It’s an exciting time for duck shooters, with months of the new season stretching before us. After half a year of waiting, the keen hunger for action, which is half the joy of the sport, will soon be satisfied.

For many, thoughts will turn to stubble fields with mallard sailing in to feed, or to a pair sizzling in the roasting pan. To my mind a properly roasted mallard beats all the fowl and game on the table. Before considering cooking preferences though, we first have to procure the ingredient.

Mallard

Everyone who shoots will be familiar with this variety and a good percentage of ‘first ducks’ will have been a mallard. Mine was. I can still picture the scene clearly even though 56 years have passed.

To be pedantic, only the male is the mallard. The female was always known as the wild duck. Most coming to the bag in September will, at first glance, all look like females because drakes are still in the eclipse plumage. Once in the hand, sexing is easy. The bill of the male this early in the season is pale green, which turns yellow when the winter plumage grows. That of the duck is a brownish yellow with brown blotches.

Another sure way is to check the speculum. The blue feathers are bordered with white – the white line in the case of the drake ends at the edge of the blue, whereas that on the duck extends beyond the blue. That useful tip was passed on to me by Tony Cook when he was decoy man at Borough Fen. It had probably been handed down through the generations.

On the wing? Well, the harsh quack of the duck will identify her before she comes into view, whilst her mate is so quiet you might not hear him except over the feeding grounds. Then the waiting gunner is alerted by that wonderful stuttering kekkekekek! Whilst most duck are paired within their teams and companies, it is mallard you are most likely to see flying as a single pair. The duck usually leads.

Teal

Nationally, inland as well as on the coast, this is likely to be the next type of duck you will come across. Fast, infuriating, beautiful and delicious are all suitable adjectives. They are just as likely to be found on minute wooded ponds as on the saltmarsh. Washlands, tidal rivers and little brooks will all be frequented by teal. They love seeds, so freshly flooded grassland is a definite draw.

Wildfowlers need to be perfectly poised to react to the green flash of the speedy and handsome teal.

Most wildfowlers will have experienced that most disconcerting manoeuvre when a spring of teal are approaching nicely, but as the gun swings up they corkscrew and burst out in all directions. It takes a cool head to remain focused on one bird. Pick a teal and stick with it? Yeah, right!

Although they often fly low, teal are by no means always easy to hit. I was once up on a tidal river bank when the tide was so low that I was shooting down at teal as they sped along just above the surface. It was a strange experience and there were several misses before I began to score.

At the other extreme, I have shot over a small pond no more than 20 yards in diameter where the duck always came from the east over tall trees. The few mallard came early and could be taken as they topped the trees, but the teal arrived at deep dusk to drop vertically down to the pond. I found them almost impossible, yet quite fascinating.

The time when teal seem to lose their wariness is when they are distracted by a swimming dog. Whether the dog’s head ploughing the surface appears to them as a duck on the move I’m not sure, but it seems to be something of that nature. More than once I have had a teal down in the river and as the dog has gone out to retrieve, more have turned up and swooped down as though to decoys.

Quite often a flushed teal will fly away only to turn and come back over you – higher yes, but often within range.

With a green-striped chestnut head and finely pencilled markings, the drake is a handsome fellow. His piping call and the high quack of his mate and, most of all, rocketing escape flight ensure teal hold fond memories for the wildfowler.

Wigeon

Of all the duck family the wigeon might be the wildfowler’s duck. The very mention of its name invokes the romance of moonlit saltings or splashes of floodwater on inland grazing marshes. The drake’s high-pitched wheeo will be familiar to all wildfowlers, as will the nasal snaaarrrr of the ducks, usually when accompanied by others of their kind.

My first experience of shooting under the magic of moonlight on Boxing Day night, 1959, coincided with a perfect sky. The spectacle of arc after arc of flickering black shapes passing over the face of the moon captivated an awestruck youth. No matter that they were high and out of range, from that day forth I was hooked. For me, for sheer excitement, nothing – geese included – can touch the enchantment of wigeon under the moon.

In the right circumstances, wigeon respond well to a call. A natural whistle is best, but in the cold, as it usually is when fowling, I for one cannot produce a loud enough note. I make my call from the brass heads of a brace of eight–bore cartridges. Primers and cardboard cases are burned out and one head pushed into the other and ‘dished’ with a ball peen hammer: 12s work but are shrill. The eight has just the right sound.

“For sheer excitement, nothing – geese included – can touch the enchantment of wigeon under the moon.”

Both sexes sport a snow-white belly and, of course, the drake has prominent white shoulders, although with immature birds neither the shoulder patches nor the beige band down the front of the head are so developed. Anyone who has left shot wigeon lying belly up might have noticed the next passing wigeon will decoy right in, possibly thinking the white is the shoulder of a fellow. That is obviously the thinking behind the use of oversized decoys. Using elastic bands, I have fixed the wings of drake wigeon to my mallard decoys, making them much more visible in the dark.

Most duck will fly with their mate whilst in large companies, but I’ve only ever known wigeon to follow down their stricken comrade. The first time I witnessed this I was walking beside frozen floods when a bunch of wigeon swept out of the fog. My quick shot folded one up, but two fell – the second, nose-diving as though hard hit. As the dead bird thudded onto the ice, the other somehow pulled out of his dive and flew away. Even then, I still thought the bird was hit and had recovered. It wasn’t until it happened again that I realised the truth.

Another wigeon discovery was made by way of curiosity borne of frustration. Time and again I had seen packs of wigeon feeding along the edge of the mud of our tidal river where they were out of bounds. However, I had confidently expected them to flight out over the Washlands at deep dusk. Knowing the habits of the species, I hung on long after dark, but to no avail. Not even a whistle heralded their departure. It was not until after the season had ended one year that I got permission to observe the forbidden area. At dusk the whole lot drifted off on the ebb tide in a raft, no doubt to take flight a couple of miles downstream.

Pintail

This has to be our most graceful duck. They are masters of the air and long of neck and wing, with a four-inch black tail on the drake. The immature drakes can be identified by their shorter tails and sometimes slighter build, but their prripp prrip call is the same. They are fine-looking birds and always treasured in the bag. I have found them less wary than other duck and probably easier to decoy.

With its good looks and graceful flight, the pintail is one of our most aesthetically pleasing ducks.

I experimented once when I found a party of pintail on floodwater out of range of the bank, behind which I was hidden. I had a yellow dog at the time and sent him out to trot along the water’s edge. To my amazement the pintail spotted him and with aggressive chuntering swam towards this cheeky ‘fox’ to give him a piece of their minds. When they had moved in as near as possible I was able to bring one down with a long shot and a heavy charge. Pintail love flooded or rotten potatoes and, although they often consort with wigeon, they will leave them for the grass if ‘tatties are on offer.

The divers

Of the divers, tufted duck and pochard are perhaps the most common. Tufted duck haunt rivers and fresh marshes, but it is usually icy before the pochard leaves the lakes and gravel pits that it loves. I did find a nest on a rough marsh one spring. The eggs are larger than the mallard’s. 

The rusty headed, stocky pochard is a cherished addition to any bag.

Tufted ducks generally fly in a straight line and can be relatively easy to shoot.

Both species tend to fly straight and can be relatively easy to shoot, but given height they provide a testing shot. The black and white tufted is often scorned as a table bird, but the broad breasted pochard with his red head is prized – yet they have similar diets. Is it all in the mind? Why not compare the taste yourself?

Phil Gray’s top five wildfowling spots in the UK

More Shooting Gazette features

This article first appeared in the September 2013 issue of Shooting Gazette

The lure of the Solway draws many keen wildfowlers to test their wits against the wildest of quarry. Sometimes the more fanatical set up home within sight of the slopes of Criffel, the extensive saltmarshes, sands and mud of the Nith Estuary.

One of my old wildfowling mentors, Jack, did exactly that. Wildfowling on the merses in the area had become an obsession with him, and he ensured his RAF service during the 1940s took him to Dumfries. After the war, he and other enlightened members of his generation, who shared a deep respect for wildfowl, strove to prevent the detrimental practice of roost shooting on the mudbanks.

On one occasion, I had gone to visit Jack after a morning flight, but no-one answered the door and, ominously, the kennel outside looked deserted. He was into his 80s and I left hoping that everything was all right. Later, I phoned another friend, Davy, to ask after Jack, and also to find out if he knew of any 10- or 8-bores for sale. By strange co-incidence ? or was it fate? ? Davy told me that he had just taken Jack?s Kestrel 10-bore to a gunshop in Annan. Unfortunately, the old man had not been well and his guns were up for sale.

Borrowed gun

I had borrowed that Kestrel side-by-side nearly 20 years ago to the very day. A couple of handfuls of cartridges I had hand-loaded for it back then were still in my possession. I recall earnestly studying loading tables from an old Shooting Times and in no time at all 2oz loads of lead No. 4 shot had been made up for duck and 2¼oz of No. 1 shot for the geese. My goose fever, which was bad enough already, had then reached unheard of heights as I imagined the great birds tumbling from the heavens as the giant gun thundered.

As Robert Burns once said, ?The best laid schemes o? mice and men?? The trouble was that word must have been out among the birds that I had a proper
fowling piece. For several weeks thereafter skein after skein of sky-high pinks went over the top of me on morning and evening flights. The only time the gun was actually fired was at a drake mallard on a morning flight near my old home. Davy and I had hidden behind whin bushes waiting to ambush some pinks I had spied coming low off the shore the previous morning. But the geese didn?t turn up.

