Peaking Early

I warn you now, this will be brief.

We have a pair of foxes working the extreme North edge of the estate. Between ourselves and our neighbours, we've spent a lot of time spying the area from daybreak. (Which, by the way, means getting up there for about 3.30am.) One fox has been spotted regularly but over a huge area. Every time it has been spotted it has travelled out of everyones view and been lost to us.

The other has only shown muzzle 4 times in the last month. It seems to go around at breakneck speed and gets lost to us in double quick time.

Last night a friend came up with a (very, very expensive) thermal imager. We were up on the top of the highest hill in the area, right through the night, spying for any sign of either fox. And guess what?

That's right; no show.

So it looks like the alarm is going to be set for 2.30am. Again.

 

Back to Business

We finished our grouse shooting yesterday. I think I speak for all my colleagues when I say it's a bit of a relief.

Yes, the tie can get thrown to the back of a drawer for a while. And the 'Sunday' tweeds can go back in the wardrobe. Gone are the pressures of the military-like operation that is a day of grouse driving.

But we're relieved because we're not killing any more of our grouse. There are patches on the estate where there are reasonable stocks left. But we've also had an unpleasant surprise from a lot of other areas.

So today I made a start to getting around my grit piles. Disease (tristrongyle worm infestation)has decimated our stocks from last year. And the terrible spring weather meant the survivors bred very poorly. My main concern now is to refresh the medicated grit in all 200+ piles to try and limit any more losses to the worm.

It's also the first day I've been back to 'business as usual' without Ed. I caught myself looking around for him often. Thank goodness for Lottie. She's no substitute but she's a welcome distraction.

It was her first day on the hill with me- at just 16 weeks old. And she behaved impeccably. Keep up the good work Lil'lots.

It Never Rains...

Our day on the hill was a washout. The rain started just after we got lined out for the first drive. By the time we arrived at the butts, everyone was soaked.

We called it a day after the second drive and squelched our way home. So that's what they mean by driving rain.

I couldn't wait to get home and hear news of Ed. It turns out he's still vomiting and still got diarrhoea. On the plus side, there's significantly less blood in his poo.

The vet is now talking about him needing to stay under their care until the end of the week. For the first time, I wondered about how much this is going to cost. Probably more than it would cost to put him up in Gleneagles for a week.

No matter.

Deja Vu

They say a change is as good as a rest.

For the first time in a long time I was waiting with the horse, a long way out on the West of the estate. On a different beat from my own.

I was there to give our new apprentice a helping hand. He's going to be ponyman on this beat for the season. Despite being at about 2000ft, I was giving him the lowdown. I droned on about how to saddle up the horse, what pitfalls to watch out for, where the ponypaths were etc etc etc.

I was in full flow when he blurted out "blimey!" (or similar) and launched himself out of the rover. I thought he'd maybe reached the end of his tether with the advice. In reality he had noticed that the horse had pulled the end of ITS tether and was about to get the hell outta Dodge.

Without missing a beat, I continued "....yeah, and that's another thing you have to watch out for....."

My colleague who was stalking eventually came to the poor lads rescue and had us move onto the next hill. We had been watching him crawl in on a small group of deer and he was lying within shot of them, but couldn't see much for a nasty roll to the ground.

As it turns out, the deer moved off without presenting the stalkers with a shot. There was no time for another stalk so we made our way back to the rover. Before we left I took a couple of photos of Callum and Prince.

I downloaded them onto my laptop a few minutes ago and stopped in amazement. They reminded me so much of a photo that I used to keep on my wall over a decade ago. That photo was of me and a horse called Fraser. It was taken on my first day as a ponyman, only a few hundred yards away from the same spot.

That picture took me back to 1987 quicker than Dr Who's tardis. Where did the years go?

In For A Shock

Well hello! It's been a while, hasn't it?

I've been away on my holidays. And what fine it was to see the sun again. We- my wife, son and I- had a scorching week on the Greek island of Zakynthos. When we returned, we had a day turnaround before we were off for another few days. This time it was sailing on the West Coast of Scotland.

Where the rest of the country has been languishing under record rainfalls, the North and West has had a mere 15% of what they can usually expect. And I'm happy to report that the trend managed to continue during our visit.

It's now the eve of my return to work. A big chunk of today was spent battling with the undergrowth in our over-watered garden. And tomorrow I start doing up my grouse butts.

This work can only be described as 'graft' and it's going to feel even harder after a fortnight of downing sundowners, extended lunches and expanded waistlines.

At least the forecast is half decent.

