In reply to Post #680
Once again a i stand deep inside the woods the rustic colours of the leaves on the towering trees signal that autumn has arrived again, the leaves will soon lie rotting and the canopy will be open to the sky. i have come to look at the old pool which hold so many memories to watch the duck and geese who have visited this ancient place for centuries past I sit or stand in silence and catch the unmistakable scent of a fox hanging on the damp air a buzzard mews far above a rabbit scuttles through the undergrowth maybe to get away from some predator it sends a shiver down my spine. I am not the predator today but i am here to observe the beech the oak the silver birch i love the woods the ferns have now gone brown and blend in well with yellows orange and browns of the trees. i watch a fish break surface just a dimple but it brings back happy memories when i poached and caught the bream and Rudd it held. No hiding in the reeds to escape old Gerry the keeper those days have long gone and most now lie at piece maybe there ghosts haunt the rides and trees who knows. As evening approaches i go in search of Brock dark is falling fast i find him and his family feeding on the worms on the field beside the wood just as his ancestors have done for centuries. i amble up the fields towards home and leave the badgers in piece to carry on with their meal. The rabbits scuttle across the fields to get out of the way of approaching danger and make for their burrows where they will be safe. until the man with the ferrets comes he nets the holes and slips two small gills in he has a terrier by his side and stands in silence, his mate stands with a gun further up the hedge in case any rabbits escape the nets they end the morning with fifteen couple the farmer will be pleased. it will be autumn again before long and with a bit of luck i will stand once again under those ancient trees and walk the paths of my ancestors health willing more to come latter
Once again a i stand deep inside the woods the rustic colours of the leaves on the towering trees signal that autumn has arrived again, the leaves will soon lie rotting and the canopy will be open to the sky. i have come to look at the old pool which hold so many memories to watch the duck and geese who have visited this ancient place for centuries past I sit or stand in silence and catch the unmistakable scent of a fox hanging on the damp air a buzzard mews far above a rabbit scuttles through the undergrowth maybe to get away from some predator it sends a shiver down my spine. I am not the predator today but i am here to observe the beech the oak the silver birch i love the woods the ferns have now gone brown and blend in well with yellows orange and browns of the trees. i watch a fish break surface just a dimple but it brings back happy memories when i poached and caught the bream and Rudd it held. No hiding in the reeds to escape old Gerry the keeper those days have long gone and most now lie at piece maybe there ghosts haunt the rides and trees who knows. As evening approaches i go in search of Brock dark is falling fast i find him and his family feeding on the worms on the field beside the wood just as his ancestors have done for centuries. i amble up the fields towards home and leave the badgers in piece to carry on with their meal. The rabbits scuttle across the fields to get out of the way of approaching danger and make for their burrows where they will be safe. until the man with the ferrets comes he nets the holes and slips two small gills in he has a terrier by his side and stands in silence, his mate stands with a gun further up the hedge in case any rabbits escape the nets they end the morning with fifteen couple the farmer will be pleased. it will be autumn again before long and with a bit of luck i will stand once again under those ancient trees and walk the paths of my ancestors health willing more to come latter
In reply to Post #684
It was some time in the middle to late eighties i had been putting a bit of bait in Bomere mostly hemp with a few boilies over the top the weather had been rather hot all that month but i made up my mind to do a 36 hour session. so away i went myself and my springer SAM we set up in what was known as the old tunnel swim rods were soon in position two rods in the margins one with a white malt chocolate pop up the other fished hard on the bottom.
i remember falling asleep and was awoken some time after mid night SAM was giving a low growl as the back of the bivy started to move i knew instantly what it was. just above where i fished was a badger set the badgers had come down to drink and i was blocking their way they could not get past my bivy with SAM making a bit of noise they soon moved on to pastures new i soon fell asleep again. I was awoken again by my buzzer it was absolutely screaming i was out and on the rod no need to strike the fish was on it had taken the malt chocalate pop up it kited to my right down the pool then out into deeper water i was up to my waist in water but i managed to coax it back towards myself and the waiting net eventually she was in the net. opening up the net i could see the flanks of a very big fish a mirror it weighed in at just over thirty pounds i was well chuffed i had to sack it untill morning when i could get the photos done. she was then returned no worse for ware. The fish was very specail to me as it was the first thirty to be caught from bomere and was the only fish to be caught that week end well thats it for now more latter
It was some time in the middle to late eighties i had been putting a bit of bait in Bomere mostly hemp with a few boilies over the top the weather had been rather hot all that month but i made up my mind to do a 36 hour session. so away i went myself and my springer SAM we set up in what was known as the old tunnel swim rods were soon in position two rods in the margins one with a white malt chocolate pop up the other fished hard on the bottom.
