Hunters Element skinning knife
I haven’t had my new hunters element skinning knife long, but already it has been with me and been an invaluable tool at many a successful scene.
It was there when I took my Chamois buck over Waitangi weekend
And helped out when Erin shot her first red deer this last weekend
The bullet that killed Erins deer. She did well, killing the unaware animal on the spot at a range of 250 yards!
The knife has also had to deal with a few piggies this week, including a nice fat sow that is currently tucked up in the freezer. All the meat was hung in a chiller for a few days before being processed… with the skinning knife. I like it’s shape and weight as a good all round knife and it keeps it’s edge well too which is quite handy!
James Morris – More fallow and a fat piggy
This weekend I went and got my game camera back out of the forest of Fallow deer, and while there managed to snuffle a fat young piggy for the freezer… I’ll let the photo’s tell the story.
Fat little piggy
And I got to try out my new Hunters Element skinning knife
It did a cracker job getting the skin off the hog and the back legs and back steaks out and into my pack-there was no point in taking the front end for meat after it had been hit with my 30.06!
Hopefully in it’s new spot, my game cam will get some pics of some red deer!
James Morris – Trail Cam
The start of the year is always an exciting time waiting for the stags and bucks to grow their antlers out.
This year I have set up a game camera to see what is lurking about in an area I like to hunt, and had a pleasant surprise to find in ten days my camera was out it caught images of a stag, a buck, a doe and a pig! With so much feed about this year, I am hoping that the next time I go and get my camera it has some photos of older stags and bucks with good amounts of antler!
young stag
A doe
A pig
And a young buck
James Morris – Fluffing up the big one
All the hard work going out and finding a monster trophy of your dreams can come down to a few seconds actions and how you manage yourself at that moment.
Yesterday I went in search of a big Chamois buck, a 10″ one or nothing! This year already I have gone on 7 trips in search of a big buck. I have seen 8, and turned down all but two. One I didn’t get the chance to smack over and am going back for, the other… I fluffed.
A friend of mine, Wolfgang and I decided that we’d have to skip a day of uni since the weather was so good… and we’ve done bugger all hunting this semester anyways.
We set off for the hills and made great time, clambering high into an area which holds a few chamois. The day was a stunner, hardly a breath of wind except for a light anabatic uphill draft.
We reached the area I know holds doe chamois, sat down and starting munching on a sandwich in between spouts of wavering the bino’s about. Halfway through my sandwich I picked up a mob of chamois, right where they always are. With them was an obvious buck, mooching around, not far from the does but not with them either. We watched as he dropped down the dark face and out of sight into the creek about a kilometre away from us. We packed up our lunch and boosted in the direction he went, keeping high in case he’d crossed to our side of the valley.
Getting to a vantage point we carefully crossed over the brow and found ourselves a seat with a good view. We searched all the places we thought he’d be, and just as we were wondering where the hell it had gone I noticed it, sitting down right out in the middle of a slip. I got my rangefinder out-409 yards. Looked through my scope, wound it up and “WOW!” he’s a monster! Horns twice the length of his ears, he was a 10″ buck if I’ve ever seen one!
I considered shooting him from 409 yards-should be easy I figured, considering I fired 500 rounds last year, the majority at steel-out to 700 yards hitting every time in the end… but I’ve just recently changed scopes over on my 30.06 and hadn’t properly got the feel of how the new one sits. I had shot 1′ steel at 350 yards no problem with it the day before we went though, but hadn’t put the time into stretching it out past 400 yet…something I will do before I go away next time! My drop chart read 16 inches drop, but I felt unsure so we made the plan to close the gap. Very slowly we tried to move back behind the ridge we’d just crossed, but the big buck wasn’t going to sit and wait for us and leapt to his feet. ”Right,” I thought; it’s now or never.
I lay down and put the cross just over his shoulder… “I’ll give it just a bit more height,” I thought…just to be sure… ”BOOM” went the rifle, and off went the cham. My shot went high… why I decided at the heat of the moment not to trust my drop chart I do not know… it worked well for me with the same rifle, same load shooting tahr at nearly 500 yards last year…and god knows how many bits of steel I’ve shot using that chart…what was I thinking!
Anyways, the buck was gone, and so was my good mood.
We climbed to the top of the basin and headed the long walk home buckless…Wolfgang did manage to snap a pretty cool pic though, one that will remind me of that day forever.
