Magic On The Foreshore

The first day of the wildfowling season is no Glorious Twelfth, says George Downing — it’s even better for those who love the sport

- S. Farnsworth

As the engine fell silent, Wigeon looked up at me sharply from the passenger footwell, her ears pricked, her eyes expectant. The green glow of the digital display on the dashboard read 04:30. Our last wild fowling trip on 20 February had marked the end of the 2016-2017 season and the start of a long summer of rest, punctuated only by a few days of pigeon decoying and rough shooting. But the wait was over: 1 September had finally arrived and we were once again venturing out into that magical place between high and low water, between day and night, where and when the wildfowl flight.

Much of my wild fowling is done with only Wigeon by my side, but today I was joined by photographer Sarah Farnsworth, whose remit was to commit the morning to film and capture some of the essence of wild fowling on the foreshore. The conditions seemed good as we pulled on waders and shouldered our respective equipment. Good for photography that is, for the night sky was full of stars and the wind barely moving the tips of the rushes.

When it comes to fowling, the best conditions are often the foulest; a strong wind or perhaps a snow squall. However, as we began the half a mile or so walk along the coastal path, a thin veil of mist hung above the low water channel beside us.

This far up the estuary, a short distance from Westbury-on-Severn, the river Severn is only perhaps 100 yards wide at low water, stretching out to around a quarter of a mile at the top of the tide. With high water having passed earlier that morning, there was no concern of the legendary Severn bore catching us unexpectedly. This phenomenon has been a blessing to me in the past as it disturbs birds with its wake, sending them fleeing up river to seek out more sheltered areas and, on occasion, providing the chance of a shot.