MUCH AS I LIKE TO pretend that I do this work all the time, I also have a part-time office job. It’s still working within the land management sector but is far more paper and computer-based than a day on the hill, something that has taken a while to get used to.
When I started gamekeeping I never really understood the attraction of standing around at the edge of a wood, shotgun and rifle at the ready on the offchance a fox would appear, while rain, wind and snow — as is usually the weather at this time of year — battered my hood.
However, after a year of spending a lot of time looking at screens, behind the steering wheel on my way to meetings or sitting in those meetings, I found myself looking forward to the prospect of several days with hounds. Cold, wet, wind and all.
In the north Highlands, estates pay into a pot that funds the huntsman and his hounds to come and work them through areas where the keepers know foxes are likely to be, flushing them from cover to Guns who wait at the edge of the wood.
In Sutherland, these areas tend to be Sitka and lodgepole plantations, which are warmer than their surroundings and invariably contain some wee house or rackle of stones, perfect for foxes to den up.
I had hoped to drag the Shooting Times photographer along to a day because the operation of a foot pack in the Highlands is such a contrast to the mounted hunts further south. But circumstances were against us on this occasion, both in terms of weather and respecting the privacy of those present. Some were worried about backlash from antis, having already borne the brunt of their aggression.
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