Bird Scarers and Buzzards

February is possibly the worst month of the year for the airgun hunter. Winters die-back is at its maximum. Cold winds pierce even the densest thickets and very few wild creatures venture from drey or nest or den for long. The crops are at a cusp. The winter beet or barley long since drawn from the soil and the spring shoots now battling to break through the hoary, brittle earth. Those that do are plucked and plundered by legions of  sharp-beaked rooks and gluttonous wood-pigeons. As I wander the fields and spinneys, I thank the lord for my solid constitution as the bird-scarers are dotted all over. Hidden in hedgerow and hollow, it pays to know where these little cannons are and how often they are set to fire. If you find yourself close to one accidently .. and it discharges .. you’ll hope you’ve tied the ankles of your cargo pants!

The close of this dank, grey month is marked with the signs of re-birth and regeneration. With the slightest hint of sunshine, songbirds chase and flutter like the opening scene of a Disney movie. Out on the open plough, the brown hares (or ’dewhoppers’ as they are often called locally) are starting the courting game. Over the next few weeks they’ll be chasing and boxing. Contrary to popular belief this isn’t the hares equivalent of the deer rut .. males fighting for territory and supremacy. The one throwing the punches is normally the feisty female resisting a males amorous advances. Nothing new there then!

This time of year normally sees me busy with the camera and catching up on shoot housekeeping. I’ll be walking my shooting permissions clearing regular stalking paths of briar suckers, cutting back intrusive branches, oiling squeaky gates and removing those exposed stretches of barbed wire revealed in the grass. Anything to make a quiet and unobstructed traverse of the land easier when the growth returns. While the foliage is at its full ebb, I will check all the warrens and identify the live buries. I’ll mark last years magpie and jays nests .. for both are likely to build again nearby. If they survived my attention last season they might not be so lucky this year.

This year I’m praying that the rabbits return in numbers. Last years dearth here in Norfolk has left me with a depleted freezer and I like my free coney meat! Though this winters roost shooting has put plenty of pigeon breasts in there, they need the compliment of rabbit in a pie or casserole. Signs so far are good. A few kits about (rabbits breed in every month now) and both they and the parents look healthy. Much as it would pain my farmers, for the first time ever I have imposed a short close season on coneys. I could have shot two plump adults on todays walkabout but chose to let what looked fit and clean coneys survive to breed. I would far rather farm them and collect good, healthy meat later than simply annihilate them.

I was delighted to see a pair of courting buzzards over the farm I walked today. Some readers may find that a strange statement but it has taken nearly 20 years for the buzzard to re-establish a good presence out here in the East. Buzzards, to me, mean rabbits and vice-versa. The raptors presence is an indicator of ecological diversity and I can forgive it the theft of the odd pheasant poult. Last week, while roost shooting, I dropped a pigeon onto the woodland floor with a long shot. I left it there to wait for others flighting in. After a minute or two I saw a grey head bobbing through the brash on the floor. Damn it! I’d winged the pigeon and was about to set off on that ’chase to despatch’ scenario when suddenly a huge dark bird ghosted down from the canopy and clasped onto the pigeon. The buzzard must have been watching me for ages. The bird stared at me for a half a minute, that angry yellow eye telling me “That, sir, is how to finish a pigeon!”. Then he took off and floated out of the copse, leaving the dead pigeon where it laid .. and leaving me flabbergasted.

 

 

www.wildanglia.co.uk

www.facebook.com/wildanglia

Fools Gold

Despite a dreary, grey cloud-smothered day I was keen to give my lurcher, Dylan, a good walk today and take a break from shooting. Once I’d decided where to go, I then faced the dilemna of which lens to add to the camera. When I shoot, I take one of choice of gun. I’m the same when I photograph. I take one lens. My destination, deep in summer, demands a middle of the road ’macro to zoom’ glass (such as my Sigma 18-250mm) to cover the wealth of opportunities normally encountered for wildlife photography. Today, however, with the vegetation still in die-back and yet to re-birth, the open heathland I expected suggested a long zoom. I snapped the 80-400mm Nikkor onto my D7000 and hoped I’d made the right choice.