i remember falling asleep and was awoken some time after mid night SAM was giving a low growl as the back of the bivy started to move i knew instantly what it was. just above where i fished was a badger set the badgers had come down to drink and i was blocking their way they could not get past my bivy with SAM making a bit of noise they soon moved on to pastures new i soon fell asleep again. I was awoken again by my buzzer it was absolutely screaming i was out and on the rod no need to strike the fish was on it had taken the malt chocalate pop up it kited to my right down the pool then out into deeper water i was up to my waist in water but i managed to coax it back towards myself and the waiting net eventually she was in the net. opening up the net i could see the flanks of a very big fish a mirror it weighed in at just over thirty pounds i was well chuffed i had to sack it untill morning when i could get the photos done. she was then returned no worse for ware. The fish was very specail to me as it was the first thirty to be caught from bomere and was the only fish to be caught that week end well thats it for now more latter
In reply to Post #685
It was mid September 1978 the moon was full and the wind pushed the few clouds making shadows on the ground. Graham and i hid in the reeds with the small beck behind us my labrador blaze shook with anticipation. We were out wild fowling the duck had been feeding on the big stubble fields high above the Shropshire hills we were wrapped up warm and with the full moon the duck would feed well into the night. They were mallard and were feeding on the best they could find they were now fat and in their prime and would make us all a good meal . It can be exiting shooting as they would come in like darts to rest on the beck behind, They came in ones and twos graham took the first two with a right and left then it was my turn and shot a single bird over my head i watched it hurtle into the reeds behind but it was not long till blaze brought it to hand. The moon cast shadows all around us and the fields looked almost silver it was a beautiful night pure magic We watched a fox cross the fields in front of us he was probably anticipating a free meal maybe a duck we did not pick or one of the farmers hens or a unsepcting rabbit we watched him go on his way and he did not seem to alarmed by the noise we made. We took what we wanted but never once did we over do it we would shoot a dozen or so and would be away leaving the rest to feed on the stubles untill they came into rest on that little beck . As we made our way back across the fields towards our car the rabbits ran for safty to the small wood where they had there burrows hidden under the tall fir trees and in the surrounding bracon , it would not be long before we paid it a visit with the ferrets, we kept the farmers happy and they looked after us we got most of our fishing by helping out and what we shot was very welcome as i have said before nothing was waisted. But that was years ago the magic is still there the mind is willing but the bodys not so we live with our memories sadley things are changing a lot of the places in my stories no longer exsist the wild life has moved on there habitat gone where once you would see the deer and most other wild life there now stands houses i suppose it is the price of progress but to what cost our lovely wild life more to come latter
It was mid September 1978 the moon was full and the wind pushed the few clouds making shadows on the ground. Graham and i hid in the reeds with the small beck behind us my labrador blaze shook with anticipation. We were out wild fowling the duck had been feeding on the big stubble fields high above the Shropshire hills we were wrapped up warm and with the full moon the duck would feed well into the night. They were mallard and were feeding on the best they could find they were now fat and in their prime and would make us all a good meal . It can be exiting shooting as they would come in like darts to rest on the beck behind, They came in ones and twos graham took the first two with a right and left then it was my turn and shot a single bird over my head i watched it hurtle into the reeds behind but it was not long till blaze brought it to hand. The moon cast shadows all around us and the fields looked almost silver it was a beautiful night pure magic We watched a fox cross the fields in front of us he was probably anticipating a free meal maybe a duck we did not pick or one of the farmers hens or a unsepcting rabbit we watched him go on his way and he did not seem to alarmed by the noise we made. We took what we wanted but never once did we over do it we would shoot a dozen or so and would be away leaving the rest to feed on the stubles untill they came into rest on that little beck . As we made our way back across the fields towards our car the rabbits ran for safty to the small wood where they had there burrows hidden under the tall fir trees and in the surrounding bracon , it would not be long before we paid it a visit with the ferrets, we kept the farmers happy and they looked after us we got most of our fishing by helping out and what we shot was very welcome as i have said before nothing was waisted. But that was years ago the magic is still there the mind is willing but the bodys not so we live with our memories sadley things are changing a lot of the places in my stories no longer exsist the wild life has moved on there habitat gone where once you would see the deer and most other wild life there now stands houses i suppose it is the price of progress but to what cost our lovely wild life more to come latter
In reply to Post #686
shooting and fishing has been my life i have lived and breathed it from a very early age they go hand in hand. I don't shoot just for the sake of it . I shoot to eat and most of my friends are the same on the little shoot i run with the help of friends nothing is waisted everything that is shot is eaten if not by me i have always got friends that like a pheasant or a rabbit of two and will always welcome a free meal. I love to stand on a wild and windy night and shoot the pigeon as they come into roast nothing nicer than a pigeon pie but it can put your cholesterol through the roof as it is very rich but there is nothing nicer with a glass of red wine. I suppose i am really very lucky most of the farms and woods i poached when i was a young man i can now roam and shoot at will . A lot of the farms i poached are now run by the son or grandsons who have now put their trust in me to clear their ground of the rabbits and vermin. But i can not do it like i once used to, owing to health problems mainly arthritis which really restricts my movement but i have always got friends that will help me out and get the job done. poaching is now a dying art not worth doing pheasants are two a penny and you can now buy them at the local supermarket trout are the same. But i still know people who still poach the local trout lakes and make a quid or two doing it. But for the few that still do it i think it is the excitement and not the money they make out of it. When i was young it was a necessity it fed the family and neighbours and we could always make a bob or two doing it giving us a bit of pocket money. I used to be involved with the poacher watch scheme which was run from shrews bury police station it was very good and did seem to work quite well it certainly stopped a lot of the local deer poaching where dogs were used to catch the deer a most barbaric way to kill such a most beautiful animal. you never see any one poach the local streams any more for the odd brownie the old poachers are now a dying breed not many left and most have no one to pass on the art of poaching as i say its just not worth doing today more latter
