I would never call myself a poacher, more a liberator of wild game. A few years back I was invited to participate in a local shoot. My job was to be a beater: a person who helps drive the birds up towards the line of guns. I was promised sixty five pounds + tips for the day’s work. So one cold, wet October morning, when the mist was still rolling off the hills we made our way through the woods making a racket that could have woken ole’ mother earth from her winter slumber. The birds broke from every direction, flashes of brown, grey and white all mingling together to form a kaleidoscope of grouse colour; it was a magnificent sight. Then the guns started, ***** after ***** – not a riot of explosions – more the sound of damp fireworks falling flat from the sky, followed by the flump of a bird hitting the floor. There was no joy or meaning to the proceedings, just the cold need to “bag em’ all”. As the afternoon wound down we met with the guns, jovially laughing about the many hundreds of birds they had just destroyed; however, the host wasn’t laughing. He approached the beaters and told us to go home, he said that we would get our money the next day – seemed a bit strange, it was meant to be cash in hand . . .
The next day a fellow beater – one of the guys in charge – phoned me: “Sorry mate, we ain’t going to be able to pay you, not enough ard’ work put it”. I went ballistic, but was only offered 25 measly pounds for my troubles. Well, I was not having that. I left it a few days – a cooling off period if you like – before I headed back up to the wood. It was a completely different place at night; the trees tossed their shadows across the ground creating a variety of wonderfully grotesque shapes. Everything was still; it was just me and the trees. I made my way through the wood to where I knew the birds nested, the quiet rustle of feathers told me I was in the right place. What followed was not the mass slaughter of before; instead, it was one person taking what was owed to him – even then I didn’t take that much, just enough for my father to prepare.
I found the whole experience rather thrilling, but more than that, I found myself finding a place I felt at peace. Nothing can compare to pottering through a wood at night, with nothing but the moon for light and the trees for company; it’s a truly beautiful thing – something that is lost on today’s fast paced lifestyles.
Since this time I have become a part of the countryside itself. It’s all about becoming a part of your surroundings and understanding your role in the bigger picture – the poacher’s job is not mindless theft; instead, it is about preservation and respect. If you do not respect your surroundings and take for the sake of taking, you are not a poacher; instead, you cross the boundary that separates the poacher from the common thief.
fish
bdooly hell! by far the best thin written in the shed in months! 10/10!!
welcome to the shed i just know yer gonna fit in just right!
ABOARD MATE, EXCELLENT READING