poaching

[Attack Fell Terrier 864]

hi all, sorry if this sounds like a stupid question but does poaching still exist with dogs, guns and other ways while sneaking around on a farm or do most people have permission if so what is the punnishment.

 

JESUS F*CKING CHRIST!!!

[turbotyke 62]

hi all, sorry if this sounds like a stupid question but does poaching still exist with dogs, guns and other ways while sneaking around on a farm or do most people have permission if so what is the punnishment.

 

JESUS F*CKING CHRIST!!!

 

[CorkyJohn 808]

Poaching is long gone, it's now referred to as 'the right to roam'

[fieldsportsman 107]

Written by a bloke I know from the old country

 

 

 

I had to have a bit of a think about what people mean by the term Poacher. Poachers in the old sense of the word were people who took what they needed from wherever they could in order to feed the family and keep the proverbial wolf from the door I suppose. That’s still true in some ways, but to be honest with you, I think there are more people doing it these days just because they like it; for the sheer enjoyment of getting out with a dog in places where you are not supposed to be. Living by your wits is something so alien to a lot of people today so it’s no surprise that a certain few feel the urge to jump a few fences every now and again. Whenever I speak to people about poaching, I invariably hear the story of how their granddad or their dad used to do a bit, and I think that’s maybe a sign of the times we are living in. Maybe wandering off the beaten track was more common back then. Maybe sometimes it was the only way to supplement the often meager rations available to the working classes. Or maybe our grandfathers were all better at telling tall tales than we are! I for one know that my granddad poached because he handed it down through the family. He kept whippet/greyhound crosses for the abundant hares and rabbits that inhabited the fields adjacent to the grimy little industrial town that sat so incongruously amongst the countryside of one of the most beautiful areas in the country. Whether he was a “poacher†was another matter though, as I don’t think he strayed regularly enough to be called such. He knew his stuff though as was evidenced on many an occasion.

 

Today we don’t have rationing, or wages akin to slavery. Most people earn a decent living and have all the home comforts that society demands. Judging by the homes of the lads I’ve been out with, it was never a choice of poaching or go hungry….more a choice of poaching or staying in to watch Ray Mears on Sky TV with a four pack of lager and a curry!

 

As with many kids who grew up in or around the countryside, I poached. Or at least I liked to think I did. The reality was a little less glamorous than the term “poaching†suggests. I guess a trespasser would be a more fitting description for me as more often than not, I would return home empty handed. If I was to be judged on game taken home, then a true poacher would laugh himself silly. We messed around with poaching if I am honest with you. In the little group that I knocked around with, none of us had parents that hunted. My old man used to do a bit when he was the same age as me, but nothing really since. My mates were worse as most of them were from well-to-do families who had relocated to the countryside so they had no grounding in hunting at all. What did stir us though was just the sheer fact of being amongst all that game, seeing all the animals around us and wanting a piece of it. We had a bobbery pack of every rag-tag mongrel dog we could get our hands on and off we went! To say we were hopeless was an understatement but boy, were we keen! Funnily enough, it was only when my mates drifted away from field sports that I ever experienced any sort of success with poaching. I don’t know why they drifted away. I suppose it was our age when you think back. We were teenagers and we were discovering the joys of drink, motorbikes and girls so it’s no wonder that some of the lads suddenly found something else to do on a rainy Saturday night. Personally I think they were lightweights as I’ve always managed to balance drink, women and hunting and never had a problem! Actually, they probably lost interest as we were crap at what we were doing. Too many nights walking home with nothing to show for it takes a toll on anyone but the dedicated.

 

Now all land is owned by somebody, or so I’ve been told, so if you haven’t got a permission letter in your pocket when you’re out working your dog, then you could get yourself in bother. Or you could do what a pal of mine does and just make a permission slip up for places where he’s got no permission in case he does ever get pulled! Seems to work for him! When I moved to my little cottage in the countryside, one of the first things I did was to find out where the locals walked their dogs. As you looked out of my front window, all you could see were horse paddocks and cattle and out the back was orchards, so there was plenty of scope for a bit of dog exercise. All of the these fields are bisected by footpaths and bridleways which allows for a certain amount of reconnaissance for people with a roving eye for game and I took full advantage of it. Having to get up early for work was a pain in the arse for me, as it is for everyone, but it meant that I was out before anyone else in my village and I got to see what game was about and what ground held it. The weekends were my time for exploring new ground but the mornings and evenings were used to harvest some of the game that I had discovered previously. It’s amazing what you come across when you walk the hedgebacks in this manner and it’s very low risk too. As long as you aren’t too far away from a path, then with a little imagination and bit of luck, you will get yourself out of any potential situation with someone who has a genuine right to be there…and is daft enough to be up as early as you are!