shooting and fishing has been my life i have lived and breathed it from a very early age they go hand in hand. I don't shoot just for the sake of it . I shoot to eat and most of my friends are the same on the little shoot i run with the help of friends nothing is waisted everything that is shot is eaten if not by me i have always got friends that like a pheasant or a rabbit of two and will always welcome a free meal. I love to stand on a wild and windy night and shoot the pigeon as they come into roast nothing nicer than a pigeon pie but it can put your cholesterol through the roof as it is very rich but there is nothing nicer with a glass of red wine. I suppose i am really very lucky most of the farms and woods i poached when i was a young man i can now roam and shoot at will . A lot of the farms i poached are now run by the son or grandsons who have now put their trust in me to clear their ground of the rabbits and vermin. But i can not do it like i once used to, owing to health problems mainly arthritis which really restricts my movement but i have always got friends that will help me out and get the job done. poaching is now a dying art not worth doing pheasants are two a penny and you can now buy them at the local supermarket trout are the same. But i still know people who still poach the local trout lakes and make a quid or two doing it. But for the few that still do it i think it is the excitement and not the money they make out of it. When i was young it was a necessity it fed the family and neighbours and we could always make a bob or two doing it giving us a bit of pocket money. I used to be involved with the poacher watch scheme which was run from shrews bury police station it was very good and did seem to work quite well it certainly stopped a lot of the local deer poaching where dogs were used to catch the deer a most barbaric way to kill such a most beautiful animal. you never see any one poach the local streams any more for the odd brownie the old poachers are now a dying breed not many left and most have no one to pass on the art of poaching as i say its just not worth doing today more latter
In reply to Post #687
As i stand in side the wood i pull my coat around me the biting wind chills you to the bone. we are here for a reason it will be the demise of another fox a creature that i love a rogue who stalks the farmers chickens and moves in silence not even a crack of a twig does he make to let you know his there. The guns stand upon the ride waiting in anticipation for a glimpse of this majestic animal given away by the rustic brown of his coat. The beaters shout and make a noise to drive old foxy out but his not as daft as some presume . He picks his way gingerly through the wood stopping to sniff the air he has done this before many times He knows the woods every earth and all the paths he knows the scent of humans and really treads with care. He hears the dogs behind him the beaters shouting He stops and doubles back and creeps beneath the thick brambles towards the waters edge he has done this so many times up and away he goes hoping the hunters will lose his scent , into the ditch he goes and runs the water course . He makes for the same old tree where he has hidden more than once, and the snarled branches enclose around him it was the ivy tree and there he lay and no one knew only me, for i was standing there. along came the beaters in disarray have you seen him no says i. I could not tell them where he lay. This really happened it is a true story if they had only looked up they would of seen his nose poking out from beneath the leaves the dogs lost his scent beneath the tree and i said he did not come this way he must of run another way. so off they went still in disarray to finish the wood for another day i turned and looked up the tree and said in quietness you have got away and will live for another day . I could not of shot the fox up that tree as he deserved a chance and i walked away saying we will meet another day Taken from my diary the year 1982 more to come latter
As i stand in side the wood i pull my coat around me the biting wind chills you to the bone. we are here for a reason it will be the demise of another fox a creature that i love a rogue who stalks the farmers chickens and moves in silence not even a crack of a twig does he make to let you know his there. The guns stand upon the ride waiting in anticipation for a glimpse of this majestic animal given away by the rustic brown of his coat. The beaters shout and make a noise to drive old foxy out but his not as daft as some presume . He picks his way gingerly through the wood stopping to sniff the air he has done this before many times He knows the woods every earth and all the paths he knows the scent of humans and really treads with care. He hears the dogs behind him the beaters shouting He stops and doubles back and creeps beneath the thick brambles towards the waters edge he has done this so many times up and away he goes hoping the hunters will lose his scent , into the ditch he goes and runs the water course . He makes for the same old tree where he has hidden more than once, and the snarled branches enclose around him it was the ivy tree and there he lay and no one knew only me, for i was standing there. along came the beaters in disarray have you seen him no says i. I could not tell them where he lay. This really happened it is a true story if they had only looked up they would of seen his nose poking out from beneath the leaves the dogs lost his scent beneath the tree and i said he did not come this way he must of run another way. so off they went still in disarray to finish the wood for another day i turned and looked up the tree and said in quietness you have got away and will live for another day . I could not of shot the fox up that tree as he deserved a chance and i walked away saying we will meet another day Taken from my diary the year 1982 more to come latter
In reply to Post #688
The river ran with blood i was twelve years old and the men waded in the river dressed in there brightly coloured jackets the pack of dogs had caught there prey a big dog otter it left a profound impression on a young lad like me. I really cant say i liked it very much it was not my way of enjoyment yes shoot the animal it was instant but to be ripped to pieces i think not but unfortunately that is how the otter was controlled in those days. but the rivers were looked after yes they did create the otters Holt's and although it was hunted it was also looked after and was kept to an acceptable level.