Tucked away in the middle of North Norfolk, just half an hours drive from the centre of Norwich, there is a little gem of a wildlife haven known as Buxton Heath. Managed by the Norfolk Wildlife Trust, the small (165 acre) site could have been lifted from the middle of Dartmoor and dropped among the arable farmland and woodland that surround it. Though predominantly sandy heathland, its rich diversity of habitat plays host to some wildlife rare to much of Norfolk. I rarely visit in winter and today it was, at first glance, a bleak and desolate place. As we (the dog and I) set off across the heath one of the Heathlings (for so the volunteers are nicknamed) was doing strange, unmentionable things with a tractor and tine. As I looked around at the felling, ripped up gorse and wanton slaughter of habitat I did wonder what the hell the game-plan was? I’m hugely biased but I couldn’t help but think that if this little piece of England was turned over to a shooting syndicate it would be even richer in fauna. But .. what the hell do I know?

Anyway, the Heathling looked on in disapproval as I released the lurcher and held him close to my heel on a verbal leash. ‘Animals grazing .. please keep dogs on a lead’ is a fair call to the general public but Dylan, at nearly 10 years old, can be called off a rabbit at five paces .. such is his training. We scouted up the incline, up toward the centre of the heath and the tractor resumed its vandalism. Two completely polarised rebels with a wildlife cause had just exchanged a nod of the head and continued with their anarchy. With respect to the warning sign, I had an eye out for the ponies. Yes .. Buxton Heath has wild ponies, too. I had an eye out because they pose more of a danger to the dog than he does to them. You can call a dog away from a pony but you can’t call a pony away from a dog!

The dogs nose ploughed a long furrow through the sandy floor simply because the surface is littered with rabbit sign. I’ve never seen a living rabbit here, ever. Yet there must be thousands judging by the currants. The warrens beneath the gorse must come alive after dark. Nor have I ever seen a hare here, though they are abundant on the surrounding crops. We walked on and after a while I stopped, simply to listen. I was right in the middle of the site. Nothing moved. The sound was amazing. Unbelievable. Total silence. No birdsong.

 

In summer, at this same spot, I have heard  the pretty yellowhammers ‘littlebitofbreadandnocheeeese’ and chaffinch song. Blackcaps, warblers and titmice flit amongst the ling. Stonechats perch on the gorse. Today .. nothing. We walked across the top of the mini-moor toward the distant wood. I diverted across the top of the sphagnum mire that sits in a hollow on the east of the heath. One of my favourite spots. Last winter there were woodcock aplenty here. In autumn I have accidentally flushed jack-snipe. So far today I had seen nothing but overhead woodies. Not a wren, not a robin, not a single living creature. I was in a wildlife desert. Before entering the wood I checked an area where, when I lasted visited, there were brash-piles and stacked tree stumps. 

 

I have photographed common lizards basking on top of these. The stumps had been removed and the ground turned over. A strip of dark, loamy plough .. but laid to what harvest? Bracken? For in summer, bracken strangles much of this heath. Thanks the Lord .. the woodpile had been left intact. This heath holds one of the biggest adder colonies in the UK. As I looked about I despaired as to where the reptiles would hide, bask, mate, hunt and survive? As if to prove the importance of this isolated woodpile, I found a sloughed snake skin on the turf nearby.

 

Around the edge of the wood I found evidence of the usual suspects but saw none. Squirrel sign, a dead wood mouse left half eaten on a stump by an owl, fox scats, fresh deer droppings. Just as I snapped tree damage caused by a large deers gnawing I got a glimpse of a red stag stealing away into the forestry adjoining the heath. On the long walk back to the motor, I hoped to see a barn owl quartering as the dusk approached but I was to be disappointed. In case I’m putting you off a visit (I would like to keep this place secret, but I’m too late!) I should be honest and list the species I’ve watched here in the past. As well as those mentioned above .. tawny owl, woodcock, snipe, cuckoo, sparrowhawk, buzzard, kestrel, turtle dove, roe deer muntjac deer, red deer, stoat, fox, grass snake. Not mention a plethora of butterfly, plant and insect species. One of my favourite beetles, the Minotaur, is abundant here.

So I had poor reward (with the camera) for my walk and much concern about the management of this site. Yet .. I am no university educated ecologist. I’m just a simple amateur naturalist and shooter. What did concern me, however, is that many of my shooting permissions hold a much more diverse winter ecology than this SSSI (Site of Specific Scientific Interest). This site should be a treasure so why do I feel I just touched fools gold?

