High Anxiety

We've had a great spell of weather this last few days. I must say, it feels good to feel some heat in the sun and to feel that winter is coming to a close. Regular readers amongst you will know that it's been a particularly tough one with regard to the hind cull.

I thought I'd take advantage of this good weather and the lengthening days to see if I could fall in with one of these foxes that I know is going about. (Since Christmas I've been seeing signs of them- pad marks, scats, kills. I even had one in my sights when I was out lamping one night. When I lay down to shoot it there wasn't quite enough clearance over the rise in the ground halfway between me and it. Sooooo frustrating!) So I decided to go out and spy a favourite rock face at first light.

The downside of these beautiful, clear, still days is that it gets bloomin' cold at night. And the coldest part of the night is often just before dawn. Which is about the time I was sitting down to spy.

Actually, I'd seen the forecast and knew that I was to expect about -8C so I took a sleeping bag and thick gloves with me. Just as well. I worked up a good sweat climbing and scrambling over snow wreaths to get to my place. Thereafter there was little to keep me distracted from the nipping of my ears.

By 8.30am I decided to try and stir things up and fired a shot into the rock face. Twenty minutes after that I picked up a fox on a ledge. It looked like a b******d of a place.

This fox faffed about, back and forwards, on that ledge for the next 2 hours before it eventually disappeared  out of sight under a bank. I could move at last, thank God!!

When I got to the floor of the corrie I dumped a heap of gear. Mostly clothes, actually. I had a feeling I was going to be sweating again before long. And I was right. The climb up through the rocks was bad enough but trying to move quietly over deep, crunchy snow was taking even more effort. And I had both the rifle and the shotgun to weigh me down.

At last I reached my chosen spot- only to find branches negating any chance of a clear shot to the ledge. After spying for 30 minutes and seeing nothing, I moved to the next likely spot.

Again, I had the same problem but this time I had a clear shot to one tiny bit of the ledge. I tried a squeak to see if the fox would show. Nothing. I still gave it a good half hour just in case. Then I moved in a bit more.

This time, I had a better view- at the cost of a  more precariuos shooting position. (Have a look at the pic!) So I squeaked and waited.....and squeaked and waited. After an hour I decided enough was enough. I fired a shot into a block of icicles hanging above the ledge, showering the place with a cascade of ice. I reloaded quickly, waiting for the fox to come bolting out. Nothing happened. I gave it another half an hour in case this was one of those foxes with nerves of steel that would come sneaking out after sizing things up. Still nothing....

 I concluded that either this fox had already left, or it was well underground. I decided to walk into the place with my terrier and shotgun. I slung the rifle on my back and started the painstaking approach. I got within 50 yards before I came to a narrow bit in the ledge. I looked down at the possible outcome and backed off. Too rich for my blood!

As a last resort I backtracked right down to the bottom of the corrie and climbed back up through the rocks. This time I approached the ledge from the other side. When I eventually gained a vantage point I fired a rifle shot straight into the bank where the fox had disappeared. Once again, nothing moved. Furthermore, it was obvious there was no way in from this side with terrier and gun. It was time to go home.

 A weary trudge later saw me back at the rover. Now there was a welcome sight! I arrived home some time later with a raging thirst and hunger gnawing at my belly. Little wonder really- it's not every day that I have my breakfast at 5pm.

I

 

Ace of Spades

I'm all too aware that you haven't heard from me for a while. The sad thing is, it's because I don't have a lot to say.

I've been trailing around my gritting stations. (Large piles of peat/turves with a tray of grit on top. The grouse take grit to help them break down the food in their crop. A medicated coating on the grit we provide kills the parasites in their gut.)To me, it's one of the most important jobs I do. Unfortunately it's one of the most laborious, monotonous ones too.

So I've not been setting the world on fire. (That's on hold until the heather burning season. Eeek! Did I really joke about that!)But at least I've had the time to get on with the task.

Ever since the neighbouring estate put up a fence along my march, my chance of early stags has diminished to...hmmm, let me see...nil! So, instead of taking stalking guests out, I've been doing a really thorough job with the grit piles.

This has meant building up any that I didn't deem big or prominent enough. Which is tough spade work. I've also been replacing every grain of the existing medicated grit.

The manufacturers have been blowing a fanfare and declaring that the new medicated coating on their grit lasts longer than ever. That it wont melt off in the heat of summer and that the active ingredient wont be neutralised by frosts.They claim it will still be good after a year on the hill.

But these claims have never been verified by an impartial body. So, in the meantime, while I know that we are in the middle of a serious grouse crash, I'm putting fresh grit onto every pile on the hill.

Today I got the use of the argocat for the first time (my colleagues have been taking their turns with it.) and it certainly makes things easier. Even better, I was on a area of hill where all the grit piles were dug with a mini-digger. So no problems with diminuitive piles here, then.

But, by the time I'd rattled round the hill for 7 hours, and dived in and out of the argo 70 times, I was knackered.

And I still am. I'd planned to go out lamping for foxes tonight. But it can wait for another night.

Night, night.

Dawning More Clothes

Those of you who are regular visitors will know that I have a big hind cull in the winter. And because of this I have to be stalking nigh on every day, regardless of the weather.

