The Norwegian Blue.

[JDog]

Some may remember the famous Monty Python sketch known as the 'dead parrot' sketch. In it the writer invented a creature known as the Norwegian Blue parrot that was 'pining for the fjords'. I have seen parrots in the fjords of New Zealand but Norway? Never.

 

I too have been pining, not for the fjords but for the heather moorland of upland Britain. This is the first year in many that I have not been up to try for a grouse or two but due to a family bereavement and the aftermath it has proved impossible to get up there this year. To console myself I have just dug out an article which I wrote some years ago following a visit to Scotland. Reading it again I can remember every minute and for those interested enough to read three sides of A4 about my trip then here it is;

 

 

 

A sporting weekend in Angus.

Angus, where the hell is Angus? That is often the response of some of the more ignorant of my friends when I tell them where Im off to for a weekend away. My time away could be longer than a weekend but it is almost always in August. Even so some of them still do not get the significance of the month nor of my absence from home around the middle of the same month for many years.

 

Angus has always been seen as the poor relation of neighbouring Perthshire, supposedly not as smart socially or as beautiful geographically, but it does have its attractions. Brechin, for instance, retains an old fashioned charm and continues to thrive. Montrose remains a fishing port of some significance adding services to the oil business to its industries, whilst lower down the coast Arbroath remains famous for Smokies. Forfar is an agricultural centre, well known for the production of Bridies (the Scottish equivalent of a Cornish pasty) as well as the famous football score Forfar 4 : East Fife 5.

 

What Angus does have in spades is a wide range of land use ranging from the high mountains over 900m (3000), thousands of hectares of heather moor, long hidden valleys, high quality agricultural land, scattered woodland, small salmon and sea trout rivers, the Montrose Basin Nature reserve, an internationally renowned golf course at Carnoustie, unspoilt sand dunes and beaches and the sea. How could anyone not know about Angus?

 

I have been visiting the place for over thirty years and I enjoy every visit. The reason is the sporting which includes red deer stalking, grouse shooting, salmon and sea trout fishing, low ground shooting and sea fishing, all of which I have enjoyed with varying degrees of success.

 

The visit this August was eagerly anticipated despite the pessimistic expectation of grouse numbers following a poor season last year. The abject misinterpretation (spin) placed on expert opinion by some of the media following their own agendas would have us all believe that grouse shooting in Scotland is finished. It is not, and although the number of grouse shot over the past few years has been falling in parts of Scotland enlightened grouse moor management will recover the situation if it is adopted more widely.

 

My hosts had said turn up when you want. I did just that and gave myself a day to spare before the main purpose of my visit. After a drive round the estate on the morning of the spare day I saw a field full of pigeons on the stubble of harvested winter rape. Most were wood pigeons but some were scuts or feral pigeons which had been causing a nuisance in the grain store on the farm. The farmer was all too delighted for me to shoot the field and after an hour of watching three separate flight lines I chose a position along a hedge line to set up my hide.

 

I must admit I do have a lot of kit for pigeon shooting and it takes a time to set is all up and get comfortable. The keeper, when he joined me for a short time, simply put a net over both him and his dog and he enjoyed pretty good sport in that simplistic fashion.

 

There was a very strong wind which would be good for funnelling the birds into the decoy pattern but which did its best to blow the hide down on several occasions. Once I had shot some pigeons for the floaters and flapper, the pigeons came readily to decoy pattern. The scuts were easy to decoy but being quite small were not easy to shoot at first until I got the hang of them. The wood pigeons came regularly for three hours until the flight dried up but by that time I had used every one of the 125 cartridges which I had packed into my decoying kit bag.

 

Once the farmer had been thanked and informed of the bag I had to get moving for the second sporting foray of the day.

 

The keeper is always keen to take me out stalking roe deer when him time permits and he had a time, a place and a buck in mind for that evening. It was a buck which had eluded him all season because of the difficulties involved in getting access to where it lived in a small dean along which the buck had full visibility. The plan was for me to be placed at the far end of the dean where I would hide amongst the thistles (and flies) along a fence line whilst the keeper would walk the length of the dean from the other end attempting to gently usher the buck towards me.

 

I had been in place two minutes when three deer came towards me. This group did not include the deer I was looking for as it was a doe with twins of the year and I let them pass by. After another fly bitten ten minutes a sleek russet coloured deer came up the dean towards me and I knew that this was the one we wanted. The buck ambled out onto the grassy bank at the other side of the dean, paused 80m from me to look back at the keeper in the distance and died on the spot from my well placed bullet.