 

 

www.wildanglia.co.uk

www.facebook.com/wildanglia

The Air Rifle - An Ideal Tool







One of the frustrating situations faced by the smallholder or gardener is the incursion of pest species and a limited ability to control them. Woodpigeons, feral pigeons, rabbits and some of the crow family can swiftly undo all that hard work put into preparing and sowing a crop such as brassicas, peas or beans. Rats, squirrels and mink can wreak havoc on poultry pens or duck ponds, the former fouling, spreading disease and undermining sheds or outhouses. The latter two being notorious egg thieves. The mink will slaughter wantonly, just like the fox, leaving dead but uneaten birds. Poisons and traps are often not an option (from a safety perspective) or require a level of skill beyond the scope of the average smallholder. There is, however, a perfect tool easily available to assist crop and livestock protection. A tool which is often overlooked. The humble air rifle.

I have been using air rifles for crop protection and vermin control for nigh on 40 years now. I offer my services free of charge as a hobbyist air-gunner and help out on estates as large as 1000 acres or as small as a 50 foot long garden. Such is the versatility of the air rifle. Over the years I have been happy to advise and tutor many smallholders and farmers in selecting and using their own air rifle. Why is it the perfect tool? Well .. because it is low-powered, relatively safe in responsible hands, currently unlicensed, quiet in its execution and .. perhaps most importantly for the smallholder .. very cheap to use.



            UK firearms regulations require that unlicensed air rifles shoot at a power below 12 ft/lbs (foot pounds). As I write this, there is no license required for a legal limit (sub 12 ft/lb) air rifle in the UK. Though this may change due to the irresponsible actions of a minority and resultant political pressure. Above that power they are classed as Section 1 firearms and require a license. There are dozens of suitable rifles on the market to meet most smallholders needs. They have limited range, most suited to distances up to around 40 yards. Unlike a rimfire or centrefire rifle there is little risk of a missed shot leaving the boundary of a small property (which is illegal. Yet they have enough down-range power to cleanly dispatch an animal as large as a mature rabbit at 30 yards (a similar range to a shotgun).

            Despite much of the claptrap you read in the popular media, air rifles are a very safe option when used and stored correctly. They are surrounded in their own legislation and codes of practise. Check out the BASC (British Association for Shooting and Conservation) website if you want to explore this in more detail. Most are now manufactured with integral safety catches .. a feature I demand on all my guns, despite my long experience.

One of the biggest attributes of the air rifle is its silence. Fitted with a sound moderator, they are whisper quiet. Not only does this make for effective vermin control (it doesn’t frighten off other vermin) but it also guarantees discretion. That can be important to the smallholder or garden farmer surrounded by neighbours who may not sympathise with the need for vermin control. They won’t even know you’re doing it!



Cost will be a consideration when purchasing a rifle. As with all things in life, you get what you pay for. From the cheap Chinese made spring-loaded rifles costing £50 to the top-of-the-range pre-charged pneumatics retailing at £900 or more. As you would guess, as a huge air rifle advocate, I shoot with the latter but I would always recommend that you get the best you can afford. There are some superb guns available for £300 to £400 and there is always the second-hand option. Ammunition for either end of the market is the same. Quality pellets retail at about 500 for £10. Which means you can practise shooting ad-infinitum for little cost. You can’t do that with rimfires or shotguns! If culling vermin isn't for you, there are numerous air-rifle clubs around the UK should you need help with pest control. You won't have to pay for it. Give your local club a call. I can guarantee you that they will have experienced, safe, discreet shooters like me who will be available to help, free of charge.





 If you should decide to buy an air rifle and need help in deciding what to buy, how to get started in learning how to shoot accurately, how to shoot safely and how to target vermin efficiently .. buy a magazine like Airgun Shooter or pick up one of the many good books on the subject. My books, though not tutorials, impart lots of advice. I can recommend Mat Mannings book "Hunting With Air Rifles" to the beginner.

            And don’t forget .. there is a huge free harvest here too. Rabbit and woodpigeon meat is delicious. Check out my own books for advice on how to prepare both for the table .. among other simple, tasty game recipes. All that prime meat, ripe for the taking, often pays for the investment in a good air rifle.

Woodpigeon Stroganoff .. delicious!