This isn't a problem- once I'm out of the landrover. And when the rain is rattling on the roof and the wind is whistling, that can be a serious challenge. But it comes with the territory and, well, that's what you expect in a highland winter. I sigh a big sigh, don the waterproofs and get on with it.

"Why the hell is he talking about hind stalking?" I hear you ask.

You'd think, maybe, that getting out of your bed at 3am- as we are doing just now- might be a similar challenge. And you'd think right. But once you've levered your eyelids open and looked out, the tiredness quickly passes. You see the hills silhouetted against a paleness creeping into the clear night sky and know you are in for something special. Dawn in the hills can be breathtaking.

Knowing there are still foxes out there only goes to further spur you on. The visibility a clear morning gives you, added to the hear-a-pin-drop silence greatly increases your chances of falling in with foxy. And you know it.

So every morning for the last God-knows-how-long the alarm clock has gone off at Stupid O' clock. And every morning I've looked out at a cloudy/windy/drizzly/misty predawn.

Some mornings I've thought "Well, the light wont be good but at least I'll be able to see" and gone out. And seen nothing.

Some mornings I've thought "Well it looks like it might clear" and gone out. And it hasn't.

And some mornings I've thought "It's not worth going out" and gone back to bed only to doze fitfully and continually look out in case I'm missing a chance.

The mornings I have gone out have been cold. There were sleet showers blowing through on Wednesday morning. So what young grouse the foxes aren't killing, the weather is.

It must be nice here in the summer, tho'...............

A Late Breakfast

4am this morning and you would have found me bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. It was a stunningly beautiful morning and I'd been allocated a great place to sit and spy for foxes. From my vantage point I looked down into a huge, steep sided glen. Fox country if ever there was.

I'd been there barely 15minutes before I got a call on the radio. Neighbouring estates were asking for an extra pair of eyes up by the march (boundary) to help them watch a pair of foxes. I was nearest.

20 minutes later I grabbed the rifle and left the rover, picking my way round the steep, rocky side of the highest hill in the area. I found a vantage point and got myself comfortable. Relatively speaking.

For the next hour I followed the progress on the radio. The foxes crossed a river and made their way up into a steep rocky face. Unfortunately for me the rising sun threw this face into steep shadow. It's also a place of deep heather and thick juniper bushes. And it was at least a mile from where I was sitting. I never saw them yet.

But as I watched I heard a grouse tukking away to my right. I gave the area a spy, saw nothing and got back to the job in hand. Five minutes later, more tukking. I took a closer look and this time saw a couple of hinds lying on a heathery bank. They appeared to be staring at something. I looked in that direction and glimpsed a fox.

For the next 10 minutes I scanned the area, unable to pick it uo again in the network of hags. Then I put my binoculars down and saw that Ed (my terrier) was staring intently down the hill. There was the fox! Coming round the foot of the steep, 300-400 yards below me.

The thought of a long shot flashed briefly through my head. Too rich for my blood! I watched it and relayed its progress to a free pair of eyes way down into the neighbours ground.

The fox went out of my sight and a wee while later my 'spotter' informed me he'd lost it in a shaded hollow in a big corrie not far from where I now was. Between us we'd been pretty much covering the exits, or so we thought.

After another half hour and no show, it was decided that I'd take a walk through the place, in case it had lain up. As I was guided in, I was aware of how 'blind' a piece of ground it was. Most of the time, I was only seeing 30m in any direction. I was dearly wishing that I had the shotgun and not the rifle with me.

I crept down the steep brae, trying to make as little noise as possible. My heart was in my mouth. I had the rifle at the ready. The radio hissed "try a wee bit over to your left" and I changed direction without daring to reply.

I'd gone another 20m when I heard a noise above me. I whirled round and there was the fox bounding up the hill away from me. He was chest-deep in the heather and had 50m to go before he was over the skyline and out of my sight. I worked the bolt and shouldered the rifle. He came into the sights and, as he was going slightly left-handed, I aimed down his left side and sqeezed off a shot. Missed!

I reloaded quicky, aware that I was only going to get one more shot. This time I put the crosshair on him. He collapsed to the shot. Huge relief washed through me. But not so much as to prevent me from quickly refilling the magazine. I needent have worried, this mature dog fox was very much dead.

When my pulse was eventually back into double-figures, I conferred with the lads who'd been watching the pair of foxes. They'd lost both foxes in amongst the junipers. It was decided to rally as much support as we could and try a wee 'drive'. I made my way over to where they could pick me up in a land rover. It took nearly an hour of walking.

To cut a long story short, 8 of us tried to cover this large face. Wouldn't you know it, the fox got up next to me. The only one without a shotgun with him. I couldn't get a safe shot at the fox until it was outwith our 'perimeter' by which time it was 200m away and going like a train. I gave it the offer but this time Foxy won through. I suspect the other fox slipped away during all the excitement. We certainly never saw it as we completed walking the face.

Out of pure optimism, we checked a couple of holes that were in the direction that the fox was last seen heading in. No joy. After that I got a lift up the hill as far as was possible and started the long walk back to my landrover.

I arrived at the vehicle 12 hours after I'd left it. The tea in my flask was long-since cold. No matter, it was drained.

As was I.