no struggling, no movement. But there was still light in the eyes. The round seemed to have struck just that bit too low and right of the ear. He was paralysed. A swift mercy shot and I held his chest feeling the strong heartbeat continue as blood pumped from his nose and mouth, then begin to falter, weaken, and stop. I tucked him up above where my gun is pictured resting, an offering to the Gods with the words "Lie with, and become one with the tree you loved, as one day I too will return to the soil".
There on in I played the waiting game.
My first opportunity presented itself three quarters of an hour later. The angle was extreme, almost directly above my head in a tall tree in front of my position. I am fairly certain I scored a direct hit, seemingly evidenced by the feathers that see sawed their way down, but he nonetheless escaped my clutches. Did it strike that impervious breast bone causing only a small flesh wound? Or did he fly on the fuel of adrenaline only to crash land to earth and become food for the Fox? I'll never know.
Around 20:00 another offering was made. This time I made the shot count. I held firm until his head protruded clear from the body and branches through which the pellet required threading and took my chance. He fell straight down and rolled with the slope towards me. A headshot, that was clear, but in a cruel twist reminiscent of the film Final Destination, he managed to thread a length of barbed wire through his throat! Evidently no mercy shot was required this time.
My prize gained, I ended my foray. As I alighted from my lair, quite without my noticing, the valley had become enveloped in mist. I arrived home to find my abode swaddled in the eiderdown of the gods. With the smoke of the woodburner rising gently from the chimney it was clear my night recounting my adventures, would be cosy and warm. A pleasant contrast from the North wind that pervaded every opening, chilling and leeching the life from that exposed to it.
As I butchered the pigeon by the light of my head torch, a stream of thoughts entered my mind in the fashion of an obituary. They went something along these lines;
You who once were one with the air and trees,
Who dwelt amongst the Gods, the object of the earth bound creatures envy,
Who lived as another expression of the consciousness that creates all things.
A life seen by man as the epitome of liberty.
If your life was the mastery of the elements Air and Wood,
Your demise was through my mastery of Earth and Metal.
You feasted upon the fruits of the farmers labour, I now take it back, less the tax your body exacted.
Our two species have dwelt together throughout history,
Long may our relationship continue.
As I past my usual rabbit field there were four at least way beyond their usual limits, a quick scamper, but when I froze and remained a statue, they quickly resumed feeding. I enjoyed their company for a while smiling wryly to myself. Soon I tired of them and as I resumed my way, all scurried to the hedgerows in an instant.
 |
Meet my closest neighbours, much more discreet than I! |
I arrived in my favoured spot. A small woodland, unclaimed and unowned, inhabited at the weekend by two very friendly people and their equally friendly dog, Foxy.
I plunged into my secret garden through the thicket on the left that conceals the path to the treasures within.
A few paces in I like to stop and remain motionless for a minute or two. I fancy I am 'tuning in' to the surrounding life, calibrating my radar, becoming more sensitive to the subtle signs that betray quarry lurking in the depths... In spite of this, when I move again I very often disturb numerous pigeons who in turn scare the rest with the frantic beat of their wings and snapping of twigs. This has been almost unavoidable as the high winds of late have littered the floor with dead twigs, veritable land mines to the stealthy predator. More ominous and deadly than that are the shining and only recently exposed roots that lurk beneath that will take a foot and send it down the steep slope threatening at best to knock the rifle off zero, or worse, break a bone.
I threaded my steps with purpose. So slow and cautious was I that a heavy female squirrel nibbled upon a branch ahead oblivious to my presence. I took a standing shot the impacted below the ear. The crack sent two more pigeons off into the skies as she crumpled sideways and rolled off the branch impacting the leaf litter with a muffled thud. As I approached her shivering body, it was evident the life had vanished from the eyes, and yet the nose and whiskers twitched. I placed another pellet through the back of her skull to end the throes of Death.
Onwards, deeper into the forest I went. Songbirds chirped and twittered their chorus above and around me. Pigeons cooed but far off.
I arrived near to my position, eyes roving the canopy, My attention dropped nearer to the floor and it was then I spied the silhouette of another tree rat. This time a tree was perfectly positioned for a rested standing shot.
Crack, thud, roll.
I came to his remains and inspected the damage. There was no reaction, no struggling, no movement. But there was still light in the eyes. The round seemed to have struck just that bit too low and right of the ear. He was paralysed. A swift mercy shot and I held his chest feeling the strong heartbeat continue as blood pumped from his nose and mouth, then begin to falter, weaken, and stop. I tucked him up above where my gun is pictured resting, an offering to the Gods with the words "Lie with, and become one with the tree you loved, as one day I too will return to the soil".
There on in I played the waiting game.
