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By Gordon MacRobert |
Recently a rare invitation winged its way through the post, informing me of a friend’s forthcoming birthday party. Much to my dismay it looked like ice cream and jelly were going to be decidedly thin on the ground, however. For not only was my friend turning 60, and so well past his jelly phase, but he was also made mainly of metal instead of the usual flesh and bone.
For the birthday boy was none other than Land Rover itself and the programme on offer, while sadly devoid of musical chairs, did contain the sort of activities that appeal to children of a slightly more wrinkly variety – namely off-road driving, whisky tasting and the chance to test our marksmanship at a simulated game day (SGD).
As we drove from Edinburgh Airport in a convoy of spanking new Range Rovers – perhaps more reminiscent of a meeting of Mafia henchmen than a gathering of sporting scribblers – my co-pilot explained the theory behind these clay pigeon days.
I was informed that potash pigeons can now offer an exciting alternative to live targets and that SGDs can offer the perfect tonic for otherwise jaded slayers of clays. Not only does the variety of pigeons create more of a challenge for keen clay-shots, but it also makes them excellent off-season practice for dedicated sporting guns.
For, while spring sees many of us marvel at emerging flowers and sitting smiling like simpletons at gambolling lambs, serious game shooters can go into decline at the prospect of shelving their shotguns for another six months. Only their trusty hounds, now confined to their kennels, fully appreciate the gloom heralded by the end of the game shooting year.
Yet, thanks to SGDs, these summertime Scrooges now have less to grumble about, as the clays effectively extend the season. While, admittedly, the quarry in question is as bald as a coot and isn’t fit for the table, for sheer abundance and variety of flying it is undoubtedly second to none.
By the time we’d arrived at Kinettles, whose impressively solid Baronial walls concealed a remarkably warm and stylish contemporary hotel, I felt that I now had a grasp of the theory. Yet I suspected that, in practice, matters such as hitting the target might not be so straightforward. Thankfully, however, after a cockle-warming dram in the hotel’s well-stocked bar, we were led down the sloping lawns for a chance to get in some words of wisdom from Ian Hendy and the sharp-shooting gurus of Castle Gunmakers, Hendy’s mobile shooting school.
Over a dinner of seared scallops followed by succulent venison, the programme for the next day was outlined. We were to be unleashed in the Range Rovers onto some decidedly hairy hill roads, where we would plough our way along tracks consisting of sludge, mud, rocks and ravines – stretches of which were at the sort of gradient more normally associated with toboggans than 4x4s. En route a number of clay pigeon stands would be waiting, where we could pit our wits against a variety of featherless fliers – set to follow the flight paths of the likes of high pheasant, crows and snipe.
As dawn broke over the Angus glens, it soon became apparent that one further complication had to be overcome. But, thankfully, the substantial breakfast soon helped to provide the ballast required after the previous night’s whisky tasting courtesy of uisge beatha aficionado Ian Buxton. As the first shots of the morning rent the air above Dunkeld I was doubly thankful to have my ear plugs firmly affixed.
As the day progressed both the driving and shooting became increasingly challenging. Fortunately for the clay pigeons our shotguns weren’t equipped with the same sort of computerised gadgetry that made the driving a surprisingly relaxed experience, even when plunging over some decidedly treacherous terrain. And thanks to the wonders of modern technology by the time we stopped for lunch in the spectacular surrounds of Loch Ordie Lodge, we emerged from our cars neither particularly shaken nor stirred.
Compared to the plush innards of the Rovers, the Lodge – which is perched high up on the hillsides of the Atholl Estate – looked decidedly Spartan. But the roaring fires and hearty food soon dispelled any illusions of hardship.
As the day wore on, thanks to canny trappery and use of the area’s topographical oddities, more clays began to elude their pursuers – with the quicksilver ‘snipe’ getting off particularly lightly. Yet although by this stage it wasn’t just the cordite that was turning the air round the shooters blue, our motors were handling worsening conditions with considerably greater aplomb.
After the last stand of clays we all hopped aboard our respective machines and headed off down the track that was once the main link for the stagecoach from Perth to Inverness. In the wild country it was easy to imagine the rogues and rustlers who once populated this area and who doubtless made it a hazardous trip. I was pleased that suspension had moved on so dramatically since the days of horse and carriage – the journey must have been a callus-inducing experience for many a backside back then.
Yet, while I appreciated the day for the comfort and ease with which we covered the mountainous ground on four wheels, the considerable Luddite within me might have preferred to have stretched his legs at least some of the way. Nevertheless it was clear that, 60 years since its inception, Land Rover continues to serve British sportsmen in style.
As for my shooting…it might still need a little tinkering. If anyone can develop the necessary technology then please can they drop me a line.
Numbers of red kites in Scotland are rising slowly - have you ever seen one of these birds flying wild in Scotland?
