Your Wildfowling memories

[Grandalf]

How long did you do lapdancing for, was it in your younger days?

 

About four minutes maximum.

Then I was all overcum with emotion.

Can't find enough time or energy for the rehearsals now-a-days.

[harrycatcat1]

About four minutes maximum.

Then I was all overcum with emotion.

Can't find enough time or energy for the rehearsals now-a-days.

 

 

[Grandalf]

Sid Wright - The last of the old full time Wash marsh guides has just died. Funeral a week tomorrow. Got me to thinking about 'best trips' again.

He was a rough old boy but god he knew and loved his marshes. He was my mentor back in the 60's when I had just left the army and was very fit.

We became firm friends. Most times he had four 'students' with him. One time I was up at Long Sutton, staying at The Bull, for a weeks 'fowling. Big moon but no wind. Pinks, about 6000 in those days, were all over the place. No pattern to them at all.

Met Sid coming off the marsh one morning. On his own for a change. Customers had gone home early and left him a couple of days free. You'd think he'd have a lie in but Sid wasn't like that - he had to be out.

We discussed the possibilities - which were poor - and a plan was hatched. He knew where they were feeding at night - and how to get there too. A cunning poaching plan was hatched.

1am saw us laying on the sea wall and the moon well up. Had met two other 'fowlers but they'd left. "Right", said Sid - "time we were moving".

Down the bank he goes on the land side and into the back creek. "Where you going", says me", worriedly.

"Just step where I do", was the reply.

I did and we crossed with water only up to our knees. (This was before the days of chest waders for 'fowling. Thigh boots and waterproof shorts was the dress code).

Two fields inland and we find the geese. We'd got four down and picked and another one down when all the lights came on and the shouting started. Farm owner and manager and a gang of his workers. They knew it was Sid and shouted so as they ran across the 'tatty' field towards us. We were off like the clappers but Sid wanted that downed pinkfoot.

He sent me on ahead with the others and then he cut off at an angle to do the retrieve.

I found the crossing place, roughly, got one thighboot full on my second trip across with the birds. (Threw my old gun over the creek).

Amazing amount of shouting and lights going on behind us.

Sid suddenly appeared on the land side of the back creek. He'd hidden his gun in a field drain somewhere but he'd got the goose.

As he scrambled over the submerged causeway he lost his footing and went in to his chest. (Did I mention it was only about 3 degrees above zero?).

Anyway he got across and we layed on the bank to watch. About eight blokes arrived but wouldn't/couldn't cross the back creek. There was a lot of muttering and cursing - most of it about Sid Wright - and they retreated back the way they had come.

We gathered our birds and my gun and made our way back to my car that was hidden up near Sheps.

Sid's teeth chattered all the way home and his Missus went ballistic when she found out.

By the time I got back to The Bull it was about 4am so I made a cup of tea and a butty and went out for morning flight on the Cetre Concrete Road. (Fenland). Thought it was prudent to stay away from Shep's for a bit.

First bloke to turn up was Sid!

 

Was it worth it? Damn right it was - we laughed about it for years.

(These days it would be 'armed tresspass' and you'd have the boys in blue out in their chopper - so it is a different world - but I still have my memories).

 

RIP Sid - You were one of a kind (Well maybe two with Kenzie).

Edited June 3, 2012 by Grandalf

[Zulu]

Sid Wright - The last of the old full time Wash marsh guides has just died. Funeral a week tomorrow. Got me to thinking about 'best trips' again.

He was a rough old boy but god he knew and loved his marshes. He was my mentor back in the 60's when I had just left the army and was very fit.

We became firm friends. Most times he had four 'students' with him. One time I was up at Long Sutton, staying at The Bull, for a weeks 'fowling. Big moon but no wind. Pinks, about 6000 in those days, were all over the place. No pattern to them at all.

Met Sid coming off the marsh one morning. On his own for a change. Customers had gone home early and left him a couple of days free. You'd think he'd have a lie in but Sid wasn't like that - he had to be out.