My first opportunity presented itself three quarters of an hour later. The angle was extreme, almost directly above my head in a tall tree in front of my position. I am fairly certain I scored a direct hit, seemingly evidenced by the feathers that see sawed their way down, but he nonetheless escaped my clutches. Did it strike that impervious breast bone causing only a small flesh wound? Or did he fly on the fuel of adrenaline only to crash land to earth and become food for the Fox? I'll never know.
Around 20:00 another offering was made. This time I made the shot count. I held firm until his head protruded clear from the body and branches through which the pellet required threading and took my chance. He fell straight down and rolled with the slope towards me. A headshot, that was clear, but in a cruel twist reminiscent of the film Final Destination, he managed to thread a length of barbed wire through his throat! Evidently no mercy shot was required this time.
My prize gained, I ended my foray. As I alighted from my lair, quite without my noticing, the valley had become enveloped in mist. I arrived home to find my abode swaddled in the eiderdown of the gods. With the smoke of the woodburner rising gently from the chimney it was clear my night recounting my adventures, would be cosy and warm. A pleasant contrast from the North wind that pervaded every opening, chilling and leeching the life from that exposed to it.
As I butchered the pigeon by the light of my head torch, a stream of thoughts entered my mind in the fashion of an obituary. They went something along these lines;
You who once were one with the air and trees,
Who dwelt amongst the Gods, the object of the earth bound creatures envy,
Who lived as another expression of the consciousness that creates all things.
A life seen by man as the epitome of liberty.
If your life was the mastery of the elements Air and Wood,
Your demise was through my mastery of Earth and Metal.
You feasted upon the fruits of the farmers labour, I now take it back, less the tax your body exacted.
Our two species have dwelt together throughout history,
Long may our relationship continue.
The Hunter's Chronicles - Saturday 28th April 2012 - Part II
I
supped my cuppa and had a long hard look at the dark ominous cloud
formation the other side of the valley through the caravan window. Hmmm.
Another check of the forecast. Computer says good, cloud says
bad....Stuff it.
I headed out to the Nissan Terrano high security Shed cum Greenhouse (albeit with one constantly and slowly deflating tyre) when I was visited for the second time by a rather interesting agricultural worker. I first met him at 07:00 one morning. He confessed to having been outside since 04:00, a harmless chap who very much enjoyed regaling me not only with the latest songs he had composed but also with his harmonica and theory on the spread of TB.... I later discovered that whilst I was being undeniably entertained, his dog ate one of my rabbit skins that had been pinned on a board to dry...shame it wasn't the cockerel...
I bid him good day after reading his 'star letter' in Cotswold Life magazine and accepting a murray mint, and promised to text him so he had my number...I will, at some point.
A few shots to check zero and out I went again, this time with the MKIII TX200, back to the spot I took the kit with the Stealth.
40 yards down the fence line were two rabbits that seemed not only oblivious to my squeaks, but also to my attempt to kill them. My first shot clipped either a twig or the gate as I crept up on them, they half heartedly darted to the hedge line but very soon returned. By this time I was in the position pictured. And ready.
1-1. Another kit.
Now they seemed to get the message that death was lurking in the bushes and they bid a hasty retreat. I hung on another 20 minutes before retrieving and gutting my kill, then moving on.
I chose a spot 35-40 yards from a major and often frequented warren. It has been the focus of my attention but it sits where a small young woodland meets the field and is no doubt an entry and exit point as well as being homes.
I scanned the valley as I waited.
My faith was rewarded as the light was fading. A large buck scurried out some way into the field and presented me with the side of his skull. That was all that was required for the TX200 to send an RWS Superfield smack between his eye and ear.
I toyed with lamping the warren, but the frigid North wind got the better of me and I tramped home.
2-1 to the TX (although extra time is to be awarded to the Stealth!)
I headed out to the Nissan Terrano high security Shed cum Greenhouse (albeit with one constantly and slowly deflating tyre) when I was visited for the second time by a rather interesting agricultural worker. I first met him at 07:00 one morning. He confessed to having been outside since 04:00, a harmless chap who very much enjoyed regaling me not only with the latest songs he had composed but also with his harmonica and theory on the spread of TB.... I later discovered that whilst I was being undeniably entertained, his dog ate one of my rabbit skins that had been pinned on a board to dry...shame it wasn't the cockerel...
I bid him good day after reading his 'star letter' in Cotswold Life magazine and accepting a murray mint, and promised to text him so he had my number...I will, at some point.
A few shots to check zero and out I went again, this time with the MKIII TX200, back to the spot I took the kit with the Stealth.
40 yards down the fence line were two rabbits that seemed not only oblivious to my squeaks, but also to my attempt to kill them. My first shot clipped either a twig or the gate as I crept up on them, they half heartedly darted to the hedge line but very soon returned. By this time I was in the position pictured. And ready.
1-1. Another kit.
