Russell (so named by my son!)

Isn't technology wonderful.

I searched the internet to try and find information about Curlew and, more importantly, how to look after them.

To my great relief I read that they would eat thin strips of fish. And to my greater relief (and to my wifes' great annoyance) I had filled all the available voids in our freezer with mackerel after my last sea fishing trip.

So voids are appearing there once again as Russell scoffs his way through a couple of fillets a day.

I still dig worms for him and the silver lining to that particular cloud is that the berry garden is going to have it's first 'makeover' for years. It's also very satisfying to spy on him and picking his own food out of the disturbed earth.

But 'spy' is the operative word. Every bit of information I read about curlew described them as "shy". And they're not kidding. When I go to feed him, I quite often don't see him at all. He's given up his bower in the Honeysuckle and has instead chosen to play hide-and-seek among the berry bushes. And he usually wins.

I have managed a few pics of him after a bit of cat-and-mouse. Enjoy. ('Coz that's the best I can do for now!)

NYAAARGHH !!!!

Have you heard the old chestnut:-

"What's the most important invention in human history?"

"The Venetian Blind- without which it would be curtains for us all."

Well, I'm afraid the midge net has now taken the crown. We were driving grouse today and although we were having a great day, the last two drives were blighted by midges. It was a warm, overcast day and the light breeze dropped at about 3pm. By 3.15 most of the entourage would have sold their granny for a midge net. I did have a spare in the rover but a) it was parked 500ft down the hill from us and b) what would I do with someone elses nan?

We finished the day with a bag of 198.5 brace. It would have been nice to have made the 200 and I dare say if we'd dallied longer we would have managed to pick them. But I reckon hamstringing would have been the only way you'd have persuaded me to dally.

By the way, the more observant of you might have noticed the pic of me with an exotic looking bird on my arm. Unfortunately it's a curlew.

I came across it on the last grouse drive on Friday. I could see it was a juvenile but I thought it was well enough grown that it should be flying. Luckily, I got to it just ahead of my dogs and as soon as I picked it up I could feel it was nothing but skin and bone.

Where I found it is very close to one of my hill tracks. I remember seeing a pair of curlews regularly in this area in the spring. I also remember thinking it was rather high up for curlew to be nesting, and on a rather dry ridge. I usually see them around the parks and boggy flushes near the floor of the glen.

Whatever the reason, I reckoned this bird was pretty close to death. I also reckoned that I was probably wasting my time to try and help it. But I thought I'd give it a go.

Three days on and I've dug a considerable patch of garden in my search for worms. I've also prowled the lawns at night scanning the damp grass with a torch. (It's another good way of collecting earthworms. Honest.) The curlew scoffs everything that's put in front of it.

I won't say it's out of the woods yet- seeing as it spends its time hiding in the Honeysuckle- but it's a good sign that it's feeding. All I have to do for the time being is- make sure it stays in the fruit garden; make sure the dogs stay out of the fruit garden; and dig about a pound of worms a day.

Simples.

Dish Out the Gruel

I just had to share this pic with you.

I had a lot of fun with the guests last week. It's about the only time of year I'm asked to ghillie on the river or loch and, I have to say, it makes a fine change.

It's also the last bit of light relief before we get stuck in with our shooting season proper.

We were driving grouse today. Despite variable winds, nearly being blotted out by mist, heavy rain and occassional onslaughts by midge hordes we still managed 169 brace for our day.

However we've also lost one beater to a badly twisted knee and we have another who might have to drop out for a day or two. He has that many blisters his feet they look like they've been bubble-wrapped.

And after a week of swanning up and down the riverbank, this all-day routemarching that is grouse beating feels just that little bit... er...GRUELLING!

Ground Rush

The days have sped by since my last blog.

Parachuting types talk of 'ground rush' when their hopefully slow and steady downward progress finishes with Planet Earth leaping up at them when they get within 20 feet. We've had the same thing from our shooting season.

In a final flurry of activity, we've sawn, clogged and split enough firewood to restock the bothies and lodge. It should see both through to the end of the stag season (20th Oct). If it doesn't, they can get their own!!

We've also sorted some roads that, although only sorted a fortnight previously, were washed out by recent torrential rain. The way this weather is going, we could be visiting them again before long.

A couple of our ponies have been shod in preparation for some early stalking. I also gave our resident (and panicky) gardener a hand in the lodge garden.


But all this is history as we are now busy with a lodge full of guests. There are a couple of stag stalking parties out each day and perhaps a roe buck stalker too. Others are going out rabbiting, walking and fishing.

As there are no stags on my ground yet, I've been happy to take folk onto the river to try for a salmon.

Yesterday, conditions were perfect. There were also a lot of salmon showing. They were jumping and splashing all over the place- including at ends of my guests rods.

Frustratingly none would grab hold. Then at 6pm one particularly determined young lady hooked into one. And it was a BIG fish.

She played it for half an hour while I assaulted her with a constant deluge of encouragement and advice. Once or twice we thought the fish was starting to tire only to have it turn and strip line off the reel again.

We'd had occassional glimpses of it through the peaty water but when it did decide to show itself, it did it in style. Out of nowhere it made a leap. It was close to us and therefore on a short line. The line parted like cotton.

We stood on that rock, speechless. When we recovered our senses we made a few philisophical noises and packed up.

Truth be told, we were both gutted and didn't have the heart to fish any more that day.

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!!

High Days and Holidays

I thought I'd better write something before y'all gave up on me.

The long silence is due in part to us being off on holiday for a week. We went to Oban on the West Coast. The West Coast is infamous for midges and rain but we had virtually none of either. Which is more than can be said for home. My first job on my return was to go and check that my hill roads weren't all in the North Sea.

I'm happy to report that they were intact. That digger work (renewing offlets on the roads, mostly)I had done just before I went off couldn't have been more timely.

It's amazing to see the difference a week makes. In the short time we were away, the Bell Heather has started coming into bloom. If you've never seen the way heather-clad hills turn purple overnight, you'd hardly believe it.

In a good year the colour is so intense it looks unreal. Just check out any Chinese made teatowel to get the picture. Just ignore the tartan clad piper in the foreground.

We had to take a holiday from our holiday to go to Edinburgh. Louise and I were invited to the Queens garden party at Holyrood Palace. I hesitate to mention it but, after racking our brains to find a reason for our invitation, we could only guess it was through my keepering or writing activitiies.

"Maybe it's because you're just an all-round good egg." Louise suggested.

I then pointed out that- in my eyes- a round egg would be a highly suspect thing.

Anyway we went. Us and 8,000 other worthies. All clamouring for a glimpse of HRH. I reckon we got within a stones throw but decided it would not be a good career move to put this to the test.

When the hubbub had died down there was nothing else for it- we drank tea, ate cucumber sandwiches (yes, really!) and swanned. I think most people had the same idea which resulted in the highest incidence of swanning activity this side of Slimbridge.

I confess to rather enjoying the whole affair. Especially the people watching. But, after seeing all those hats, I can't help thinking that the Queens garden party is to egrets what Christmas is to turkeys.

We came away with our curiosity satisfied and with a deep relief that we weren't doing the washing-up.