Weather Beaten

After an appalling start to the week, we got walking ground again on Tuesday. It dried up enough for us to risk going to the steep, rocky walls of the main glen on my beat. We has an inauspicious start when one of the terriers stuck in the first cairn we came to. We should have taken the hint... But we deigned to go on, and make the most of the decent weather. (The dog seemed barely stuck and her owner was convinced she'd have made her way out by the time we went back past. Within half a mile we found a den. In a b*****d of a place. Rabbit holes had been scraped out, high up on an exposed, steep grassy face. Worse was the fact that this face had a convex curve to it. This meant short horizons all round about. Not good for a stake-out. And another terrier stuck down a hole. This time we elected to leave the owner (same guy) and continue our search. We hoped we might fall in with one of the adult foxes for this den in our travels. Instead we found ANOTHER den in a cairn a mile further on. This time the vixen was home and bolted within 5 minutes of the terrier going in. We finished our sweep and headed back to the rovers. Our colleague with the stuck terriers continued his vigil. By now time was short. I hurried home. Dogs were fed, equipment gathered, tea cooked, rifle zeroed. By 7pm two of us were heading back out the hill. It was an hours march and a steep climb of several hundred feet before we were back at the first den. We dropped off our gear and took up positions covering the most likely routes that the vixen would come in by. A cold wind sprang up and by the time it was dark I was chittering with the cold. When it got too dark to see. I had the first shine about with the spotlight. A fox ducked away over the skyline as soon as the light hit it. Gus, who'd drawn the short straw to join me, joined me minutes later and we set up camp. (Unpacked our bivvy bags!) Then followed a long cold night of lamping at 15 minute intervals. At 1pm a fox appeared and stood long enough for a shot. To our surprise it was the dog. We got a glimpse of the vixen at the same time- leaving fast. She didn't show for the rest of the night. We were back out the following night. We narrowly missed our colleague who, after a day of digging had managed to recover both of his terriers. There's one lad who would sleep soundly that night. Again that steep climb, again carrying a heap of gear. This time, rain forced us to wear our waterproofs. We were lathered with sweat by the time we reached the den. The forecast had promised wind, rain and mist. It didn't disappoint! Thank God I chose to take a tent with me this time. (To save weight and give us a bit more room, I just took the outer tent. It wasn't so comfortable, but it still saved our lives!) What followed was still one of the most unpleasnt nights I've ever spent 'oot the hill'. And we saw not hide nor hair of the vixen. I should be out there right now, for the third night in a row but the forecast was that bad (winds to 70mph, snow, mist) that we decided to pull the plug. Another two colleagues were staking out the second den. They saw nothing on either night and have called it a day also. If this weather ever clears, we'll hopefully pick up these cagey foxes on an early morning. But for now, I've got some sleep to catch up on....

Out OF Stalk

Those of you who are regular followers of my blog will know how much I enjoy my stalking. I enjoy it even more when taking a guest out. Stag season used to be one of my favourite times of year.

But I've still no stags on my ground. Guests- many of them regulars whose company I really enjoy- have come and gone from the lodge. They've been out on the beats where they've had more chance of success. Which is as it should be.

As for me, I've been using this opportunity to catch up with a heap of other stuff. My grit piles have all been switched back to medicated grit. I've dug another 50 or so new ones. I've been round my stoat traps, upped my lamping activities, fenced, collected firewood, disinfected kennels.... hell, I've even brashed rides through a small wood. That one's been on the back-burner since I came to this beat 7 years ago!!

I'm told that there is a lodge-full of guests next week and that I'll be stalking, regardless. I must say it will come as a relief; but only if the rut gets going and those blessed stags put in an appearance.

Argony

It's been a real bonus to have a few days leeway between finishing the grouse season and starting our stag stalking. Not that they've been restful.

We've used the time to patch up our roads once again. (And once again that was the cue for the heavens to open and give us a couple of days of spate and floods). We've also cleaned the larder, bothies, rovers, argocat and kennels. I also made time to saw up a tree that was blown across my drive last week. Thanks Katia. (See Splashdance 12.9.11) On Friday morning the farrier was up and shod the ponies.

The final preparation is for us to switch from grouse driving mode to deerstalking mode....and to remember our guests haven't had the benefit of the 5 week warm-up that we've had.

Saying this, I'm not stalking yet. A fence erected along my Southern march by the neighbouring estate has completely scuppered my chances of early stags so I'm now getting round my grit piles.

The good news about doing it just now is that there is no competition for the argocat. I took it out to the far end of my ground today. Seven hours and 70+ grit piles later I returned with my kidneys rattled from their bonds. Shaken not stirred.

Splashdance

Today we had a visit from Hurricane Katia. Although she has now been downgraded to a 'tropical storm'. She didn't feel very tropical to me.

Despite the high winds and rain, we did manage to hold onto half decent visibility so we were driving grouse as per usual. Which meant we spent most of the day up at about 2000ft.

On the more exposed ground I can only describe the experience as like being at the receiving end of a powerwasher. Unlike most, my waterproofs passed this test with running colours. On the downside, they also seemingly doubled my surface area. This resulted in me dancing about the hill like I was auditioning for 'Strictly'.