 

Because I had terriers at the time, lamping was out of the question for me, as a pot filling exercise anyway. As they worked their way through the grass between the rows of apple trees, my terriers would always put up rabbits, which invariably raced away to the hedge line of Hawthorn and Elder, leaving my dogs far behind in the chase. As the dogs knew the score with this type of bushing, I never had to leave the sanctuary of the footpath, but these methods of taking game left a lot to be desired quite frankly. If I was to fill the freezer, then I was going to have to take more risks than I had been and put my neck on the line. This led me to dabble with snaring, something which would get me in trouble later in life, but that’s another story. To cut a long story short, one Saturday night, after I’d finished watching Match of the Day, I set out armed with a pocket full of brass wires, which I set on the hedge line I mentioned earlier on. With that job done, I strolled home, happy with my little endeavour and looking forward to the morning. Before first light I was up and out with the dogs and more in hope than anticipation, I checked those snares. To my delight I’d caught myself some of the bunnies that had been making fools of my dogs. This was my first real spur to crack on with the poaching and it wasn’t long before I was walking miles before work, checking all my wires and generally mooching about after a bit of sport.

 

With so much land at my disposal, I came to think of the surrounding area as my own. I got more daring in what I was doing, but also more relaxed when I actually came to do it. I was always on my guard against complacency, but I suppose I was guilty of that to some extent if I’m honest. I think there are two methods I used when I was out and about, and that was to have a brass neck about things and be so obvious that any other folk wouldn’t bat an eye lid, or the sneaky approach, where guile was the order of the day.

 

There was one instance I remember where, looking back, I must have been mad, but it paid off and I was the one taking the rabbits home. There was a hedge bordering an old pub garden that had recently been turned in to a private home, and this hedge was riddled with rabbit holes. One side of the hedge was a garden and the other side was a field with a Beech hedge about 30 yards away from the rabbits. The trouble I had with this was that between the Beech hedge and the rabbits were was a very popular bridle path that joggers, horse riders and dog walkers used. I’d walk past where these rabbits were every day and curse the location and popularity of that path! In the end I got sick of not being able to get those rabbits, so I vowed to do something about it. With my terriers and a Frisbee, I set out one Sunday morning to do a bit of pruning. In between throwing the Frisbee for the dogs, I’d snip a twig here, a branch there, until I started to fashion myself a little hide in the Beech hedge. It took me ages, and my right arm was bloody knackered from throwing the bloody Frisbee, but when it was time to go home, I reckon I’d made myself something approaching a decent bit of concealment. As that afternoon wore on, I dug out some old army gear and got myself some kit together for what was to be a sneaky little shoot. Now I didn’t want to walk down the road with a rifle case on my shoulder, dressed like a commando as there’s two reactions that the locals would have…either the next Hungerford was about to happen, or (more likely) I was about to get up to no good. With that in mind, a sporty rucksack was loaded with a camouflage jacket and accoutrements and I put my trust in the newly constructed hide to do the rest. As I got to the hide, a few rabbits shot down their holes, which was fine as I was intending to be there for however long it took. With all of my army gear on and the all important hat in place, I plonked myself down with rifle at the ready. All the time I am somewhere I shouldn’t be, I am constantly thinking of excuses in the event that I am caught. In the position I was in though, sat in the bushes in full camouflage, next to a footpath with a rifle….I thought to myself why bother? Not even I am a good enough bullshitter to get myself out of that one!

