It'll come out in the wash

The alien landscape of the Cambridgeshire Fens nurtures all kinds of duck and Richard Negus falls in love with the wild west

- Richard Negus

I head east when I go wildfowling. The coast lies in that direction; the sea, the sands and the mud. It was therefore a unique experience to load up my truck with grime-bedaubed coat, waders, gun slip, Mabel and bergen and drive westwards in pursuit of wildfowl.

It is all too easy to somewhat over-egg our hardiness as coastal wildfowlers. We talk in casual terms of rip tides and quicksands, treacherous muds and sea mists all waiting to kill the unwary. The inland fowler is denigrated because, allegedly, he shoots in his carpet slippers. I have been guilty of repeating this groundless bravado

Fowling is there to be had away from the shore and it is just as wild and just as thrilling. To my west, a mere hour or so away from my home, lay the washes of the Ouse and the Cam. I was invited to these intriguing flatlands by Dave Fox, wash warden of the Ely & District Wildfowlers Association. The club had organised an introductory day to the sport, which had proved remarkably popular, the available places filling in short order.

As with so many events, COVID-19 put paid to these plans. While by the letter of the law the day could have gone ahead, the club’s committee admirably chose good citizenship instead and cancelled it. Bad news for 13 fowling aspirants but good news for me. Rather than rescheduling, I was urged still to head to the Fens and meet up with Dave and the club’s vice-chairman and treasurer Steve Franklin for an evening flight on the washes.