It would take nothing short of a miracle for that to happen but, after today, maybe I'll start believing in them.

After all the guns did manage to hit 55 brace of these jetstream-propelled birds.

Wader Horizons

I'm both happy and sad to tell you that Russell the Curlew has flown the coop. You may remember that he was as RUFF as SANDPIPER when I first found him. In fact it was no exaggeration to say that he was looking decidedly down in the mouth. Well after a period of incarceration in our berry garden, his down TERN appeared to be REEVErsed. All this is due, in no small part, to all the mackerel, trootS AND ER LING that he had from our freezer. Plus the tonne of worms I dug for him, of course.

He'd obviously managed to build up the strength to clear both the fence to the fruit garden and the surrounding garden fence so now the world is his OYSTER. CATCHER glimpse of him again, will I? Perhaps KNOT but AVOCET of binoculars so I'll be ever hopeful.

Good luck Russell. It was great to have shared some time with you.

Remaining Changeable

I'm aware of how much I talk about the weather. I wouldn't be a true Scot if I didn't. But to all those of you out there who live in a predictable climate, you can't understand what a rollercoaster ride our weather can be.

Yesterday we were trying to drive grouse in light and variable winds. At times the wind dropped completely. At times like this the birds you put up just please themselves about which direction to head in. Tricky.

But that I can live with. The other problem of the wind dropping off is that the midges come out. And they came out in ravenous hordes in those lulls.

And then there was today. The clear, blustery conditions held just long enough to allow us all out onto the hill. Then it lashed with rain.

Driving grouse is hard enough work as is. When you're wrapped up in flogging waterproofs it's worse. And when the beaters have given up the very will to live it's near impossible to motivate them into keeping a decent beating line. Even if they were willing to listen to our 'guidance', making yourself heard over the wind and through their wooly hats and woolier heads is a challenge that Motorhead would baulk at.

We put in three drives and I have to say that I'm seriously impressed that the guns hit as much as they did- seeing as those birds must have been doing close on 100mph.

We came home with 62 bedraggled brace. But we DID come home.

A Real Sod

The grouse shooting season is fast approaching. Every year in preparation for this, we all 'do up' our grouse butts.

When the weather is fine and the butts are in good order, it's a pleasant and satisfying job. However......

However when the weather is as it has been, the ground is saturated. This quadruples the weight of the divots we cut (no wonder they are also called 'sods') and makes them as slick as a grilled politician.

In the photos you'll see some action shots and a 'before' and 'after' pic of a butt that was sore needing our attention. If you're wondering what the lads are pointing at, it's the hill from which we had to carry 5 posts, mell, pinch bar, wire, saw, hammer, nails, staples, spades, butterflies (wire tensioners) and adjustable wrench.

They're smiling 'cos we only have to carry half the stuff back again.

Flipping our Lids

After the hobnobbing and holidaying mentioned in the last blog, reality has hit home with a vengeance.

On my return to work it was an immediate priority to get flipping my lids. I am, of course, referring to the lids of my grit trays. This removes the medicated grit from the grouses' diet and has to be done at least one month prior to the grouse going for human consumption. There is natural grit in the compartment that is exposed. This keeps the birds in the habit of using the site. Allegedly.

It's a rather boring description of a rather boring job. I now have over 200 of these gritting sites and they are spread over some considerable area. (I sat in the rover for a full 10 minutes on Monday morning considering just that.)

And if that isn't bad enough, I know that number one priority as soon as the shooting is over will be flipping them back again. Flipping hell.

The photo shows a well-used tray. Those objects that look like a popular cheesy snack are, in fact, grouse droppings. Don't confuse the two.

When I see that, I feel my labours are worthwhile. Unfortunately there seem to be as many that act as litter trays for hares instead. Glad to be of service, guys!!

Odd

This is the height of the grouse shooting season and thus it feels strange to be having a "guddle aboot". In a nutshell, one of our regular guests has taken the lodge for the week and has come up with just his wife and 3 kids. So instead of highly organised shoot days with 30+ beaters, loaders, pickers-up and 8 shooters we have 'take one of the youngsters rabbit shooting for a couple of hours, take out the lunches then have the rest of the day to catch up on jobs'.

It's very pleasant in a way but this is our best season for grouse for a long time and it's a bit frustrating not to be making the most of it. Och well, we'll be back in top gear again next week.

After all the rain we had on Sunday, I thought the river would be perfect to try for a salmon this evening. When I got there I was disappointed to find the water level about 20cm down on what I expected. Still I flogged and flailed my favourite lies until there was a foam on the water but to no avail. Then as light was failing I misjudged a cast and lost my favourite fly in a tree. He was an old campaigner and had taken a few scalps (possibly the wrong metaphor when referring to salmon!) a Julius Ceaser amongst flies. Rest in beech, Julius.