We discussed the possibilities - which were poor - and a plan was hatched. He knew where they were feeding at night - and how to get there too. A cunning poaching plan was hatched.

1am saw us laying on the sea wall and the moon well up. Had met two other 'fowlers but they'd left. "Right", said Sid - "time we were moving".

Down the bank he goes on the land side and into the back creek. "Where you going", says me", worriedly.

"Just step where I do", was the reply.

I did and we crossed with water only up to our knees. (This was before the days of chest waders for 'fowling. Thigh boots and waterproof shorts was the dress code).

Two fields inland and we find the geese. We'd got four down and picked and another one down when all the lights came on and the shouting started. Farm owner and manager and a gang of his workers. They knew it was Sid and shouted so as they ran across the 'tatty' field towards us. We were off like the clappers but Sid wanted that downed pinkfoot.

He sent me on ahead with the others and then he cut off at an angle to do the retrieve.

I found the crossing place, roughly, got one thighboot full on my second trip across with the birds. (Threw my old gun over the creek).

Amazing amount of shouting and lights going on behind us.

Sid suddenly appeared on the land side of the back creek. He'd hidden his gun in a field drain somewhere but he'd got the goose.

As he scrambled over the submerged causeway he lost his footing and went in to his chest. (Did I mention it was only about 3 degrees above zero?).

Anyway he got across and we layed on the bank to watch. About eight blokes arrived but wouldn't/couldn't cross the back creek. There was a lot of muttering and cursing - most of it about Sid Wright - and they retreated back the way they had come.

We gathered our birds and my gun and made our way back to my car that was hidden up near Sheps.

Sid's teeth chattered all the way home and his Missus went ballistic when she found out.

By the time I got back to The Bull it was about 4am so I made a cup of tea and a butty and went out for morning flight on the Cetre Concrete Road. (Fenland). Thought it was prudent to stay away from Shep's for a bit.

First bloke to turn up was Sid!

 

Was it worth it? Damn right it was - we laughed about it for years.

(These days it would be 'armed tresspass' and you'd have the boys in blue out in their chopper - so it is a different world - but I still have my memories).

 

RIP Sid - You were one of a kind (Well maybe two with Kenzie).

 

Fantastic write up , enjoyed reading that , I have a couple that stand out , the 1st goose on the Solway and time spent reading the game book at the Bull in Long Sutton , never met Sid Wright but obviously heard of him .

Brother met kenzie one morn as he came off the marsh , we used to collect our tickets from Frank Harrision at a little cottage in Tydd St ? ( if I remember correctly )

Thats me on the sea wall from Gedney Drove End , we used to get on and pass Kenzies houseboat afore it was moved .

 

Julian

[motty]

Sid Wright - The last of the old full time Wash marsh guides has just died. Funeral a week tomorrow. Got me to thinking about 'best trips' again.

He was a rough old boy but god he knew and loved his marshes. He was my mentor back in the 60's when I had just left the army and was very fit.

We became firm friends. Most times he had four 'students' with him. One time I was up at Long Sutton, staying at The Bull, for a weeks 'fowling. Big moon but no wind. Pinks, about 6000 in those days, were all over the place. No pattern to them at all.

Met Sid coming off the marsh one morning. On his own for a change. Customers had gone home early and left him a couple of days free. You'd think he'd have a lie in but Sid wasn't like that - he had to be out.

We discussed the possibilities - which were poor - and a plan was hatched. He knew where they were feeding at night - and how to get there too. A cunning poaching plan was hatched.

1am saw us laying on the sea wall and the moon well up. Had met two other 'fowlers but they'd left. "Right", said Sid - "time we were moving".

Down the bank he goes on the land side and into the back creek. "Where you going", says me", worriedly.

"Just step where I do", was the reply.

I did and we crossed with water only up to our knees. (This was before the days of chest waders for 'fowling. Thigh boots and waterproof shorts was the dress code).

Two fields inland and we find the geese. We'd got four down and picked and another one down when all the lights came on and the shouting started. Farm owner and manager and a gang of his workers. They knew it was Sid and shouted so as they ran across the 'tatty' field towards us. We were off like the clappers but Sid wanted that downed pinkfoot.

