D. ROGERS
20 • SHOOTING TIMES & COUNTRY MAGAZINE
I
mpenetrable dawn mist hung
heavy in the coastal lanes.
The world slept in a murky
dreamland. The headlights
from my pickup struggled to cut
through the spectral vapours; steam
rose from the estuary, smothering
the fl oodplains in a blanket of dense
cloud. The earth exhaled, preparing
for another stifl ing summer’s day.
I wound my way through the back
roads to remote Freelands Farm,
stomping ground of my gamekeeper
friend Liam Fearis. Over the weekend
he’d texted using eight of my favourite
words: “Are you available for a bit of
shooting?” Like the Pontiff and his
denomination, Liam already knew
the answer. Especially when he added
that by his reckoning 1,000 pigeons
had hit his landlord’s rapeseed fi eld
before harvest and he knew exactly
the spot to get under them.
A night of lamping — the last
sweep to prepare for the arrival of
my poults — seemed a good excuse
to push through into dawn. I could
then start the crop protection at fi rst
light. Two foxes had been despatched
before mist stopped play, allowing
half an hour for strong coff ee and
toast. Now Liam and I rolled down
fi elds of golden stubble and out to the
very edges of cultivatable land to fi nd
a spinney that the pigeons had been
using as a staging post on their way
to massacre the crops.
Wild partridges
We were delayed by errant pheasants
intent on escape from their release
pen and we took 20 minutes to walk
them back in as the gloom cleared.
Liam runs a fi ne little driven shoot,
the Old Church in Brightlingsea,
and prides himself on his explosive
partridges, many of which are wild
greys. As a gamekeeper, game dealer,
plasterer and father, he’s a busy man
and I was sorry he couldn’t join me
in the hide.
“Don’t want to show you up,
mate,” he off ered by way of a brutally
accurate excuse. He’s a far better shot
Constructing the hide
on the golden stubble