Urban Coutryman
Ramblings of a sportsman & naturalist
A thin line in the distant winter sky catches my eye, like an unsteady pen stroke, but one that instinctively sets my pulse racing a little quicker and forces me to look again. I watch intently as the line wavers, breaks, reforms and slowly edges forward following the meandering course of the river below.
Read moreUnder speckled starlight we busily got to work setting homemade silhouette decoys into the short, grazed marshland. I took instructions from my father to space them well apart and carefully angle each one head into the wind, tilted slightly back from the direction we expected the geese to approach. Every act was blind in the inky darkness and carried out by feel alone.
Read more“We call this dead man’s hole” Kerr shouts over my shoulder against the repeating thump of the quad bike engine. “Something’s happened here in the past, we’ve nae idea what, but the coos can sense it and often dig at the ground”.
Read moreThe southerly gale gained in bravado as it blew through the open lands in lee of the Sheeffry hills to the south east. It surged across Carrownisky Strand to hit the exposed Atlantic Ocean head on with all its unruly might.
Read moreUnrelenting northerly winds send temperatures plummeting, from highland to lowland, across mountains and meadows. And the grove of deciduous trees which offer tentative shelter for the farmstead stand stout, naked and skeletal. Their bones laid bare for all to see.
Read moreI hear them long before I see them, their sporadic calls scythe through the gusting southerly wind and send me spinning for cover against a solitary gorse bush. A redshank shrills in alarm at my sudden movement and wisps hurriedly away. “Stay still. Good lad.” I snap, pulling Kenzie close into my side, his body stiff with tension, eyes fixed in the direction of the unseen skein.
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