He sent me on ahead with the others and then he cut off at an angle to do the retrieve.

I found the crossing place, roughly, got one thighboot full on my second trip across with the birds. (Threw my old gun over the creek).

Amazing amount of shouting and lights going on behind us.

Sid suddenly appeared on the land side of the back creek. He'd hidden his gun in a field drain somewhere but he'd got the goose.

As he scrambled over the submerged causeway he lost his footing and went in to his chest. (Did I mention it was only about 3 degrees above zero?).

Anyway he got across and we layed on the bank to watch. About eight blokes arrived but wouldn't/couldn't cross the back creek. There was a lot of muttering and cursing - most of it about Sid Wright - and they retreated back the way they had come.

We gathered our birds and my gun and made our way back to my car that was hidden up near Sheps.

Sid's teeth chattered all the way home and his Missus went ballistic when she found out.

By the time I got back to The Bull it was about 4am so I made a cup of tea and a butty and went out for morning flight on the Cetre Concrete Road. (Fenland). Thought it was prudent to stay away from Shep's for a bit.

First bloke to turn up was Sid!

 

Was it worth it? Damn right it was - we laughed about it for years.

(These days it would be 'armed tresspass' and you'd have the boys in blue out in their chopper - so it is a different world - but I still have my memories).

 

RIP Sid - You were one of a kind (Well maybe two with Kenzie).

That's Sid. He remained a bit of a poacher right till the end. He would always tell me he'd found the geese, but was very secretive about where he was going to shoot them. He was another loveable rogue.

[sodylt1]

OK chaps here's a rambling one from me hope you enjoy it ..... sorry its a bit long!

 

The southern end of Morecambe bay around Pilling and Cockerham is not renowned for its duck shooting and my first couple of season’s wildfowling were spent waiting for geese that did not arrive! By my third fowling season John and I had become shooting partners and we had spent many flights together on the marsh. We also shot on the mosses around Nateby, an area of prime inland goose shooting or at least it is when the geese are in!?

Now as you can imagine for the local fowlers the lack of geese was a worrying situation that prompted much discussion and even the wardens on the local reserves around the Wyre and Lune estuary’s were mystified but things were about to change!

 

It was late November 1983 and we had been out several times early season and had some luck with a few mallard in the bag when at last the weather turned bitterly cold and was joined with a lazy easterly wind.

Lying in bed one night listening to the wind howl against the windows thoughts turned to the marsh and wildfowling memories and it was then that I was awakened from my slumber by the sound of stones rattling against the bedroom window. Now this had become quite a regular occurrence, one to which my wife had now become accustomed and so there was no surprise as I crept out of bed to the window. I knew I would find John on the lawn outside waiting for me to join him on another marsh adventure!

In wintertime the ice cream van reinvented itself in to a burger van and John scraped a living selling burgers and black peas late in to the evening outside local hostelries. Many times when the moon, weather and tide were favourable we would sneak off for a night flight and this particular cold November night was to be such a night.

There is always a great excitement with an impromptu visit to the marsh and a flight under the moon is a very special experience and although rarely successful it is one that many wildfowlers never forget.

So looking out of the window I signalled to John, we both knew the drill, I would be up and out to the garage to collect my ever ready gear and over to Johns house. He would have not long been back from the burger rounds and having got me up he would put the kettle on, prepare a flask of tea and we would be off quick style. We had indeed become a well oiled machine with as much time as was possible being devoted to wildfowling.

As we drove north towards Pilling the ground begun to shine in the moon light as it does when a hard frost arrives. The wind had dropped we both knew it was going to be a cold night and our talk turned to the marsh, expectations and weather conditions?

Moonlight is a strange and beautiful creature but for wildfowlers it can also be frustrating when a black starry sky provides no background to see the birds against. Often we would hear wing beats all around without seeing a bird and the magic of a wild night often comes from sights and sounds rather than pulling the trigger. But then wildfowling is like that most of the time!!?