I would stand upon the bridge and watch the otters play or lie in the brambles they would dive and chase one another up and down that glistening pool. i would watch her young emerge from the hole under the the old tree it had been her home for years and generations of her family . She took the odd trout, under the water she would go hunting, here hunting, there the speed was amazing they would emerge from the water and scramble up the old rock and there they would eat their prey. I watched for hours and was amazed at this beautiful animal it was an obsession and i would be down that river as much as possible even in my dinner break at school. she would never know i had been there but i arrived one day and she had gone maybe to pastures new or maybe the hunters had returned and now she lay rotting on the river bed i was devastated but i soon learned that nature was cruel and only the fittest survived. gone now are the days of hunting the rivers with packs of dogs and men dressed in coloured coats . i was brought up on the river and loved the woods i would watch the keeper at work from afar and would snatch a rabbit or two from his snares i soon learned how and where to set a snare and the keeper never realized i had been there. This was in the early fifties a time of great hard ship but we had freedom to wander the woods and fields as long as you did not get caught You could always catch the odd trout or rabbit to provide a meal. the estates of old teamed with wild life which today is sadly laking well a bit more latter
The river ran with blood i was twelve years old and the men waded in the river dressed in there brightly coloured jackets the pack of dogs had caught there prey a big dog otter it left a profound impression on a young lad like me. I really cant say i liked it very much it was not my way of enjoyment yes shoot the animal it was instant but to be ripped to pieces i think not but unfortunately that is how the otter was controlled in those days. but the rivers were looked after yes they did create the otters Holt's and although it was hunted it was also looked after and was kept to an acceptable level.
I would stand upon the bridge and watch the otters play or lie in the brambles they would dive and chase one another up and down that glistening pool. i would watch her young emerge from the hole under the the old tree it had been her home for years and generations of her family . She took the odd trout, under the water she would go hunting, here hunting, there the speed was amazing they would emerge from the water and scramble up the old rock and there they would eat their prey. I watched for hours and was amazed at this beautiful animal it was an obsession and i would be down that river as much as possible even in my dinner break at school. she would never know i had been there but i arrived one day and she had gone maybe to pastures new or maybe the hunters had returned and now she lay rotting on the river bed i was devastated but i soon learned that nature was cruel and only the fittest survived. gone now are the days of hunting the rivers with packs of dogs and men dressed in coloured coats . i was brought up on the river and loved the woods i would watch the keeper at work from afar and would snatch a rabbit or two from his snares i soon learned how and where to set a snare and the keeper never realized i had been there. This was in the early fifties a time of great hard ship but we had freedom to wander the woods and fields as long as you did not get caught You could always catch the odd trout or rabbit to provide a meal. the estates of old teamed with wild life which today is sadly laking well a bit more latter
In reply to Post #689
If there is such a thing as paradise i have lived there. i have walked and fished the streams and lakes that abound in Shropshire and i have stood with my friend graham on a moonlight night and shot the geese as the come in to rest on the the quarry lake . i have slept and walked the woods i have poached the ring necked pheasants . we have stood together and shot a duck or two what more could i really ask i, have loved my life and lived it to the full. we have been out at night Graham Bern and me and shot the rabbits by the score and made a bob or two some times legal some times not i have my grandson to pass my knowledge to. But alas he fights in a far of land i taught him to shoot at an early age and he has filled me with pride i am proud and pray he will come home safely and stand beside me at Xmas time and shoot a bird or two. maybe pheasant or a duck or for he is my pride and joy. We walked the hills of Shropshire my friends and i with ferrets in the box a gun in hand no nets were needed we let them bolt and shot them on the run i some time thought you needed one leg longer than the other you were like mountain goats as you traversed hills and valleys but this was when i was young no more will this happen as my legs are old and knackered and i can not even run. i have loved the nature the sparrow hawk the peregrine falcon, who stoops from high to kill his prey . The buzzard who soars the thermal and gives a mew to let you know he is there the fox the badger so much to see and let me tell you all its free no need to spend money its there for all who love the country side. To be up at dawn rod in hand and stalk the local brooks and catch the brownies that it holds and bring a couple home or cast a fly across the stream and watch it mender down and with a splash it has gone and you bring another trout to hand. to watch the carp in the lake from hight up in a tree its all paradise for me who could really want for more and most is free more latter
If there is such a thing as paradise i have lived there. i have walked and fished the streams and lakes that abound in Shropshire and i have stood with my friend graham on a moonlight night and shot the geese as the come in to rest on the the quarry lake . i have slept and walked the woods i have poached the ring necked pheasants . we have stood together and shot a duck or two what more could i really ask i, have loved my life and lived it to the full. we have been out at night Graham Bern and me and shot the rabbits by the score and made a bob or two some times legal some times not i have my grandson to pass my knowledge to. But alas he fights in a far of land i taught him to shoot at an early age and he has filled me with pride i am proud and pray he will come home safely and stand beside me at Xmas time and shoot a bird or two. maybe pheasant or a duck or for he is my pride and joy. We walked the hills of Shropshire my friends and i with ferrets in the box a gun in hand no nets were needed we let them bolt and shot them on the run i some time thought you needed one leg longer than the other you were like mountain goats as you traversed hills and valleys but this was when i was young no more will this happen as my legs are old and knackered and i can not even run. i have loved the nature the sparrow hawk the peregrine falcon, who stoops from high to kill his prey . The buzzard who soars the thermal and gives a mew to let you know he is there the fox the badger so much to see and let me tell you all its free no need to spend money its there for all who love the country side. To be up at dawn rod in hand and stalk the local brooks and catch the brownies that it holds and bring a couple home or cast a fly across the stream and watch it mender down and with a splash it has gone and you bring another trout to hand. to watch the carp in the lake from hight up in a tree its all paradise for me who could really want for more and most is free more latter