James Morris
James Morris – Quick Pig Hunt
A southerly gale blew straight up from Antarctica so I spent the first day of my university break working around the house, and loading some bullets. By evening I was definitely feeling cabin feverish, so I grabbed my coat and my 30.06, jumped on the motorbike and headed up the farm.
I had a feeling I knew where I would find some piggies, there was a bit of fresh sign about and a sheltered gorsy gully I’d seen them in before. The first place I looked, I was happy to see they were in residence, but from the look of it only little pigs were about this time. Some weren’t much bigger than a fox terrier. I decided the challenge was to get in as close as possible; although they are a real pest on the farm I still have a lot of respect for the animals and enjoy the challenge of getting in amongst them.
Sneaking straight in with the southerly wind on my face the pigs were oblivious, too busy feeding amongst the gorse, rushes and blackberry. All of a sudden there was a pig I hadn’t seen before, how I’d missed it I do not know-a huge white grey boar was only about 15 yards away from me, head down nosing the soft ground around a big rusher. I froze and took in what was going around me. A sow and piglets were slightly below me, about 30 yards away, a couple of pretty tasty looking about 60lb black and white pigs were just ahead about 35 yards away, but the boar was closest and also what was going to cop it first.
I lifted my rifle and took aim at the boars shoulder, then sent the 150gr 30 calibre projectile on its short trip of a whole 15 yards before it slammed into the boars shield and knocked him off his feet. As quickly as he fell over, he was back on his feet. He wasn’t happy, and came straight for me. Before I even realised what was going on I was frantically working my bolt and looking down the side of my barrel and had fired before he halved the distance between us. Thankfully this worked to some degree, he wasn’t dead, but he changed direction from a crash course with me to running out of the scrub and into the open field. Another shot rang out from my 30.06 and he was down.
One of the black and white tasty sized pigs was still lurking about, so she copped one too-a nice bit of pork to take back to my flat at the end of the holidays.
I dragged the plump sow down the gully and out near where the boar lay before going and inspecting him. He was a good sized snorker, with some nasty looking hooks! I was glad that I didn’t get to find out what they were capable of!
I searched for where my first shot had struck him and discovered it was right where I had aimed. Square in the shoulder was a 30 calibre hole. Gutting him I discovered that at a range of about 15 yards the boar had taken the full might of my hot loads without the bullet even entering its chest cavity. I was impressed, and for the first time with my 30.06 I felt under gunned!
James Morris – Chamois for the freezer
Heading back to uni meant a freezer full of meat was again a top priority. One of life’s most tradeable necessities is meat, especially when you have broke flatmates who are good cooks!
The earthquake held up processions of both my university course commencing and filling up the freezer with a bit of game, but I can’t complain as my life and family got through quite unscathed compared to many others. Unsurprisingly Christchurch was a depressing place to be, so after volunteering in some of the worst hit suburbs, my mate Tom and I decided to get away from the gloomy reality our home city was facing and head west to find a chamois for the freezer. Anytime before March I wouldn’t shoot a doe (the best eating!), as the young aren’t big enough to fend for themselves, but from March onwards they are, much like a red deer.
Arriving in South Westland is always special, but this time was much more so. No earthquakes, no stress and a great forecast to look forward to! We set up camp in one of my usual haunts, keen for the morning to arrive. For Tom the prospect of his first chamois was an exciting one. On our first hunt together Tom had shot his first tahr and had a good but failed crack at getting a chamois. This time he was keen to settle the score a bit more.
Morning dawned with a frost. Though it was only a light one, we reckoned it was supposed to still be summer and with the prospect of a creek crossing only minutes walk from the car we were both a little grumpy. Just over the other side of the creek, we were met with plenty of animal sign. A deer was on the cards and the locals we’d spoken to said there’d been a few floating about. Sneaking around a bush with his eyes up the clearing ahead, keen to spot a freezer filler, Tom got the fright of his life when a chamois leapt out from the other side of the same bush, less than a metre away. There was no opportunity for a shot, but the signs were all there that the day was going to be a producer!
The next shingle clearing in the creek, where I have seen Chamois numerous times before, didn’t let us down. A young chamois looked down the creek at us; a yearling. We were only a kilometre from the car, so over it went with a boom from my 30.06.
As we walked over, I mentioned to Tom to keep his eyes peeled for more, but nothing presented itself until we were standing over the body of my “young’un”. Only 20 yards away a doe with no horns stepped out of the scrub. With a quick work of the action of his .270, Tom was lined up on what was about to become his first chamois.