Just before we left, Davy had shouted to warn me of a duck coming low from his side. A hurried single shot had been well behind it, because I wasn?t used to swinging such a weighty gun. On return to its owner, the gun had been offered to me for a reasonable price. Regrettably, with a young family to feed and clothe, I couldn?t afford it on my meagre salary. As luck would have it, the gun had remained with Jack over the years.

During our telephone conversation, Davy offered me his old Lincoln over-and-under 10-bore for the grand price of a pint of beer, as he had been given a new Remington SP-10 by one of his American wildfowling clients. While thanking him for his extremely kind proposal and laughing at his description of the Kestrel as being ?as wieldy as a piece of angle iron?, I told him of my intention to buy Jack?s gun for sentimental reasons.

The next day I was still saddened by the news about Jack, but smiled as I remembered tales of his fowling adventures. On arrival in Annan, I entered what can only be described as the Aladdin?s cave I had been searching for all my adult life. The shop was filled with goodies ranging from brand new 8- and 10-bore cases, to tungsten cartridges and loose Bismuth shot. At that time, lead shot was still allowed over most wetlands in Scotland, but new laws were coming into force for the following season.

As well as the 10-bore, I bought Jack?s 3in chambered AYA 12-bore and a big bag of loading materials. History seemed to be repeating itself, however, as mild weather meant that I didn?t fire a single shot in two trips out with the 10-bore.

A fortnight after buying the big gun I left the house at 4am to go down to the Solway. Heavy rain and hailstones drummed against the car and ricocheted off the Tarmac for most of the trip south. When I arrived at the shore it was dry but gusts of arctic wind blew from the northwest. It certainly wasn?t a lazy breeze; that would have passed around me. This one hadn?t deviated in the slightest. It blasted straight through me and chilled me to the very core.

Taken by surprise

Before the first trace of blue appeared in the sky, I reached the partial shelter of some gorse bushes. As I cradled the 10-bore and tried to settle in among the billowing, spiky branches, three teal tore out of the darkness from behind me and headed for the estuary. I was taken totally by surprise and then dithered too long about whether or not to take a shot at duck before the geese had moved.

Immediately afterwards I was glad I hadn?t fired as I heard the faint, melodic voices of pinks somewhere out in the gloom. I carefully scanned above the mudflats. As the clamour got louder, I realised they were moving from inland towards the sea. A skein of nine appeared just over the gorse bushes to my left, and struggled in the crosswind as they quartered slightly towards me. I chose one, fired and ? yes! ? it started to fall.

The chance of a right-and-left was then presented as the birds were still only a stone?s throw away and straining desperately to gain height. However, the shot goose was still striving to stay aloft. I quickly swung past it again and pulled the back trigger. Its head slumped and the wind carried it on, like an autumn leaf, to tumble down on to the ice-coated pebbles and iron-hard mud.

Euphoria is too mild a word to describe how I felt on getting a pink with my first firing of the gun after a two-decade gap. As the goose was retrieved into my hands and I reverently admired the subtle browns and greys of its plumage, I felt sure this boded well for future use of the magnum 10-bore.

Several more skeins of pinks were seen over the next couple of hours, but they were all well out over the mudbanks. When I started to shiver uncontrollably and an overcoat of powdery frost had covered the shot pinkfoot, I retreated back to the haven of the car to thaw out.

Tide flight

One of the highest tides of the season was due in the early afternoon, so I dragged the sack of duck decoys out from the mound of wildfowling paraphernalia in the back of the car. The weak winter sun had made little impression on the effects of the biting wind. All along the length of the merse, dabbling duck sought shelter from choppy grey waters as the tide rose and filled the firth. Shelduck, pintail, wigeon, mallard and teal were all spotted in the calmer, higher reaches of the saltings, where the energy of the waves was dissipated by yellow-ochre tussocks of grass.

I failed, miserably, with the first lot of teal that hurtled past, but knocked
a hen out of the second batch. While the springer swam for it, I had to wade out to make another retrieve myself ? the decoy bag had floated away. Violent bursts of wind were proving too much for the netting hide so, when rising water slopped about my legs, I sought cover among the furzes.

An overhead cock wigeon soon gave a chance to test the big gun out at around 50 yards and it passed with flying colours; the adult bird plummeted down and
landed with a thud just in front of the bushes. The exquisite diversity of buff, chestnut, pink, green, black and white in the feathers still elicited the same deep wonderment as it had done a quarter of a century before, when I first became hooked on wildfowling.

From then on it was only aerobatic teal that dashed over, determined to reach some favoured inland roost, and they paid no attention whatsoever to the decoys. Several of these comely little birds were missed, but a cock and another hen were added to the collection at the dog?s feet. The sleek pintail and portly mallard further along the flooded merse remained, astutely, out of range.

Graceful great-crested grebes and lively dabchicks swam and dived in some of the fl ooded gullies. Three other duck ? much further out behind a raft of scaup and seemingly immune to the waves ? might have been long-tailed duck, but it was difficult to be certain. Standing there with a myriad of flying, swimming and diving birds as far as the eye could see gave me a wonderful sense of contentment and belonging.

At that very moment, I wished that Jack had been there for the flights and I also wished that I was an artist, because mere words could never convey the true essence of that wintry adventure.

A keen wildfowler and clayshooter has had his shotgun licence restored after an appeal to Gloucester Crown Court. Dean James, from Alvington, near Chepstow, had his licence revoked by Gloucestershire police after allegations of disorder,
harassment or domestic conflict were made against him, many of which stemmed from his time as a pub and club owner in the barracks town of Chepstow.

Though he had been cleared of all criminal charges, police believed that he posed a potential danger to the public if allowed to keep his guns.

Recorder Ben Browne QC said his decision to uphold the appeal did not imply criticism of the police, who had not met Mr James or had access to as much information as the court.

It had suddenly become perceptively lighter as the pre-dawn darkness succumbed to the stealthy approach of that first hint of brightness in the east. It had been a bitterly cold wait and now, with the light, it felt even colder. There must have been a slight change in temperature because, almost instantly, the blued barrels of my gun became white and sugared with frost. I had experienced this before of course, but it served to remind me of other wintry days on Whittlesey Wash or the Norfolk and Lincolnshire coastal marshes.

As the frost penetrated my gloves I had cause to remember a morning when accepting a wet duck from my dog, I had forgotten to remove my glove first. When a woollen glove is wet it stays wet, and on a frosty morning the hand suffers as a result. On the morning in question the frost was severe, but I was young, stubborn and determined to stick it out. One finger in particular – perhaps there was a hole in the glove – became numb and to this day if the weather is very cold the tip of that digit turns white and the sense of feeling is temporarily lost.

After a few days of such weather, our tidal river soon buzzed with packs of diving duck. Tufted duck and pochard from frozen-over gravel pits were the obvious majority, but goosander, merganser, goldeneye and even the occasional smew would turn up. In those days our local wildfowler’s club had the shooting over two miles of the tidal River Nene. The pochard would rush along in great packs of 30 or 40, following the river and often only six feet above the surface. The hum of their short, rapidly beating wings was audible a long time before they came into view.

As it was their habit to fly in an extended line, the width of the river, it was sometimes possible to swing ahead and bring two or three tumbling down with one raking shot. Even in hard weather we don’t see them in numbers like those nowadays. Perhaps the ice on their home waters is being kept open for them. I once shot a tufted duck from a mixed bunch of divers, and a drake pochard flying 15 feet behind it was killed by the same shot, clearly showing the length of the shot string.

Winters of content

There were winters like 1963 and 1981 when the tidal river froze and great ice floes would sail up and down, a hazard for a retriever. One morning before light, a strange creaking, scraping and crashing began. This was abnormal and I couldn’t fathom the source of the racket. It turned out that on the flood tide the ice had packed right across the river at the bridge near the tidal limit and for a good quarter-mile back downstream. Now the ebb had started and it was pulling the ice with it. The great white mass came scouring down the river’s edge with an awesome roaring sound. It was a matter of waiting for the whole lot to pass by before any shooting could even be considered, and then a wary watch was kept for more ice. It was a spectacle never to be forgotten.

The writer could hardly believe his eyes when, on one occasion, a skein of Brent geese, a bird seldom seen on his patch, passed within 100 yards his hide.

Another memorable occasion was when 200 Brent geese flew in one morning. We are not above 18 miles from the coast as the goose flies, but I had seen only the odd Brent on our ground before. I heard their cronking call first and could hardly believe my eyes when the skein passed by within 100 yards of my hide. Good numbers of pinkfeet and a few whitefronts were regular winter visitors until perhaps the mid-1960s when numbers declined on the coast. When the geese eventually returned to the east coast, it was to Norfolk they went and not to our patch. We still get a skein now and again, but no longer in the thousands.

I got my very first goose in December 1958. It was foggy as I walked across to the tidal river at dawn. I was half way to my destination when seven or eight pinkfeet blundered out of the grey pall. They were very low, not much above head height and too close really. I managed to bring one down though and, having no dog in those days, ran in the direction of the fall. Fortunately the bird did not run and I was soon admiring my prize. I was so proud of my achievement that I cycled straight back home to show the family!

You are more likely to bag a greylag on Whittlesey Wash these days. Canadas appeared first, but greylags seem to have usurped their territory, just as they have in other locations. I am not unhappy about that as I would prefer to shoot greys. For a few seasons several Canadas were shot and a few still are.
One well-known local who goes by the name of Brimmer told me he once shot a Canada that fell into a dyke, just out of reach. Not having his dog with him, he grabbed some vegetation on the dyke brink and leant out to reach for his bird. Now Brimmer is a big man and a tuft of grass was never going to anchor him. At the extent of his reach it gave and our hero joined his goose in the drink. I wish I had been there to see it.