In reply to Post #689
If there is such a thing as paradise i have lived there. i have walked and fished the streams and lakes that abound in Shropshire and i have stood with my friend graham on a moonlight night and shot the geese as they come in to rest on the the quarry lake . i have slept and walked the woods i have poached the ring necked pheasants . we have stood together and shot a duck or two what more could i really ask i, have loved my life and lived it to the full. we have been out at night Graham Bern and me and shot the rabbits by the score and made a bob or two some times legal some times not i have my grandson to pass my knowledge to. But alas he fights in a far of land i taught him to shoot at an early age and he has filled me with pride i am proud and pray he will come home safely and stand beside me at Xmas time and shoot a bird or two. maybe a pheasant or a duck or two for he is my pride and joy. We walked the hills of Shropshire my friends and i with ferrets in the box a gun in hand no nets were needed we let them bolt and shot them on the run i some time thought you needed one leg longer than the other you were like mountain goats as you traversed hills and valleys but this was when i was young no more will this happen as my legs are old and knackered and i can not even run. i have loved the nature the sparrow hawk the peregrine falcon, who stoops from high to kill his prey . The buzzard who soars the thermal and gives a mew to let you know he is there the fox the badger so much to see and let me tell you all its free no need to spend money its there for all who love the country side. To be up at dawn rod in hand and stalk the local brooks and catch the brownies that it holds and bring a couple home or cast a fly across the stream and watch it mender down and with a splash it has gone and you bring another trout to hand. to watch the carp in the lake from hight up in a tree its all paradise for me who could really want for more as most is free more latter fom my diarys some time in the seventys
If there is such a thing as paradise i have lived there. i have walked and fished the streams and lakes that abound in Shropshire and i have stood with my friend graham on a moonlight night and shot the geese as they come in to rest on the the quarry lake . i have slept and walked the woods i have poached the ring necked pheasants . we have stood together and shot a duck or two what more could i really ask i, have loved my life and lived it to the full. we have been out at night Graham Bern and me and shot the rabbits by the score and made a bob or two some times legal some times not i have my grandson to pass my knowledge to. But alas he fights in a far of land i taught him to shoot at an early age and he has filled me with pride i am proud and pray he will come home safely and stand beside me at Xmas time and shoot a bird or two. maybe a pheasant or a duck or two for he is my pride and joy. We walked the hills of Shropshire my friends and i with ferrets in the box a gun in hand no nets were needed we let them bolt and shot them on the run i some time thought you needed one leg longer than the other you were like mountain goats as you traversed hills and valleys but this was when i was young no more will this happen as my legs are old and knackered and i can not even run. i have loved the nature the sparrow hawk the peregrine falcon, who stoops from high to kill his prey . The buzzard who soars the thermal and gives a mew to let you know he is there the fox the badger so much to see and let me tell you all its free no need to spend money its there for all who love the country side. To be up at dawn rod in hand and stalk the local brooks and catch the brownies that it holds and bring a couple home or cast a fly across the stream and watch it mender down and with a splash it has gone and you bring another trout to hand. to watch the carp in the lake from hight up in a tree its all paradise for me who could really want for more as most is free more latter fom my diarys some time in the seventys
In reply to Post #692
Lord foresters estate shirlet much wenlock
The hair drive the year 1979
Although fishing was my main hobby i was called to do many things i lived in the country side and this was part of my life. The hair population in those days was immense they did untold amounts of damage to the farmers crops and there was need for control on the actual day of the drive, about one hundred beaters and guns would turn up this is about one such day way back in the late seventies
my job at time was to line the guns up for the keeper and put them into a position where they could shoot safely also telling them no smoking keep quite and keep out of sight but you would always get some fool who would take no notice i really did meet some real old characters on those drives one such chap would always light his pipe then lean on his gun barrels with them facing upwards towards his face, how many times he did this i don't know he was in his late seventies, now long gone. i would have a word with the gentleman and explain the errors of his ways but it was to no avail he was to stuck in his ways to change so i would stand stand him well away from the other guns . When all was ready the under keeper would drive back to the beaters to say we were ready they could be over two miles away. You would stand behind that hedge shaking with anticipation little dots would appear on the horizon it was the Hairs speeding towards us there could be as many as sixty you would hear the first bangs . And the Hairs would stumble and would lie still more and more came on to face the guns, and some would get away through the hedge and disappear in the distance, The beaters would eventually reach us and the hairs would be picked and hung on an old tractor trailer fifty hairs on that drive you ended the morning with well over one hundred and fifty lordy was happy although only half the estate was done we could finish the rest another day the guns were offered a Hair most accepted and the rest were sold at market this was our way of life There was an abundance of Hairs. but those days have now sadly gone their habitat has gone and due to insecticides the hair population really suffered they are making a steady come back i will not let anyone shoot one on my syndicate we have a few and they are nice to see The days of the big hair drive is now gone but i was there and i will never see those days again more to come latter
Lord foresters estate shirlet much wenlock
The hair drive the year 1979
Although fishing was my main hobby i was called to do many things i lived in the country side and this was part of my life. The hair population in those days was immense they did untold amounts of damage to the farmers crops and there was need for control on the actual day of the drive, about one hundred beaters and guns would turn up this is about one such day way back in the late seventies
