No clay will behave like this

With the sky full of clouds tattered by gales, birds seem to have almost mystical powers of evasion, which is why shooting in storms is so exciting

- SIMON GARNHAM

"As the crow flies” seems a weak comparison. The Cambridge Idioms Dictionary says it means in a straight line; the most direct route. After five hours of trying to read the movements of corvids in the wind, to me it implies the contrary. Crows fly with an ability to twist and to turn, to blow like a leaf, to rise and to fall and to rise again apparently vertically. They sometimes hang with no perceptible movement then run in the teeth of a gale, disappearing faster than the wind that carries them away.

By crows, I’m applying a shorthand for jackdaws and rooks as well, and they all made for an exceptionally difficult afternoon’s shooting. 

At 2pm I put the finishing touches to a hide that would need to withstand storm-force conditions. It would also need to disguise me and the dog from pigeons and corvids that have spent all winter getting used to driven shooting. They have become expert at giving gun-wielding farmers a wide berth.

Two scrim nets and a selection of birch and poplar offcuts created a passable impression of a hedgerow at bud-burst. Small branches cut into pegs secured the base of the netting against the gales. I’d chosen a spot on a flightline for corvids and woodies. They drift between two roosting woods, sometimes hugging the rolling contours of a shallow valley and sometimes approaching the trees of the woods at a height at least twice that of the tallest chestnut.

There are no huge concentrations of birds out my way at the moment. A few on flailed maize, some on clover. Not a lot of oilseed rape about. So flighting seemed fun. I throw that word out casually. Fun. A bit of fun.