I had been told perfect conditions would be a bit of damp, a gentle wind and a good bit of cloud cover in order to make out the diminutive birds. Looking out of the window the next morning, I was delighted to find that for once, the app’s prediction was correct — the storm had passed.
I mulled over the challenge of the day ahead with a plate of bacon and eggs. On one hand, I have always been better suited to driven birds — this was not down to some innate talent but because I had grow up on a peg alongside my father and grandfather. Shooting snipe, however, was something at which I had not had much practice.
In fact, the only time I had found a chance to shoot one of the little birds was one frosty afternoon, many years ago, while walking through some water meadows with my father — we both fired at the same high jinking silhouette and it lived to tell the tale.
After breakfast I caught a lift with Kyle Barton, one of the Guns, and we drove 10 minutes down the road to Urbalshinny Lodge, where our host Simon Monteith greeted us with a grin. He clapped his hands together and said gleefully: “Perfect conditions today. Are you all ready to go?”
I nodded eagerly and began to ask him questions about what I could expect from a driven snipe day. “Obviously, they aren’t pheasants and they won’t follow a direct line,” he explained. “But treat them as a normal bird and give them a touch of lead and you should be able to bring them down.”
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة November 13, 2019 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 November 13, 2019 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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