 

www.wildscribbler.co.uk

www.facebook.com/wildscribbler

 

Owls and Archangels

Whenever I'm out and about in the countryside I always carry a camera of some description, even if only a high resolution compact like the Nikon P7100, which is capable of snapping in RAW format. Generally though I have a DSLR close by, even if out with the rifle. I'm not a 'purist' nor professional photographer so the lens I use on shooting sorties will be a small but practical superzoom such as a Sigma 18-250mm. Good enough to get that off-the-cuff wildlife pic but small enough to pack enough in a gamebag. If I'm just stretching my legs with the lurcher, such as today, I'll take a heavier, more purposeful lens like my Sigma 50-500mm zoom. Attached to the Nikon D7000 and slung on Black Rapid Sports harness, it's quite a beast and you know when you've walked a few miles with it!

My home is close to the Marriott Way, a disused railway line that has been converted into a cycleway / footpath that stretches between Norwich city centre and Aylsham. The path passes through some of the most attractive farmland in Norfolk, including some of my shooting permissions. Much of it cuts along the valley of the River Wensum, a winding chalk-stream rich in kingfishers, otters and other wildlife. Though it can be a busy cycling thoroughfare if you pick your times you can see much of this fauna. Which is why I picked the hour before dusk today to give Dylan, my lurcher, a good run and enjoy some recreational exercise myself.

The late February sunshine had injected some friskiness into the winter lethargy of bird and beast. Though not quite Spring, titmice and finches flirted among the still naked boughs of the beech and hazel lining the wide sandy track. It's as though the sun blew the whistle and the mating game is on. Out along the distant fence bordering a sheep pasture, rabbits chased amorously. A lively warren, on the wrong side of my permission boundary. No matter. They will ensure, through their creep and incursion, that my presence will still be welcome beyond the wire this summer.

This late in the day, with the mist rising lightly from the flood meadows and the rooks thronging homeward overhead, the temperature was already on the wane. The pale moon which had hung in the blue sky all day promised a hoar frost tonight. It was no surprise then, when I stepped out onto the iron bridge, to see a barn owl hunting keenly. She sailed up and down the fringes of the meadow like a huge moth, following the bends of the river. I watched .. and snapped .. as she made her feints into the sedges and came up with nothing. Then, she struck gold. A vole, carried out into the meadow, into the shorter cattle-grazed turf. I watched her toy with the tiny mammal before lifting it with her beak and then swallowing it, as a kingfisher eats a minnow, in two gulps.

As she cast off again, I glimpsed a snow white form perched on a tree limb beyond where the owl had fed. Totally out of synch with its surroundings. A little egret, becoming a common sight hereabouts now though certainly not a native. A tiny, slender cousin to the grey heron but with the plumage of an archangel .. pure white. Its black gaiters and yellow slippers make it look slightly Bohemian but that sharp black bill is as deadly as the herons. A keenly honed fish or frog spear. It took off, perhaps sensing my vigil, then courted danger as it floated across the power lines and out of sight.

A sonorous, rhythmic noise made me jump and made the lurcher leap up to look over the bridge parapet. My camera swung up like a shotgun. A mute swan beat up and over the bridge just yards above us and I could feel the downdraft from its powerful wings as I focussed and consigned its image forever. On the walk home, a robin stopped to serenade us from a fence post. A reminder, as if I needed it, that tonight would be as cold as a warlocks heart.

 

www.wildanglia.co.uk

 

www.facebook.com/wildanglia



Mother Natures Stewards

A woodpigeon frozen at roost

I picked up a frozen pigeon the other morning. Stiff as a board. The mercury had plummeted to about -4C overnight but it was the cutting Easterly wind that would have beaten the bird, sending its body temperature well below survival level. 


Mother Nature can be ruthless

Being out there in the fields and woods amid the wild creatures I watch, protect and, where necessary, cull opens my mind to the occasional casual cruelty of Mother Nature herself. It is a world, to me, devoid of ambition or politics or petty conflict. It is a pure, raw world where the only clock is the rising or the setting of the sun. Each days agenda is dictated by the need to feed, to breed, to raise young, to survive. Mother Natures jurisdiction is unquestionable. Under her rule, sometimes severe yet equally kind, each living thing thrives or fails .. us humans included. Don’t ever doubt that. A few years ago I recall a similar morning when I was picking woodpigeons from the floor that had literally frozen to death at roost, in the grand scheme of things a mere ‘flick’ of Mother Natures right hand. I returned home to hear that she had swept her left arm across the other side of the world and raised a tsunami that had killed many thousands of her ‘higher order’ subjects.



