front,I optedfora patternofdecoys
rathersimilartoa St Andrew’scross,
hopingthatwhicheverdirection
theychosetocomefrom,thepigeons
wouldbegreetedbya tempting
funnelintomykillingarea.I putthe
magnetcentraltothecrossusing
frozenbirds,oneofwhichflung
offasI firedupthespinner.
It wouldn’tstayfrozen
forverylong— it was
already24ºCandrising.
By6amallwasinplace
andbirdsbegantomove.Corvids
camefirst,a dozenjackdawsright
ontheedgeofrange,approaching
outofthegloomhightomyfront.I
swungthroughspeculativelyandwas
rewardedwitha confidence-boosting
thumpasonefellheavilyintothe
pattern.Liamnoddedapprovingly
beforesettingofftodeliverpoults
toa smartshootownedbya peerof
therealm.“Can’tbelatefora lord,”he
explained.“Keepupthegoodwork.”
Andwiththathewasoffintothemist.
I wasleftinsilence;onlythe
gentlewhirrofthemagnetbrokethe
stillness.Visibilitywasdownto 60
yardsinthelingeringgloomandI
hadtocheckmywatchtobesurethe
sunreallyhadcrestedthehorizon.
It madefora magicalandthrilling
situation— allthemoresooncebirds
begantomove.
ForanhourI wouldrateit assome
ofthemostmemorableshootingI’ve
everenjoyed.Pigeonsappearedfrom
alldirectionswithoutwarningand
immediatelyinrange.Havingnotime
tothinkalwaysimprovesmyshooting
andI had 14 inthebagfrom 19 shots
before7.30am,addingeachbird
tothepattern.Bythenallthemist
hadgoneandthethermometerwas
risingfastbutI wasexcited— at this
rateI couldbreaktheelusive 100 by
mid-afternoon.It waslikeanexcellent
flightontheforeshoreorovera pond
— fast,excitingandfrantic.
Withthemistburnedaway,
birdscontinuedtocomeinclose,
aimingforthespinneyanddrawn
totheapparentsafetyofmypattern.
Someshotswerestraightaboveme,
acceleratingfastasI appearedfrom
Pigeon shooting
SHOOTING TIMES & COUNTRY MAGAZINE • 21
“The air seemed alive with
the sound of contented
roosting pigeons cooing
in the dawn light ”
than me, though I’d never admit
it to his face.
While Liam fi nished off his
sheepdog impression at the release
pen, I reconnoitred the edge of a
mixed deciduous spinney some 100m
long and 30m deep. Behind it lay
marshes and the crop of rapeseed.
In front was a 40-acre fi eld
of barley stubble, striped
like corduroy, with row
upon row of swathed
straw running
away up the hill
to the farmyard.
The rapeseed was
thick and high,
making it impossible
to shoot over but
clearly delicious to the
pigeons. However, with
only the estuary behind it,
possible approaches for the birds
were very limited and we hoped I
would be able to pull the wily woodies
into range with an irresistible pattern
of decoys as they passed over the
stubble on their way to the rapeseed.
St Andrew’s cross
The air seemed alive with the sound
of contented roosting pigeons
cooing in the dawn light as I slung
up a net hide and added off cuts
of sycamore, elder and oak for a bit
of realism. With no wind and three
possible directions of approach to my
Tess the Labrador
is already feeling
the heat