As the rabbits appeared, they were shot. Not straight away though, as I leave it long enough for a few to emerge, as I find that way there is more a chance of one sitting tight as his mates get it, thus giving you another shot. What I did do though was to leave any shot bunny where it was as to go and retrieve it meant that I’d have to break my cover. Anyway, all was going to plan…until the dog walkers turned up. Upon hearing the sound of a few dogs playing, I was in two minds. I could either get up and leg it, leaving the bunnies where they were, or more likely, leaving them to the bloody dogs, or I could sit it out and hope no-one saw me. Arrogance got the better of me and I decided to trust my camouflage. As the dogs got closer, I began to brick it, but there was nothing else for it but to sit tight and hope for the best. Now if the worst situation occurred, I was going to get right up the people about being on “my†land on a shoot day and hope that an angry, armed bloke emerging from the bushes would be enough to shock them and put them on the back foot. I find that righteous indignation is a great weapon in a lot of cases, even if my indignation was anything but righteous! All I would have to do was buy some time and convince them that they were in the wrong, even if only for a short while, giving me time to ditch my gear and be somewhere else sharpish. Most folk carry a mobile phone these days and plod can be on you rather quickly, so every second counts.

 

The dogs got closer and closer, and my thoughts of avoiding being detected by them vanished into thin air. As they got close to me, the lead dog, a black Labrador started scenting and he located me in seconds. I don’t mind saying my heart was in my mouth. I needn’t have worried though, as despite every single one of the dogs “finding†me, none of them gave me away and they and their owners passed by without a care in the world. With a big sigh, I thanked God, my lucky stars, Russell Grant and any other bugger (No offence Russell!) I could think of and decided that enough was enough. I’ve done similar things on dozens of occasions and only once has a dog given me away. Luckily I was sat in some nettles so the dog owner was a little reluctant to pursue me, but I got away with it. You’d think I’d learn my lesson from that….nah! You’d be wrong!

 

There was another little spot that I’d visit quite regular and this called for the other technique I mentioned earlier…the brass neck. Now this place was busy with dog walkers but there was a little wood a way off that bordered paddocks and stables. This was strictly out of bounds and called for the ignorant dog walker technique to be employed. There wasn’t much cover on the floor of this wood as the canopy was so thick, so you’d get to see a decent chase should the dogs put something up. There weren’t many times I’d come home empty handed from this place and the dogs loved it, but it was hard going as it was steep in places. I poached this place for years and my little terrier/greyhound cross got her first fox in there at twelve months old so it holds some good memories for me. Alas the badgers have moved in and along with them the people who like to watch them, so it really is out of bounds these days. I’d go over to this place during the day for a bit of sport on the bunnies and at night for Charlie and anything else that popped up. It was in quite close proximity to a built up area but the rewards were so good that I was often over there mooching around. The first thing that drew my attention to the fact that people might know what I was up to, was when the gaps in the stave fencing I used started getting repaired. This got me a little paranoid but didn’t really deter me. I should have known better though as one night, just as it was getting dark, I heard a voice call out, asking me what the hell I was doing there. That’s when something clicked in my brain and immediately I thought of a response. I’ve always been a bit devious I suppose. I can remember always coming up with excuses when I was caught doing something stupid as a kid…usually when caught nicking birds eggs from people’s gardens. Anyway I digress. As I said, something clicked in my brain and I wheeled round to see the stable owner leaning over a fence, glaring at me. Quick as a flash I said “Have you seen a Jack Russell?†Now I was dressed in rather a smart Barbour jacket and cords with the finest brogue boots ever to grace the Midland Game Fair show ring, so I looked respectable enough. If I had been wearing Reebok Classics, with tracky bottoms tucked in socks, then this bloke would have been on to me. His generation and income bracket are rather distrustful of our delightful chavs! Anyway, with my question hanging in the air, this bloke was now thinking of something other than what I’m doing on his land, as I’ve just told him. I got on the front foot straight away and start babbling about little “Rags†and how she’s been lost for 12 hours now and that she was last seen this morning by my wife (another throw-away comment that backed up my respectability) heading towards these woods in pursuit of a rabbit. It’s quite amazing the amount of rubbish that I can talk when I put my mind to it, and I really took the wind out of this blokes sails. I left there after giving the bloke a fictitious phone number in case he came across Rags (which he’d never ring as Rags would never turn up), and I actually went back for the next two nights, knowing that he wouldn’t be on my case. I ended up getting on good terms with that bloke actually, and he “allowed†me to walk my dogs there any time I wanted…..you see, sometimes it pays off! I’ve used the Jack Russell dodge so many times over the years and it got to the point where I was going to print out some of those “missing†posters you see up around the place, but I never did.