Now they seemed to get the message that death was lurking in the bushes and they bid a hasty retreat. I hung on another 20 minutes before retrieving and gutting my kill, then moving on.
I chose a spot 35-40 yards from a major and often frequented warren. It has been the focus of my attention but it sits where a small young woodland meets the field and is no doubt an entry and exit point as well as being homes.
I scanned the valley as I waited.
My faith was rewarded as the light was fading. A large buck scurried out some way into the field and presented me with the side of his skull. That was all that was required for the TX200 to send an RWS Superfield smack between his eye and ear.
I toyed with lamping the warren, but the frigid North wind got the better of me and I tramped home.
2-1 to the TX (although extra time is to be awarded to the Stealth!)
The Hunter's Chronicles - Saturday 28th April 2012
Conditions of late have not been favourable.
The paths around our caravan are churned up with thick sticky soil. Where rain has been able to flow, stone has been exposed underneath. The chickens look bedraggled, their run fit to be a scene from the Somme. I wouldn't be surprised if after this I'm treating them for shell shock and trench foot...
Still, growth has been incredible upon the trees and the vegetable patch. The rabbits are out in force, so Darth Vader and I seized the longest lull to go a-hunting.
This stretch is an embarrassment. The rabbits are numerous, and on the whole, wary. Here they are visible from the track behind, and ordinarily at least 2-5 can be seen at all times of the day. There are far more than that in total i'm sure, and you can bet your bottom dollar if you said to the land owner, "yep, all done" they would be there, waiting, to call you a liar.
To the right of the gate is a tree. It splits into a vee and has a leafy, but unfortunately placed hawthorn bush that likes to remind of its presence with a poke in the back of the right leg under the bumcheek if you start to relax. Very useful for maintaining concentration.
Here Darth Vader and I waited. A target presented itself, lazed at 62 yards. Didn't bother. The other two warren exit holes were lazed at 28 and 42 yards. After missing a seemingly straight forward shot, i double checked and found it was in fact 48 yards away... my mistake as I think the laser clipped a fence post due to my extreme angle.
Shortly after, Darth Vader summoned this little soul to the gates of Valhalla.
Now yes, Kits are not the most cautious of quarry, and could quite possibly be nailed with a boot to the face, but I was still very pleased with not only Darth Vaders accuracy, but the punch of the .22. As the Kit was face on and not presenting any safe headshot, I elected for a heart and lung shot through the chest/neck. The trauma exhibited on the body showed that death would most certainly have come swiftly even if the vital organs were somehow miraculously untouched.
The clouds released a shower, and we bid a hasty retreat. I aim to head back out with the tx200 and the lamp and see if .177 can't chalk one up too!
The paths around our caravan are churned up with thick sticky soil. Where rain has been able to flow, stone has been exposed underneath. The chickens look bedraggled, their run fit to be a scene from the Somme. I wouldn't be surprised if after this I'm treating them for shell shock and trench foot...
Still, growth has been incredible upon the trees and the vegetable patch. The rabbits are out in force, so Darth Vader and I seized the longest lull to go a-hunting.
This stretch is an embarrassment. The rabbits are numerous, and on the whole, wary. Here they are visible from the track behind, and ordinarily at least 2-5 can be seen at all times of the day. There are far more than that in total i'm sure, and you can bet your bottom dollar if you said to the land owner, "yep, all done" they would be there, waiting, to call you a liar.
To the right of the gate is a tree. It splits into a vee and has a leafy, but unfortunately placed hawthorn bush that likes to remind of its presence with a poke in the back of the right leg under the bumcheek if you start to relax. Very useful for maintaining concentration.
Here Darth Vader and I waited. A target presented itself, lazed at 62 yards. Didn't bother. The other two warren exit holes were lazed at 28 and 42 yards. After missing a seemingly straight forward shot, i double checked and found it was in fact 48 yards away... my mistake as I think the laser clipped a fence post due to my extreme angle.
Shortly after, Darth Vader summoned this little soul to the gates of Valhalla.
Now yes, Kits are not the most cautious of quarry, and could quite possibly be nailed with a boot to the face, but I was still very pleased with not only Darth Vaders accuracy, but the punch of the .22. As the Kit was face on and not presenting any safe headshot, I elected for a heart and lung shot through the chest/neck. The trauma exhibited on the body showed that death would most certainly have come swiftly even if the vital organs were somehow miraculously untouched.
The clouds released a shower, and we bid a hasty retreat. I aim to head back out with the tx200 and the lamp and see if .177 can't chalk one up too!
The Hunter's Chronicles - Tuesday 24th April 2012
T'would appear I'm not the only one afflicted by 'Itchy Trigger
Finger' syndrome. But when I get the urge, I simply drop a text, pick up
my gun and step across the road. It is not that simple for others I
hear. Some choose to spend their time doing other things that means they
can't do what they want when they want. I work too, but am self employed.
