I've Just Fucking Shit Myself!

I decided to take the rifle for a stroll, this afters. Nothing much on my mind, really. Just a lovely day and I thought I'd go look some ground over, maybe meet up with Pat for a natter.

Now, this new gun's a bolt action with a five round clip in it. First such rifle I've handled in my life. I've always had single shot things. My habit, when on a patrol, being to sight a target and then slip a round in and get on with the job.

What I've taken to doing with this one, especially as I'm actually more likely to end up running into people than targets, is carry the magazine clip in my pocket. Two rounds in it. I carry a few more, loose, just because. I also carry the bolt at half cock and the safety on. About as disarmed as a real rifle can practically be, to my mind.

And that's how I'm contentedly strolling down the road there. Rifle slung on my shoulder. Nodding and smiling to the seemingly endless procession of traffic. One eye on the bog below. Lovely, sunny day and I'm at peace with the world. Great.

Then something caught my eye. It was just a dark spot in some grass down there. Only this grass was right beneath the hollow tree the feral cat lives in. Was it just a shadow. A trick of the light? Or was this something a bit more sinister? If so, I'd be off through the gate and would have to work my way down, well away from the road, and take a diagonal shot.

But, my eyes being what they are these days, I just couldn't be sure. No matter. I just popped the rifle off my shoulder and took a peek through the 'scope. I even made a point of holding the gun quite ridiculously, right hand halfway up the stock, so that anyone could see I wasn't actually preparing to fire at anything. Anyone, such as the occupant of the latest motor that I was vaguely aware of being about to pass me.

Quick glimpse and it was, in fact, just a shadow. And, as I dismounted the rifle from my shoulder, I caught a glimpse of white, behind me. White motor. And it was stopping. And a voice was saying, " What are you up to? ".

I've turned round and there's a fucking Garda patrol car! Of no concern to me, of course. I'm licensed to carry the rifle. I'd been pointing it onto my written permitioned land. Blimey; It wasn't even loaded and I genuinely hadn't had any intention of taking a shot. Obviously ~ that being illegal, of course. So I was smiling affably as I turned, gun held vertical, of course, to greet these two Gards.

" Hullo, chief. I was just taking a look at something. " (Me old mucker. Me old mate) I wasn't too fucking chuffed with his reply though. And the flat tone of his delivery made the old sphincture hesitate; " Ye not allowed to. " Oh .....

" Oh! Sorry! " I said, as cheerfully as I could ~ for fuck sake, let's keep this reasonable, guys! A slight misunderstanding. No possible harm done or even intended. " I know it's not allowed to fire from a road way. But I was just having a look with the 'scope! See? Clip's in my pocket (Have ye got a license?) ..... as is my license (Thrust!) see? ".

Where do I live? Down there. Is it a .22 Hornet? Yes. (Fuck me! This one's Good! He hasn't even seen the fucking license!) Just to Really 'make my day', el fucking razor blade there, Gard 'Tell a calibre at a glance' is just a bit too authorative for my liking. I'm getting " Superintendent ". As in; Head fucking honcho from the big town. Mr Life or Death Last Say on our licenses!

And now he's looking at My license. And, oh dear god! He's uttering the name of the local Gard who OK'd that very license! And I oh so which he hadn't pronounced that name with quite such a curling of the lip!

Anyway, I wasn't arrested for using a telescopic sight with intent. They went their way and I went mine. But it Really put the dampers on My lovely little afternoon stroll. I mean; Such things do, don't they?

So, I wandered into Pat's yard. Had a chat with him ~ Thanks a bunch, Pat, for saying that, had the damn thing been loaded, they'd have had me! Just what I needed to hear! Then, basicaly, I wandered back home again and sat down to look at the photo's I'd been taking, with the new camera I've bought, for Derelict Places.

So, here I am. Just trying to settle myself down and lose this nagging fear that's plagued me all afternoon since and the Dogs go off. I've glanced out the window and Here We Fucking Go! I've got the local Gard's moter coming straight down the track towards me!!! Would he be out here, so quick, 'Just' to read me the riot act? Far more likely my beloved new rifle And that fucking license will be leaving with him!

I've never really noticed his motor before. But Dean O's told me he drives a 'Jeep'. And here it comes now! I can see the fuck off big strip lights on top. Just like on the American squad car I saw on the pub TV yesterday. I'm fucked. And this time the spinchture's having none of it! It's the end of the world as I know it; And I feel sick!

I can't exactly say What I felt when I got out there. Because Pat's there! WTF's He doing here? And he's all smiles. And he's got who I recognise as the local Solicitor with him??? Now they're both burbling on about Local Elections. The Solicitor's breaking my fucking hand with a well practiced grip. And I'm dimly aware that ~ for some bloody reason I'm yet to fathom! They've come driving down my track with the fucking 'Boot' open!

The lights I'd seen were the Back lights of some bloody motor, only stuck up the air and thus showing above the roof. It contained only my friends. One of whom is standing for election in some local to do and, I imagine, Pat was riding shot gun to guide him round our hidden homes and present a better known face to us, the suspicious and surly. Surly and gun owning.

At least for now. Scared to fucking death how my next application may go now though! FFS!

What Have I Shot?

I got asked this, in e mail, the other day. Again, this seems to be a question of perennial interest to my fellow gun owners; What we shoot with them. Ok. To save anyone else asking; Here's the score.

To date, having had the new rifle about a month? I'm yet to fire it at a live target. (Shock, horror! Ditch has had this exquisite gun all that time and he hasn't killed anything with it yet???) No. I haven't. And, if ye think that's fucked up? How fucked up does that make You?