The soggy guest in the bright yellow baseball cap

Recalling that leads me nicely into another story about a friend who was a member of a syndicate with land on the Hundred-foot Washes at Sutton Gault. He was asked if he would take a stranger for an evening flight and being an obliging type he agreed. When his guest turned up it was obvious he was new to the game. He did have thin fishing waders, but the rest of his gear was not appropriate – especially his bright yellow baseball cap.

The floods were out and the pair waded along the droves to the favoured spot. Once there, my friend tried to give the novice some idea of what to expect, emphasising the importance of staying exactly where he was placed, mainly because of the hidden, deep dykes on either side of the drove.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off that bloody hat,” said my friend, deciding he had better move well away if he wanted a shot himself. He began to walk off, but then remembered some last-minute instruction. He turned to find, to his amazement, his guest had vanished into thin air. “I couldn’t believe it. ‘Wherezzeegone?’ I said. Then I saw this yellow cap floating on the water!” Next moment a floundering shape surfaced and struggled to the side of the dyke. Now, helpless with laughter, my friend helped his guest to his feet and decided he had better stay with him. There was no ice, but the wind was a bitter easterly and, needless to say, the yellow peril was never seen down there again.

Keeping warm amid East Anglia’s icy blast

When the floods are widespread and frozen, hundreds of duck will sit out on the ice all day, safe from their predators. One year, when the wind was strong, we had some good flights as they headed out at dawn for the sanctuary of the ice. Back then we had just graduated to waxed cotton coats. Previously, not being able to afford the necessary £10 for one of these luxury items, we had relied on ordinary tweed jackets under thin Parkas or camouflaged smocks from army surplus stores. The waxed coats were wonderfully waterproof, but they could be very cold and become stiff. After being out in a sharp frost for an hour or so, had you felt inclined to remove your waxed coat you could have easily stood it up on the ground.

With all the ice and snow, the aspect could be distinctly polar and one felt like Scott or Amundsen when setting out into that forbidding landscape. What an adventure for a young fowler! As crumbs of fine snow blew across the frozen ground in wriggling lines – like sand on a beach – it had an irritating habit of blowing into a broken gun, making it difficult to close again; snow can create additional hazards for the gunner. One local fellow, Joe Anthony, got snow in the muzzle of his pump-action and blew four inches off the end of the barrel. Luckily he was unharmed.

After a particularly cold vigil at dusk in such conditions I would run back the two miles to my bike at what used to be called ‘The Scout’s Pace’. The idea is to run as fast as you can for 100 yards, and then walk the 100 and so on. Anyway, it warmed me up better than any hip flask. It might be tempting to have a nip or two of spirits, but the warmth does not last. In fact, if you are out in the cold for long it can have the opposite effect. A flask of hot tea or coffee is to be preferred. Safer too, unless someone else is doing the driving of course.

When snow is thick on the ground the wigeon cannot graze, but after a high tide has washed the river brinks clear, some grass becomes available. Hundreds of wigeon pack to this feed and in the past good shooting could be guaranteed. Nowadays, long reaches of the tidal river are out of bounds so most of the fowl feed there.

The beautiful greylag goose is one of the author’s favourite birds.

Last season brought deep flooding for months and the sport was not the best. When snow came in January I decided to try a last fling by the tidal river. Wearing snow camouflage, I was able to kneel invisibly at the edge of the mud. Due to ice and fog, I was a few minutes later arriving than I would have liked, but the flight had only just begun. It wasn’t long after I had settled that a pack of about 40 pintail tore out of the fog and I dropped one beyond the far bank. Holly, my yellow lab bitch, swam over and bounded off to make the retrieve.

She was gone quite a while and during that time a big lot of teal whizzed by and, twice, teams of mallard sailed past on set wings, looking as large as geese in the murk. Naturally I couldn’t shoot as the birds would have fallen into the swiftly ebbing tide. Holly appeared on the top of the bank, seeming to check where I was, or perhaps her bearings, and soon vanished again. She must have been out of sight for five minutes in all, but when she did return she was carrying a fine pintail drake. My guess is the bird had fallen through the snow crust, but thank goodness Holly doesn’t give up.

The next opportunity was an easy hen wigeon that tried to pitch on the river and then a trio of mallard from which a drake fell to the snow. I had 11 shots during the flight with varying success, and finished with a high wigeon from a company of 100 that whistled overhead. The bag was the pintail, a teal, two wigeon and two mallard, which were welcome after an indifferent season.

I tried again a few days later, which brings us back to where we started. There was no fog and the birds were fewer. Nevertheless, as well as my reminiscing, I managed to put a couple of wigeon in the bag. As bird movement slackened, the cold began to make itself felt and Holly’s fur jangled with ice – it was time to seek somewhere warmer. At 72 years of age my blood is thinner now than it was when I was a youth with the frostbitten finger!

Top five best wildfowling spots in the UK

On the marsh with the Blackwater Wildfowlers Association

Fenland wildfowling on September 1

A guide to wildfowling in the UK

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Stephen Henderson produces exceptional wildlife carvings made from an assortment of wood, ranging from driftwood to, his favourite, an America carving wood known as Eastern White Pine, or Quebec Pine.

For someone with an obvious unique appreciation of wildlife, Stephen Henderson had the perfect childhood. Yes he went to school locally, but his most important education came from the countryside around him; the farms, fields, sea, salt creeks and marshland formed his syllabus, as did the seasons and the wildlife that came with them. It was almost Arthur Ransome’s country, where he lived out the author’s  real life Swallows and Amazons adventure. He looks back with clear pleasure: ”It was a good time. The days were full of boats, swimming, fishing and shooting. My parents were happy with this. There wasn’t any “health and safety” and they warned us to be careful, but falling in and out of boats was part of growing up on the coast. I was mad keen on duck shooting from the age of ten or 11. My father wasn’t a wildfowler, but he had friends who used to come down duck shooting in the winter and I would try to tag along and be their retriever.”

Stephen Henderson used poor tools for his early carving and whittling – anything he could beg or borrow. His work and outlook improved when a friend of his father’s was working on the early Star Wars film: ”He was a set designer using polystyrene. I got to work with him and he helped me develop my skills and sense of three dimensions. I have always found this quite straightforward – I can see shapes as I go rather than having to plot it all out.”

His further education, developing his woodworking skills, was far from straightforward or orthodox. His mother died when he was 15 and he had no interest in going to university. On leaving school he got a job on the ferries, leaving from nearby Harwich. He later worked in an array of jobs, including building, completing a boat-building course and then working on boats, making wooden signs in London and then making custom-made kitchens.

For a year Stephen Henderson worked and travelled in Australia, with Liz and their young baby Arthur, who now aged 30, lives in Australia. While in Australia, he earnt money building, and he started carving animals and rocking horses, which made him realise that he wanted to carve wildlife when he got back to England.

Once back at the family home in Essex his wish to create wildlife was interrupted by a period making furniture for a friend who started up a hotel that then became the Hotel du Vin chain.

He still carved in his spare time and got to know internationally renown bird sculptor Guy Taplin, who was generous with his advice, experience and encouragement. Seven years ago, as his work improved and demand increased, he concentrated entirely on his wood carving and he has never looked back. His workshop is full of his creations – groups of birds, individuals, adults with chicks, shoals of fish, sharks and whales, all creations of beauty, accuracy and imagination. There are favourite birds of mine: lapwings, golden plovers, curlew, greenshanks, whimbrel and many more. Stephen Henderson still works with his favoured Quebec pine: “It is light, gentle and mellow to use, not too resinous, sands well and takes a nice paint finish. Plus it has a nice grain with not too many knots – and I like using it”. He contributes to numerous exhibitions throughout the country and shows at the Shepherds Market Gallery in Mayfair every other year.

Tom Sykes reveals a simple but effective piece of kit that has become an essential part of his wildfowling arsenal – the goose flag

Like a lot of my current fowling gear, the goose flag is another toy that originates from across the Pond, where shooters have used them wildfowling with a lot of success for a number of years.

A goose flag is a simple piece of kit, hand operated and extremely easy to use. It consists of a piece of material (of a colour and pattern similar to the quarry) on a ‘T’ shaped frame which makes it look like a kite. As the set up is operated by hand, it can be used in still or calm conditions.

Goose flags are designed to imitate a goose either landing or stretching its wings. All it takes are a couple of flicks of the wrist at the right time and you’d be surprised how even distant skeins will react positively to it. The difficult part to flagging is knowing when and how much to use it. I have found that if the geese appear to be committed to the decoys and are heading straight for you, no matter how tempted you are, hold back on the movement. The flag works best for birds that either haven’t seen the pattern or seem to be interested, but just need that extra encouragement.

Be sure not to overdo it. The aim is to almost tease the geese with the flag. Give them a few waves and then keep the flag moving down towards the ground, replicating a landing bird. Similarly you can keep the goose flag a constant height just above the ground to replicate a bird already on the deck that is stretching its wings. If you’ve ever watched geese feeding then you’ll know it is natural for birds to occasionally stretch out and flap a couple of times before tucking their wings back in. The key with the goose flag is not to leave it in a position bolt upright for too long, otherwise the geese will soon realise that something isn’t quite right and will no doubt be wary.

Wildfowling: An evening in East London was an eye-opener for Ian Mason, who saw how Berwick Marshes has turned from wasteland to shooting wonderland

Wildfowling
There is something magical about an evening duck flight. Proof, if it were needed, that it’s not the size of the bag that matters, but the pleasure of being out. As daylight fades, barrels flaming against the gloaming never fail to add a touch of drama.