my job at time was to line the guns up for the keeper and put them into a position where they could shoot safely also telling them no smoking keep quite and keep out of sight but you would always get some fool who would take no notice i really did meet some real old characters on those drives one such chap would always light his pipe then lean on his gun barrels with them facing upwards towards his face, how many times he did this i don't know he was in his late seventies, now long gone. i would have a word with the gentleman and explain the errors of his ways but it was to no avail he was to stuck in his ways to change so i would stand stand him well away from the other guns . When all was ready the under keeper would drive back to the beaters to say we were ready they could be over two miles away. You would stand behind that hedge shaking with anticipation little dots would appear on the horizon it was the Hairs speeding towards us there could be as many as sixty you would hear the first bangs . And the Hairs would stumble and would lie still more and more came on to face the guns, and some would get away through the hedge and disappear in the distance, The beaters would eventually reach us and the hairs would be picked and hung on an old tractor trailer fifty hairs on that drive you ended the morning with well over one hundred and fifty lordy was happy although only half the estate was done we could finish the rest another day the guns were offered a Hair most accepted and the rest were sold at market this was our way of life There was an abundance of Hairs. but those days have now sadly gone their habitat has gone and due to insecticides the hair population really suffered they are making a steady come back i will not let anyone shoot one on my syndicate we have a few and they are nice to see The days of the big hair drive is now gone but i was there and i will never see those days again more to come latter
In reply to Post #693
We sat at they end of the mere we had cut away the bank to make a swim. we had started to trickle in a bit of bait on a regular basis a little bit often mostly bread crumb and layers mash this was in the late sixties we intended to fish this old mere on the Friday night we wanted to pit are whits against the bream it held as we watched a Bream, rolled in front of us on the baited area another and another showed they were definitely on our bait how big they were we did not know we could not wait until the Friday night we were full of excitement. As graham and i both worked it was a bit of a rush when we got home from work we both had young families and they had to come first. graham had called at the maggot farm on his way home and had bought a gallon which cost pence in those days. i had called at the local abattoir the previous day and managed to get a bucket of blood which we mixed with the maggots and layers mash and bread crumb making big balls of bait to throw in when we arrived at our destination. By the time we reached our swim and got our selves organized it was getting dark the month was august we baited the swim quite heavily and sat back and waited there were four other anglers on the lake and they came up for a chat before they retired to there own swims. We did not have to wait long before we had the first take and landed a bream of around five pounds it completely went mad we caught fish after fish even roach over two pounds we were both fishing two rods but could not handle the two and reverted to using one graham even caught an eel on bread it must of been the blood we had mixed in with our ground bait i was really feeling very knackered in the end we had an audience as the other anglers had come to watch. We ended the night with over two hundred pounds of fish with nine roach over the magical two pounds one eel to grahams rod which weighted in at three pounds the rest were bream between four and six pounds we had also lost a couple of bigger fish which were probably carp as we knew they were a in the mere. as we made our way home i said to graham what a night it had been we could not wait until the following week we arrived home very tired and it was not long before i fell a sleep in a nice warm bed and dreamed about things to come.. more to come latter
We sat at they end of the mere we had cut away the bank to make a swim. we had started to trickle in a bit of bait on a regular basis a little bit often mostly bread crumb and layers mash this was in the late sixties we intended to fish this old mere on the Friday night we wanted to pit are whits against the bream it held as we watched a Bream, rolled in front of us on the baited area another and another showed they were definitely on our bait how big they were we did not know we could not wait until the Friday night we were full of excitement. As graham and i both worked it was a bit of a rush when we got home from work we both had young families and they had to come first. graham had called at the maggot farm on his way home and had bought a gallon which cost pence in those days. i had called at the local abattoir the previous day and managed to get a bucket of blood which we mixed with the maggots and layers mash and bread crumb making big balls of bait to throw in when we arrived at our destination. By the time we reached our swim and got our selves organized it was getting dark the month was august we baited the swim quite heavily and sat back and waited there were four other anglers on the lake and they came up for a chat before they retired to there own swims. We did not have to wait long before we had the first take and landed a bream of around five pounds it completely went mad we caught fish after fish even roach over two pounds we were both fishing two rods but could not handle the two and reverted to using one graham even caught an eel on bread it must of been the blood we had mixed in with our ground bait i was really feeling very knackered in the end we had an audience as the other anglers had come to watch. We ended the night with over two hundred pounds of fish with nine roach over the magical two pounds one eel to grahams rod which weighted in at three pounds the rest were bream between four and six pounds we had also lost a couple of bigger fish which were probably carp as we knew they were a in the mere. as we made our way home i said to graham what a night it had been we could not wait until the following week we arrived home very tired and it was not long before i fell a sleep in a nice warm bed and dreamed about things to come.. more to come latter
In reply to Post #694
