GROUSE POACHING.
For pleasurable excitement, to say nothing of profit, the pick of all
poaching is for grouse. However fascinating partridge poaching may be;
however pleasurable picking off pheasants from bare boughs; or the
night-piercing screams of a netted hare--none of these can compare with
the wild work of the moors. I am abroad on the heather just before the
coming of the day. My way lies now along the rugged course of a fell
"beck," now along the lower shoulder of the mountain. The grey
dissolves into dawn, the dawn into light, and the first blackcock crows
to his grey hen in the hollow. As my head appears above the burn side,
the ever-watchful curlews whistle and the plovers scream. A dotterel
goes plaintively piping over the stones, and the "cheep, cheep," of the
awakening ling-birds rises from every brae. A silent tarn lies
shimmering in a green hollow beneath, and over its marge constantly flit
a pair of summer snipe. The bellowing of red deer comes from a
neighbouring corrie, and a herd of roe are browsing on the confines of
the scrub. The sun mounts the Eastern air, drives the mists away and
beyond the lichen patches loved by the ptarmigan--and it is day.
A glorious bird is the red grouse! Listen to his warning "kok, kok,
kok," as he eyes the invader of his moorland haunts. Now that it is day
his mate joins him on the "knowe." The sun warms up his rufus plumage,
and the crescent-shaped patch of vermilion over the eye glows in the
strong light. It is these sights and sounds that warm me to my work,
and dearly I love the moor-game. Years ago I had sown grain along the
fell-side so as to entice the grouse within range of an old flint-lock
which I used with deadly effect from behind a stone wall. Then snares
were set on the barley sheaves and corn stooks, by which a brace of
birds were occasionally bagged. In after years an unforseen grouse
harvest came in quite an unexpected manner. With the enclosure of the
Commons hundreds of miles of wire fencing was erected, and in this way,
before the birds had become accustomed to it, numbers were killed by
flying against the fences. The casualties mostly occurred during
"thick" weather, or when the mists had clung to the hills for days. At
such times grouse fly low, and strike before seeing the obstacle. I
never failed to note the mist-caps hanging to the fell-tops, and then,
bag in hand, walked parallel to miles and miles of flimsy fence.
Sometimes a dozen brace of birds were picked up in a morning; and, on
the lower grounds, an occasional partridge, woodcock, or snipe.
[Illustration]
Grouse are the only game that ever tempted me to poach during close
time, and then I only erred by a few days. Birds sold in London on the
morning of the "Twelfth" bring the biggest prices of the season, and to
supply the demand was a temptation I could never resist. Many a
"Squire," many a Country Justice has been tempted as I was, and fell as
I fell. It is not too much to say that every one of the three thousand
birds sold in London on the opening day has been poached during the
"fence" time. In the north, country station-masters find hampers dropped
on their platforms addressed to London dealers, but, as to who brought
them, or how they came there, none ever knows.
The only true prophet of the grouse-moors is the poacher. Months before
the "squire" and keeper he knows whether disease will assert itself or
no. By reason of his out-door life he has accuracy of eye and judgment
sufficient to interpret what he sees aright. He is abroad in all
weathers, and through every hour of the day and night. His clothes have
taken on them the duns and browns of the moorlands; and he owns the
subtle influence which attracts wild creatures to him. He has watched
grouse "at home" since the beginning of the year. On the first spring
day the sun shines brightly at noon. The birds bask on the brae, and
spread their wings to the warmth. As the sun gains in power, and spring
comes slowly up the way, the red grouse give out gurgling notes, and
indulge in much strutting. The fell "becks" sparkles in the sun; the
merlin screams over the heather, and the grouse packs break up. The
birds are now seen singly or in pairs, and brae answers brae from dawn
till dark. The cock grouse takes his stand on some grey rock, and erects
or depresses at pleasure his vermilion eye-streak. Pairing is not long
continued, and the two find out a depression in the heather which they
line with bents and mountain grasses. About eight eggs are laid, and the
cock grouse takes his stand upon the "knowe" to guard the nest from
predaceous carrion and hooded crows. If hatching is successful the young
birds are quickly on their legs, and through spring and summer follow
the brooding birds. They grow larger and plumper each day, until it is
difficult to detect them from the adult. Meanwhile August has come, and
soon devastating death is dealt out to them. The sport, so far as the
poacher is concerned, begins at the first rolling away of the morning
mists; and then he often makes the best bag of the year. It was rarely
that I was abroad later than two in the morning, and my first business
was to wade out thigh-deep into the purple heather. From such a
position it is not difficult to locate the crowing of the moorbirds as
they answer each other across the heather. When this was done I would
gain a rough stone wall, and then, by imitating the gurgling call-notes
of cock or hen I could bring up every grouse within hearing. Sometimes a
dozen would be about me at one time. Then the birds were picked off as
they flew over the knolls and braes, or as they boldly stood on any
eminence near. If this method is deadly in early August, it is
infinitely more so during pairing time. Then, if time and leisure be
allowed, and the poacher is a good "caller," almost every bird on a moor
may be bagged.