The journey took a little longer than usual as the frost bit hard in the lanes towards the marsh and John followed his ritual of lowering the car windows as we neared the lane which did nothing but confirm that it was indeed cold!! We parked in our usual spot by Fluke Hall and as we opened the doors we both stopped in our tracks. Staining our ears to confirm our disbelief, the excitement grew and yes we could hear the faint unmistakable…. honk honk - wink wink of Pinks out on the sands!

In the same instant we both muttered ‘GEESE’! In my excitement and I could barely hear John telling me to be quiet and get back in the car.

We hatched a plan knowing where the tide would allow us to be and we agreed that we would be staying by the new sea wall alongside Broadfleet gutter.

High tide was at 3am and it was now gone 1 so we needed to get out, magnum shells were deployed and of course we would not be shooting duck! I had by this time become the proud owner of my own proper fowling piece, an old WW Greener chambered for 3 inch shells with a 32 inch barrel! (A goose gun if ever there was one)

The ground crunched under foot and as we got our gear on and in the moonlight the goose music got louder, we stopped listened again and confirmed that the birds were coming into to the marsh and it was likely that these were new arrivals! So we set off, by this time I had got to know this bit of marsh quite well and we agreed we would split up to give best chance of a shot!

I arrived at my spot by the Broadfleet gutter and sat back in to Harold’s hole, a well known spot dug in to the top of the big gutter.

The moon was full and the clear sky displayed a breathtaking show of stars and as light wisps of cloud moved across the moon I could not think of anywhere better to be. There were geese on the sands, not the thousands that we hoped would arrive but what sounded like small lots and I could hear more on the wing over towards Heysham point. The call of pink footed geese is to me the most magical of sounds and has reduced many a fowler to jelly and often makes fools of some! I have to admit that on that November night I was truly taken in a magical moment and the stories of fowlers I had met spun around in my head. In this instant I understood the meaning of Goose Fever and boy had I caught it?!

As the tide made full small packs of Pinks tripped along the sands way out from our position and by this time I was trembling from head to foot not with excitement this time but from the biting cold that had gripped my body. I heard John call and moving from my position I bent down for my gun and realised just how cold it was, the gun had frozen to the ground! As we stood in the dark there seemed to be a sense of relief and excitement that at last there were geese on the marsh!! The temptation of another crack at the newly arriving geese was too great and we agreed to catch a couple of hours sleep in the car and go back out for morning flight.

Our attempts to sleep were futile and in what seemed like no time we were off again following the tide further out this time to the edge of the green. The walk out revealed that more geese had arrived and the music was now loud enough to make my hair bristle with excitement. We settled on the edge of the big basin which was as far out as we dared to go with geese already on the sands and I settled to await the dawn.

There was activity all around us and as the moon slowly sank away, the cold gripped harder and my only thought was the longing to see the birds that I had heard so much about.

The goose calling was spasmodic and as small groups came in to the larger groups already out they would fall silent.

As light broke there seemed to be more urgency in the goose talk and suddenly they were silent leaving the only sound of waders on the ebbing tide. Then without warning the geese lifted in a mass. Initially the roar of hundreds of wings took me by surprise; I was not prepared for the sound which was quickly mingled with the honks and winks that is so magical of pinks. They formed in to huge ragged ribbons in the sky as skein after skein rose in to the reddening morning sky.

As the huge army of birds disappeared away over the Lune estuary their calls slowly fading away in the distance I admit to finding the spectacle quite a moving experience in a way that was unexpected. A feeling of sorrow overtook the moment and as the birds went away I leaned back against the grass to watch them in to the distance.

It was at that moment that I heard geese behind us towards Fluke Hall, there were geese coming back on to the marsh having fed under the moon! In an instant John started calling to them ‘honk honk’ then silence and again in a higher pitch ‘wink wink’ then silence again followed in an instant by a reply from the small skein of around 20 birds

They were talking to us, responding to the call! I saw the skein turn and reply again, they were coming towards us! I could barely breathe with excitement.

