Couple of Evenings Out With Dean O'.

[Guest Ditch_Shitter]

My foot's better now ~ or rather, my foot ware is! That's thanks to OTC who managed to rustle me up something in my size ~ so now I'm able to get about again just about anywhere the ground goes.

 

So, when I got a call from Dean O' last night, saying he was up his usual tree and had shot just about everything moving in range of his air rifle and did I fancy a stroll out at my end? Why ever not!

 

Dean turned up, with his .22 pre charged, to find me in the 'horses' field, communing with my donkey and having a chat with Pat. We all had a general chin wag, then Dean and I set off up the track where I suggested we might look over some nicely cut fields. I was also aware that Noel was after my Larsen to rid his wife of the early morning disturbance of a local - to him - flock of magpies. Noel lives up the top of the track so .....

 

As it happened, our luck appeared to be in when we shortly came across a band of maggies! We positioned ourselves by a handy gate, Dean standing and pretty much acting as observer while I laid flat and propped my .22 Hornet on the lower gate rail. Then the real bloody fun began!

 

There were at least three of these b*stards and they were focusing on a big tree. Our side at that. " There's one! " Dean would shout. " Seen it! " I'd snap back. " Now if I can ... just ... find it ... in ..... Got it! F*ck it! Branch in the way, mate! Cattle beneath the tree. I can't possibly risk it. "

 

Dean would point out another bird. I'd 'scope it. " I can see his belly under that branch and he's opening his f*cking mouth over the top of it! Look at that pink! Damn it, Dean; I Could try for the guts? Never make a head shot at this distance! What's it like behind, mate? "

 

A pause as Dean would focus on and scan the area beyond That point. " Naah. Can't try it from that angle, mate. There's a track somewhere over there. "

 

So we'd wait. Damn things chattering and flitting about. Vanishing and coming back into view. Teasing us with their seemingly self recognised invulnerability as each and every perch provided some poxy twig to screen them.

 

One landed right at the top of the tree. A sizzling, full on profile for me! Dean ....? " Sorry, Ditch. Trajectory's wrong, mate. At that height ye'd be passing right over that hill there. Can't take that shot either "

 

By now, I'm like; :wallbash: THINGS!!!

 

Finally ....! One of them made the slip up we've all been waiting for. He sat right out in front of the tree. Vast see of green and brown behind him. Nothing behind that but empty field! At bloody last!!!

 

I adjusted my scope. Got him in the cross hairs and watched. My aim was dead steady. Good! Good position, this. Eased back the hammer. Curled my finger round the trigger and - watch the birdy! - squeezed! CLICK!

 

I'm like; " W . T . F ?!? ". Dean O's clawing at his own face, screaming, " Ye haven't got a f*cking round in it! Ye haven't even Loaded it, ye c***!!! " I'm; " Eh?! ". Scrambled round, sat up and broke the gun open. And there was the round. Sat there! Cap dented by my firing pin. I'd had a misfire and now the b*stard bloody thing wasn't even ejecting!!! I was ready to claw my damn face!

 

Anyway, Dean whipped out a pocket knife or something and soon popped that one out for me, even as I sat staring at it in total bewilderment. Back round onto my front, rifle on the lower gate bar and repeat the process. KiShOwwwww! And the poxy b*stards all took off! FFS!

 

Give him his due. Dean never uttered so much as a grunt of disapproval. It was never looking like an easy shot ~ fair old distance ~ and the upset of just now had, understandably ~ rattled my focus somewhat. So much so that I'd Again made the mistake I once did while going for a safe bet on a gray crow; I'd forgotten what my left hand was for and had trusted purely to the steel gate bar for my fore end support Of course, the rifle had jumped on firing and thrown the shot. Hey ho. We have to be philosophical about these things. They make the good shots so much more rewarding.

 

Well, we followed them up and hunted high and low for them. Couldn't pin them down though and, as it was getting a little less light anyway, we gave them best, till next time. So ended last night.

 

 

 

Tonight, Dean again rang and asked if I was up for it. Again; Why ever not! Only, this time I suggested that I far more enjoy a 'cruise' in his motor. When we drive we can scout for miles about the place and hurry past huge fields devoid of life which we'd take for ever just to walk past. So, off we slid, into the large area Dean patrols. And this time he'd left the .22 air at home and was carrying his .17 HMR.

 

Bowling along a country lane and I suddenly yelled, " MAGPIE!!! ". I'd glanced up just in time to see us travelling right beneath it as it sat on a roadside telegraph wire. Dean hit the anchors and immediately repeated my own shout! Sure enough, there was another one just ahead! Only that f*cker slipped away and, by the time we'd backed up, the first one was no where to be seen.