The greatest number of grouse, and consequently the best poaching, is to
be had on moors on which the heather is regularly burned. Grouse love
the shoots of ling which spring up after burning, and the birds which
feed upon this invariably have the brightest plumage. On a well-burnt
moor the best poaching method is by using a silk net. By watching for
traces during the day it is not difficult to detect where the birds
roost, and once this is discovered the rest is easy. The net is trailed
along the ground by two men, and dropped instantly on the whirr of
wings. The springing of the birds is the only guide in the darkness,
though the method skilfully carried out is most destructive, and
sometimes a whole covey is bagged at one sweep. Silk nets have three
good qualities for night work, those made of any other material being
cumbersome and nearly useless. They are light, strong, and are easily
carried. It is well to have about eighteen inches of glazed material
along the bottom of the net, or it is apt to catch in dragging. Where
poaching is practised, keepers often place in the likeliest places a
number of strong stakes armed with protruding nails. These, however, may
be removed and replanted after the night's work; or, just at dusk a
bunch of white feathers may be tied to point the position of each.
[Illustration]
The planting of grain patches along the moor-side has been mentioned,
and on these in late autumn great numbers of birds are bagged. Grouse
are exceedingly fond of oats, and in the early morning the stooks are
sometimes almost black with them. A pot shot here from behind a wall or
fence is generally a profitable one, as the heavy charge of shot is sent
straight at the "brown." Black-game are as keen as red grouse on oats,
and a few sheaves thrown about always attracts them. Although the
blackcock is a noble bird in appearance, he is dull and heavy, and is
easily bagged. Early in the season the birds lie until almost trod upon,
and of all game are the easiest to net. They roost on the ground, and
usually seek out some sheltered brae-side on which to sleep. If closely
watched at evening, it is not difficult to clap a silk net over them
upon the first favourable night, when both mother and grown young are
bagged together. That there are gentlemen poachers as well as casuals
and amateurs, the following incident relating to black-game shows: "On a
dull misty day they are easily got at: they will sit on the thorn bushes
and alders, and let the shooter pick them off one by one. I remember
once, on such a day, taking a noble sportsman who was very keen to shoot
a blackcock, up to some black game sitting on a thorn hedge. When he got
within about twenty-five yards he fired his first barrel (after taking a
very deliberate aim) at an old grey hen. She took no notice, only
shaking her feathers a little, and hopping a short distance further on.
The same result with the second barrel. He loaded again and fired. This
time the old hen turned round, and looked to see where the noise and
unpleasant tickling sensation came from, and grew uneasy; the next
attempt made her fly on to where her companions were sitting, and our
friend then gave up his weapon to me in despair. Black game grow very
stupid also when on stubbles; they will let a man fire at them, and if
they do not see him, will fly round the field and settle again, or pitch
on a wall quite near to him. Grouse will do the same thing. There is not
much 'sport' in such shooting as this, but when out alone, and wanting
to make a bag, it is a sure and quick way to do so. It may be called
'poaching'--all I can say is, there would be many more gentlemen
poachers if they could obtain such chances, and could not get game in
any other way."
Both grouse and black game may frequently be brought within range by
placing a dead or stuffed bird on a rock or a stone wall. A small forked
stick is made to support the head and neck of the decoy "dummy," which,
if there are birds in the vicinity, soon attracts them. As a rule the
lure is not long successful, but sufficiently so as to enable the
poacher to make a big bag. Upon one occasion I made a remarkable
addition to our fur and feather. In the darkness a movement was heard
among the dense branches of a Scotch fir, when, looking up, a large bird
which seemed as big as a turkey commenced to flutter off. It was stopped
before it had flown many yards, and proved to be a handsome cock
Capercailzie in splendid plumage. Had I been certain as to what it was I
certainly should not have fired.
Grouse stalking is fascinating sport, and by this method I usually made
my greatest achievements. The stalking was mainly done from behind an
old moorland horse, with which I had struck up an acquaintance; and it
learned to stand fire like a war veteran. I used to think it enjoyed the
sport, and I believe it did. With the aid of my shaggy friend I have
successfully stalked hundreds of grouse, as its presence seemed to allay
both fear and suspicion. Firing over its back, its neck, or beneath its
belly--all were taken alike, patiently and sedately. An occasional
handful of oats, or half a loaf, cemented the friendship of the old
horse--my best and most constant poaching companion for years.
[Illustration]