Advice from fowlers spun around my head, ‘once they are committed don’t talk to em and don’t lift your head let them come in, you will know by the sound when to look and don’t fire until you can see there feet’.

When I did look I saw that John had let the birds come over him to give us both a shot and I peered up in the very instant that he sat up to take a shoot. The geese were now over my head and almost in slow motion I recall seeing a bird fold to Johns shot a split second before hearing the retort of his gun. As they flared I took a shot and remember a swell of emotions in the instant my first pink folded and fell to the ground. There was a second shot from John and a third bird down. In this instance I was almost laughing out loud with excitement and it was with some relief that I had at last connected with my first goose.

Looking back I should have taken the second shot but I was overtaken by the moment and I sat back and watched the skein clamour away over the sands. I stood up and John was already on his way over clutching two birds and the third (my bird) had fallen just yards in front of me. John strode over with a broad grin and shook my hand, ‘well done lad, good shot, we got under em at last’!!

The next few days seemed to be an eternity as I waited for the weekend and the chance to get out again and try as I may I could not get the thoughts of geese from my mind. The expectation grew even more as John had spoken to other fowlers who were having some success and the geese numbers were increasing by the day!

As Friday night came any chance of sleep was futile and I was up well before the agreed time to meet John. The weather had worsened (got better) and really bad frosts and morning fog had been the norm for the last few days……prospects were looking good but my limited experience had already taught me to expect nothing.

We had called John Bradshaw who owned a farm on the mosses near Nateby and we had permission to shoot on 300 acres of land, mainly used to grow potatoes. On this occasion he had told us geese had been on a field of carrot stubble and we had decided to give it a try. The mosses are divided and crossed by deep, steep sided dykes and are dead flat. The peat is jet black and sticks to everything like glue. Our method of shooting was to dig planks in to the dyke bottoms to stand on.

We had favoured areas that had been productive in past years and at the beginning of each season dyke boards were put in place, always by agreement with the farmer as dykes are often cleared for drainage.

So on this morning we arrived in the yard at Bradshaw’s farm well before dawn, there was a sharp frost and swirling mist as we set off down the farm tracks carrying 30 decoys. It took some time to find our boards in the dark and once located we started to set out the decoys.

 

Once in place I slithered down the dyke in to position on the slippery board trying desperately not to drop anything in to the black water below. At last there was time to sip a hot drink and take in the surroundings.

The mosses have an eerie quiet about them as dawn comes and being so flat sound can often carry some distance. The marsh is 4 miles away and on a still morning birds can be heard long before seeing them!

As the church bell in the distance struck 8 it was shortly followed by the faint sound of geese, as I listened the sound got slowly closer and I looked along the dyke towards John he whispered, ‘let them come in’!

As the geese drew closer from the sound I guessed there was a skein of around 20 and we started to call, they immediately responded but we couldn’t see them through the mist! The anticipation was electric and as we continued to call and they appeared through the mist over to my right well out of shot. I watched as the lead bird set wings towards the decoys and bingo the skein turned. Now they were behind us and still calling they flew over our heads, out of range!! I was riveted watching the birds turn again and as they set wings approached the decoys again paddles down this time, we both took a shot and another. Three birds fell, my first right / left at geese!!

Being the younger chap at the time I would pick any shot birds and put them under a net by our position, as I slithered up the dyke I heard the sound of geese again and John whispered ‘leave em lad there’s geese coming’!

The second lot of around 30 responded to our calls and textbook style came straight in to the decks and we took another 2.

I shall never forget what unfolded that morning as without hesitation countless numbers of birds poured in to the decoys and by 9:30 we had shot 15 and still they came. With no words between us no further shots were taken and I watched and marvelled as hundreds of geese were amongst the decoys.

My gun was unloaded and we drank in the absolute magic of the morning and as the sun broke through the mist lifted and there were birds as in the air and on the ground as far as we could see.

I had birds in the bag and had no desire for more on that day; I could not contemplate spoiling such a moment!!

As we got out from the dyke around 11:30 the air filled with geese from the fields around us. This was a Red Letter Day and such days are rare and never forgotten!

