Does an empty game bag matter?

Words and photography by Matt Kidd

“This has been one of the best days ever,” remarks Digby, as we packed up on Day 4 of our epic roadtrip.

Following a cold night under the stars on the banks of The Yair beat of the Tweed for Digby and a cosy B&B in The Borders for me, it was a very early start to reach the Broom Park estate near Alnwick in Northumberland for 7am. A quick fuel stop en-route and a bagful of snacks to keep us going all day.

Wild game in the North East

Arranging our day was friend Toby Burrell, a true sportsman equally capable with rod, gun, rifle or mounted on horseback. Due to a wedding rearrangement, Toby sadly wasn’t able to join us as planned, but instead left us a map and arranged a quick tour from his younger brother George, also a mad-keen angler, game shot and stalker.

The brief was pretty simple: “Use the land as you see fit to source more ingredients for the GunsOnPegs Christmas Shoot Lunch. You can stalk our hill, you’ll likely find deer here...” pointed George at a map on the Grenadier’s bonnet, “here... and here. And if they aren’t there, drive back to the farm and take a shotgun and walk the rough ground west from the bridge along the River Aln until you get to woodland just short of our new pond.

Then switch to the rifle again as you’ll no doubt find more deer there. Shoot ducks, geese and any pests you might find on the way, but leave the big pond as we have been feeding that up ready for a flight in a week’s time.

“You’ve then got another pond over the hill, here,” he pointed over the crest behind us, “and over the road you can walk this wood down to the river, and then follow it again until you reach the end of the second field. That’s a fair amount to go at to keep you busy for most of the day. I’m working on the farm today, call me if you need anything!”

With that, George mounted his quad and buzzed off into the distance. We were on our own, dawn was breaking, and we were quick to park the Grenadier, grab the rifle, binoculars, monocular, cameras and set off where we were advised.

The breeze was in our favour, slightly into the left shoulder so we rounded the hill to the right, using the bracken and patches of gorse as our cover. After a slow, sometimes crawling ascend of the gentle incline, stopping for a few minutes to glass the ground every time a new patch revealed itself before us, we reached the open ground before the boundary wall.

Exactly where George had first pointed out, we spotted our first roe. At over 250 yards away and half hidden by a slope, it was too far and not a safe enough shot to take. We made a plan to get closer, tacking between gorse clumps and using the troughs of several ridges to hide us.

We made it to the spot we discussed, and the roe doe continued to graze gracefully before us, at around 140 yards away. In season and we would be helping to make up the numbers of deer needing to be culled for their regeneration project.

However, after waiting for an appropriate shot for a pulse-quickening 20 minutes or so, it led into the open and with it came a young follower that we hadn’t yet been able to see. In a whisper, Digby remarked: “That’s a shame, and I’m pleased I didn’t rush a shot. We’ll leave these two for another day.”

Soaking in the moment

But instead of leaving and finding another beast, we watched these beautiful beings with the optics as their flanks were lit up by the early morning sun to a backdrop of stone boundary walls, bracken, yellow-tipped gorse and sweeping heather moorland in the distance. “Stunning and completely unforgettable,” Digby adds.

When we did eventually continue our stalk, the next likely spot was empty of deer, but stonechats and other songbirds flitted beside us in full morning chorus. A few more hundred metres later we hit another ridge and Digby, leading the way, froze mid-step and I followed suit.

Peering past his left shoulder, I saw what he had spotted. Two does standing right atop a ridgeline, ears pricked and looking right at us. After what seemed like an age-long stand off, the two does trotted off over the other side of the hill and vanished. Typical.

We took George’s guidance again, took our seats in the Grenadier and headed to the farm yard and into the field next door.

We took the scenic route getting there, of course, testing out the traction and four-wheel drive systems over ruts, rock, steep inclines and declines and all other manner of terrain the hill could throw at us. Despite Digby secretly wanting to locate a weak point in our steed, there wasn’t a single one.

Fur, feather and failure

Again, 15 or so seasons spent doing exactly what we were doing today once old enough to carry a gun, George’s descriptions were absolutely spot on. We saw and shot at – exactly where he said we would – mallard, teal, Canadas, greylags, pigeons, crows and jackdaws. Hares too, lots of them – though we left them alone – and over the uncrossable river due to the recent rain, another couple of roe does. Not able to guarantee retrieval of them, they too were left to go about their business.

After about an hour and a half, we reached the pond with our guns and rifle now slipped. Intrigued, we sat on a bank and enjoyed a well-earned snack or two overlooking the water. We spotted hundreds of wild ducks and geese, along with swans and the odd snipe. Despite leaving discretely, a peregrine had stooped over the pond and lifted all the wildfowl into the air like bait balls or a murmuration of starlings. I’d opted to carry a gun and stow the cameras on this occasion; a choice I regretted.

We had two hours left before we had to set off for our longest journey to Suffolk. Just enough time to head to the last location on Toby’s map. Here, we did exactly as George had said, and walked the tree line. A couple of unsuccessful shots at woodies and we reached the river. We could hear the ducks in one of the sharp meanders so again made a plan. This time we separated, with one of us staying put while the other made a large stealthy arc to the other side, and we would then meet in the middle.

Selective shooting

It worked, we flushed a good flock of mallard and both fired shots to no avail. In the commotion, a flock of snipe also lifted off the boggy ground in front and into to which I fired off one shot. Gladly, the small wader evaded the steel pattern. While they would have made a delicious addition to our ingredient bag and would have been cooked with care, and while the land is untouched specifically to allow them to thrive on the estate which is working along with predator control, I love snipe and I have no desire to ever shoot one.

We reached the second field, flushing another half a dozen snipe, woodcock and a couple of teal, too, and it was time to call it a day. We cleaned and dismantled the guns and embarked on our 6-hour journey south.

Despite us adding nothing to our bag and having had more fails than one would normally want to admit, I totally agreed with Digby. It was one of the best days ever. Utterly filled with amazing opportunities, sights and sport in its rawest form.

Hopefully Day 5 would bring a little more luck. >>> Read episode 5

Bag total: 6 pheasants; 3 grouse; 1 mallard
Miles completed: 706

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