Are we a 'higher order'?

Are we ‘higher order’? Is that such an arrogant statement? I don’t believe it is. I reflect on this in the opening chapter of my second book, Airgun Fieldcraft. There are many people (usually with no connection to the countryside) who think we humans have a duty to protect all other creatures from harm. Sorry, but I disagree. Our evolution has placed us at the top of a food chain. We are, across most of the planet, Mother Natures stewards. We have been hunting for food since we learned how to stand on two feet. The fact that we learned how to herd and farm livestock was a credit to our intelligence but then we had to learn how to protect that stock .. “While shepherds watched their flock by night“. That stewardship has grown into more than just farming or fishing for food, it has extended into species conservation, wild herd management and game-keeping. The vermin control that I and my colleagues carry out is an extension of that.





A chapter from my book

Yet .. and I cover this subject at length in my books .. I would never advocate senseless or, worse still, insensitive slaughter of any wild creature. What we do enjoy (and why I believe we are the higher order) is the intelligence and power of reasoning to discriminate. We have it within our power to help control wildlife numbers, to protect our own economic needs, to defend vulnerable species. We also have .. and many forget this .. the wisdom and governance to stop our activities sometimes and take stock. Certainly, modern humanity has worked hard to do this and correct the sins of its ancestors through the use of international protection laws and exclusion lists.


All ceanly despatched

I used a very powerful and oft mis-understood word in the text above. Cruelty. The Wikpedia definition is superb and should be learned by all .. “indifference to suffering, and even pleasure in inflicting it”. Is Mother Nature indifferent? Does she take pleasure in causing the death of her minions? We will never know. We do, though, know our own minds and if we hunters can satisfy ourselves that neither of the above criteria apply, we can dismiss accusations (from those who don’t understand our role) that we are cruel.

Hunters, shooters, keepers and trappers have a moral duty under Mother Natures simple laws to respect the demise of their charges. For ‘charges’ they are. Once they appear in our sights, nets or contraptions we have an unerring duty to ensure a quick, clean despatch. For most wild creatures, taken unawares by a skilled and efficient hunter, there is no time to endure pain or distress. Certainly less so than freezing to death slowly clinging to a stark, bare branch in an English winter wood?

 

We have a duty of care to our charges

www.wildanglia.co.uk
www.facebook.com/wildanglia
c.Ian Barnett

 

The Greys

This blog is dedicated to the Penrith & District Red Squirrel group.

 

As my silhouette stepped into the gloom of the wood, my presence was announced by the shriek of a blue jay. A piercing and devilish scream designed to put any copse on high alert. The jay is a strikingly beautiful bird with atrocious manners and a dreadful song .. the A-list movie star of the British wood. I slipped up against a tree trunk, mentally thanking the gaudy little crow .. not! Yet there was an irony in her unwanted greeting. Though she was high on my list of 'most wanted', for reasons I will explain later, her mortal enemy was my prime target today. The jay and her family exist here, in this forest, on one the same primary food sources as her nemesis. Both, in the right season, squabble and fight for the same fruit. The acorn. Where there are jays, there will be grey squirrels. Where there are grey squirrels, there will be jays. Where there are both .. there will be me.

In this small section of Norfolk woodland, dressed out with a mixture of deciduous and  coniferous timber, there are ghosts. The spectres and spirits of the tiny elf-like creatures that once scrabbled and foraged here. They did no harm, scratching a living amongst the high boughs or the leaf mulch. Magical little sprites, full of energy and light mischief. Furtive, seldom seen and vulnerable only to the passing raptor. With an eye to the sky, they could never have seen the menace that approached from below.

I’m not a local, nor of an age to recall, so I can only trust the folklore recounted hereabouts. The old folk tell me that the red squirrel was abundant here in the woods of East Anglia when they enjoyed their youth. Even they, though, missed the slow and  gradual eviction of the native squirrel under the tsunami of grey squirrel migration. The tiny red was bullied and badgered from it’s territories and contaminated with a deadly pox carried by its New World interloper.

