The Seal Of Approval

A plan to flight wigeon — so symbolic of winter fowling — provides excitement and a reminder that others relish the little duck’s flavour too

- Simon Garnham

Halloween this year coincided with a fine full moon, which must have multiplied the pleasure of trick-or-treating many times over. For east-coast fowlers, it was of less interest as an aid to telling bloodcurdling stories and more as an indicator of the first decent numbers of wigeon to arrive on our shores.

I sat out under the stars and heard several packs passing above me but the sky was a deep blue. Though I could see my own night-time shadow cast across the mud and on to the water, there was too little cloud to create the slight glow upon which moon flighting relies. I had to be satisfied with listening to the purring of the females and that unmistakable and magical whee-ooh of the males and to imagine their long journeys.

I thought of the punt-gunners who ghosted alongside these most evocative of little birds. Shooting Times contributor Pat Cringle in his book, Saltmarsh and Sandunes, describes his experiences: “I spent many hours floating among them waiting for a shot, listening to them talking and answering the calls of others on the wing… I not only thought like a wigeon but nearly understood their language.”

Under that Halloween moon I realised what he meant and crept away, leaving them to their conversations but resolving to get among them, perhaps from the water.

High tides