From the moors to the banks of the Tweed

Words and photography by Matt Kidd

In an attempt to fulfil our challenge set by the rest of the GunsOnPegs team members, Digby and I were up and out long before daybreak on the morning of Day Three.

To recap, we’ve shot pheasants at Studley Royal on Day One and grouse in the Lammermuir Hills on Day Two. As such, we had made a successful start to our challenge of gathering ingredients that offer wonderful flavours for the Christmas Shoot Day lunch. With another four days before the big day, why the need to rise so early? Ducks and geese, no doubt.

Here today, gone tomorrow

From our lodgings in The Borders, there were quite a lot of places to choose from, so hopefully helping put us underneath a few birds was Eddie Bell from Lothian Estates. The estate itself is extensive, and on top of their quality driven pheasant days – which Eddie runs – they put on various mini days, walked-up days and duck and goose flighting.

However, despite regular updates in the fortnight leading up to our trip, with picture and video evidence of greylags and pinks in the thousands, and giving us suggestions for a couple of locations where we should be in the thick of it, by the week of our trip the geese had all but disappeared. 

Such is the nature of wild quarry, but it was a shame as geese can devastate crops and, of particular note this year, are able to survive and recover from bird flu but act as natural carriers of the virus spreading it over thousands of miles during their winter migration.

“I’ve been on the lookout the last few days, but the geese have moved on,” he admitted, under the light of his head torch through the Grenadier’s open window. “It’s likely that all the standing water from the endless rain this past week presents new feeding grounds for them and different roosting spots. I can’t guarantee you’ll see any this morning, but I have a backup plan that will hopefully get you a few shots.”

And so, we followed Eddie to a new location, across a boggy pasture and parked up. It was evident that the geese had been here in huge numbers, feathers everywhere and patches of mud where there should be plenty of grass left for grazing. In the gloomy half-light now, we joined Eddie beside the vehicle as he pointed to where he would like us to go. 

Duck and cover

“There’s a fallen tree about five meters off the riverbank. One of you hunker down in there, and the other in the scrub along the fence line, about 50 metres back,” he said, pointing at a few shadowy structures. “It is a natural flightline for mallard cutting the corner on their way to their daytime haunts, or they may fly directly upriver. A mate of mine will walk the banks with his dog and hopefully flush some up to you as well.”

With that, Eddie bid us good luck and was on his way. We donned our camo and muted overtrousers and got into position with a box of steel shells each and waited.

We didn’t wait long before whistling wings and quacking were heard, forcing us to look in every direction, before a couple of splashes on the river below. No sign of them, as is often the way when duck flighting, yet they were there. And again. And again. Exciting stuff, though no shots were fired.

Amid all this, there was an almighty crash in the river below as one of the Tweed’s silvery visitors made its presence known. Angling is in my blood, and my eyes were now fixed on the shimmering water below, no fewer than three or four salmon showed which I have no doubt weighed into double figures.

Piercing the eerie silence, Digby broke my fixation and fired the first shots at a flock of ducks overhead. Seconds later I rushed a couple of shots too, reloaded and shot another couple at the far-right drake of the quad that lifted off the water and into the sky. Not a feather out of place.

It continued like this in short intervals as dawn grew brighter, and gladly Digby had a small amount of success unlike me – or actually had some steel in his cartridges – and downed one duck which the young fox-red lab made light work of retrieving when Andy joined us at 8:30am, calling the flight to an end.

There was no need to take off the muddy boots on returning to the vehicle, as the Grenadier’s footwells have been purposely built to allow hose wash cleaning inside, with plugs at the bottom to drain away any standing water: ideal for any adventurous countryman or countrywoman.

Late season salmon fishing

But our day did not stop there. It would be criminal of two mad-keen fishermen not to wet a line in this most glorious of rivers, especially having watched so many salmon push upstream this morning. This is where Ted Innes Ker of Reiver Travel, who arranged our grouse shooting, also did us a solid favour and put us in touch with another jewel in his enviable contact list.