If the grey squirrel was the Marilyn Monroe of the wood and park .. cute, brash and always on display .. then the red squirrel was the Greta Garbo. Sultry, shy and rarely seen. The whole world loves a flirt. Marilyn won. Greta faded away into obscurity. So did the red squirrel in England, except for a few remote enclaves. Thankfully, some of those havens have been adopted by conservationist groups who recognise that to restore the red squirrel population means culling its antithesis, the grey, to ensure survival. Sarah, Jerry and Tom undertake such work up there in Penrith .. with encouraging success.

But back to my own little corner of England. Denied such magic, all I can do is keep trying to hold back the grey tide.Cute? Not in my book. Its doe-like eyes miss nothing and, like that jay I saw earlier, no songbird or gamebird nest is safe from its predation. I cull hundreds of these pests every year but nature abhorrs a vacuum and every void I create is quickly filled within months by immigrants from neighbouring carrs and copses. It is a constant war of attrition. I just pray that my friends up there in Penrith keep manning the barricades. Our native red squirrel depends on them.

 

www.wildscribbler.co.uk

www.facebook.com/wildscribbler

c.Ian Barnett 2013

 

Failing The Fox

Exercise and abstinence seems to be the mantra that my medics keep pushing as the antidote to my high blood pressure. Give up everything .. salt, cholesterol, fats, alcohol, tobacco. You could get more kicks in a Cistertian monastery than I’m allowed right now. So, a lengthy walk with the camera and lurcher seemed the order of the day. Some stiff medication precluded driving too far so it was a short hop to a circular riverside walk to give an unfit hunter, an aging lurcher and a 500mm lens some fresh air. Alongside the water meadows, the bare winter blackthorns were alive with foraging finches, buntings and titmice. A blue tit posed atop one shrub, his crest raised angrily at my intrusion. As he whistled the loudest chastisement he could muster, I stole his soul for posterity with the Nikon.

Further along, out in the frost-parched reed beds Ole Frank stood statuesque. The grey heron (or harnser as we call them locally) is the biggest avian predator. He’s partial to a plump pheasant hatchling and I’ve personally photographed such plunder but like the buzzard, he is protected by law from the keepers wrath. The frogs would be dug in deep in this cold so I guessed the reason for the vigil would be the field voles that thrive among the sedges.

Up on the fresh plough of the valley sides a small gaggle of foreigners huddled against the wind. The lurcher paced up and down the track catching their scent on the breeze. Egyptian geese. Strange looking wildfowl and though there are only about 500 breeding pairs in the UK I see them frequently along this stretch of the River Wensum. As I watched them, the lurchers demeanour changed from passive to highly alert. Something was spooking him. I looked about carefully and at first couldn’t understand his concern. He ranged along the track and back to me, ears erect, nostrils quivering. A fearful reaction usually reserved for rats, feral cats or foxes.

We walked on and, behind a cattle gate, I saw the rufus bundle lying amongst the blackthorn tangle. Raising the zoom lens to catch it’s inevitable flight, I found myself looking into a dark, pathetic eye. The fox didn’t move. A blink told me it was still alive. As we pressed towards it, the beast attempted to move but was too weak to draw from the bush. I had no idea what what wrong with it. I heeled in the lurcher, who was skulking like a hyena. Two hunters, the fox and I, stood six feet apart staring at each other. His eyes bore not the look of resignation, more a look of expectation. I could only stand there angry and frustrated. With no gun to hand to put an end to the creatures obvious misery, I looked up and down the public footpath. Had I been deep in-country, the outcome here might have been different. Despite the fact that I had a natural killer at my heel, I couldn’t risk letting the lurcher despatch the fox because of a crass, bastard law dreamed up by a bunch of urban politicians who will never be faced with such a situation. One credible witness, misinterpreting the scene, could see my dog destroyed and me prosecuted for cruelty. So I had to do something more barbaric and inhumane. I had to walk away and leave the pathetic creature. With a -2C forecast here tonight .. a frightful death guaranteed. That stare will haunt me for months to come. A stare that demanded a natural resolution.

 

www.wildanglia.co.uk

www.facebook.com/wildanglia

c.Ian Barnett

 

The Snow Tracker

Ok .. I guess like most of the country, I’ve had enough of it now but in general, I love snow. It paints a new canvas across the normally dreary winter landscape, adding contrast and drama to even flat countryside. Better still, from a hunters perspective, that blank canvas gets painted with a host of previously indiscernible tracks and trails that allow me to play 'nature detective'. Great fun and a good reason to get out and about in the snowfields even if there isn’t much work to do with the rifle.