In late September, I joined Gary Wilson and Steven Wallis for the inaugural shoot of their latest flightpond at Berwick Marshes in Rainham, Greater London. Gary excavated this new two-acre scrape earlier this year. The water table is close to the surface, so it filled within a week. Since then, the margins have softened with vegetation, easing the pond back into the landscape.

At first glance it could be an ancient lake.

Tucked into dense reed beds by the water’s edge, we scanned the twilight for incoming fowl. Alas, it was a windless evening, so the sound of our gunshot would travel far, which was not a good omen. On the plus side, there was also a uniform high-altitude cover of pale, fluffy clouds. Lit by the sun’s final rays and stray electric light from local roads and housing estates, these formed a diffuse illuminated backcloth.

Even my feeble eyes could spot rocketing teal against this obliging sky.
Earlier that afternoon, we had walked around the pond, putting up hundreds of mallard. Gary was concerned that the water may have become an established day-roost and that fowl would not return to feed at night.

However, as it turned out, he need not have worried. Dusk began to fall and mallard started to appear in twos and threes, coming from every direction. Over the course of an hour, four Guns shooting two ponds managed a bag of 17, including mallard, two brace of teal and a brace of greylag geese.

This was an ample number, given the stillness of the evening and the fact that my hosts had a policy of restrained shooting.

Another bonus was meeting and spending an afternoon with Gary and Steven, who are two of the nicest blokes I have ever met. In 2011, they won a well-deserved Purdey Award for their conservation work at Berwick Marshes, which was a once derelict industrial site. Their achievement was all the more remarkable, given the site’s location – inside the M25, less than a mile from a London Underground tube station and crowded on three sides by the suburbs of Rainham, Upminster and Hornchurch.

It was a wonderful outing, and for me a memorable way to start the season!

The ponds are only shot eight times a season and never more than once in two weeks.

A DECADE OF WORK
Fifteen years ago, Gary and Steven acquired 20-acres of exhausted gravel pits and landfill from Tarmac. It is now an SSSI (Site of Special Scientific Interest), which they have successfully transformed from wasteland into managed fen, woodland, open meadow and ponds.

Three years later, a further 20 acres were added. Earth was imported and mixed with seed to establish grassland on barren landfill. This peaceful sanctuary now harbours a rich biodiversity of plants and wildlife, including wild pheasants, skylarks, kingfishers, barn owls, bar-tailed godwits, meadow pipits, rare orchids and a thriving population of adders.

The Purdey Award prize money was used to buy rare-breed Red Poll cattle, which graze the pond margins and help to control the spread of invasive scrub.

Conservation at Berwick has not been without its challenges. The ponds are a calm oasis in a somewhat rough area. Information boards about wildlife have been vandalised and the car park is visited by fly-tippers. Groups of illegal immigrants have been found camping in the dense scrub, living by poaching both fish and fowl (if only they knew they had pitched their tents dead-centre in the adder colony!). They were encouraged to move on.

Gary and Steven have taken all this in their stride and they just get on with what they do best.

MAKING FRIENDS
On the day of my visit, Gary had just finished cutting back hedges enclosing a path used by walkers, “Several ladies told us that they felt unsafe when they couldn’t see round the next corner, so we have given them a better field of view,” he said.

The pair make an effort to talk to locals about their conservation work and this seems to have paid dividends. Throughout the afternoon, there were cheery hellos from a score of dog walkers, as Steven and Gary did the rounds of their ponds.

They have also worked with various conservation organisations, including Natural England (NE). Initially, Gary was nervous about meeting the NE team, because all SSSIs need a licence from this organisation if they are to be shot, regardless of land ownership.

“At our first meeting I told NE that we had bought the site for shooting and that if we could not shoot, the site would be sold. Much to my surprise the NE team were very supportive and we have a brilliant working relationship with the local officer. We have a 10-year shooting agreement, plus a Higher Level Stewardship (HLS) agreement to help fund the work we are doing.”

There are five ponds, plus acres of river fen. The ponds have never been fed, but they still attract a wonderful selection of waterfowl, including geese, teal, wigeon, gadwall, pochard, tufted, shoveler, and mallard, as well as snipe and woodcock.

The ponds are only shot seven or eight times a year by Gary, Steven and a few friends – and last season they hardly got out. However, this year they are planning to do bigger and better.
IM

Tom Sykes explains how to rig duck decoys so that they can be used on motherlines or individual weights.

There are many ways to rig up decoys. Over the years, I have used a variety of cords and techniques on a range of decoys, until I found what I believe is the perfect combination.
You should start by choosing the best decoy for your price range. The UK decoy market is always improving, although we don’t have as wide a selection as the States, there are still a lot of products making it across the Pond.

I have been using Greenhead Gear (www.greenheadgear.com) decoys for the last five or so seasons and I really can’t complain about the quality. Even to this day, my original decoys still look great on the water, which takes some doing as they are out on average for two or three flights a week throughout the season. The Greenhead decoys are easy to use and rig up, with numerous holes to attach cord and a notch in the keel that firmly secures the decoy cord in place when the cord is wrapped up. The keels are weighted so that the decoy should sit correctly on the water and they do a great job of adding movement to the decoy spread with the slightest of currents. All the decoys are painted to the highest quality, which can make a difference when shooting daytime tides, though not a necessity in half-light conditions. They also have a variety of head positions, depending on the decoy, from resting to feeding and so on. This helps the decoys look natural and every little detail can help to turn the tables and make for a successful expedition out on the marsh.

Most UK suppliers stock a range of species, my current collection consists of a dozen teal, two drake pintail, half a dozen wigeon and five or so mallard. I especially like my teal decoys, which are a great way to bulk up a pattern as they take up very little room in a decoy bag. I rarely use all the decoys at once, but they do give me the option to mix and match. However, my new large flambeau decoy bag does allow me to carry all of them in comfort, which is useful when covering a lot of ground.

I have used a variety of cord over the years, but have stuck to tangle-free PVC cord for the past few seasons. I got mine, as with the rest of my kit, from Tidepool Wildfowling Products (www.tidepool.co.uk). This does what it says on the tin and prevents decoys from tangling together, allowing several to be carried at once by the string without spending hours at the other end untangling them.

A well-made decoy can be hard to tell apart from a real duck at a glance, and turn the tide for a wildfowler on the marsh.

Rigging
There are many different ways to rig decoys. The Greenheads have numerous holes in the keel to attach them. The conventional way is to tie cord to the keel and then wrap it around the decoy’s neck. This is fine, but prolonged use can wear on the paint. For many years, I simply tied tangle-free cord to the lowest hole on the front of the decoy, which allowed me to wrap it up around the keel and use the notch at the front to keep the cord secure while in my bag. You can also use crimps, but rather than tying the decoy to the keel, simply thread a crimp over the cord, thread the cord through the keel hole and back into the crimp. Then compress the crimp together with a pair of pliers until tight on the cord. This is less likely to come undone than a knot and makes a tidier job.

‘Texas rigging’ is a technique that the Americans have been using for many years, with slight variations. It is possible to buy the rigs pre-made from some UK suppliers. The theory is that the line and weight are free-running on the decoy. Thread tangle-free cord through the lowest front loop on the decoy, but pull plenty of excess through to play with. Slide a two-way crimp over the cord and run the cord back through the crimp, leaving a circle about the size of a golf ball and crimp it firmly in place. Unravel the line to the desired length and cut it, ready for the weight to be attached. Take that end and thread a crimp through it, slide on a weight, then thread the line back through the crimp and clamp it tight. This technique is handy as the loop at the opposite end to the weight can be clipped to a carabineer, allowing the decoy to slide down the line to the weighted end. Numerous decoys can then be clipped together for easy carrying. When deploying, simply separate the decoys off the carabineer, allow the decoy to slide back to the loop end and place the decoys on the water.

The ‘Sykes’ rig
The next technique is my very own – the ‘Sykes’ rig – which takes elements of the Texas rig, but makes it more versatile for UK ‘fowling, be it tidal creek or inland pond. The basic principle is the same as the Texas rig, however as most of my decoying takes place on tidal creeks and rivers I have no need for a weight to be permanently attached to the decoy cord as I rarely use separate weights systems. I have replaced the weights with heavy-duty long line fishing clips (right) so that my decoys can be easily attached directly to a motherline without the need for loops. When it comes to using this system with weights, simply thread a loop of para-cord through a fishing weight and attach the long line clip to it. The para-cord is the key to this technique, as unlike a snap swivel, which can be looped on to the weight and re-clasped, the long line clip has to bite down on some form of cord.

Despite your best efforts, it sometimes comes down to the duck gods whether it is a successful outing or not.

The buddy system
When deploying decoys with weights, try attaching decoys to each other. This way, you don’t have to carry a weight for every decoy, reducing the strain on your back. If using this technique with snap swivels, clip the swivel around another decoy that’s attached to a weight of motherline, so that it is free-running and will naturally sit on the water a cord’s length away from its partner. This can also be done with the long line clips, but with a greater control over how close the decoys sit from one another.
The loop closest to the decoy really comes in handy, as the decoys can be clipped together by this when carried to the water. If the full length of line is too much to handle, wrap the cord up around the keel and secure in the notch, then clip a few decoys together via the loop that is now fixed in place close to the decoy, although this will reduce the number of decoys attached together. A longer length can be pulled away from the decoy before it is wrapped and notched in place, allowing decoys to hang at different height to take up less room on the wall.

