3rd January - A Left and A Right

and a couple more!

Strong winds woke me last night and continued all day, driving bands of slanting rain across the fields and bowing trees with its tremendous force. Unsurprisingly we found some inside jobs to keep us occupied, one of which was to find a stud dog for Treacle who, after three years of waiting appears finally to be coming back into season. The £300 fee will be something of a blow to the family finances but if Treacle has puppies successfully we should cover our costs and more importantly I will have a shooting companion when Treacle is too old to come out. A pause in the racing clouds above the cottage revealed blue sky for an hour this afternoon and the opportunity was seized to tie up the raspberry canes and clear the runners from the strawberry bed. Autumn and early winter are times of acceptable neglect in the garden as winter vegetables are harvested and (in a normal year) weeds die back, but now starts the long build-up to spring with weeding, digging, manuring and the preparation of seedbeds.

Indoor weather

Despite only going shooting yesterday I couldn't resist a couple of hours this afternoon taking advantage of the high winds. I have written before about stormy days bringing pigeons to roost in the sheltered wood below the cottage and sure enough, when I arrived at 3pm hundreds flared up from the trees to be blown like chaff across the oak canopy. Quickly taking up my usual position by the pair of oaks surrounded by chestnut stalls I leaned against one of the thick trunks and waited. Within seconds the displaced birds were back, meandering up the torrent of wind and I wasted a couple of cartridges as they banked above to find perches behind my position. Part of the problem was the sheer amount of branches obscuring my view and shots and after another miss I hatched a new plan, moving a few yards out of the wood into the Bramley orchard. The old-fashioned trees with their knobbly arching bows made rather effective hides despite their recent pruning and standing within one close to the wood, I waited once more. From this vantage point the view was much better and I watched vast flocks of pigeons approaching from the far distance to congregate in the valley below. Some moved ponderously against the air currents, seeming to probe then pour into slack air to make their torturous progress, whilst others arrived at speed, hurtling down wind before arcing back to face it. From there the assembled mass broke again and one detachment, several hundred birds strong, moved up the long spinny at my front and began crossing the orchard to reach the wood behind me. As is always the case with pigeon shooting I wasn't quite in the right spot and I watched patiently as swarms of powdery grey birds swooped low over the apple trees, until one small group came into range. My natural hide allowed plenty of room to swing and picking my target I fired, the pigeon crumpled in mid flight, its head flung back and knowing it was dead I took another which being higher than the first fell deep into the wood. The dog was clearly as stunned as I was at the success and waited with uncustomary obedience for the command to fetch.

The next shot at a lone bird twisting downwind resulted in a miss but the report startled a cock pheasant which, getting up to my right, made off towards the valley. Having fumbled to reload in time I snapped the gun shut as it came to my shoulder, swung through and fired, checking the birds flight but not killing it clean. I couldn't see where the bird had landed so hurried down the hill with an excited spaniel in tow and set her to work. She scampered here and there apparently following scent at times, but to no avail and after a few minutes I wondered if the pheasant had not come down at all but flown on. A hopeful shot at a passing pigeon bought treacle back to heal and deciding the search was futile I headed back to my apple tree. As I walked, it dawned on me that treacle had been some distance away, out of sight when the shot was fired and realising I might have disturbed her work I turned back and  sent her on once more. My instinct was right, she disappeared straight up the other side of the valley and was gone for some time. She isn’t the best of retrievers, but has her moments and this was certainly one, as she appeared through the Orchard, tail wagging with the cock bird lolling in her mouth.

By the time I was back in position the half moon was out above the oak trees and the light dwindling fast, but a single pigeon breaking from its companions provided one last shot. It flew fast above the edge of the wood falling through the wind with its wings folded, then caught mid-pattern, was a tumbling ball of ruffled feathers which smashed through the waiting branches and fell with a thud. White plumage plucked by the chestnut twigs streamed past like snow in the wind and I sensed a hard romance about it all, the drifting feathers in the moonlight and the dark trees fretted by the relentless gale.