 

On we went and suddenly Dean was so busy hitting breaks and ramming gear shifts about I think I too saw the bloody thing in the road side ahead even before he needed to voice it. I said to pull into the gateway beside us and out we spilled. Of course, the maggie vanished pronto and left us standing there like a couple of confused and inexperienced soldiers. Holding rifles and looking wildly about for something to fire them at.

 

That's when I had a brain wave: " Where's that f*cking magpie call of yours, mate? Isn't that in the motor? ". It was indeed! Out it came and Dean selected maggie and hit the switch as we stood there, in the middle of the road.

 

I shit ye not; The result was little short of f*cking amazing!!!! The caller had barely finished its first series of harsh, chattering row when an identical answer came back from somewhere along the road! Then a maggie appeared! Then another! I was well impressed! When Dean O' led me off the road and gave the box another blast and brought Three of the black and white feathered shits into view, I was ecstatic! But when at least Four of the b*stards flew into a small tree across the field, presenting Dean with a lovely, clear backdrop of miles of nothing, backed by a hill? Sod counting! I was already scoping the one he'd nominated for his HMR!

 

Crack! And I clearly saw the f*cking thing drop, head first, like a rock! Absolutely classic Dean O' shooting! I swear to god I was far more chuffed than he was! He's a bugger for the feathers. He's also mobile and has fowls on his ground. Thus he sees - and is quite happy to shoot - just about any corvid bar the protected Raven. So he probably shoots ten to my every chance of even Taking a shot at one. All old hat to Dean then. But I still Love to see a maggie get it! Especially to such a clinical shot as that one

 

On retreavel of the remains, it clearly had been a terrific shot too. Right smack centre of the breast. Exactly where Dean always likes to aim. My hat's off to the guy. He sure can handle that HMR! I did ask him if he wanted the photo shoot. He just stared at me, as much as to say, " Why would I??? " and muttered, " Fox food. " as he tossed it in the ditch.

 

 

Next stop was a place overlooking a small Bog. Dean's often reported seeing a fox down there and I'd long since told him it'd be a vixen denning her cubs. Though he hadn't seen her for some time now, we thought we'd take a squint and see if anything was about and Dean asked me which call might be best. I suggested rabbit or hare screaming and Dean hit the switch. I was just thinking how grindingly realistic that bloody sound was when Dean was shouting and pointing at what my own brain was already registering but which I, as yet, had no words for:

 

About seventy five or more yards out, across the bog, something was - it seemed to me - pouring itself down off the bloody hill! It was low. Gingery brown coloured and really did smack of a huge foxes brush on a lure dragging wheel! Dean O' was yelling Fox. I was yelling Hare. The caller was yelling " Screeeeeeeeeeeeech!!!!!! " and something was coming in fast to that little, broken was down there! Game On!

 

I rushed to the van and grabbed my famous rifle rest bipod and sat down in the gateway. I pointed out to Dean that, if this Were a fox? The bugger could be almost upon us before bursting out of the Dock and Sorrel this side of the wall. Then I prepared my rifle. Got comfortable and proceeded to slowly sweep back and forth through the 'scope. Waiting.

 

Inside what must have been a short five minutes, I got my reward. " It's a hare, mate. " I said. " There she is, look. Bless her! Lovely little thing! ". And lovely she was too. Not twenty five foot away and examining us as I examined her in my scope. Typical Irish; Her coat looked chocolate brown this close. As was her eye. I'd never noticed their ears being so long ~ but then, I've seldom had such wonderfully clear and close up views of one as this

 

Then she stood up, for a better view, and I laughed and told her not to be so cheeky! And off she went. One lope and she vanished back into the herbage. My finger, of course, had never so much as twitched on the trigger guard.

 

Well, the light was just about to start fading again. Dean decided to give " Fox Cubs "- I believe it was mean't to be? - a go. But, I'm sorry; Five minutes of what sounded absolutely just like Punch, from a traditional Punch and Judy show and I had tears of laughter in my eyes and all I could think of were sausages, Policemen, stick wielding wife beaters and cries of " That's the way to do it! "

 

We agreed that another pair of lads who cruise that area, with their .22 WMR's, had probably shot the vixen. Leaving the cubs to rot underground Oh well .....

[trappa 518]

Great story ds.

Gotta keep them maggies down! Shame you ended it on a bit of a downer, i quite enjoyed reading that.

[SNAP SHOT 194]

Nice to hear your getting out and about again ditch

[finny 0]

Bloody good read that DS, great description of what really goes on while trying to get the opportunity to take a shot instead of the usual " I took him out at 3 miles with a headshot" , some of the most memorable shots are the missed ones , about 15 years ago I had a pheseant rise less than 20 feet in front of me , as I shouldered the o/u I was already considering how I'd like it cooked for sunday lunch , squeezed the trigger and click ! Nothing ! in dumbfounded amazement I watched as he flew off , first and last time I've ever had a cartridge misfire on me !