All the different rigging techniques will work, it’s just a matter of personal preference and finding the best setup for the individual’s needs. Despite your best efforts, it sometimes comes down to the duck gods whether it is a successful outing or not. So good luck and happy decoying!

Click below to view a short film of Tom rigging up a duck decoy:

Sink box hunting dates back to the 1800s and is so dangerous it's outlawed in the US. Jonathan Green throws caution to the wind in Canada.

Another blast of icy water from a churning five-foot whitecap wave sluices over the side of the steel coffin-like structure, cascading over my head before racing down my spine. The protesting metal creaks and moans. The horizon is filled with angry clouds as rain blasts at a 45-degree angle. But now, out of the eye of the barracking storm wings a lone black duck tossed and flipped by the howling wind. He scuds across the wave crests, wrestling his flight controls like a pilot screaming mayday, as my barrel describes lazy circles trying to get a bead. I’m so low in the water he can’t see me. I try to steady in the heaving swell but there’s a boom as another wave blasts the side of the steel and showers me in greenish water. I loose two woefully unsteady rounds and the duck jinks and breaks west, unscathed. Another bump as a wave hits us as I try to reload. I drop a shotgun shell into the sloshing water at my feet only to see that my watery coffin is filling fast.

This metal box can’t sink

For the second time in two days I’m submerged, eyes just six inches above the water line of Lake Saint Pierre in Quebec, part of the 370-mile long St. Lawrence Seaway, as vast oil tankers slide past throwing up wake as they head out to the Atlantic. I sit in a sink box – part motorless submarine, part duck blind – which is a device that allows a hunter to sit so low in the water as to be virtually undetectable from above. The sink box is a large oblong apron, 8ft by 12ft, which has at its centre a 42″ deep box with a metal bench, which is 48″ wide and 24″ deep. We are here with Marcel, a diminutive, capable man who finds humour in almost everything. His father, a local welder, constructed the device. Marcel has hunted out of his father’s sink boxes on this lake since he was 11, a demonstration of the trust his father had in his creations. On our first day Marcel told me in his thick-French Quebec accent when I questioned the safety of what we were doing: “Even if the box fills with water,” he chuckled, “it won’t sink.” Today though, we’re out in a mighty storm and I’m replaying Marcel’s words, hoping they are not bravado.

The author and his guide on their way to experience the adrenaline-fuelled delights of sink box hunting.

Marcel shares a surname with the lake that dominates his life and that of his ancestors. “I love the water,” he told me when we did a marsh hunt the previous night and he vaulted over the side of the boat and raced to retrieve the birds ahead of his dog. “For me hunting in a field is like hunting in a desert.”

Cheek by jowl next to me is my long-time hunting buddy, Scott Wisniewski, an obsessive waterfowler who has hunted everywhere from Alaska in minus-30 temperatures to white-outs three miles offshore on Lake Michigan, near his Wisconsin home. We’re freezing cold and seemingly in danger of heading to Davy Jones’ locker but Scott’s incandescent with enthusiasm. “Oh man,” he chatters, teeth clinking like ice cubes in a bourbon on the rocks, as the waves blast over us. “This is fantastic. My biggest waterfowling ambition right here!” Glumly, I notice we are several inches lower in the water than when we started.

History of the sink box

There’s a renegade history and appeal to sink box hunting. The first boxes were constructed by market hunters on the Atlantic flyways in the 1800s. The boxes offered deadly submersive camouflage for redhead and blackhead ducks. On November 1, 1893, the opening day of the season on the flats of the Susquehanna river near Havre de Grace, Maryland, 5,000 birds were killed by sink box hunters, according to Harry Walsh in The Outlaw Gunner. One sink box hunter shot 235 birds. But, as we were discovering, a wind above 15 knots can swamp a gunner with icy water. For those who hunted for a living it was hardy and punishing work. In North Carolina’s outer banks, scores of commercial sink boxes dotted the sounds to growing controversy. “It is nothing more than an anchored box or coffin with hinged flats to keep the water from invading it,” wrote Ferdinand C. Latrobe in the Maryland Conservationist. “It is a wholesale murdering sort of thing and has little ‘sport’ about it.”

Vast oil tankers slide past on the St. Lawrence Seaway, dwarfing the tiny metal hunting box.

As waterfowl populations were wiped out, sink boxes were first banned in New York in 1839. This spawned an underground industry where hunters wore masks and, it was rumoured, shot anyone who informed on them. Eventually Maryland banned their use in 1935. In fact the last two sink boxes on Ocracoke Island in North Carolina were used to bury two English seamen found drowned on the seashore. In the US the tradition of sink box hunting has been buried with them.

For what we’re doing now – in Maryland for example – we’d get hit with a $250 fine, followed by a $1,500 fine for the second offence and, third time or any more beyond that: $4,000 and a stint in jail.

North of the border in Canada, however, sink box hunting has been a legal tradition for at least two centuries. And Marcel hosts hunters who come from all over the world.

Sink box hunting is weirdly addictive

On my first day I shot a goldeneye at about 15 yards out, which had flown straight down the pipe before realising his error. But, in one of the most extraordinary moments I’ve had waterfowling, a blue bill came in and circled our sink box three times, dodging our barrage and raising a middle finger to us. “Out of range,” I mused, unconvincingly.

Hunters share the cosy space below the water line, unless the box fills with water, in which case it’s time to evacuate.

In the violent swell of our final day, I switched out of the sink box after my missed shot to let hunting partner Craig Wagner, Scott’s brother-in-law, take a turn. Marcel roared in on his boat as I clambered aboard. The storm increased in intensity, as Marcel, his waterproofs turned slick like a seal’s pelt in the driving rain, made a point.

“I think they should legalise sink box hunting again in the US,” he shouted over the wind. “With legal limits, what difference does it make?”

Suddenly, though, beyond the chop I make out Craig and Scott, standing in the sink box, waving their arms. Marcel accelerates towards them as I trip backwards and somersault head over heels into the decoy box. I land on my back. Mercifully, I didn’t have my loaded shotgun in my arms. I struggle out, fighting to regain balance on the boat as I hurriedly unload my shotgun, the boat hurled around like a cork in a washing machine. We reach the sink box, which is totally full of water and almost entirely obscured by waves, and the guys are standing in thigh-deep water. Scott clambers aboard followed by Craig. With all safely heading ashore we laugh as we motor away from the box which is, despite it all, still floating. We were the first hunters to test Marcel’s claims. We’re already booked to return next year.

For more information on sink box hunting email Marcel St. Pierre: sinkbox.hunt@gmail.com

For more information about the decoys in this article, visit doctarilonglines.com

Tom Sykes is lucky enough to live in the land of the pinkfoot. He gives some top tips on how to chase the wildest goose of all.

The dictionary states that a ‘Wild Goose Chase’ is a “foolish and hopeless search for or pursuit of something unattainable,” which can sum up a lot of goose flights. However, I have a few tricks up my sleeve to even the odds on what is one of the most magical shooting experiences in the UK.
I’m very fortunate up here in north west England that we get a mass migration of the most wild goose of all, the pinkfoot. They usually arrive towards the end of September from their summer breeding grounds in Greenland and Iceland and stay throughout the whole season, with birds moving on down south and fresh birds coming in.

Once a few birds are here, the chase can begin. Unlike a lot of my other fowling, I tend to travel very light when flighting pinkfeet on a marsh. My usual gear includes gun, cartridges, wading stick, goose call, binoculars and a trusty dog. I usually chase the geese on a morning flight, trying to intercept them from the mudflats out in the bay where they roost and the inland field where they feed during the day. The roost and the feeding ground will vary throughout the season, but the ideal situation is to find a position somewhere between the two. You can be in with a good chance as the birds will often take the most direct route.

Tidal power
Tides can help determine when the geese are going to venture off the roost in the morning; a small tide around flight time can help push the geese off. The tide can also force the geese to waddle across the mud closer to the gutters we shoot from. This can mean that they don’t have the distance to gain altitude before crossing the marsh, resulting in a higher chance of a shot. A lack of tide often results in the geese sitting undisturbed on the mud, especially when they have been feeding throughout the night under the moon.

On morning flights, when the moon has been up through the night, it often pays to keep an eye out back towards the inland fields as it can be surprising how many bunches can sneak back out quietly onto the marsh without giving away their presence. These birds can often give a good chance of a shot as they can be reducing altitude quickly to join the others out on the mud. This can happen when there isn’t a moon, but usually later on in the flight, often if they have been shot at inland.

As well as good tide, I like a good wind. Geese have a tendency to flight out of range on a calm day. A strong wind forces them to fly lower to the ground, which keeps the bird in range and hopefully allows for the greatest chance of a shot. The wind direction, relevant to the location, can alter their behaviour. A strong tail wind will reduce the height of the geese, but will also help accelerate them, making for some very challenging fast shooting. A head wind can reduce the speed dramatically, making them a slower target that will take only a little lead.

Some wildfowlers opt for old-school “big guns,” but the main thing is to always travel light when you’re after pinkfoot.

Getting in range
Range estimation is a crucial part of wildfowling in general, but a must when flighting geese. Most people will look at a 60-70 yard goose and believe that it’s no more 30-40 yards due to the size of the target and no landmarks to give perspective. I have seen shooters empty a gun into a high skein and rattle a bird many times, which isn’t what the sport is about. A lot of clubs will have a goose silhouette set up near the sea wall to show what a goose should look like at 40 yards.