In the following weeks leading up to Christmas of 1983 the geese on Pilling marsh increased to numbers to in excess of 20 thousand, which at that time was the highest on record for the area. Memories of sights / sounds of geese in those numbers have never faded and for me memories of times chasing the wild geese during the period and the years throughout the 80’s and early 90’s were magical to say the least!!

 

As to the question of where they were for the 2 missing years??? Who knows!

 

And so I was taken down with goose fever and in times when my spirits have needed lifting a visit to see wild geese puts the world back in to perspective!!

[anser2]

A very good yarn , makes me wish the seson was with us.

[Grandalf]

 

And so I was taken down with goose fever and in times when my spirits have needed lifting a visit to see wild geese puts the world back in to perspective!!

 

Well said Sir - and a good tale as well.

Goose Fever - It never leaves you.

[wildfowler.250]

Great read! September can't come quick enough! Sad times but should we get a countdown on the go?

[harrycatcat1]

"Often we would hear wing beats all around without seeing a bird and the magic of a wild night often comes from sights and sounds rather than pulling the trigger. But then wildfowling is like that most of the time!!?"

 

Phew, thank goodness its not just me thats like that then

[sodylt1]

Thanks for the comments!

 

A love of the solitue and wild places are what make Wildfowling so special!?

 

Here's to the next season

[Reabrook]

Sodylt1are you Shropshire born and bred? Seems strange that we may have been travelling along the same roads around the same time and never met. Can't have been many 'Fowlers' from Shropshire making the trip north in the earlie eighties

[sodylt1]

Sodylt1are you Shropshire born and bred? Seems strange that we may have been travelling along the same roads around the same time and never met. Can't have been many 'Fowlers' from Shropshire making the trip north in the earlie eighties

 

No mate, from upt north ...... glorious Wigan Originally!

[gedney]

No mate, from upt north ...... glorious Wigan Originally!

Hi how long since you left Wigan,as i,m from there as well

[drone]

Couple of memories, really stick in my mind. When I was young we had permission on a farm that bordered Llangorse lake, when it rained in the winter the lake flooded over the reed beds and filled the lowlying fields several hundred yards from the lake, I'd waded out to some scrub oak with my trusty stevens 77 when there was a swirl in the water I ****** myself as it was a ginormous pike, I took it with a shot and was just pulling it out when some tufties went overhead, I took two out but they fell probably 50 yards toward the lake, I was having those duck so I waded ashore, stripped off and waded back chest deep out to them, on my way back my brother and my mate were falling about laughing their guts out seeing me stark naked and fluorescent pink. I couldn't find the pike even though I'd put it down where my gun and kit were but the tufties roasted up nice.

The other was my first day out with an AYA 10g, at the mouth of faversham creek, just before sunset some whitefronts flew over and I got off two shots at one of them which I thought I'd hit but they flew on toward sheppey my old lab H was watching them looked up at me and then legged it off through the mud, the tide was rising and it was about half way up I tried every thing to get the old boy to come back but he swam over to the sheppey side, raced up the bank over what was the nudist colony picked something up and turned to look round. It was the first time I'd taken binoculars and I was glad I had, because I saw him about a mile away so fired two shots toward him so he'd hear the noise over the wind and started blowing my whistle, he must have heard as he ran back toward me until he crossed his line then came straight back to me with the skankiest long dead bird either a gull or some thing like that. I fell about laughing but we drove over there, took about two hours, I popped him over the fence and off he went about 40 yards and pick up my first whitefront, one pellet had hit it just behind the sternum and he'd bled out. The old dog slept solid for the next day, as did I.

I can't finish without mentioning Sid Wright we had some good times together, the last time I met him his wife had recently committed suicide (mid 80s?) but he was still out on the marsh. One night he and I were out under the moon for wigeon some time in the 70s, sid wasn't shooting too well but I had a rem 1100 and really filled my boots, Sid wouldn't help me carry them back, you shot em you carry em was all he said. A couple of years later I was out with him again with a Win 101 and he told me a story of the sod who shot 47 wigeon with an automatic and wouldn't even give him one ( actually it was less than half that number but hey I never corrected him)!! RIP mate.

