ONE dark, dank morning in late March, I hauled myself out of bed at 4.30am and hit the road from Dorset to Bedfordshire, where I had an appointment to go out stalking for a Chinese water deer with Paul Childerley, a world-recognised expert in this unusual, non-native species that has successfully colonised parts of the country.
Although I love being out on assignment, I was nervous, as, despite having been shooting since I was 13, I'd never fired a rifle before. Well, except for when my dad-a retired gamekeeper-let me have a go at zeroing in his .22-250, but I don't think that really counts. Plus, using one with which to hunt a wild animal is entirely different and I was anxious not to let myself or the magazine down.
I need not have worried, however, because, when I arrived at Mr Childerley's smart shoot lodge at Beckerings Park-amid the thousands of acres he manages for game shooting and deer stalking here and elsewhere I knew I was in safe hands.
Indeed, we have much in common, as Mr Childerley's father was also a keeper. After training at Sparsholt College in Hampshire, he began his own keepering career by working for his father, Martin, at Campden House estate in Gloucestershire, before becoming a beatkeeper at nearby Stowell Park, then securing a headkeeper's job in Bedfordshire in 1998, where he later took on the lease and now runs the operation.
However, it wasn't until the 50 year old started work on this 1,600-acre farm that he encountered Chinese water deer. Already a skilled stalker, thanks to the hours he spent learning fieldcraft as a mustard-keen youngster 'you can't beat going out after roe bucks at dawn in the Cotswolds with my dad when the woods are alive with birdsong he found these enigmatic Asian deer required a new approach.
Denne historien er fra October 16, 2024-utgaven av Country Life UK.
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Denne historien er fra October 16, 2024-utgaven av Country Life UK.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
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Give it some stick
Galloping through the imagination, competitive hobby-horsing is a gymnastic sport on the rise in Britain, discovers Sybilla Hart
Paper escapes
Steven King selects his best travel books of 2024
For love, not money
This year may have marked the end of brag-art’, bought merely to show off one’s wealth. It’s time for a return to looking for connoisseurship, beauty and taste
Mary I: more bruised than bloody
Cast as a sanguinary tyrant, our first Queen Regnant may not deserve her brutal reputation, believes Geoffrey Munn
A love supreme
Art brought together 19th-century Norwich couple Joseph and Emily Stannard, who shared a passion for painting, but their destiny would be dramatically different
Private views
One of the best ways-often the only way-to visit the finest privately owned gardens in the country is by joining an exclusive tour. Non Morris does exactly that
Shhhhhh...
THERE is great delight to be had poring over the front pages of COUNTRY LIFE each week, dreaming of what life would be like in a Scottish castle (so reasonably priced, but do bear in mind the midges) or a townhouse in London’s Eaton Square (worth a king’s ransom, but, oh dear, the traffic) or perhaps that cottage in the Cotswolds (if you don’t mind standing next to Hollywood A-listers in the queue at Daylesford). The estate agent’s particulars will give you details of acreage, proximity to schools and railway stations, but never—no, never—an indication of noise levels.
Mission impossible
Rubble and ruin were all that remained of the early-19th-century Villa Frere and its gardens, planted by the English diplomat John Hookham Frere, until a group of dedicated volunteers came to its rescue. Josephine Tyndale-Biscoe tells the story
When a perfect storm hits
Weather, wars, elections and financial uncertainty all conspired against high-end house sales this year, but there were still some spectacular deals
Give the dog a bone
Man's best friend still needs to eat like its Lupus forebears, believes Jonathan Self, when it's not guarding food, greeting us or destroying our upholstery, of course