Geese take a lot to bring down cleanly, the sheer amount of feathers, down, skin, meat and bone the pellets have to penetrate before they get to the vitals is unbelievable. A common mistake when shooting geese is when people use the body as a target. I was always taught to treat the head like a mini clay, thus striking the bird in the head and neck and giving a greater chance of a clean shot. When it comes to height, if in doubt, don’t shoot.

Gun choice also needs to be taken into consideration. I personally, like most modern fowlers, choose to use a 3½in chamber 12-bore. There are plenty of people out there that still favour the old “big guns” and I too am partial to a shot with our muzzle loaders. However, with the lead ban and the limited suitable non-toxic shot it can be a costly choice. The average semi-auto, or pump-action in my case, has plenty of stopping power when shooting geese at suitable ranges. I shoot Gamebore 3½in mammoths, which I can’t fault and at under £1 a shot they don’t break the bank either.

Call on me
Calls are an essential piece of kit when flighting geese. It’s amazing just how much they can work when geese are slipping wide of a position. However, they don’t always do the job and they can be the pet hate of other fowlers, listening to a man in a hole trying to call every goose that leaves the mud, so it pays to only use them when they will work to avoid being thrown in the drink by a grumpy fowler.

Large skeins of geese will normally not take the slightest notice of a single goose call, but smaller bunches just might. The best birds to concentrate on are the singles. These birds are usually lost from the bunch and are frantic to rejoin a group. Quite often they will be fooled to come over for a look and can often produce a shot.

Despite best efforts it still comes down to pot luck, I have been out when the conditions are all wrong and shot geese and I’ve been out in what I consider to be perfect conditions and not fired a shot. Either way, being out on the marsh, whether the geese are in shot or flying miles away in the distance, it’s still a fantastic way to spend the morning.

The conservationist and painter Sir Peter Scott was obsessed with wildfowling, a fact often airbrushed from accounts of his life by those embarassed by it, writes Tim Bonner

I am not a great one for conspiracy theories, but every now and then you come across an omission that is repeated so often and so consistently that it can only be a result of an attempt to deceive, whether conscious or unconscious. One such involves the life of Sir Peter Scott who, among other things, was author of two of the finest books on wildfowling ever written and an obsessive punt-gunner and pursuer of geese. He was, of course, also a renowned painter of wildfowl, drawing on his experiences hunting duck and geese, and went on to record an extraordinarily eclectic series of achievements, most notably as a founding father of the conservation movement both in the UK and worldwide.

HM The Queen feeds the geese at the Wildfowl Trust, watched by the trust’s founder, Sir Peter

In Morning Flight, his first book, he describes shooting his first wildfowl, a snipe, on the Ouse Washes while an undergraduate at Cambridge. He goes on in both this book and its follow-up, Wild Chorus, to describe his growing expertise in the pursuit of duck and geese, including some enormous bags of pinkfeet shot inland under the moon in Lincolnshire. After graduation, he lived, shot, painted and started a wildfowl collection at the lighthouse at Sutton Bridge until joining the Navy at the outbreak of World War II and seeing distinguished service.

Sir Peter in a self portrait that appeared in his first book, Morning Flight

At the end of the war, he moved the focus of his operations from Sutton Bridge to Slimbridge in Gloucestershire on the banks of the river Severn, where a flock of whitefront geese traditionally overwintered on land belonging to the Berkeley family. The marshes had long been preserved and lightly shot, which was why the geese came back year after year. Shooting continued at Slimbridge after Scott set up the Severn Wildfowl Trust (later to become the Wildfowl & Wetlands Trust — the WWT) and Scott himself took part. He continued to shoot at least into the 1950s, according to his biographer, Elspeth Huxley, including wildfowling trips to Ireland and Hungary, where he shot some large bags of geese.

References removed

The strange thing is that you can search the biographies of Scott on the websites of the conservation organisations he founded, such as the WWT  and the World Wildlife Fund (WWF), and even Wikipedia, and you will  find just a single reference to wildfowling and none on shooting. According to Wikipedia, as well as being a conservationist Sir Peter was a “painter, broadcaster, author (more than 30 books written and illustrated), global traveller, war hero and champion sportsman (in skating, dinghy racing and gliding)”, but not, apparently, a wildfowler. The WWF also lists his achievements as: “An Olympic yachtsman, a popular television presenter, a gliding champion, a painter of repute, a naturalist, a skipper in the America’s Cup, the son of a national hero, the holder of the Distinguished Service Cross for gallantry and the founding chairman of the WWF.”

Beatrice, a former canal boat, became the floating HQ of the Severn Wildfowl Trust. Sir Peter pictured, centre) was in command

Some have even tried to suggest an early Damascene moment in Scott’s life when he turned his back on wildfowling, as if his continued involvement was incompatible with his role as an architect of the conservation movement. One blogger has attempted to suggest that an incident from 1932 that Scott records in his autobiography, The Eye of the Wind, was a turning point. After shooting a bag of 23 greylags, he wrote: “Among them were two wounded ones, and as soon as we had picked them up, we hoped that they might not die.”

The reason he did not want the greylags to die, however, is very obvious to anyone who has read the autobiography, because at the time Scott was starting his collection of wildfowl at Sutton Bridge and these two geese were pinioned and added to it. To suggest that this incident, at least 20 years before Scott actually hung up his guns, marked even the beginning of the end of his wildfowling career is pure nonsense. In fact, some of his biggest bags of geese were still to come, including a trip to Hungary in 1936 that yielded a bag of more than 350 whitefronts to his own gun, including 103 in one morning.

Mixed messages

It  does have to be said that in the post- war years Scott himself was not entirely straightforward about his attitude to shooting. He was certainly still shooting big bags of geese in the late 1940s and early 1950s, including trips to the Wexford Slobs in Ireland. Almost simultaneously, however, he was writing to ex-employee and professional east coast fowler Kenzie Thorpe saying: “Like me, you’ve shot enough geese now.”

Shooting Gazette: A guide to wildfowling in the UK

• October 18, 2013

Wildfowling: Whether mallard, pintail or teal, those who want to shoot the different duck species are spoilt for choice.

Wildfowling: Morning flight

• January 31, 2013

Wildfowling: Morning flight: A morning’s flight on a desolate marsh is the highlight of Richard Brigham’s sporting year.

In The Eye of the Wind, published in 1961, he describes another incident, presumably on the Severn estuary, where he and a party of guns wounded a goose that landed on an unreachable sandbank where it took some time to die, and states “I no longer shoot”. When he actually put down his guns is another matter and there are persistent suggestions that he continued to shoot for some time after the “official record” suggests he stopped. There is no doubt, though, that Scott did reach a point where he personally did not feel the same urge to hunt duck and geese as he had. There is also no doubt that he felt it easier to deal with some of those he was working with on conservation projects while not actively engaged in wildfowling and shooting. What is absolutely certain, however, is that in the decade before the war, and for many years afterwards, he was not just a casual wildfowler, but a committed and obsessive shooter of duck and, particularly, geese, and he killed more fowl than most of us will ever come close to. His bags of pinkfeet, including the 88 shot under the moon in Lincolnshire, and described with such pride in Morning Flight, would be considered excessive now, when the pinkfoot population is vastly greater than it was in Scott’s day.

Sir Peter and Lady Scott at their home in Slimbridge, Gloucestershire

What is also unarguable is that his experience as a wildfowler directly influenced his work as a conservationist, certainly much more than his experience as a dinghy sailor, ice skater or glider pilot. In fact, it is quite clear that it was his discovery of wildfowling on the Ouse Washes and the Wash while an undergraduate at Cambridge that sparked his interest in wildlife and led directly to the foundation of the WWT, and subsequently the WWF. He was brought up a city boy in the shadow of his hero father, who perished in Antarctica without setting eyes on his son, and was very close to his artist mother, who mixed in London’s smartest circles. By his own admission, the closest he got to the natural world during his early life was being taken to feed the ducks and geese in St James’s Park. His time at Oundle School in Northamptonshire gave him a first real taste of the countryside, but it is impossible to read his early work without understanding that it was from wildfowling that his love of nature and its conservation sprung.

Sir Peter is remembered with a statue at the WWT at Slimbridge

In the foreword to my great-uncle Ian Pitman’s book on wildfowling And Clouds Flying, written in a prisoner-of-war camp, smuggled home and illustrated by Sir Peter, who was a friend of his, Ian muses that a time may come when he would choose to put down his gun and just watch the wildfowl he so loved. He did not live as long, or shoot as much, as his friend, and never actually reached that stage. The fact that Sir Peter did is no excuse to write out of his history the sport that he pursued obsessively and that laid the foundations for the extraordinary career that would come after.

DRAWING ON HIS EXPERIENCES

Sir Peter Scott wrote and illustrated more than 30 books — among them what are acknowledged as two of the finest books on wildfowling ever written. The first, Morning Flight, published by Country Life around 1935, included a proud description of shooting a bag of 88 pink-footed geese, while its follow- up, Wild Chorus, relates his increasing expertise in shooting duck and geese. He later became renowned as a painter of wild fowl.

Tom Sykes explains how to set up a wildfowling rig so duck decoys can be used on motherlines or individual weights

There are many different ways to set up wildfowling rigs for decoys. Over the years I have used a variety of cords and techniques on a range of decoys until I found what I believe is the perfect combination for the job.

There are many different ways to rig decoys. The Green Head Gear decoys have numerous holes in the keel to attach them. The conventional way is to tie cord to the keel and then wrap it around the decoy’s neck. This is fine, but prolonged use can wear on the paint. For many years I simply tied tangle-free cord to the lowest hole on the front of the decoy, which allowed me to wrap it up around the keel and use the notch at the front to keep the cord secure while in my bag.

