"I don't know what
you're gonna shoot coz there's no geese." Not altogether what I had
wanted to hear as I made the final preparations for our pilgrimage
to Lancashire after geese. This weekend had been a year in the
planning and geese or no geese we were going. Ken had been keeping a
close eye on the movements of the 20 or so thousand Pinks which over
wintered on the bay this season and they had been feeding well
inland where they had been unmolested and were flighting well wide
of our stomping grounds. Our last visit was two years ago, almost to
the day, and then as now we chose to go for the full moon with the
intention of spending as many of the 48 hours we had in the field.
And so it was that Shaun, Lee and I met Ken and my dad at half eight
under a bright full moon with little cloud to see our quarry
against. For an hour we strained our ears for the faintest murmur of
goose music and were not disappointed. Out of nowhere five thousand
Pinks streamed back to the marsh beautifully etched against the moon
and what cloud there was. A truly unforgettable sight which brought
on a huge bout of "Goose fever" and set my heart racing.
We waited for the tide to see if it moved any geese as we could hear
them cackling on the shore as they were pushed closer to the sea
wall. The noise subsided as the tide turned and no geese flighted so
we went to our beds at one in the morning to dream of geese, happy
to have seen and heard them after a long absence.
The following morning we were up an hour before we needed to be,
kitted up and ready to go long before Ken picked us up. We built our
hides and set the decoys out with great anticipation but the
conditions were against us. The day was still and mild, and we were
sure that the body of the geese had never flighted back to the
marsh.
Flighting time came and very little moved. The few geese that came
off the marsh took a different line and were well wide, then
suddenly half way through the flight the small skeins began to
trickle our way from inland. Disturbed by inland game syndicates
making the most of the closing weekends of the season they began
drifting back to the marsh.
A skein of a couple of hundred heading for the marsh took one look
at the decoys and set their wings. Turning in front and gliding back
towards us they seemed to hang in the air for an age. Two landed not
twenty yards from the hedge and began walking around amongst the
decoys, Ken shouted to us to have a go, we jumped up and picked our
birds, three dropped dead and two others were pricked and came down
in the pit field. I set off running before they had hit the floor
shouting to Lee to come with me (at 15 he was far less likely to
collapse in a heap). I picked the first and sent Lee after the
second which had made it to the next field, still geese were coming
in and I dropped another which they had missed back at the hides.
Lee and I raced back to our hides as geese appeared from all
directions.
We were treated to an hour of excellent sport, several skeins came
beautifully to the decoys, wheeling in front and gliding back
towards us on set wings accompanied by a deafening cacophony of
magical goose music.
With several birds in the bag and with geese still streaming back
from inland we packed up the decoys and left them in peace. We had
talked about this trip for months and as I reflected on Ken’s words
from the previous day I thanked the extraordinary slice of luck
which resulted in the welcome pull on my shoulder of a heavy game
bag.
After breakfast back at the farm we headed inland to some land Ken
has the shooting on for an afternoon rough shooting with the chance
of a pheasant or two in the brambles around the duck pond. It was a
mild still day and we studied the field at the back of the farm and
planned our assault. Lee and I circled the field to come at the pond
from the far end whilst Shaun covered the near corner and Ken took
the place of his injured spaniel crashing through the rough to flush
any pheasants. A cock broke wide and I dropped it in the next field,
my shot flushed a mallard and a pricked goose got up from next to
the lagoon and Ken dropped them both with a stunning shot right and
left. Another cock broke cover and headed low towards the farm
directly at Shaun, for a moment It looked like they were going to
knock each other out but the pheasant veered wide, passing within 10
yards of him.
After this interesting interlude we walked the remains of a couple
of stubble fields slogging our way through the sponge-like black
peat, flushing a couple of snipe and the odd partridge as well as
adding a hare to the bag. By the time we had arrived back at the car
we were all ready to drop so we headed back to Ken's for a beer
before the evening flight.
We'd had a fantastic day already but the evening flight promised
great things. We had two splashes to shoot and had heard a good
number of mallard and Wigeon the previous night whilst under the
moon. It is unusual for us to have an opportunity to shoot duck so
late in the season but a combination recent heavy rain and
continuous feeding by Ken presented us with an eagerly anticipated
opportunity.
We were all in place by 5pm and the flight started the moment we
settled. The mallard flighted first, coming off the marsh in small
bunches, and the wind was blowing straight at them, perfect
conditions for the evening flight. Some circled once before dropping
in, filling the air with the whispering of wings and staccato
chattering. We had some fantastic sport, fast and furious shooting
and for a while there seemed to be mallard everywhere. The mallard
flight stopped as quickly as it had begun. There were dozens of
shelduck which circled about our heads, seemingly undeterred by the
shooting they appeared out of the gloaming like oversized mallard
Then from nowhere and directly behind a bunch of shelduck a pack of
wigeon whistled in front of me, they came so quickly that Ken hadn't
seen the and shouted "Shelduck!" as I fired. I dropped a mature cock
wigeon in full plumage and found a second later, after that we were
treated to a spectacular flight of Wigeon. For half an hour the air
was filled with the enchanted whistling of these most endearing of
birds. We strained our eyes to pick them out in the darkness for it
was raining and the heavy cloud obscured the moon. We shot seven
before the flight ended and the air fell quiet but for the
occasional call of a lapwing flopping by erratically in the
darkness.
So ended a fantastic day, the final bag included pinkfooted geese,
mallard, wigeon, pheasant and a hare. We headed back to the farm for
a roast dinner, a few beers and an open fire. Ken had looked after
us well and through his hard work and more than a little luck we had
enjoyed an excellent day's sport. The months of planning had come
together perfectly to produce a day we would never forget, and we
still had the morning flight to come....
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