[ayano3]

One of my many Wildfowling memories was of my friends old black lab Humpfrey. My friend actually got me my first what I would call working dog, a lovely Springer Spaniel that had been pretty much neglected and was free to a good home as she was in such a mess.

Anyway, my friend was out of work at the time so had no transport, I would take him to the marsh and at the same time learned quite a lot of the places to go as he had been going a few seasons. He had a couple of dogs, but at the time I only had a mini so was limited for room. Now Humpfrey was what I would call a 'Wildfowling dog'. He had a coat that was like a rug and was built like a brick **** house. He was a real character, if you said 'give us a smile' he would oblige by turning his top lip up. He also pi88ed up anything that didnt move and tried to **** anything that did! Anyway we made our way from Shep White car park to Kenzies Creek. We took the walk out to the edge of the green as we knew there was a good tide we could sit out, it was about a 7.6m I guess. At this point my springer was not ready so it was all up to Humph if we got anything. As the light broke and the tide made its way in there was a few Teal about and we took a couple each. All was going great until I dropped a bird the other side of the now pretty full creek. There was the Teal laid on the top of the creek in the last bit of mud in full view. Humphrey didnt need to be told to go, he was off like a shot (he used to run in bless him). He was not the most obident of dogs but did a great job. This time he swam the creek but instead of picking the bird and coming back he picked it, sat on the green and plucked the bloody thing. He then took one look at us and decided as we couldnt get to him he would have breakfast !! Yes, he eat the whole bird. My friend was not a happy bunny but I was in fits of laughter. We had many jokes about that morning. Sadly Humph is no longer with us, but he will never be forgotten as he was such a character and one tough working dog.

[steve0146]

I have lots of found memories growing up within a stones throw of shep whites. I was introduced to wildfowling at 14 by a friend of my dads. He loved his big bores, and had a lovely collection until recently. The things however, that will stay with me forever, happened last season.

 

I got my first dog two years ago and last season was her first. I shot a lovely high widgeon on the estuary in a very strong wind. It was stone dead but carried a distance on the wind. It was dark and the dog never saw it fall. I cast her off in the direction and a few minutes later she returned with a young cock widgeon. A great retrieve, good shot and all the training paid off.

 

Also, dispite growing on the wash and making a trip to the Solway in my twenties, I never had the luck to get under the pinks. Last year, during a trip to Norfolk, I managed to rectify that. One morning flight, we watched several hundred lift and pass overhead, but around 100yds high. As the morning worn on, it looked like it was the end of the flight. I had a new gun that I had not fired at live birds yet, and not much confidence in it. A party of three pinks headed our way. They were low but drifting too much to my right to offer a shot. As I watched them, the wind blew them towards the hide. Seeing this was going to be my only chance, I shot at the lead bird. I clipped it......... Reloading, I composed myself and gave it a second shot. It folded and dropped like a stone. I swung round to the other two and dropped another as it tried to gain height. First chance on pinks and got a left and right. There are none where I live now, so this will be my best memory.

[sodylt1]

Hi how long since you left Wigan,as i,m from there as well

 

Hi Gedney, it was 1994 when we moved down south! How about you?

[Reabrook]

Hi Gedney, it was 1994 when we moved down south! How about you?

I don't know which part of Shropshire you live in but do any number of Whitefronts still visit the North of the County?

When I was growing up in the 70's we had some large numbers overwinter on the Meres and Mosses. The first time I ever saw them was Whixall. I was fishing a small lake with my Dad and a huge skein dropped in to a nearby field. My old man had long given up shooting by then but the sight of them haunted my sleep for weeks. Not exactly what started me Wildfowling years later but vey much a contributory factor.

In the early 80's I came across an Old Boy who had a few non fliers, mostly wounded birds on some large ponds at the side of his cottage. Not exactly sure where now but would have been roughly the same area .

I never did get a shot at them or to even raise a gun to them but great memories

[gedney]

Hi Gedney, it was 1994 when we moved down south! How about you?