You can also use crimps, but rather than tying the decoy to the keel, simply thread a crimp over the cord, thread the cord through the keel hole and back into the crimp, then compress the crimp together with a pair of pliers until tight on the cord. This is less likely to come undone than a knot and makes a tidier job.

Texas rigging
‘Texas rigging’ is a technique the Americans have been using for many years with slight variations. It is possible to buy the rigs pre-made from some UK suppliers. The basic theory is that the line and weight are free-running on the decoy. Thread tangle-free cord through the lowest front loop on the decoy, but pull plenty of excess through to play with, slide a two-way crimp over the cord and run the cord back through the crimp, leaving a circle roughly the size of a golf ball and crimp it firmly in place. Unravel the line to the desired length and cut it ready for the weight to be attached. Take that end and thread a crimp through it, slide on a weight, then thread the line back through the crimp and clamp it tight. This technique is handy as the loop at the opposite end to the weight can be clipped to a carabineer, allowing the decoy to slide down the line to the weighted end.

Numerous decoys can then be clipped together for easy carrying. When deploying, simply separate the decoys off the carabineer, allow the decoy to slide back to the loop end and place the decoys on the water.

The Sykes rig
The next technique is my very own – the ‘Sykes’ rig – which takes elements of the Texas rig, but makes it more versatile for UK ‘fowling, be it tidal creek or inland pond. The basic principle is the same as the Texas rig, however as most of my decoying takes place on tidal creeks and rivers I have no need for a weight to be permanently attached to the decoy cord as I rarely use separate weights systems. I have replaced the weights with heavy-duty long line fishing clips so that my decoys can be easily attached directly to a motherline without the need for loops.

When it comes to using this system with weights, simply thread a loop of para-cord through a fishing weight and attach the long line clip to it. The para-cord is the key to this technique, as unlike a snap swivel, which can be looped on to the weight and re-clasped, the long line clip has to bite down on some form of cord.

All the different rigging techniques will work, it’s just a matter of personal preference and finding the best setup for the individual’s needs. Despite your best efforts, it sometimes comes down to the duck gods whether it is a successful outing, good luck and happy decoying!

Ever wondered how duck decoys are made? Kate Gatacre enters the US workshop of Randy Clark a decoy artisan to find out

“My name is Randy Clark and I’ve been painting duck decoys for a little over 40 years.

“Ducks are kind of a neat animal, I think God spent a little extra time when he created the ducks. The carving trap is located just north of Cromp, which is not far from the shores of Saginaw Bay. Saginaw Bay traditionally has been surrounded by wetlands so we have probably over 40 different species of ducks that migrate through here and I think I’ve carved most of the species that go through here at one time or another and I’ve been teaching carving now for over 40 years.

“A little fancier decoy for myself”

“The guys that come out here and carve are more my friends than students. The neat thing about carving is that you can carve something different every day. I like to carve working decoys that I’m going to go out and hunt with. Sometimes I’ll do a decorative carving, just a hunting decoy, I can do that in two to three hours. What I usually end up doing is carving a little fancier decoy for myself. The duck doesn’t care, but I have to sit and look at that decoy for eight or ten hours while I’m hunting.

The carvings I have here I’ve probably spent anywhere from eight hours to maybe as much as 15 on a decoy. I guess my definition of art is creating an emotion and if this creates an emotion in you then I’ve created art. If it’s just a tool to go hunting with then I’m a decoy carver, so it depends on who it is asking and what you’re going to do with it. But I do enjoy being more than just a wood carver. Of course the stock answer when someone asks you what is your favorite carving is has always got to be the next one; to me the next one is the one I’m waiting for.”

Tom Sykes explains some of the techniques needed for duck calling

In this video I’m concentrating on duck calling. I believe calling can make a difference to the bag if the skill is mastered. It isn’t very often that I head out on to the foreshore, or even a pond, without my trusty call around my neck. Despite often looking like Mr T, the variety of calls I carry hold individual purpose for a variety of situations and species. We will go straight into the basics, and some advanced, skills needed when calling ducks before we look more in depth at goose calls in the next video.

Beginners
So if you haven’t done it before, where do you begin? The number one rule when it comes to calling is practice. Over the years I have annoyed many family and friends with my relentless pursuit of perfection. 
I recommend practicing alone, with one of the most common places people practice being in the car. The second rule is pick a good call; I would recommend beginners, or in fact advance callers, use the Haydels DR-85, which can be picked up from www.whistlingwings.co.uk for less than £25. This is a versatile low-budget double reed mallard call, which produces plenty of noise and realistic duck sounds.

Call placement
Practice may be one thing, but you need to know the techniques required to make the right sounds. Calls are like a musical instrument, varied air pressure, back pressure and how the call is held and placed on the lips can all change the sound. The first thing to master is how to hold the call and where to place it on the lips. Put the exhaust of the call in between the thumb and index finger. Gently grip it and cup the rest of the fingers round to help create back pressure. The cupped fingers will later act like the duck’s bill, opening and closing to create a natural sound. Lift the call up to the lips, placing the call on the bottom lip and push the top lip against the mouth piece as you would if drinking from a bottle. It’s important to get the position right as it can impair the air flow when you begin to blow.

Pressure
Now the call is held correctly it’s a case of blowing pressured air through the reed to get that realistic duck quack. Getting the air pressure right is one of the key components to calling. It is one of the most difficult parts to master and is often the stumbling block for most people trying to achieve the perfect duck sound. There are many different reference words that people use to help; duck commander Phil Robertons says “Ten” or “Tin”, depending on the accent, other common words are “Whick” or “Quit”. All the reference words do is give you an idea of what the tongue should do throughout the note.
A basic breakdown of this is to start» to build pressure with the tongue at the roof of the mouth, lower the tongue, allowing pressured air to escape from the diaphragm and lift the tongue back up to produce a crisp finish to the note. The combination of tongue movement, diaphragm and throat control produces the right pressure, it is often a case of trial and error for most people to get the combination right. Once you achieve it, keep practising – we all started off sounding like an asthmatic duck!

Varied tones of a quack
Once the basic quack sound is mastered, take the time to vary the tone by experimenting with different air pressures, add some throaty growls to help make a variety of duck sounds. This can help the call sound like more than one duck.

Feed chatter
The feed chatter is one of the easier calls to master. I use this on ducks that are approaching the decoys but still need a little encouragement. It can be a great call to do on flight ponds as it’s subtle but helps give approaching ducks confidence to commit to land. There are numerous variations of a feed chatter, but the basic technique is to keep the pressure and do a short “Tick Tick” call. I build these up to make a rolling call using the fingers at the exhaust to change the tone. I often add the odd “Ticka Ticka” in to mix up the call, as well as the a few single quacks to replicate ducks’ happy feeding.

Putting it all together
Putting all these sounds together and into practice is down to the shooter. All situations are different, there are no hard and fast rules to what works and what doesn’t. The final skill is an ongoing learning curve; read the ducks, the situation and applying the call correctly which can include not calling!

Goose calling can help bring your quarry in range, but replicating Pinkoot, Greylags and Canada geese in the UK can be difficult

Pinkfoot Goose

Pinkfoot calling is normally the easiest of the three main species to master. I use a Solway pinkfoot call, as I find it really easy to use and one the most realistic on the market. The main call of the pinks is the distinctive and easily recognised “wink wink”, this is achieved by blowing a double tap of two short bursts of pressured air through the call, remembering to still finish each note with the tongue at the roof of the mouth. I also extend the double tap to multiple ones to create a “wink wink wink”, this helps break the call up and prevents it from sounding to regimental. Back pressure isn’t as important with a pinkfoot call, the high pressured air from the diaphragm is enough to produce the sound and get the break in the call. The spare hand can be very affective at changing the pitch and help give the “wink wink” and “yank yank” sounds. It’s also important to master the grunts and feeding calls of geese. These are achieved by doing throaty growls while blowing lower pressured air through the reed, and almost wobbling the air through the call to get a varied grunt. It’s a case of mixing these together when calling pinks to make the most natural sounding call.

Greylags Goose

A greylag call is a bit more rough and ready, as they don’t usually have a crisp call like pinks. Back pressure is more important with these depending on the make of call. I used a Greylag Hammer for a number of years, but now primarily use the Solway greylag as it’s easier to blow and sounds more realistic. Calling greylags is a mixture of high-pitched calls with added grunts right the way through. There aren’t any set patterns as the birds have such a vast vocabulary. I find the easiest way is to have a blend of high pressure air going through the call almost like a “daaa da da da”, which breaks the sound to create the main call with the help of the D. This can be altered by changing the amount of pressure, but still getting the call to break and again moving the second hand to divert the airflow. The tongue is used to separate the notes and to keep the call flowing. The best way to get the right sound is to listen to the birds and try to replicate the erratic call.

Canada Goose (Short reed call)

Most people will agree that the third and final goose on the list is one of the most difficult calls to master. The foundation of a Canada call is a series of honks and clucks. The honk is a slow build-up of a grunt, with a cluck – a crisp break in the call at the end of the note. The best way to get a honk is to do a long steady “whoop” into the call as the P helps the airflow go from a grunt to a cluck. Clucks are the same but a shorter version, more of an “up” sound. Once the foundations are mastered, it is again a case of mixing the different calls together, changing the air pressure and hand movement to create a full sound of a pack of geese feeding. I use a Zink Power Clucker, these are great, however, they are a sensitive call, which takes practice and experience to feel when the note is going to break from a grunt to a cluck.