 

Another good method of poaching I use to employ was for the ducks. A little way off from my village there was a trout farm which had a stream that fed some of the ponds that had originally powered water wheels for some print works. Those works had long gone and the streams were a lot cleaner now than they were back then I imagine. I’d been down to this place to have a not so sneaky look about in the daytime one autumn. I’d gone down armed with a few old Tupperware boxes and the terriers in tow. At the first decent sized bramble bush, I stopped and chucked a good handful in my plastic tubs so that it looked like I was there for a reason. I mean…no-one minds bramblers do they? As I was “picking†away, I was clocking all of the mallards that were under the bushes which over hung the stream edges. They weren’t there long though, as the attention my terriers gave them, put them up and away. One thing I did notice though was that due to the bushes, the ducks were struggling to get airborne before the dogs got close. With this in mind, I vowed to come back some time and see if I could bag me a few. I must admit I forgot about this place for a while and it was only when I was hunting a very similar situation on my own “real†permission later in the year that I remembered about my brambling expedition. I decided to visit the trout farm again and this time take a risk and carry a rifle with me. I didn’t want the commotion of the dogs hitting the water and causing all manner of commotion, so they were left and I was armed with an air rifle and a lamp. I waited until a frosty night and then headed out, hoping for a soaking, as that meant that I’d had to get in the stream and retrieve any ducks. With the rifle case stashed in the brambles close to where I’d been a few months earlier, I located a nice drake under a bush and squeezed the trigger. The sound moderator did its job superbly and the drakes head went down. No sooner had I taken the shot I heard a bell sound to my right. I turned round to see a flashing red light swaying and coming towards me. I had no idea what it was but it turned out to be one of those battery operated dog collars so that folk don’t lose old Fido on a night walk. I quickly stashed the rifle rather roughly in the brambles as Fido and his owner descended on me. They didn’t know I was there of course, not until I started whistling and shouting “Rags!â€â€¦.yes you’ve guessed it.

 

Anyway, I decided that I wasn’t going to risk a rifle again, so the next time I went over there I took a terrier and a lamp. After all, this bloke was walking his dog there, so why couldn’t I? I calculated that the ducks would still have trouble getting airborne, due to the bushes, only this time they’d be up against Clulites finest as well. As I never had the rifle, the hard work was going to be down to the dog and she never let me down. The light would go on and she would swim down the beam and catch the panicking duck. I took a fair few Mallard drakes like that and it was a pleasure to see the little bitch work. There’s nothing worse than seeing drakes mob ducks in the breeding season so a few less, by fair means or foul (no pun intended) would do the girls no harm and certainly make for an interesting meal for me. Despite having the Clulite with me, I never got asked what I was doing by the myriad dog walkers there. I put this down to a few reasons, one of which is that a lot of people use those cheap rechargeable lamps for dog walking these days, so not many people take notice. At least they didn’t round there anyway. That reminds me of a time when a bloke told me that white dogs aren’t good for lamping on hot ground as they stand out too much. Someone replied to him “so the million candle power lamp shining around the field doesn’t give you away then?†Wish I’d thought of that one!

 

I could fill a book of my own with daft tales like these, but that’s never going to happen, so I’ll leave you there. I have been jumping fences to a certain degree most of my life, although I suppose I do more now than I ever did. I don’t think it’s something I’ll stop doing as I enjoy it too much. I can’t see I do much harm personally as I don’t take anything that anyone relies on for their living. I poach for sport and to bag some grub into the bargain. I kill foxes when I poach but I’m never going to eat them, so I won’t spin you some spiel about living as a poacher of old or living off the land or any of that romantic, nostalgic business. I do it because I like it, because I’ve always done it, because I always will. Be lucky.

that was an exerlent read, Im really plesed ypu posted it well done, although it would be interesting to hear the tale of the snares

[poacher3161 1,766]

A good post stabbs I have nearly always been in full time employment and to be honest i have poached for the buzz barr the winter of 84-85 when i had to do it to survive and keep a missis and a 2 year old and some how it wasent the same as the buzz was replaced by a desprate necesaty

[Swampy 147]

hi all, sorry if this sounds like a stupid question but does poaching still exist with dogs, guns and other ways while sneaking around on a farm or do most people have permission if so what is the punnishment.

 

JESUS F*CKING CHRIST!!!

ATF. You are without doubt a man of few words...........most of them blasphemous or offensive.......or both!

Somehow though you still manage to get the point over quite eloquently. Concise and to the point with no margin of misunderstanding.

 

10/10 Ning Sir