After the shot, a whole mob of chamois erupted out of the bush the doe had stepped from, but we had a couple so left the near on impossible to hit darting animals for next time. Upon inspection, Tom’s cham was an old girl who’d suffered horn rot and also had problems with her eye; all the same Tom, was pretty happy he’d downed his first.
We sorted the animals, and hid them from the sun and flies before heading further upstream.
Not much further up the creek we came face to face with an old buck. He was obviously an older animal, big in body size and looked well matured. Only problem was he didn’t have any horns; West Coast horn rot had claimed them! The decision was left to let him be, as a mature buck isn’t as good to eat as does or younger animals, so we settled to watch it for about twenty minutes across the narrow creek as it fed.
Leaving the buck, we continued up to a slip I know well, where we sat and had lunch with a good view in case a chamois presented itself for our dinner. Nothing showed until we’d finished lunch and walked another 10 metres, where upon a lone yearling jumped out of the creek only 30 yards ahead of us. Quick, smart Tom had himself another chamois to take home. We figured we had enough meat to carry, so decided to head back down to our other animals, then back to the car. We dissected the two yearlings and put the meat in my pack, and Tom carried his doe out whole which a great way to make sure no meat is wasted! I reckoned that now the wind had changed to an anabatic upstream draft, we could hunt the last kilometre to the car inside the bush, in the hope of picking up a deer.
Sneaking down through the forest and its clearings, I was carrying my 30.06 on half bolt, Tom behind me carrying his chamois and an unloaded rifle. We carefully checked each piece of bush, as well as the clearings beneath, hopeful-but not expectant (as we’d walked not far from this route on the way up only a few hours beforehand). Sneaking around a fern tree, I stopped in my tracks. Ahead of me stood an animal slightly obscured from view but not alarmed. As we silently watched from about 20 yards it fed its way into a better view; a young chamois. More and more movement came into view as a mob of at least five animals fed oblivious to our presence. We were now only fifteen minutes walk from the car, so a nice fat doe looked very tempting. Furthermore, a past memory came to mind. When I first went to the coast a few years ago, I got talking to a local hunter. He was a keen man, and knew a lot about the area and the animals that lived in it, he pointed my friend Kurt and I into an area full of animals, but he did say, I’d never bush stalk a chamois.
“They’re far too alert and smart to bush hunt, not like a dumb deer.” He’d said. As this rang through my mind, I lifted my 30.06 and took my first bush stalked chamois, a nice plump doe with horns slightly over 8 inch; a personal trophy and memoir of the trip.
I gutted the animal before shouldering it and carrying it entire out to the car. A great day was then topped off with a visit to a friendly local farmer, before a trip to the pub. We met some more keen hunting locals who happily shared stories and also some interesting tourists who came back to our camp site to share their yarns and hear ours around a campfire before heading back to their backpackers. Morning dawned clear and fine as we packed the car and headed homeward, back to the earthquake reality. We had what we’d come for; plenty of meat for our student flats. The next day once we were back in Canterbury, a nice fat hind and her fawn got in the way of a couple of bullets just to finish our meat hunting trip off nicely. With the food supply sorted for now, I can concentrate…firstly on my new studies, but also a good stag for the roar followed by a buck for the rut!
James Morris – Stag Party, a short film
Stag Party, shot by Hunters Element Pro Team member James Morris, is a short film with some amazing footage of South Island Red Deer and Chamois.
Hope you enjoy it.
James Morris – An Xmas Chamois
Summer time is a busy season on the farm; keeping the animals fed and healthy, hay making and family time leaves little occasion to get away into the mountains so when a free day turns up and the weather allows, to miss the opportunity would be almost criminal.
After spending Christmas day on the hay rake, Boxing day, and the day after that carting hay, a break showed itself before the New Year’s celebrations. The 28th of December, damn near the end of 2010 could be a slack tidy up day on the farm, followed by a day off for the 29th. Willis Macbeth was keen to go for a wander in search of the illusive 10” chamois buck with me so I picked him up and we drove for the Alps. After a little bit of four wheel driving, my truck had a whole new look about it thanks to the unforgiving broom branches… Fail!
We were parked up and looking at a fairly rough looking scrubby face by 6pm-one great thing about hunting in summer is the day length allows for plenty more time constructively spent on the hill. It was hot and still and the 1000 metre climb to our camp site summit of a little more than 1500masl sapped a lot of energy from me, Willis though who’d been making the most of the summer hunting set the pace beyond my abilities. Hill fitness is very different to sitting-on-a-tractor fitness!