The best pictures of wildfowlers out with their dogs from sunrise to sunset

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The British Association for Shooting and Conservation (BASC ) and the Countryside Alliance stress that all shooters comply with the simple laws on using lead ammunition. Fail to do so and you not only bring the name of shooting into disrepute, but you could get a hefty fine and a criminal record.

 Simon Prince, chief constable of Dyfed-Powys Police, who is the national police lead for rural crime, said: “We believe that there are still some members of the public who, whether knowingly or through a lack of understanding of the law, are using lead ammunition to shoot wildfowl in England and Wales. The law is simple: it is illegal to use lead ammunition to shoot wildfowl. Anyone who does so, risks a fine of £1,000 and a criminal conviction.”

Allan Jarrett, chairman of the BASC, added: “Non-compliance lays us open to claims that current regulation is inadequate and enforcement can only be achieved by introducing yet more laws. It should be unacceptable to all of us who obey the law that others put our shooting in jeopardy by ignoring it. As we are prepared to crack down on the selfishness or stupidity of others, when it comes to safety, we should also ensure that others around us are complying with the law on lead ammunition.”

And Tim Bonner, chief executive of the Countryside Alliance, said: “We need to get to the final few who for whatever reason believe they don’t have to comply with the legislation that is in place. We support the zero tolerance shown by wildfowling clubs, and are confident that they are 100 percent compliant. We want to see that example reflected by the whole shooting community.”

We put forward a range of semi-automatics that we'd recommend for wildfowling.

Lincoln Premier Wildfowling Gun

As the name suggests, this fits the bill for a gun that’s dedicated to wildfowling – however it also has potential for other uses, including clay pigeon shooting. You can read our full recent review here, with a thorough write-up. £1200.

Hatsan Escort Magnum 

This is a versatile gun that’s not only good for wildfowling, but finds popularity with pigeon and vermin shooters and also proves handy when clayshooting. Full review here. £412

You might like to look at the other Hatsan Escort shotguns we have reviewed, including the Hatsan Escort semi-automatic and the Hatsan Escort Xtreme Max.

ATA Venza

Remington Versa Max

Changes to the new model made this gun more reliable, harder wearing and much easier for the user to handle, shoot and maintain. Although it comes with a steepish £1,800 price tag, it has the features, reliability and technology that allow it to compete with others in this bracket.

Franchi Affinity 

This is a fine entry-level semi-automatic shotgun and it comes with a generous seven year warranty. You can read the full review here. £640

Benelli SuperNova

As used by our expert wildfowler Tom Sykes,  our reviewer says that this gun is a cut above what we have come to expect in the past from pump-actions. You can read more of the review here to help you make your mind up.

Mossberg 500 Pump Action 

In the UK, the pump-action shotgun is still regarded as a bit strange but some roughshooters and wildfowlers have a more appreciative view of the pump gun, as they simply require a tool to do a job reliably in a harsh environment. We review the Mossberg 500 Pump Action here, but you might also like to read about the Mossberg 930 Waterfowl semi-auto shotgun and the Mossberg 535 pump-action shotgun. 

Beretta 130 

The Beretta 1301 was unveiled at the 2013 CLA Game Fair where it created a great deal of interest among gamekeepers and pest controllers thanks to its large capacity magazine which means it can only be held on a firearms certificate. £1,110.

Browning A5 

Browning are so confident in this gun’s reliability that they actually guarantee it for 100,000 rounds.
Read the full review here. £1,274.

Weatherby SA-08 

For the dedicated wildfowler, there is the Waterfowler version sporting all over camouflage. Read the full review here.

Webley & Scott .810

Who would have believed, in the first years of the 21st century, that Webley & Scott would be marketing a range of semi-automatic shotguns? £449. Read the full review here.

Bill Winster explains why it’s well worth learning to call to lure mallard and wigeon to the gun

The sun had just started to rise, splashing orange hues on to the solid iron framework of the railway viaduct shadowed in the distance. A jay looped its way over the estuary, seemingly mocking the world as it flew noisily towards the marsh gutter in which I was crouched. It was vermin, and an intrepid songbird, egg and fledgling thief in the spring, yet admirable in its own way with its powder-pink hues and electric-blue wing flashes.

I thumbed the safety catch forward in anticipation but little did I know that another “marsh hunter” was also watching the jay. On rigid wings and with the sound of rushing air, a young peregrine was descending out of its stoop to strike. The jay took evasive action and hit the maritime grass in an untidy heap, protesting loudly at its early-morning wake-up call. It was a missed strike, but what an incredible sight to behold at such close quarters.

The peregrine alighted casually on the limestone rock face behind me, seemingly unperturbed by its exertions. The jay cowered motionless for several minutes before apprehensively making for the estuary and wood whence it came. Its future destiny obviously lay elsewhere, at another time and in another place.

While I was marvelling at such a spectacular sight, a high-pitched “Wheeooo” — the call that resting cock wigeon make on the water — abruptly claimed my attention. An early-season cock wigeon was approaching from somewhere to my left, but where on earth was it? I rapidly picked out a singleton skimming the brown tidal scum line, its snow-white shoulder bars reflecting brilliantly against the sunrise. With my eyes fixed on the bird, my fingers were simultaneously scrabbling down the lanyard for the old faithful brass call. My long, single, contented “Whee-oos” welcomed the bird just as it crossed in front. It turned straight at me, craning its neck so it could see where the sound was coming from.

Of all the wildfowler’s quarry, the pintail is the wariest and the most elusive

Eager spaniel

I took a 25-yard “dolly” of a shot, at a hanging target. Bang! A complacent miss resulted. The wigeon jinked sideways but was instantly folded on to the exposed mudflats by the more reactive and instinctive second shot. My eager spaniel was already bounding out to make the retrieve. His marsh manners have never been perfect, but he always gets the job done. With the bird to hand, he then collected the two empty cartridge cases that the auto had flung out. Like his master, he enjoys the aroma of burnt powder. It’s a useful trait that he’s acquired for mopping up the empties after
an evening flight.

Mallard are lazy and tend to flight much later than the wigeon on our estuary, and today they followed the familiar pattern. With tell-tale chattering, a good bunch of 20 or so had lifted from their nightly dabblings on the stubble field flashes over the seawall. Most had flighted further along the brack edge 1,000 yards away, but a singleton had broken rank and followed the same path as the earlier wigeon.

Bill’s dog, Ruger, with the bag of two mallard, one pintail and a wigeon

A familiar voice behind you

You can often sense from its body language whether a bird is likely to respond to a duck call. I often wait until they have “gone past” before hailing them back. This was one of those opportunities.

Think about it. All your mates have gone one way and you are suddenly on your own. If you hear a familiar voice behind you, there’s every chance you will turn back. Can one balance human logic with wildfowl psyche? I’ve often wondered about such bizarre things when sitting in the solitude of a winter’s dawn.

I kicked out a pleading come-back note on the mallard call. The drake made his fateful turn and within minutes he was lying prone on a turf of puccinellia, with several dust-grey feathers turning over violently in the breeze, seemingly racing each other across the green marsh. He, too, had fallen to the second shot.

With the help of the caller and fieldcraft, the morning flight produced a special bag

Calling is a skill we should all learn and practise. Possessing this skill can so often make the difference between a blank flight and having a bird or two in the bottom of your canvas bag.

Almost before the echo of the shot had faded, another drake mallard was homing in on me from the opposite direction. This one knew exactly where he was going — the call had no effect, so I stopped hailing immediately and waited. He would cross from right to left at roughly 35 yards. Distances can be deceptive on the featureless inter-tidal zone, and ranges are learned with experience.

The first shot didn’t compensate for his sheer speed and he flared upwards and back on the wind. The quick second shot was on target, but he spiralled towards the swiftly ebbing tide with a wing down in a controlled parabolic descent.

The third shot delivered the coup de grâce and made sure the retrieve would be a simple one for the dog. I always try to make sure that a visibly wounded bird is dead, even if it means firing another “finishing” shot at it. A true wildfowler has the utmost respect for his quarry.

A diving bird can be awkward for a dog in a strong current, and a prolonged period of swimming in cold water can sap its strength over time. Two fine drake mallard and a cock wigeon now lay behind me — a bag to make any morning flight special. Time ticked slowly onwards, a whole hour in fact, during which time I’d been captivated by two pure-white little egrets hunting the tide pools for fish fry. How adept they were at their profession — another bonafide hunter with an abundance of patience, stealth and lightning reactions, so similar to theperegrine.

It was a flicker of movement and the simultaneous rush of a pair of bladed wings that snapped me back into fowling action, as a pintail hurtled past on the wind. It was a reflex that lifted the muzzle swiftly past its outstretched slender neck, my trigger finger squeezing instinctively to send the bird crashing, lifeless, into the outflowing tide in a plume of spray.

Of all a wildfowlers’ quarry, this species is the wariest and the most elusive. But this one had been brought to the bag by a fowler’s ieldcraft: do your reconnaissance, keep down in your gutter, keep your face covered and, above all, keep still.

Bill’s best tips for a wildfowling caller

• Never over-call and know when to stop.
• Hunt the tideline with your dog if a bird is wounded and lost over the water. A bird will nearly always try to make its way back on to land.
• It’s often worth waiting for the duck to fly over before hailing them back.
• Fire a finishing shot to make sure a wounded bird is dead.

Leading shooting representatives have urged DEFRA to introduce new checks allowing the police to trace inland shoots that are believed to be breaking lead ammunition laws