Like grouse, the main salmon fishing season is long over by the end of November, but a few places do exist that only open for the autumn and often have excellent catch returns. The Yair, is one such place, an estate steeped in history dating back to 1156, when King Malcolm allowed the monks of Kelso to build a dam for fishing.

Our Sterling Silver Grenadier oozed regality as it swept over The Yair Bridge and in front of the beautiful 18th century home of the Thyne family to the adjacent fishing hut. To the backdrop of ancient woodland and a whisky-coloured river Tweed, we met octogenarian ghillie and true Scottish gentleman Alan, who has lived in a tied cottage and worked on the estate for longer than he would care to admit and due to his unwaning service is proud to call it his home until the end of his days.

“The rrrriver is in a perfect state today, laddies! It’s a wee bit high and on its way doon,” explains Alan, smiling and unintentionally rolling his Rs like a Sean Connery double, “If yer don’t add anything to my catch return book today I'll be disappointeeed! You’ve got three miles of rright-bank fishing, and there’s only one other rrrod on here today. Right in front of us is Boat Pool, and I would start there as I have seen half a dozen moving upriver already this morning.”

The side quest

*PING!* A WhatsApp from GunsOnPegs' editor George Browne:

“Great,” said a half-unamused, impatient Digby, who set his rods back down and rummaged for the fly-tying gear. Onto the fold-down table, which is hinged into the larger of the 70/30 split rear doors of the Grenadier, Digby clamped his vice and started tying a sparse Cascade on a double to get the job done quickly.

“Actually, this set-up is pretty good,” he proclaimed, pleasantly surprised. “I always take my vice with me but never get it out as places you can use it are pretty awkward. I’ll have a couple casts with the fly, but then switch to the tube Alan recommended for the conditions.”

In search of silver

And so to the fishing. With a tough upstream wind, skagit lines were needed along with fast sink tips and 1” brass tubes. With a little luck we may just hook the elusive Salmo salar, but it will be returned in the event that we land one.

Today, the majority of salmon anglers practice catch and release to try at all costs to slow the decline in this important wild fish’s stocks, which are being decimated by many factors from sea lice in open-net salmon farms to predators. But if it were not for the sport of salmon fishing, there would be no income nor financial support for the likes of Alan, nor would any important river maintenance be carried out.

Riverbank repast

By midday, we had seen plenty of fish moving upstream but hadn’t had so much as a tug. Keeping with tradition, we stopped for an hour and got to work on Challenge no.2.

Using the drop-down table again and sheltered by the Batwing awning which offered surprisingly good shelter from the now drizzling weather and was erected in mere minutes, Digby breasted and took the legs off a brace and a half of pheasants from our Studley Royal visit.

There was enough for the two of us, the other Rod, Alan and his son and daughter-in-law whom he invited down to look at the Grenadier. Seasoned with salt and black pepper and rested well, the pheasant was a great success. Challenge 2 completed.

The tug

The Bridge Pool was our beat for the afternoon, and Alan pointed to all the spots where salmon like to hold and people regularly hook up. As seasoned ghillies often are, Alan was right and as the light began to fade, Digby felt the jaws of a fish clamp onto the fly, spin the Hardy reel a turn or two... and was gone.

As the Kamper was set up, again surprisingly quickly by a still shaky-handed Digby, Alan laughed: “it’s far better it being that way, Diggers, touching a fish without it sticking than playing one forrr 10 minutes and it coming off at the net!” Wise words indeed.

Well-earned rest

With tent and sleeping bag zipped up, Digby returned a message with an image to George. “No salmon, but challenges 2 & 3 Completed. The ‘four-man’ tent went up easy, though is a little more like a 2-man, but then I am 6ft 6 and 18 stone. Comfy though! Good night.” Now dark, temperatures dropped to low single digits for the first time in a month. It would be a long night for Digby ahead of a busy Day 4.

[Editor's note: Despite the ‘photo evidence’ I have it on good authority that, in true Bear Grylls fashion, Digby did actually check into the local B&B.]

Bag total: 6 pheasants; 3 grouse; 1 mallard
Miles completed: 357

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