Moved in 1994 as well, do my fowling on the wash and in the fens,still miss wiganers and proper pies .Still got family in aspull and get back up when i can

[Pezaisahunter]

At the age of 16 I have a vast array of memories already. Although to me, EVERY single trip out on the marsh with my Grandad has been a memory I will never ever forget. This season will be his 51st in Preston and District Wildfowlers Association and my 4th. SO PROUD :-) Hopefully when I am older I will be just like my Grandad.

[sitty tree]

nice one youngun. started my fowling carrer at 14yrs. and still at it at the ripe old age of .lol. once it gets in your blood thats it your hooked . but always remember on the tides be safe no duck/goose is worth your life. regards .

[Yoggy]

It was an inland duck shooting session on the washes that sticks out in my mind above all else. It was a retreive by my old Lab Sam, and this is why.... Myself and a shooting mate decided to have a morning flight one particular Saturday morning as I wasn`t working on this particular day. We arrived at our chosen field which lies next to a tidal river about an hour before dawn. Upon arrival we quickly set our netting up against a half broken 5 bar gate. Settling in we anticipated a good flight as we`d both done our homework a few days before. Unfortunately the Widgeon that we`d been expecting were few and far between.....so much for the homework!!!. About an hour passed and in the distance we heard the Graylags and Canada Geese which were flying over to our left. Most of them were out of range, but the 2 greys which were at the back of the Skein had different ideas and began flying in the opposite direction to their mates, heading straight toward us!. Lifting my Remmie 11-87 I shot the rear bird and my mate Rick took the leader. The leader dropped like a stone but the one I shot kept flying!!!. I knew I hit it and couldn`t believe it didn`t fold. After Ricks dog picked his we both stood up looking at my bird flying away in the distance. Then all of a sudden, it folded and down it came. It must have been at least 1000 yards away....Oh No we said thats going to be a nightmare to find especially as we had the tidal River to contend with, apart from 2 flooded fields!!!!. Rick then turned to me and said, Look at your Sam, I reckon he`s marked that Goose!!. Sam was sitting bolt upright staring into the distance. I told Rick that I really didn`t want to send him as it was way to far.....plus he had to contend with 2 flooded fields AND the tidal river. I think we best call it a day, and drive round and try and find the Goose. To cut along storey....Rick pursuaded me to send Sam........So off he went. Now one thing I forgot to mention that once Sam had swam the Tidal River he then had to climb a large bank.....when he went over the bank.....that was it we had lost sight of him. He then had to swim across 2 flooded fields and then hopefully find the Goose!!!!. After half hour I started to panic and was regretting my decision. After an hour I was really really worried!!....Oh no what have I done is all I kept thinking. We had no choice but to make our way back to my landrover, drive round and try and find Sam...We walked to the end of the field and was just about to clamber over the barbed wire when we both looked round...We simply couldn`t believe our eyes....There was old Sam sitting on the bank with the Greylag in his mouth!!!!!!!!!. We both looked at each other and ran over to him. He was totally knackered!!!!!. He sat there wagging his tail panting his heart out. We sat with him and gave him time to recover and Rick gave him half of his pork pie!!!!!!. I simply couldn`t believe he`d found it.......when we eventually got back to the landrover there were to other Fowlers sitting on a gate.....We`ve been waiting for you they said. Who`s dog is that they said....Feeling a bit uneasy....Mine, i said. Then one of the Fowlers produced a crisp 20 quid not...There you go he said....Whats that for I said.......Well mate, I bet your dog never in a month of sundays would find that Goose, it was miles away. Turns out they`d been watching the whole thing from another part of the wash. Thats the best retreive we`ve ever seen they said...you should be very proud of your dog.

So much so I now have a watercolour of me and Sam....and goose on my front room wall. A brilliant dog, and I still miss him.

[Spaniel]

That is an excellent story mate and i can understand what a great memory that must be for you

Thank you for sharing this

[Yoggy]

No problem mate.....It was a pleasure sharing it with you.