Half way up, sign of pigs and deer was abundant yet the only animal to be picked up by Willis’ trained eyes was a lone chamois on the opposite side of the valley. With no sign of a youngster trailing behind or other animals nearby interested us, suggested that it may well be a buck-worthy of a closer inspection. We reckoned we could summit, trudge the ridge and catch up with our loner orange friend before dark, but it wasn’t to be. Reaching the summit just after 9.30pm, we decided to leave it for the following morning and instead let our bino’s search the valley hidden behind our summit as the sun set on a perfectly still and clear evening.
Thinking ahead, we found a campsite on the south eastern side of the hill, as we knew if any wind was going to get up it would come from the prevailing direction; the west-north west. After a quick dinner, we weren’t let down by the wind gods and as the night progressed, the wind got stronger and stronger. The tent flapped all night long, which meant we got minimal sleep. Patience rather than rest got us through the night, and at the first sign of light we were up and packing the tent away. Travel in any direction saw a massive increase in wind speed, our selection of camp could have been much worse! We headed for the most sheltered looking basin to start glassing as it became light, though it wasn’t all that warm.
Nothing quickly presented itself, so we became cold and edgy to get up and wander over to the next spot, back towards where we camped. The wind was still blowing strong and the light was still unclear, but a movement in the tussock looked a little unnatural.
Just the wind, I told myself, but having been caught out before I stopped and got my binoculars out. Clear as day through the Leupold’s, not 50 yards from where our tent had been set stood a chamois.
“There.” I told Willis, “Keep down, let’s get closer for a look.”
We halved our distance quickly, hidden behind a small rocky ridge. Not sure what we were about to encounter, I opted to drop my pack and just take my rifle and camera over the rise.
Poking my head over a rock, I wasn’t disappointed! Four chamois fed in the rockery less than 100 yards from us, two nannies and two kids but we hadn’t seen them all! Another chamois that was aware of our presence stood in the tussock and watched us before letting out a whistle and heading down to the rest of the now alerted group. I put my rifle down and started snapping photos but my camera wasn’t enjoying the light conditions and I could see the shots were only coming out as a blur. The chamois broke down hill at a full gallop, and still I didn’t have a photo! We backed up behind the ridge we’d crested then ran down the gut to try and intercept the animals. This plan worked well, when we stuck our head over a nanny and her kid stood only 30 yards away as we snapped off some better photos.
They kept moving, but stopped and looked back repeatedly for more photo opportunities.
Pretty happy with our efforts in the poor light, we sat and rested while letting the binos cover some more country. A hind and a fawn walked across a shingle scree on the opposite face. No more chamois were lurking, so we moved back over the ridge where we’d camped to see if we could spot our lone chamois from the previous evening. Surprisingly quickly, Willis picked it up again. It hadn’t moved more than 50 yards from where we’d originally spotted it. The tiredness was forgotten as we again moved in behind the ridge, out of sight and hunted our way behind the lone chamois’ basin.
The next gully we arrived at looked like more chamois country, and as Willis whispered to be careful and take my time, chamois broke from just in front of us. We sat and watched four animals; a nanny and her kid, a yearling and what looked like a young buck vacating the area as Willis reminded me just how cunning these animals are! I’d become complacent, having seen a mob of six animals, and knowing where another lone animal was, I didn’t think there would be many more around, so it was a good wakeup call! And luckily it was not the illusive 10” buck that disappeared!
Around the next ridge, a yearling chamois stood guard overlooking its basin. We were near our loner now, so a quick distant photo was enough before we headed back over the ridge to go see what we’d spent the last evening and morning thinking about and working towards.
Sneaking down the face, our chamois was nowhere to be seen. Slowly and thoroughly we scoured the area below us, keenly aware that any fold in the terrain or single rock could hide a 10” monster.
“There he is.” Willis again hissed out behind me. Directly below us, he was skipping his way uphill towards us, almost as though he was coming to check out what we were, very obviously a buck with quite a bit of horn. As we watched, he came up to a clay pan, stood and looked around then sat. We weren’t sprung, but we were a long way from any cover out on the face about 300 yards from him. Slowly we snuck down the ridge to a single bush to hide behind and discuss our next move, somehow without getting spotted. We studied him, and studied him for an hour, even waiting for the sun to lift high enough to give us a better look.
It was decided that he was between 9 and 9 ½” but worth shooting. Willis offered me the shot, so I set about readying myself. The range finder read 260 yards, and at a fairly steep angle I reckoned from my drop chart that the 150gr Hornady SST fired from my 30-06 would hit spot on. Taking my time to get a good rest, I lined him up square in the shoulder, aiming to break bone. We didn’t want him to get up and run as there was plenty of cover below him.
