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Last weekend I was invited by Honda to visit an estate between Oban and Fort William on the west coast of Scotland, to ride out their new FourTrax quad bikes on the hill. I realise this has little to do with shooting per say, except that very few shooting estates are quad-free any more. We followed a shepherd across his daily routes that take in any number of steep banks, bogs, ditches and streams. The bikes dealt with it all impressively. Perhaps even more impressive though, was the shepherd's collie Moss, which managed to stay on the back of his master's bike throughout, riding the bumps and inclines like a side-car racer.
They're hard work for a first-timer and the whole group struggled to walk the next day, with extreme stiffness in our arms, thighs and bums. Well worth it though, as they are great fun, over and above being a useful tool. I'll admit too that once I got used to the bike, I was sorely tempted to take my helmet off and go faster. Complacency, over-confidence, casualness - I guess that's how serious accidents happen.
The following day our press gang was invited to the World Championship Downhill Mountain Biking event on the ski ranges of Aonoch Mhor, just outside of Fort William. This has nothing at all to do with shooting, but it was fun none-the-less! Honda has their own team, which boasts three of the top riders including the world number one, South African Greg Minaar. We were able to interview the riders beforehand, which is always an inspiration meeting competitors at the top of their sport. Greg eventually came fourth, which was a fine effort given he'd broken his shoulder half way down.
These extreme sportsmen can have very little regard for their own safety. The course runs down the steepest slope of the mountain through mud, round trees, over roots and across wet stone slabs, all at breakneck speed. We took the gondola up to get a closer look and watched one of the junior girls come a cropper after a sharp incline, her front tyre catching a rut to send her over the handlebars. She must have used her wrists and collarbone as a brake, before finally coming to a crumpled stop, while her bike continued to somersault down the hill.
The atmosphere was brilliant at the finish line, especially as the Brits have a strong showing in the sport. The route is also lined with spectators, who can get just inches from the riders as they flash past. There are not many sports where the spectators have to exert such energy to see their heroes, so mountain biking seems to be a healthy pursuit for all concerned. As long as you don't fall off!
For more information on shooting-related shoulder injuries, see next week's (27th Sept) instalment of Taking Stock in the magazine. Riding tips for quad bikes will feature in the issue out on the 11th of October.
For Honda's new FourTrax and their mountain biking team, visit www.honda.co.uk/atv/ and www.world.honda.com/MTB/
I was playing cricket the other day in Devon and, having hit a full toss down square legs throat, I got talking to a spectator by the pavilion.
John Chappell works a farm in Dorset and he was recently ploughing up a stubble field to plant turnips, when he saw a breathtaking display of aerobatic warfare. The first thing I noticed was that the field was alive with skylarks, he said, which was a wonderful sight in itself. The tractor and plough were stirring them up and they flicked about in front of the wheels. A team of four kestrels had also seen the movement and they used me as a beater to drive the skylarks into the air.
John watched the hunt unfold from his cab, as the raptors swooped time and again in the hope of snaring a songbird, but to no avail. Their prey was always too nimble. The older skylarks were cannier, choosing to stay close to the ground, almost creeping along on their bellies, said John. The youngsters were more naïve, flying higher and jinking about to avoid the kestrels. Whether it was a pair of adult kestrels with two young, I don't know, but they certainly worked in a team, co-ordinating their attacks.
Eventually, one of the kestrels managed to get underneath a young skylark, forcing it to fly ever higher in the air, like a pack of dolphins pushing a school of sardines towards the surface. Once the skylark had been pushed high enough, the kestrel flew above it and dropped down with its talons outstretched to catch the little bird in mid-air. It then flew off to a nearby round bale to feed. It was fascinating to see how the kestrel instinctively changed tactics to such devastating effect.
Hold your breath…
When I heard the news on Friday evening my heart sank.
Frankly, it's a bit superfluous to add my expressions of concern and fear for the rural community to the hand-wringing pot. It's a given that we're all holding our breath and praying that foot-and-mouth — and the associated media hysteria — doesn't escalate. We all remember 2001. That wasn't exactly a vintage year for those in the country.
