Up up & Away!

I began my day at the foot of the mountain accompanied by a Lurcher and a Teckel. I had a small bag over my shoulder with a flask inside and a shotgun with me. This was the third or fourth day I had did this since October and while not in the habit of mixing Lurchers and guns, doing it this particular way works well.

The ground where I have permission is flat and is criss crossed with purposely dug drainage ditches which due to the two days of heavy rain were full to the brim with water and hopefully ducks. Along the drains are rabbit warrens, not big ones but plenty of them with many rabbits feeding out in the sometimes damp fields among rushes and whins. To walk for either rabbits with the dogs or ducks can be a hard decision, so for a day in October I tried both.

Most of the time it has been one or the other, but the occasional day we have had a mixed bag and an enjoyable time. I squelched through puddle after as the rain bucketed down. The Lurchers walked with her head down and the Teckle ran alongside looking very serious and trying to keep up! If you ever watch a Teckel running, imagine a xylophone playing two notes very quickly in the background and you will make yourself smile.

We crossed a fence and quickly arrived at our destination, although looking at the dirty brown water I didn’t hold much hope for a Duck. It seemed that while rain would help us, too much rain had washed away all the feeding and our ducks had switched location.

This was going to be a tracking day! Ducks are always in the locality, but depending on the weather it can be a job to find them. Some days the first drain will be full and you could easily fold a half dozen in less than a mile. Other days I could walk the district and end up with one for my troubles, but if it was easy everyone would do it.

Two young bullocks had broken from the field and in their obvious child like behaviour had decided that the drain was much more fun and were enjoying themselves just walking up and down and drinking from it caring little for myself or the dogs as we passed. The rain continued and we were now a few miles from the truck and our first drain. It was getting a little difficult to see when as they always do when my mind is wondering over this or that, several Teal sprung into mid air! I fired two shots and one fell. I kept an eye on the remaining birds and marked them down several hundred yards ahead.

Now when this happens I make a note of where they landed and then adjust accordingly. Sometimes they paddle ahead, sometimes back. So when I follow on and approach the rough area I get ready to shoot. There have been plenty of times I passed them thinking they were ahead and other times I thought I had passed them for the flock to spring once again a lot further past. This is the joy, the excitement and magic of drain shooting for ducks to me! You just do not know what is going to happen. For a mile or more it is empty, I be careful to keep back for enough from the drain that they do not see me approaching, but close enough that I stir them when close enough and with an “Up up and away” they seem to lift vertically and disappear while I am still getting the gun up! It can be easier in the early Autumn, but it appears as winter runs on the birds get more and more wild and the slightest noise, even a twig breaking under my boot sends them flying into the air and zooming off down a drain where once at a safe distance they will drop down. This is when I find they paddle most and seem to use this as a method of evading a keen gun. Hitting the water a few hundred yards down and then paddling back, like an old fox doubling back on hounds.

I followed on, kept well out and kept the dogs at my heel. The Teckel was looking at me and the Lurcher for reassurance as he is not too keen on the gun, and as I was about to kneel down to offer him what he wanted WHOOSH the Teal sprung. They had paddled back and where now banking right. I swung and lead on followed by two shots and saw one bird go down but suspected two. The field was in winter barley and although short and neat the bird was hard to find, and as I did so the Lurcher was sniffing at another. Quite unusually she will retrieve pheasants and snipe, but will not pick up Ducks, Woodcock or even look at Magpies. I stopped and tucked the birds in beside my flask, sat in under a little bridge for a few minutes out of the rain and considered my next move. To go towards the shore could be a bad move as the rain was getting worse and wouldn’t be any better in that direction. I decided to make a diversion and try another drain closer to my old home; there may be a chance of a rabbit too for the dogs in the fields either side. I trudged on the three miles or so to it and as I approached I peered over the hedge and directly up the drain to see if it held anything. I saw nothing but walked on anyway and it became quickly obvious that there were a few rabbits.

Sand spilled out from the sides of banks, there were runs here and there and little Archie was going back and fourth as the Xylophone went full speed in my mind! WHOOSH, half a dozen Teal sprang from the drain that was “Empty” and I fired two haphazard shots in their direction so busy I was watching Archie. I again watched the birds as they flew up and over the hedge and then circled higher and higher. This drain is actually an overflow and leads nowhere so the ducks have a fair distance to go to more water and will sometimes try and drop in again if I stay out of the way but today they just kept going. I quickly realised that I was watching just 3 birds and thought more than that had sprung, I walked back and round the hedge as I loaded another two cartridges in the gun. I found a Teal on the ground and as I went to pick it up three came at full speed from left to right. They took me by surprise so quickly I didn’t even see them and simply fired two shots in succession as they passed, two falling with a thud on the far side. I grinned to myself and felt like a skilled shot even though it was a mere fluke. I crossed the railway and got up a few fields when I had to sit down. I was soaked but dry inside, sticking with damp soil and a boot that felt like it was beginning to leak, I realised I was somewhere I hadn’t been in years.

The narrow & clean wooden bridge had collapsed and fallen away, replaced by a four concrete beams covered in wet sloppy mud. The little neat wooden fence too had gone and the stream was overgrown and thick with rushes and weeds. I looked to my right and up the hill and the next field was visible and shouldn’t have been. The Hazel trees had been torn out and stripped away, replaced by new straw coloured posts covered with tight shiny wire. The hill was overgrown too, what once looked like three giant steps which were grazed by sheep and always kept in good order was overgrown and covered in brambles and whins. I looked left and saw the little wood and like they always did, a wood pigeon broke out and headed up hill and off left. The large moss covered stones stood as they always had and the Hazel still grew in an arch and still looked like an inviting entrance to a world of excitement inside. A world full of rabbit holes, pigeon nests, hidden streams and most of all peace from the outside world. I didn’t enter the wood because my heart wouldn’t let me. It was bad enough standing at the foot of the hill and almost hearing the joyful cheer of young boys and dogs, of almost feeling the summer sun on my face or the winter snow on my nose. It was bad enough that the Hazel had gone and the field had overgrown, it was bad enough the bridge and its clear water and stickle backs and Newts were no more. And worst of all, that my old house still stood above it all.  In that moment I wanted it all back, my ferret hutch on the hill behind, the spaniels running loose, the tree houses, the smell of cut grass and freshly dug soil, the feeling of childhood freedom and happiness. Looking around me I thought of a Poem

“All that’s Past” by Walter De La Mare;

Very old are the woods;
And the buds that break
Out of the brier’s boughs,
When March winds wake,
So old with their beauty are–
Oh, no man knows
Through what wild centuries
Roves back the rose.
Very old are the brooks;
And the rills that rise
Where snow sleeps cold beneath
The azure skies
Sing such a history
Of come and gone,
Their every drop is as wise
As Solomon.

Very old are we men;
Our dreams are tales
Told in dim Eden
By Eve’s nightingales;
We wake and whisper awhile,
But, the day gone by,
Silence and sleep like fields
Of amaranth lie

I took in a breath of air, regretted coming up that far and decided I had enough ducks, soaked up enough rain and walked enough for today. As I crossed the railway and back down the fields, I turned and looked back and realised that those days just like the Teal are “Up up and away”.