“Boom!” barked the ’06, and the chamois rolled over, lights out!
Reaching it, we were a little gutted at its size, only just making the 9” mark we had put as bottom estimate, but he was old. His horns were well worn, and a rough count up suggested he was at least 11 years old. The last few years’ growth hadn’t put much length on his horns at all.
My neighbour really likes chamois meat, so a butchering session saw my pack swell with as much meat as I could rescue. The head I tied onto the outside of my pack as they can be awkward things to carry with sharp horns that can pierce precious gear if packed without thought. Was a hot stroll out but that didn’t stop my last hunt for 2010 from being a beaut, and I’m hoping that 2011 brings a few more like it!
James Morris – Prep
A day climbing around the Canterbury high country two weeks before my planned 5 day tahr hunting trip had me slightly concerned… my hill fitness is nothing on what it used to be when I was hunting every weekend. Although I am working on the farm, I have found myself in the habit of having a cold beer come evening and relaxing out in front of the TV or computer screen which has done nothing good for my stamina clambering around mountain goat terrain.
Spraying gorse and cutting up firewood for the next year’s winter had me about buggered when I finished up for the day, all I wanted was a cold Speights and a relaxing evening, but that wasn’t going to get me up amongst the Tahr in the near future.
I wandered through the house and pulled the keys out for the gun cabinet. Izzy, our family pet fox terrier heard the clatter of the keys and before I knew it she was at my side. Izzy knows she isn’t allowed on the carpet, but she also knows what the clatter of the gun cabinet keys means and she did not want to miss out on any sort of an opportunity!
I selected the Ruger 10-22 for my evening stroll. Early spring, the grass is still short, but green and the new growth is sweet. The bunnies also haven’t quite got their act together with breeding, so every bunny shot early spring counts for many later on in the summer.
Loading up the magazine I thought of the route I was going to take for the evening. When I was at boarding school I used to go out every night I was home, and I had different circuits worked out, all with favourite bunny locations.
With a quick explanation to Ma of where I was off to, I laced my boots and headed for the High Hill with Izzy never further than a foot from my side the entire time. The circuit I’d picked for the evening was one I hadn’t done since last summer, so I didn’t quite know what to expect in the way of evening bunnies, but I was pretty sure I’d cotton onto something.
The first grunt up the hill over open ground is always off putting when choosing the High Hill route, but once you’re up and over the top there is a continuous pine edge that seems to harvest bunnies, especially on the gorse and blackberry points. As I crested the high hill I saw two Hares sprint off over the ridge. I sat to calm Izzy who’d also spotted them before quietly heading in the direction they’d gone. An excited Izzy always wanted to stay 10 feet ahead of me, but soon as I picked up a stick she was right back in her spot a foot from my side without even a word spoken, she knows the rules. Lifting my head over the ridge I spotted a hare standing on its back legs. It knew there was trouble looming but hadn’t the foggiest idea what was up. I slowly crawled forward and took up position to take a shot. He was about 50 yards away, so I opted for a chest shot to be certain to claim my first opportunity of the evening.
“Crack”, went the 22, which was followed by a solid thump of a good hit from the 40 grain powerpoint projectile. As so often happens when chest shooting a hare, it up and ran a big semi-circle ending up in the pine plantations before falling. I heard it kicking, but sent a very keen Izzy down just to be certain it wasn’t going anywhere.
The hare was dead but Izzy was giving it a good chewing until I picked it up by a back leg. I discarded it into a blackberry bush. For some reason none of the dogs, not Izzy or any of the farm dogs seem to like hare, they prefer rabbit so at this early point in my walk I wasn’t going to carry a large hare the rest of my circuit.
Picking my way back out into the paddock I had walked all of 10 steps when Izzy broke from my side and gave a dead gorse bush a fair bit of attention. I stood watching, the 22 at the ready as there was something in that bush! Izzy leapt into it, and with a burst of brown a leveret burst out and ran off. I followed it through the scope and touched off a shot the moment it hesitated which dropped it on the spot. Izzy had another, so within the first few hundred yards of the walk along the bush edge we had 3 hares with only two shots fired!