So we wait and watch to hear the latest news. Will there be further outbreaks? Let's hope it really is isolated. There are reassuring words from Government spokesmen — this isn't a highly contagious version of the virus and it is relatively mild. Nevertheless the Pirbright labs, from one of which the outbreak must surely have emanated, ostensibly handle the virus with the same degree of biosecurity as the ebola virus. Or, at least, they're supposed to…
The finger of suspicion historically points to the uncaring, money-motivated and sloppy farmer when a disease outbreak occurs. The popular image is of handout-hungry Farmer Giles greedily calculating the compensation claim and planning his next skiing trip. But in this case, it's hardly reassuring to think that the facilities whose purpose is to research, prevent, and treat infectious diseases in livestock could be the very source of this outbreak. If I was working for DEFRA, right now I'd be praying that the finger of suspicion finally falls on the Merial facility next door and not the Government's own Institute for Animal Health.
If the outbreak is traced back to a Government lab, as in some sort of nightmare movie plot, then DEATHRA really will live up to its tongue-in-cheek moniker.
And Farmer Giles has every right to be thoroughly furious.
Seeing as there have been a few rare days of sunshine recently, I thought that I would venture out pigeon shooting on my local estate. Reports of bulging bags filled me with anticipation and I could not wait to get out onto the stubble.
My lamping friend Nathan and the gamekeeper's 12-year old son Jamie (or 'Flash' as he is known locally), were my fellow guns for the day. We meticulously set up two-dozen decoys, a 'whirler' and two hides behind bales of freshly cut straw.
A pigeon on the whirler
Earlier this week, Nathan described to me how he had shot nearly 200 pigeon in approximately 5 hours. Apparently the day had been non-stop and exhilarating. Now this is the kind of shooting I like, so many times before I have been out and not seen anything, but Nathan's reassuring tone filled me with confidence. I had a picture in my mind's eye of a neat square of woodies in the bag at the end of a successful day.
Nathan sets up the whirler
With ease, Nathan shot two woodies and put them on the whirler to act as further decoys. Once inside our snug hide, we patiently waited for twenty minutes before any birds came over us. The chaps kindly allowed me the first few shots, but the birds were not fooled, and kept changing direction making it impossible to bring them down. About half an hour later, Flash shot a couple of prime specimens which lifted the mood somewhat. I then downed a couple more before we cracked open the pork pies and sausage rolls. Evidently, the pigeons were not playing ball today as this was certainly not 'fast and furious'. But we stayed hopeful that the afternoon would bring more sport.
After lunch, Nathan left Flash and I for the other hide. Now, on a day-to-day basis I do not come into contact with children, nor am I regarded as someone who clicks particularly well with them, so I was initially a little tentative about being left on my own with Flash. Especially as 12-year old boys hate all girls. I wondered what on earth we would talk about, or if indeed we would even speak at all? Would he just grunt in response to my idiotic attempts to converse with the Playstation generation? My fears were soon dispelled however, when I realised Flash is no ordinary boy. He is the single most knowledgeable youngster I have encountered on anything to do with the countryside. He hurriedly and proudly told me of all the different types of quarry he shoots and all about the records he keeps. His two siblings are not interested in country pursuits, but Flash clearly idolises his gamekeeper father and intends to follow in his footsteps as soon as possible.
Flash in the hide
In the dry periods without any birds, two Fallow bucks in velvet in the adjoining field entertained us by wandering around in the wheat. Unusually one of the bucks was melanistic which made it contrast wonderfully against the beige crop. Nathan and I even crept up on them to get a few pictures when the lull became too much to bear.
Two bucks in the wheat
After seven hours in the hide, and with no sign of the birds picking up, we called it a day. The farmer had cut the rape in the field behind the hill just two days ago, so we figured the woodies were favouring something a little different for lunch.
On the way home, Nathan and I hypothesised on the day's bag of ten. We actually realised it is days like this that makes us love the sport so much. If every time we went out shooting we came back with pockets and bags bursting at the seams, we would no doubt become complacent. The work, effort and preparation that goes into a day's shooting often far outweighs the final bag count. But we realised it doesn't matter. We are going out again this weekend, with equal fervour and optimism - but this time on the rape. Nathan explained this is why the phrase 'you should've been here yesterday!' is always associated with pigeon shooting!
Me with one of the woodies
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