Chasing ghosts among the trees

Charles Hartley is finally given the permission he seeks and gets the chance to stalk an apparition haunting the woodland close to home

On the road, as the sun sat low in the sky, the commuter traffic buzzed all around me. As I turned on to a single-track lane, the site of a vast woodland loomed on top of the hillside above. Slowing my car to gawp into the lower section of trees, I could still feel the pressure of the working day behind me. But with my first day of holiday this year, I was not going to be rushed.

Pulling over to let a dark saloon past, I fumbled around for a pair of well-used binoculars, as I could see a brown body in the margin above. Pressing my eyes to the glass, the beast was plucked from the lush spring undergrowth as the head of a cock pheasant sprouted, followed by a long, proud tail.

Pulling up in a farmyard at the edge of the wood, I emerged from the car to the calls of a pair of oystercatchers.

I checked my rifle, filled my roe sack and laced my boots, always with one eye on the wood.

My footsteps pushed through the fresh meadow growth, shining my boots with the rich gloss of morning dew. I was now in full view of a long expanse of the wood and, with shooting sticks in hand, I raised my binos to glass the outer limits of the tree line, which was still dim in the morning light.

Although it would have been a shame to see a deer so soon, my excited mind still bounced with the potential of a buck amid the grass.

It had been my dream to hunt this wood for many years, sitting in full view of home since I was a lad. But after many letters and finally getting this permission, the first year proved hugely disappointing.