The snow was falling hard as i walked through the wood it was in the eighties it had been snowing on and off for the last few days the ground was frozen solid and the lakes were also frozen . it reminded me of years ago when Shrewsbury school used to skate on the big lake i can remember the ice being at least four inches thick i used to go down with my grandad and watch them skate and jump, the wire rope that my father had put across to stop the enemy air craft dropping agents in by parachute but that was years ago. IT was a terrible year for the wild life i would find coots moorhens frozen solid in the snow and they were simply starving. I would put them in a bag and take them home put them in a big box and leave them to warm up by the fire when they had revived i would try and feed them and return them to the lake. The pigeon died by the score we would find them in most fields frozen solid and those that did survive were painfully thin they had not fed for weeks the sprout tops were frozen solid so was the kale you just stood and watched them die. it took a few years for the pigeon to recover. But that was life, the Rabbit population also suffered and many of our small feathered friends also perished i would take corn and any scraps of bread down to the woods and make a few feeding stations water was hard for the birds to find and i think they got some moisture from the snow it was really hard that winter. old foxy seemed to fair better than most he always had the farmers chickens and the rats that inhabited the farm you could follow him where ever he went and he would leave spots of blood from a recent kill. some wild life faired better especially on some of the big shooting estates where the keepers would feed the straw which had been put on the rides for the peasants to feed and scratch in, it used to feed most of the birds in the woods but would also attract predators that were looking for an easy meal. We did not fish for weeks the river was also frozen and it took a few weeks for it to get back to normal i would stand on the river bridge and listen to the big pieces of ice hit the sides it sounded like thunder we had huge floods caused by the melting snow looking back in my diary i think it was 1982 it even flooded the empire picture house filling it with three ft of water well thats just a few more of my memories more latter
The snow was falling hard as i walked through the wood it was in the eighties it had been snowing on and off for the last few days the ground was frozen solid and the lakes were also frozen . it reminded me of years ago when Shrewsbury school used to skate on the big lake i can remember the ice being at least four inches thick i used to go down with my grandad and watch them skate and jump, the wire rope that my father had put across to stop the enemy air craft dropping agents in by parachute but that was years ago. IT was a terrible year for the wild life i would find coots moorhens frozen solid in the snow and they were simply starving. I would put them in a bag and take them home put them in a big box and leave them to warm up by the fire when they had revived i would try and feed them and return them to the lake. The pigeon died by the score we would find them in most fields frozen solid and those that did survive were painfully thin they had not fed for weeks the sprout tops were frozen solid so was the kale you just stood and watched them die. it took a few years for the pigeon to recover. But that was life, the Rabbit population also suffered and many of our small feathered friends also perished i would take corn and any scraps of bread down to the woods and make a few feeding stations water was hard for the birds to find and i think they got some moisture from the snow it was really hard that winter. old foxy seemed to fair better than most he always had the farmers chickens and the rats that inhabited the farm you could follow him where ever he went and he would leave spots of blood from a recent kill. some wild life faired better especially on some of the big shooting estates where the keepers would feed the straw which had been put on the rides for the peasants to feed and scratch in, it used to feed most of the birds in the woods but would also attract predators that were looking for an easy meal. We did not fish for weeks the river was also frozen and it took a few weeks for it to get back to normal i would stand on the river bridge and listen to the big pieces of ice hit the sides it sounded like thunder we had huge floods caused by the melting snow looking back in my diary i think it was 1982 it even flooded the empire picture house filling it with three ft of water well thats just a few more of my memories more latter
In reply to Post #695
Over the years you never really think of old age it creeps up on you and before you know it your claiming your pension and bus pass, but that's not all, you start to get all manner of things as i am sure some on here can vouch for. you think you can still do things like when you were younger but you soon find you cant your bones ache your eyes sight is not as good it takes longer to do things. Then you read the government are going to make you work longer what a laugh if you have worked in the building trade or any heavy industry you are or will be already worn out long before 65 years. I think there living in cuckoo land and as far as sending disabled people back to work there no work for the fit never mind disabled.
Nothing was waisted in those early years
I would love to walk the hills again and fish the mountain streams to watch the curlew and the plover, and watch the buzzard soar on high. the sparrow hawk as it stoops like a streak of grey to catch its prey . i would watch the ponies with there shaggy coats as i traversed the hills and valleys where meandering streams would run over hung with the willows and brambles and far below there lies the brown trout in all his glory sleek and beautiful ready to take the unsuspecting fly or insect you could see the occasional kingfisher in all his glory dive and take the minnow. I would pick the win-berries and fill the basket and sell them by the quarter, it was a nessesity as times were hard and we made a bob or two . We would pick the nuts from the hedges below the hills take home and salt and burry in a tin box where they would stay for another day, I would set a snare to catch a rabbit or a hair the rabbit was stewed or put in a pie which would make our sunday dinner the hair was jugged but was not my favorite meal but you would eat anything at your disposal as times were hard. we would pick the black berries by the basket some were sold but most were made into jam you would also pick the elderberries they would make your wine also nettle wine was good we always had a few bottles stored in the coupoard. plums damsons and apples were also picked apples were wrapped in paper and stored in a cardbored box to eat another day, damsons and plums were made into jam or were canned nothing was waisted not like today well a bit more latter
Over the years you never really think of old age it creeps up on you and before you know it your claiming your pension and bus pass, but that's not all, you start to get all manner of things as i am sure some on here can vouch for. you think you can still do things like when you were younger but you soon find you cant your bones ache your eyes sight is not as good it takes longer to do things. Then you read the government are going to make you work longer what a laugh if you have worked in the building trade or any heavy industry you are or will be already worn out long before 65 years. I think there living in cuckoo land and as far as sending disabled people back to work there no work for the fit never mind disabled.
