Carted off to oblivion

Adam Smith recalls a short-lived and less than successful career move, after which he eventually and reluctantly admitted defeat to... a game cart

- ADAM SMITH

Not all that long ago, I was entrusted with a post of some seniority and no little responsibility. No pay rise, sadly, but the prestige paid a significant dividend in social standing and so, perhaps with hindsight a shade too much enthusiasm, I accepted the challenge. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, you are about to learn more of that brief but meaningful period when I was in charge of the game cart.

The position was on a small but noted local shoot and while I never knew the full reason for being offered the post, the keeper assured me I’d be doing him a favour. There were some negative aspects he neglected to mention, and I somehow doubt the offer relied entirely on my exceptional levels of sound commonsense combined with an inherent and fine feeling for direction. It might also have been that no one else would accept the poisoned chalice. I was blissfully unaware that parts of the shoot shared similarities with Narnia and the Bermuda Triangle and navigation was an occasional nightmare.

Problems started with the cart. This was not one of the great examples of its type – it was not, for instance, a converted ex-RAF bowser with an ultra-refined suspension system providing entirely bump and thump-free carriage over rough terrain. Nor was it the more conventional load-carrying back of a pickup truck, with its own integrated suspension to cushion the birds from any further damage.

No, this game cart was the economy model – a two-wheel trailer more commonly used to take a brace of pigs to market, coupled to a very basic 4x4 buggy. Its axle was solid, as were the sides, and just deep enough to complicate retrieving any birds fallen to the floor.