As we set across the
open service track between the farm buildings and the sixteen acre coverts, the
bitter Easterly wind picked up the nights light dusting of snow and whipped it
in tiny eddies across the frozen plough. The lurcher cast into the breeze, his
light, rough coat swept horizontal by the wind. Not gusting but constant, this
Arctic-born zephyr cut like a knife, bringing tears to my eyes. We hurried over
the white mile, man and dog eager to reach the relative shelter of the wood,
paws and boots cracking the fragile ice covering the puddled tractor ruts.
Inside the wood we
were to meet disappointment. The cold wind chased us mercilessly and sent her
icy sprites dancing among the pine boles to bite the exposed skin. I was well
wrapped in micro-fleece and sub-layers of cotton but the imps soon found my
cheeks and trigger finger. Thankfully I had a Zippo hand-warmer cooking in my
pocket to relieve the latter. The lurcher had scant protection. Not much meat
on this little bag o' bones running machine and he kept stopping to nip the
balled up ice gathering between his pads. I pulled the fleece snood up to cover
my chin and set off deeper into the wood. This was a day to keep moving.
Pretty soon I noticed
the tracks of a single beast impressed in the shallow snow ahead of me. The dog
had his snout down and was following them keenly. Huge prints, padded and
clawed. Twice the size of the dogs. All those speculative stories about big
cats in this area of Norfolk immediately leapt to mind. Having little other
purpose this morning (any sensible vermin being holed up in burrow or
drey) I decided to follow them for as
far I could. I knew what the beast was, of course. I've been tracking animals
for too long to be fooled by these prints. Nonetheless, there was fun to be had
here. Here we were, my hound and I, in the sixteen-acre plantation playing at
being Piglet and Pooh .. on the trail of
a Heffalump!
The trail followed
along a man-made ride pretty rigidly, though now and again I could see where
the mythical beast had veered off to scent and spray. The pheromones of that
spray sending a shiver of caution through Piglet, my lurcher. His fear was
palpable, yet he bravely nosed on. We both jumped, hearts in mouths, when a red
stag leapt up from cover and called its two hinds up behind him. The huge deer
leapt to safety, his harem following, as the dog stood panting. Eventually the
tracks left the path and headed off under bare briar and over sandy hummock,
deep into the nether-land of the coverts. This is where Piglet came into his
own, following the scent while Pooh could only trust and follow, picking up a
print here and there. I was comforted by the regular evidence of snuffling and
rooting. Areas of leaf mulch thrown up as the creature had sought slight
morsels of food which could surely never satisfy its bulky frame? This was a
big beast, needing substantial feast.
I never expected to
meet this particular Heffalump face to face so I carried no fear in the hunt. I
knew he was a creature of the night. Thus, it was no real surprise when Piglet
finally led me to the mouth of the Heffalump den. A hole so large the dog,
standing 24" at the shoulder, could almost enter if he dared. The dogs
nose pulled him inward, curiosity mixed with fear but he soon retreated. It was
almost as though he could visualise the cast iron claw and the vicious tooth of
the beast. He withdrew a distance, bidding me ( with his whine) to come away
too.
As we left the lair
of the Heffalump, we followed the tracks made as it had exited the nest at the
start of its nocturnal expedition. Just like Pooh and Piglet, we followed them
around to where we had first seen the trail .. full circle. Now a foolish
hunter could have been tricked into thinking that at this point, the creature
had been joined by a man and a dog .. and gone around the trail again. Heffalumps always seem to hunt in circles. So
do badgers. Could our beast have been a badger? Well, possibly it could have
been a massive boar badger, with tracks like that? But I'd like to think that
I'd found a Heffalump lair. What do you think?
If you like this, check out my books and my writing in Airgun Shooter and The Countrymans Weekly
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