The wood was dark and still as I crept along the ride. Only the occasional hooting of a tawny owl broke the silence as I made my way between two thickets of young oak trees to the high seat beyond. It was the last weekend in March and this would be the final opportunity to make a significant contribution to the cull numbers, so I had already dropped off George, Luke and Ronnie, and directed them to their high seats. In a normal year I would have had anything up to 10 Rifles out for our group cull, but in view of COVID-19 restrictions on travelling and overnight stays, that had simply not been possible. However, even with only four of us out, I was pretty confident that at least someone should score.
Checking the woods carefully with the thermal-imaging binoculars as I walked, I could see nothing in the undergrowth beside me and eventually my high seat came into view. I had selected for myself a big free-standing seat situated on the crossroads of two rides. It is a good position and affords lots of visibility — on my left the oak thickets that I had walked through, behind me a grassy ride leading to a gate into the park, and to my front right-hand side a couple of acres of newly planted ground, surrounded by a rabbit fence. So, having got myself settled, it was that open ground which I first checked out.
White shapes
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