Oh, come all ye faithful
Every year, for as long as I have been shooting, I have ventured to the Yorkshire Dales to walk — with gun, gamebag and a pocket full of cartridges — a little piece of rough ground that my father and his father have shot before me.
The rocky ghylls, holly-filled becks and reed-covered fields are home to a host of wildlife which, for 363 days of the year, are left completely alone. However, for one or two weekends in the season, we spend a day marauding up and over, down and around the wet and woolly ground, in an effort to sniff out something for the pot.
“A day marauding up and over, down and around”
I am fortunate enough to shoot a few driven days each year and I enjoy enormously the challenge of shooting a stonking high bird with