On most land you’ll find the prints of all the usual suspects .. rabbits, grey squirrels, woodpigeons, and corvids. If you’re lucky (and know what you’re looking for) you’ll find more unusual tracks such as fox, hare, deer and others. Spend time studying mammal tracks and you soon learn to identify the maker, simply by print and size and habitat. Bird tracks are much, much more difficult when trying to distinguish which species made them. There are several good books around on the subject of track and trail reading which are worth investing in. ‘Animal Tracks and Signs’ by Bang & Dahlstrom is excellent. So is the Helm Identification Guide ‘Tracks & Signs of the Birds of Britain & Europe’.

The advanced nature detective or hunter isn’t just interested in what creature made the print, however. I want know more. Where did it come from, where was it going, what happened en-route. There is often a wealth of drama to be found in snow trails. The trail of the stalking fox that turns to a canter, then a leap .. and the print of extended wings that show where the pheasant lifted off before the fox struck. Perhaps the snaking trail of a stoats body and tail along a warren which ends in a patch of flattened blood-spattered snow. The stoat didn’t miss last night. She got her rabbit.

 

 

The broad trail shows where she dragged it and where she fed. Yet where is the carcasse? Our little British vampire may have drawn off the rabbits blood but another set of prints shows where Old Brock, her bigger cousin, stole off with the spoil!

 

A tiny trail across a bank, barely making an impression on the snow, is that of the fragile wood mouse, notable by the dragging tail track between the paw prints. If it came to an abrupt end, you can bet the barn owl fed well. This one has run on under a stack of straw bales. The mouse survived its expedition .. for another night, at least.
You can enjoy this kind of 'crime scene investigation' in mud too, though it’s never as dramatic as the story that unfolds on a carpet of virgin snow.

www.wildanglia.co.uk

www.facebook.com/wildanglia

c. Ian Barnett



An Owl In The Valley

 

Rabbit droppings

I wrote in my first book, The Airgun Hunters Year, that February is the leanest month of the year for the airgun hunter. This really is the month to take a good look around any land on which you’re tasked with small vermin control. The vegetation on banks, ditches and hedgerows has died back to it’s maximum, exposing rat dens and rabbit warrens. A good time to get familiar with them and check for signs of occupation. Tracks and droppings will confirm their use, though the lack of cover all around will make ambushing or shooting a difficult task.



Rooks courting

Corvids are still gathered in winter flocks during February but now start their pairing off before spring. Magpie families which have co-mingled during the hard weather will split out and pairs will set up territories. Carrion crows, who have congregated to enjoy the warmth and protection of the roost, now resume their anti-social and parochial behaviour. Once they have paired, it is usually for life and though the territory they select may change marginally, they will defend it fiercely from other pairs. Younger rooks can be seen on the fields engaged in a very peculiar courtship ritual, mock fighting and preening in large groups. Eventually the dancers, much like teens on a Saturday night in our cities, will make a match and pair off.



Snowdrop carpet

February, of course, is the month of the snowdrop. One of my shooting permissions has a huge carpet of these pretty little flowers. Their sweet bulbs are dug up by squirrels and badgers, while rabbits will nibble the stalks. Many folk see the snowdrop as the harbinger of Spring but I can’t agree. To me, their blossom marks the nadir of Mother Natures growing season. The fact that such a tiny plant can thrive is because there is nothing to smother it on the woodland floor.

If February is a poor month for the hunter / harvester it can still be an interesting month for the wildlife watcher .. simply because of that lack of cover. Over the past couple of weekends I’ve enjoyed watching fox, roe deer, muntjac and brown hares. 

Hunting fox

Roe deer buck in velvet

In the air I’ve enjoyed fieldfares, a little egret, flocks of mixed finches and .. always an awe inspiring site .. stood watching a barn owl ghosting across the water meadows in the Wensum Valley hunting for voles. Whenever I witness an owl hunting, my soul soars with it. For to me the barn owl is the ultimate symbol of patience, observation, stealth and deadly accuracy. The superior hunter I, personally, strive to be.

 

Barn owl hunting meadow


 



 

www.wildanglia.co.uk

www.facebook.com/wildanglia
c.Ian Barnett