Polar's express style

An evocative description by BB of a typical small shoot on an overcast November day, with enjoyment surpassing the relatively modest bag

Though not particularly special, it is of a day on our shoot that I intend to write simply because it is typical of so many little rough shoots up and down the country where a small syndicate has come together and shot together over a number of years.

That particular morning in November was what I can only describe as putty-coloured and neither cold nor warm; a typical dreary November day.

We met in the stone quarry, our usual meeting place, at close on 9am — posh shoots never start so early — as we had a lot of ground to cover. There was the usual wait for latecomers and we moved off by car to the top end of the shoot. A band of gypsies were camped up the road. They had been there for some weeks. We were to find evidence of them later that day, as we shall see.

At the very top of the shoot there is a small plantation, no more than 100 yards long, and no more than 30 yards wide, a boggy place full of sallow, alder and brambles. It is, however, a good spot for a pheasant or two.

Beaters and dogs went in but only blackbirds and thrushes came out. It was not until the dogs had worked through to the end that cock pheasant exploded and came straight for me. It is a shot that I often bungle and now my right eye is blind my marksmanship is impaired.

I did my best and kept the gun moving but that old cock swept over my head without a feather being touched and sailed away in triumph off our ground. So much for the first shot.

Dense growth