Nothing was waisted in those early years
I would love to walk the hills again and fish the mountain streams to watch the curlew and the plover, and watch the buzzard soar on high. the sparrow hawk as it stoops like a streak of grey to catch its prey . i would watch the ponies with there shaggy coats as i traversed the hills and valleys where meandering streams would run over hung with the willows and brambles and far below there lies the brown trout in all his glory sleek and beautiful ready to take the unsuspecting fly or insect you could see the occasional kingfisher in all his glory dive and take the minnow. I would pick the win-berries and fill the basket and sell them by the quarter, it was a nessesity as times were hard and we made a bob or two . We would pick the nuts from the hedges below the hills take home and salt and burry in a tin box where they would stay for another day, I would set a snare to catch a rabbit or a hair the rabbit was stewed or put in a pie which would make our sunday dinner the hair was jugged but was not my favorite meal but you would eat anything at your disposal as times were hard. we would pick the black berries by the basket some were sold but most were made into jam you would also pick the elderberries they would make your wine also nettle wine was good we always had a few bottles stored in the coupoard. plums damsons and apples were also picked apples were wrapped in paper and stored in a cardbored box to eat another day, damsons and plums were made into jam or were canned nothing was waisted not like today well a bit more latter
In reply to Post #696
The frost glistened on the grass as we made our way down the fields towards the old boat house that stood at the end of the lake. We were after the roach that this ancient lake held. we set up by the boat house using sliding floats in 18 ft of water we were using maggot bread flake and tares which had caught for us in the past. The fish were not huge in this old lake that dates back to the ice age but you would catch them between 8 0z and pound lovely looking roach and well worth the effort we would bait up with bread crumb and layers mash and maggots mixed with a few spots of tincture of lemon grass it smelt absolutely lovely and i am sure the roach loved it. only half an inch of the float showed above the water it would tremble then slowly slide beneath the water there was no hurry no violent strike tighten up and you were in it was a great way to spend a day in the mist of winter but as long as you wrapped up warm it was OK. We caught some very good bags from that old lake and would use the keep nets to put them in and weight them at the end of the day we regularly had bags of forty pounds plus, This was in the late sixties early seventies tackle had started to come on in leaps and bounds i now owned Mitchell reels that i had won in various competitions for catching big bream. We also fished a place called whixall moss it was taken over by English nature and is now a place of scientific interest and fishing is now banned. In those days it was full of roach big fish and you would catch them to two pounds plus it also held some very big bream they had been stocked by anglers that fished the moss and was not frowned on like it is today. there was an island in the middle of the lake with a channel the other side that you could not access from the bank as it was very boggy place we would wade over to the island as it was only about a ft deep and ledger or float fish in the channel which was only eight ft deep it was great fishing you would cast out using a running ledger rig usually a small arsley bomb four pounds line twelve hook a pinch of bread flake tipped with maggot tighten up pinch a piece of bread on your line between your reel and but ring and pull down giving you around 2 ft for your bobbin to travel before you you picked the rod up and struck we had some great big fish from this little lake and some tremendous bream i some times wander if they are still there perhaps some time in the future i may go and have a look it will bring back some happy memories also remembering freinds that fished that little lake that have now passed on. well more latter
The frost glistened on the grass as we made our way down the fields towards the old boat house that stood at the end of the lake. We were after the roach that this ancient lake held. we set up by the boat house using sliding floats in 18 ft of water we were using maggot bread flake and tares which had caught for us in the past. The fish were not huge in this old lake that dates back to the ice age but you would catch them between 8 0z and pound lovely looking roach and well worth the effort we would bait up with bread crumb and layers mash and maggots mixed with a few spots of tincture of lemon grass it smelt absolutely lovely and i am sure the roach loved it. only half an inch of the float showed above the water it would tremble then slowly slide beneath the water there was no hurry no violent strike tighten up and you were in it was a great way to spend a day in the mist of winter but as long as you wrapped up warm it was OK. We caught some very good bags from that old lake and would use the keep nets to put them in and weight them at the end of the day we regularly had bags of forty pounds plus, This was in the late sixties early seventies tackle had started to come on in leaps and bounds i now owned Mitchell reels that i had won in various competitions for catching big bream. We also fished a place called whixall moss it was taken over by English nature and is now a place of scientific interest and fishing is now banned. In those days it was full of roach big fish and you would catch them to two pounds plus it also held some very big bream they had been stocked by anglers that fished the moss and was not frowned on like it is today. there was an island in the middle of the lake with a channel the other side that you could not access from the bank as it was very boggy place we would wade over to the island as it was only about a ft deep and ledger or float fish in the channel which was only eight ft deep it was great fishing you would cast out using a running ledger rig usually a small arsley bomb four pounds line twelve hook a pinch of bread flake tipped with maggot tighten up pinch a piece of bread on your line between your reel and but ring and pull down giving you around 2 ft for your bobbin to travel before you you picked the rod up and struck we had some great big fish from this little lake and some tremendous bream i some times wander if they are still there perhaps some time in the future i may go and have a look it will bring back some happy memories also remembering freinds that fished that little lake that have now passed on. well more latter
In reply to Post #697
thank you pete for a wonderfull read
thank you pete for a wonderfull read
In reply to Post #698
In reply to Post #697
thank you pete for a wonderfull read
Thank you for reading it i am glad you enjoyed my stories
In reply to Post #697
thank you pete for a wonderfull read
Thank you for reading it i am glad you enjoyed my stories