We travelled half a kilometre further before we found a rabbit to stalk, it was sitting out in the open but not far from cover enjoying a grazing opportunity in the last rays of the days sun. It hadn’t spotted us, or if it had it didn’t seem to be too concerned, so at about a distance of 40 yards I took a careful aim at its head and squeezed off a shot. I saw the bullet hit the ground in front of its nose, close enough to make it leave town quick smart but not secure it.
“Bugger”, I said to Izzy, I knew I was being way to cocky going for a head shot at that range from a standing position. Rose my young Hunterway was the ultimate loser as I wasn’t going to be taking that bunny home for her. Even though the sun was drifting behind the hills I figured I had to at least have another go at getting my pup a fresh feed, so Izzy and I pushed on toward the creek on the back side of the High Hill.
Strolling down the track a rabbit bounced ahead. I hadn’t seen it, but it had seen me and was off into the thick gorse over the side. I had to growl a command at Izzy to stop her from following; as if she did she would trail bark and give us away to any bunny sitting in the creek bed only 150 yards further down the track. Upon reaching the creek I got quite a surprise to see a pair of quail only 15 yards away, not oblivious to my presence but seemingly not too worried. I sat down and fished out my camera, I’ve never managed to have an opportunity to get a good shot or two of quail. Izzy sat next to me hidden behind a dead gorse bush, only my head sticking high enough above the gorse, my arms soon got tired holding the camera high enough as I happy snapped away. As I watched through the view finder of my camera the male dug a hole and gave himself a dust bath while the female stood guard above him. Joining the female again, the male gave a good shake, becoming a dusty puff ball. Izzy heard the feathers ruffle, and before I even knew she’d moved she had shown herself, and with a fast flutter of wings my quail experience was over. I was a little gutted, but a quick glance at my watch reminded me I had a fair old trip home and I’d spent nearly 15 minutes watching the quail!, I still needed to find a rabbit, so I turned around and headed up the creek towards a dark scrubby gully that always holds a bunny.
Sitting in the half light I was quietly gutted I hadn’t brought my binoculars. I was in the perfect spot, but in the twilight the bunnies are hard to see amongst the rushes and dead gorse bushes. I quietly stalked the open basin ahead, way out in the open-any small animal had to know I was there… just as that thought crossed my mind a bunny bounced ahead. I quickly sat down and took aim, figuring it was about 60 yards away I aimed just a fraction high and let drive, just to miss again! I saw the shot fall just under Mr. Bunny’s chest area, and as he hadn’t reacted like the last bunny I shot at, I got the opportunity to lift the rifle a smidgen more and bag Rose a fresh bit of supper. Happy as pie, I went to get up from my seat, but as I twisted my head movement caught my eye. A hare sat, no more than 5 yards from where Mr. Bunny had taken its last breath, so quick smart I had the crosshair settled just high enough to land a bullet in its chest.
“Pop”, went the 10-22, and I saw the hare fall straight over even before the “thud” of a chest hit came back to me.
“Brilliant”, I said to Izzy. I find working alone a lot of the time with only a dog for company I sometimes end up talking to the mutt like it’s just another mate. Every now and then when the old man is working with me I see an eye brow lift when he hears me explain my thoughts to the dog. They do listen well though, and never do contradict… man’s best friend alright!
Strolling over to my prey I noticed Izzy leap to attention, ears up looking intently ahead. Another rabbit had broken cover, and thanks to Izzy I picked up on its movements. Still standing I followed it with the scope, and as I hoped, just before the scrub edge it stopped.
“Pop, plump”. The rabbit was hit, but not cleanly, and it disappeared into the gorse.
“Off you go”, I said to Izzy, and without a moment’s hesitation she was off to finish what I’d started. Having a foxy is a great thing; they are small enough to get straight into the gorse and blackberry and catch a wounded bunny, even the odd silly one that hasn’t been shot. With a squeal from the bunny, I knew Izzy had caught up with it and put it out of its misery. As bad as it would be going to the chomp of a dog, I think it is much more humane than leaving them wounded to die over the next hour, day or however long it takes.
Collecting the bunny to carry back for Rose, I gave a whistle to Izzy as I quickened the pace back up the dark face of the High Hill homeward bound. Getting in just on dark, I was quietly chuffed I hadn’t wasted the evening sitting on my arse, instead as I always do intend to do… I had done some prep for the upcoming mountain adventure.
Izzy
Hare sitting out
Bunny sitting in the last few rays of the days sun
Quail, the male shaking out the dust
Roses dinner along side the 10-22
Robert Wilson
Alex Broad
zanemirfin
James Morris
jamespearse
Bish
mickgibbo
Andrew Sturt