I have a Power Saw out there. Brand spanking new. Bought that a short while ago too. Never even taken it out of the box yet. I have no pressing need to cut wood just now. I have a drill, yet I don't run around making holes. I buy these Tools for when a Job presents itself.

See, I'm a Pest Controller. Not a " Hunter " or even a 'Sportsman'. My idea of fun doesn't particularly include tramping about with a loaded gun, looking for something to fire it at. I do like carrying my gun. But, that's because the very fact of having it with me has an extremely marked effect on my own conciousness.

With that gun on my shoulder, I'm a different animal. I move with stealth. I'm alert to the slightest movement around me. My whole being is tingling with an electrical sense of alertness.

Upshot is that I spot tons of stuff I must be missing when I'm just walking up the track, going about some mundane errand. I spot the little bird trying to creep away from its nest in the hedge bank. I tune in to the disquiet of a Blackbird two fields away. I stop to observe a distant speck; Thus getting a better fix on the territory of a neighbouring pair of Gray Crows.

Hour or two of simply being out there, with my rifle, is the best damn relaxant I know. I never fail to come back feeling totally at peace with the world and freed of all stress. I've also, often as not. learned something new about my local environment. Added another small piece to the jig saw.

That said, I fully intend to use it for what it's all about. Only my quarry are amongst the most crafty bastards out there. My intended victims now are Hooded Crows and Feral Cats. Each, in my experience, about as fucking vile and sneaky as they come. Figure in the fact that I need my crows on the ground, with a safe shot. And I'm also talking daylight cats? I've got my work cut out!

What about foxes? Well; What about foxes? Fuck foxes! I'm leaving any more foxes alone. I shot the only damn fox I ever saw around here with my other rifle. Just because someone mentioned they'd seen one. What was the point???

I ever get reports of a muscle bound fox taking down cattle round here? I'll take him out. Meanwhile, I haven't and hardly expect to. So why in hell should I go around, taking it out on foxes? There's nothing for them to harm around here and I have nothing to prove. Foxes are 'Off'. So are Jackdaws and Rooks, just for the record. Those poor things are so trusting, ye could knock them off with a catapult. So what?

And there ye just about have it. Ok? Ditch has a lovely new rifle. Ditch goes out with it. One of these days, Ditch'll blow some things lungs out with it. And then what? Ye expect me to plaster this place with fucking photo shots of a blown up corpse?

Just ask yeself; Since when have I ever been into displaying photo's of the creatures I've had to shoot? Ye want to see dead things, shot with big guns? Fine. Get yeself a gun and go out there and shoot something yeself. Only, please don't bother me with ye trophy photo's. I'm not interested.

'Nuff said?

My New Rifle

Man has to start somewhere, I guess? And, as most of anyone who comes at me has an interest in " Hunting " (Never could get used to that term for what you lot do. To me " Hunting " is something ye do on a horse, wearing a red coat, after a fox. Me, I Shoot. I Lamp. I used to Ferret. Never 'Hunted'. That's that out of the way .....) I figured I'd bring ye up to date about my rifle.

The old NEF Handy Rifle, .22 Hornet finally packed up on me completely. Fucking thing. It was a bitch, pig and a nightmare from word one, really. Weighed a ton. Trigger weighed a ton. I was sick and tired of the thing even before it went completely tits up.

It did that one evening when I was out with Dean O', my partner in various crimes. We were up in a gate way just opposite and down from Pat's farm yard and there was a flock of magpies about. Can't remember if Dean had been using his excellent, digital calling box. But, they were about and giving it large anyway. Game on then.

Craic is; I loaded up and lined up. I had one of these muvva's in my cross hairs and the shot was confirmed safe. The sinews in my right wrist knotted and bulged under the strain till, finally; Click!

FFS! I kept my cool and reached into my pocket for a fresh round. About three rounds refusing to fire later, I imagine one must've gone off. I don't remember where I was aiming though. I certainly remember I never got a maggie that evening. Then, having fired a live one and broken the gun open? Fuck all. Damn round was stuck fast!

Cutting a long story a tad shorter; " Throat Erosion ". That and the Pin Spring was fucked. All in all, time to move on.

I actually found and fell in love with a Browning A Bolt, .223 with all the trimmings. This thing was a Goddess of a gun! Diamond cut receiver, fluted barrel, black synthetic furniture, light weight and beautifully balanced. Gorgeous gun.

But, as I gave myself time to ponder and check out this calibre a bit more, I came to the simple conclusion that she was just too much gun for me. I simply don't need that sort of reach around here. I'd have to hold a summit meeting, phone a friend, the whole shebang before ever even touching that trigger.

So I looked at the other options. Rimmy anything? Fuck that. No Way was I stepping down to a rimmy. I decided a .17 Centrefire would be the Dogs bollocks. I found only one available. And that thing weighed a ton!

So on and so forth, till I actually worked out what would be my ideal; Another NEF Handy, break action, single shot .22 Hornet. These days they come in Black Synth. Look cool and weigh a site less. The trigger's also said to be lighter these days.

Months later, I finally had to face the fact that no power on this earth could get me a black NEF. They simply aren't available in Europe. FFS! I was getting truly pissed off. By this time I'd missed the entire winter season of 2008/9. Things were getting desperate.

That's when Dave, my Gun Dealer, suggested a CZ 527 'Lux'. A Bolt Action, five round clipped, wood furnished rifle. Just about everything I Didn't want! Then I took her out of the factory sent box ....!




There she is. My Queen. Dressed to kill! I fuckin' Love this gun!