The dog, which had been foraging relentlessly through the scrubby oak and bracken of a west coast gully, suddenly froze to the spot, its nose directed determinedly forward. Adopting the trademark stance of its breed, the pointer had clearly caught the scent of a woodcock, but the shooters’ reflexes would have to be as sharp as the dog’s.

For, as it zigzags at low levels across broken terrain, the tawny wader can leave even the slickest of gunslingers hopelessly befuddled and out-classed. As the first of the day melted into the woodland, it was clear that we were in for a testing day’s sport. It was my first experience of shooting over pointers and marked the beginning of a day that – to me – was considerably more exciting than anything driven pheasants or partridge could produce. This excitement was compounded by the fact it was occurring amidst the dramatic surrounds of Ardtornish, an estate in Morvern which faces the east coast of Mull.

Simon Boult, the estate’s head keeper and our guide for the day, had arrived here in 2007 with his trusty group of pointers. And, thanks to the fine fall of woodcock each winter, the dogs are kept busy at least three weeks of each year. In theory, Simon explained, the birds spend the warmer months at higher altitudes and latitudes. With the onset of winter, however, they are drawn from the central Highlands and even Scandinavia, down to Scotland’s west coast. Here the Gulf Stream enables the waders to expect excellent foraging in all but the hardest of frosts. They often appear during November’s full moon, which acts as a beacon for their migration, and we had timed our arrival to coincide with this extraordinary lunar event.

Change of terrain

A slow but steady circuit took us to some of the likely corners of the estate – which ranged from dense birch woods, where all but the immediate was obscured and you had to have lightning reflexes, to swathes of dead bracken on open hill ground, where the glory of Movern was spread out below. Yet my favoured terrain was undoubtedly the ancient Atlantic oak woodlands, in which the boulders scattered on the floor of the forest were carpeted in moss.

Despite the dogs’ best endeavours, however the morning had yielded fewer ‘points’ than expected, and brought only one bird to the bag. The weather was largely to blame. For it seemed that the mild autumn had allowed the birds to remain longer in their warm-weather dwellings, and that the clouds obscuring the full moon had also discouraged the woodcock from travelling west. To make matters worse, Ardtornish was being buffeted by winds off the Atlantic, so those birds present would be holed up in the area’s least penetrable spots.

A woodcock.

Heading south west

Thankfully, however, Simon had a trick up the sleeve of his tweed jacket – for he knew the thick-knitted whins by the coastline provided just the sort of cover the woodcock require in the rain. And after a bite to eat we headed south west, past the ruins of Ardtornish Castle, where several likely patches of gorse awaited. Turning a corner we were greeted by an unusual sight. For the Witches – towering waterfalls which normally tumble sea-wards down a dramatic cliff-face – were instead being blown upwards and backwards, testifying to the strength of the breeze.

But, despite the adverse conditions, Simon’s trusty hounds were far from dejected and the afternoon turned out a good number of woodcock from the whins. Three of these were brought smartly to book, while multiple others slipped past unnoticed or unscathed. Later that evening, immersed in a vast clawfoot bath, I supped on a single malt inside the estate’s impressive Victorian house. With the warming effects of both the whisky and the peaty bath water working their magic, it was hard not to feel incredibly content. After all, despite pre-empting the arrival of the bulk of the woodcock, we had experienced the excitement of shooting over well-trained pointers, wandered through some outstanding scenery, spotted a sight that defied both gravity and logic, and hadn’t missed every bird that had attempted to jink its way out of sight.

That the mild winter might have prevented a more action-packed outing barely rankled, for at least we’d been pitting our wits against a quarry as wild as the land where it resides. After a tour of the fin de siècle grandeur of the labyrinthine house, it was with sadness that I boarded the Corran ferry the following morning and headed back to the 21st century realities of my decidedly less opulent urban domain. Simon had suspected the increasingly wintry weather forecast would be bringing a heavy fall of woodcock any day soon, and his suspicions were soon to be amply confirmed. His next guests had fired 261 cartridges and bagged 46 woodcock over the pointers and the course of five frosty days.

fieldfacts

To organise a week’s woodcock, snipe and duck shooting at ArdtornishTel: 01967 421 288 or visit www.ardtornish.co.uk