Harvest shooting

The first cut of the harvest signals the start of my rabbiting year. The fields and hedgerows are a good indicator of the local rabbit population, bearing the signs of their runs and huge mounds of droppings. But will the creatures be in the crops when I get there?
This year’s grain yields were up: the machines were bigger and more efficient, but the stores were still the same size as they were five years ago. Inclement weather wasn’t the only hold-up, as many farmers were regularly emptying stores to fit yet more grain in. The dense crops blocked out any greenery growing in between, so on most fields the rabbits were conspicuous by their absence. This meant that on many occasions the shooting was short but sweet.
Unfortunately, this gave me no time to get my eye in. I detest missing rabbits — though I know we all do it, it doesn’t make it any easier to accept. To counteract this, I visited my friend, Bruce Marks, an excellent shotgun coach, to improve my consistency. In my mind’s eye I have played out all of my shots a million times but this doesn’t stop the rabbit — only 32g of lead does. At Bruce’s place — Grange Farm in Wansford, Cambridgeshire — I spent hours smashing clays, learning a great deal about my gun, stance and action.
When I returned home I found out that the combines had moved to a particular rabbit-infested spot that was always problematic to ferret, lamp or trap.
One farm in particular sums up this fading sport perfectly. I know every warren in every hedgerow and I knew the summer had produced a bumper crop of fresh rabbits. I followed the combine’s first cut, a very windy and dusty place to be. Eye protection is a must, along with a dust mask and bottle of water. Once the cut was done and combine emptied, I followed around my favoured second cut. This was where the rabbits would make a break for it — or so I hoped.
Walking and carrying a gun and ammunition, alertly watching the crop and vehicles, keeps you fit. It may be as sporting as it gets, but you still have to be safe and mindful of the risks involved. I watched intently between the crop, combine and the anticipated safe arc of fire. The salty sweat blurred my already fading vision and I was convinced that every twitch of corn or chaff being blown out of the shredder or bird fluttering was a rabbit or even a fox. The question was would they make a break for cover within the efficient range of my trusty yet ageing Lincoln 12-bore and 32g of lead?

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