Poor Mawders*....
As I lay basking in the sun as the clouds passed, I amused myself greatly by rubbing this fact into Mawders' face! I often wile away the time between shots on my mobile browsing 'new content' on here. I've never had a textual relationship whilst hunting before....
It wasn't long before I triumphantly rubbed this in his mush.
A big fat buck.
Dinner stopped play and I headed back out. Eerily just as Mawders sent another grumble, I shot a similar sized Doe. Poor Poor Mawders. If the light hadn't have gotten so low I would've taken another glory shot.
Well fellas just two very quick mooches today. I'm actually trying to hold off the rabbits abit and concentrate on the pigeons before the leaves make roost shooting even more difficult.
Watch this space though because after tomorrow's delivery I'll be introducing our bunny friends to DARTH VADER!!!
*Mawders is a chap from The Hunting Life Forum
Poor Mawders*....
As I lay basking in the sun as the clouds passed, I amused myself greatly by rubbing this fact into Mawders' face! I often wile away the time between shots on my mobile browsing 'new content' on here. I've never had a textual relationship whilst hunting before....
It wasn't long before I triumphantly rubbed this in his mush.
A big fat buck.
Dinner stopped play and I headed back out. Eerily just as Mawders sent another grumble, I shot a similar sized Doe. Poor Poor Mawders. If the light hadn't have gotten so low I would've taken another glory shot.
Well fellas just two very quick mooches today. I'm actually trying to hold off the rabbits abit and concentrate on the pigeons before the leaves make roost shooting even more difficult.
Watch this space though because after tomorrow's delivery I'll be introducing our bunny friends to DARTH VADER!!!
*Mawders is a chap from The Hunting Life Forum
The Hunter's Chronicles - Tuesday 17th April 2012
Round my way April truly has brought its notorious showers, so with a rather dodgy forecast I decided to make hay so to speak and utilise every dry evening opportunity (dawn is getting to much like hard work!).
Target; Wood Pigeon
Venue; Small isolated woodland surrounded by grazing fields towards the lower half of the valley. Reconnaissance showed heavy concentrations of roosts at the north end on the east side. A steep slope rising from east to west. In order to minimise the angles I chose to hide along the elevated bank.
Trees; mature, broad leaf. Many covered in thick ivy reducing field of fire and line of sight.
I arrived about 18:30 to give plenty of time to set up. Often when i'm static hunting and waiting, I check out whats happening on The Hunting Life. Just so happened secretagentmole had pm'd me with some pigeon hunting tips. They were good too, I trialled them on a Jay.
Straight through the heart. Thanks Moley! Now, time to get some dinner!
Activity had slowed down considerably, after I had finished giving moley my excuses and just put my mobile away a pigeon landed right in front of me. Crap. For a few seconds i froze so as not to scare it off. having that strange staring match you do as your quarry makes its calculations. I inched the rifle up slowly, slowly. God knows how they do it, but they just seem to know death is close and bugger off!
Damn it!
Had a couple of pops at some others but was really having a crash course in hold under on a .177 . Roost shooting is not my normal approach to bagging dinner and the angles make things a nice challenge, not to mention the bloody twigs!
Finally as the light faded this little fella took pity and hung around to meet his maker.
Many thanks to secretagentmole for his 'in field' mentoring!
Was alot of fun, if dry, I intend to visit tomorrow night and exploit what I think will be a better shooting position.
Target; Wood Pigeon
Venue; Small isolated woodland surrounded by grazing fields towards the lower half of the valley. Reconnaissance showed heavy concentrations of roosts at the north end on the east side. A steep slope rising from east to west. In order to minimise the angles I chose to hide along the elevated bank.
Trees; mature, broad leaf. Many covered in thick ivy reducing field of fire and line of sight.
I arrived about 18:30 to give plenty of time to set up. Often when i'm static hunting and waiting, I check out whats happening on The Hunting Life. Just so happened secretagentmole had pm'd me with some pigeon hunting tips. They were good too, I trialled them on a Jay.
Straight through the heart. Thanks Moley! Now, time to get some dinner!
Activity had slowed down considerably, after I had finished giving moley my excuses and just put my mobile away a pigeon landed right in front of me. Crap. For a few seconds i froze so as not to scare it off. having that strange staring match you do as your quarry makes its calculations. I inched the rifle up slowly, slowly. God knows how they do it, but they just seem to know death is close and bugger off!
Damn it!
Had a couple of pops at some others but was really having a crash course in hold under on a .177 . Roost shooting is not my normal approach to bagging dinner and the angles make things a nice challenge, not to mention the bloody twigs!
Finally as the light faded this little fella took pity and hung around to meet his maker.
Many thanks to secretagentmole for his 'in field' mentoring!
Was alot of fun, if dry, I intend to visit tomorrow night and exploit what I think will be a better shooting position.
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