When the two figures appeared in my night sight, my first thought was that they must be fly-tipping. They were carrying a large box of some sort that I assumed must be an unwanted appliance. They wouldn’t be the first people to pull over and dump white goods, opting for a local beauty spot rather than taking their broken tumble dryer or fridge to the tip.
Once upon a time, a man with less self-restraint might have scared them witless. They seemed to be taking a lot of care over their mysterious box. Might they be illicit metal detectors, unloading their equipment, nighthawkers preparing for a bit of unauthorised treasure hunting? I was bemused.
Tucked into the hedge line with a Tikka .223 resting on an Idleback shooting chair, I was invisible to these nocturnal visitors. In fact, before their arrival, I had been about to call it a night. It was 11pm and getting chilly. Mist was settling in heavy droplets all around and the damp was creeping down my collar. A waning half-moon cast its pale light over the estuary.
I’d recently hosted the first driven day of our little shoot’s season and two foxes had been seen in the kale by beaters. ‘Ballistic’ Bob Feaviour had accounted for one the evening before and I was on night shift to deal with the other. I’d been watching a Chinese water deer and two muntjac chomping through windfall apples when the lights of a car attracted my attention and I swung around to assess these two miscreants.
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة December 09, 2020 من Shooting Times & Country.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك ? تسجيل الدخول
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة December 09, 2020 من Shooting Times & Country.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك? تسجيل الدخول
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