 

I had completed the gralloch by the time the keeper got to me. He shook my bloody hand, picked up the beast and then we trundled off back to his land rover, both satisfied at the outcome of his cunning plan.

 

My arrival back at the house was later than expected and my bloodied hands and mossy bitten face caused some consternation. A bath, a gin and tonic, a late dinner and good company soon set the world to rights.

 

The following day was the 12^th August and a small party of us were going to walk up grouse on the heather hills. It was the most perfect day for the sport ahead. It was dry with an overcast sky and a good breeze. Some of the guns were known to me, other were not. Could they shoot? Would their dogs behave? Would there be any birds? Have the grouse bred well?

 

The big day arrived and once on the moor the team lined out leaving 40m between guns with dogs space out evenly along the line. Our instructions were to keep all dogs in close. These instructions were ignored within the first 50m by some of the guns, a situation which continued throughout the day. It was ever thus.

 

There were birds on the hill and a covey was flushed after a few minutes walking. Two were shot and picked. Grouse were found all of the way to the top of the hill where we took a breather and viewed some spectacular scenery encompassing the Angus glens with beautifully burnt heather moors, farmland out to the sea, parts of upland Perthshire and some of the coast line of Fife. Coming down hill we encountered more grouse and the bag steadily rose to a very respectable tally by the time we reached the vehicles to end the day. Thankfully every gun had shot at least one bird.

The walk had taken its toll on some of the guns but I could have gone back to the top of the moor again with dog and gun such was the enjoyment I had from my day on the heather.

 

The following day yet more sport was in the offing. The keeper had pheasants to feed but once that was done he was keen to take me ferreting. I remember the Angus glens in the seventies and they were literally crawling with rabbits. The rabbit catcher on the estate where I was staying used to kill upwards of 25000 rabbits a year then. A virus, (not myxomatosis), and predation on the young rabbits by the ever-increasing Buzzard population has killed a lot of them off but they do seem to be making a come- back.

 

Would I be a rude house guest if I went out yet again? Probably, so I took my hosts daughter (my God daughter) aged sixteen and her school friend so that they could learn all about it. The both loved it and I have pictures of them both holding some of the rabbits at the end of our session.

 

The fields were full of rabbits and the circumstances were ideal for ferreting well grazed fields and small localised mounds where the rabbits had burrows on which we could stand and shoot safely. The ferret worked very well for an hour and a half and I shot some and missed some of the bolting rabbits in front of the impressionable teenagers. My only real concern was to keep my Border terrier away from the ferret so Bounder stayed in the land rover until the ferret was safely boxed away.

 

As we returned to the farm steading I saw a flight line of pigeons going into a freshly cut field of rape. On my own by now I raced back with the necessary kit and watched the field for an hour before I decided where to site a hide. My choice of position was rewarded quickly as wood pigeons started to appear along a definite flight line from a wood some distance away. The pigeons never really decoyed into the pattern but they did come along on the flight line just close enough to the hide for me to enjoy some excellent shooting at the limit of my abilities with a 20 bore and 25 gram cartridges. Two hours and 80 cartridges later I had picked all of the dead birds with Bounders help.

 

I tried to get back into the big house without being seen but I was intercepted by my host in the farm steading. He had been trying to get some peace and quiet in his office but apparently had heard every one of my shots (he thought that I had fired at least 150 shots) and he never achieved a thing at his desk all afternoon.

 

Once the birds were place in the game larder I cleaned my gun, made peace with my hostess, had a long bath, went down to a drink and dinner and wondered if life could get any better than it has been for the past few days.

Edited August 29, 2016 by JDog

[la bala]

A very enjoyable and informative read JD.

[MrPhantom]

I enjoyed reading that. What a fantastic weekend.

[Konnie]

very readable, sounded great.

[SneakyD]

Very well written. Sounds like a perfect holiday

[OJW]

Very well written, you can picture it all vividly. A perfect weekend.

[Penelope]

I liked that, thank you for posting.

[marsh man]

An excellent read and a lot of sport packed into the time you were there , thanks for sharing

[Jakey Boy]

Cheers for the nod jdog, a lovely write up with some majestic sport.

 

I must put some time aside to write about my adventures fly fishing and shooting in Dunkeld on the river Cam.