The London Lounge

Our area is blessed with an abundance of pheasant, partridge, woodcock, and grouse, and one of my favorite pastimes is walking the woods and fields in pursuit of upland game for the table. The varied terrain, time with friends, excitement of following a working dog, and the pleasure of a well-balanced firearm make each outing uniquely memorable.

While I’ve yet to go bespoke for my firearms, I do enjoy a varied group of guns, including a Parker 12 Ga for pheasant, and a nimble AYA #1 28 Ga for grouse and woodcock.

This past week, I received a new Dickinson Estate 20 Ga. It is a fine, Turkish side-by-side, with perfect balance, beautiful, oil-rubbed walnut stocks, and a real bone/charcoal hardened receiver. I must say, it tracks as well as it looks, and a fine cock pheasant was the result of an afternoon’s walk. He’s currently aging in the garden shed, and will be braised with gin and juniper berries in a few days time. Now to choose the wine! Apologies for no picture, I keep getting a "board attachment quota" message when trying to upload.

I wonder if my fellow LL members enjoy similar pursuits, and if so, what are your favorite game recipes, guns, and sporting kit.

Dear Trout, great post. My one gun is an LC Smith 10ga from the 1880s. It's a great workout field hunting with it because it weighs about 15 lbs. I go hunting with my customers in bi-swing shooting coats and caps I have made for them. It's like a Merchant Ivory film.
I am no great cook but ( this recipe came from an old Sports Afield Magazine from The early 70s ) I place my game in a crock pot with cider and onion and rutabaga and turnips and a pack of Lipton onion soup mix. Believe it or not.
Check out "Double Gun Brotherhood" on Facebook.
Great post.

Excellent posts - both.

Down the years, I have greatly enjoyed shooting in all its forms and have occasionally had the privilege of some particularly fine driven pheasant shooting. In retrospect however I think my most enjoyable outings have often been in inverse proportions to the size of the day's bag. A December day in North Yorkshire with thick snow on the ground yielded 3 (arguably 4) pheasants, a duck and assorted vermin - between 8 of us - but remains a jewel in my memory. The company was of the best - as was the dinner afterwards.

As with all things in the modern world, it is a sad fact that I no longer have anything like the free time I once had to devote to the pursuit. In the UK, where most sporting shooting results from carefully managed semi-wild populations of birds, much fun it is to be had in raising chicks and planning out the planting of cover crops as well as the logistics of a properly organised days shoot: beaters, dogs, pegs, lunch (obviously!) and the like. It is genuinely a full-time occupation for many of those involved.

I've also had a lifelong interest in the hardware. I was a keen target rifle shot at school and bought my first gun age 15. The laws governing gun ownership in the UK are amongst the most restrictive in the world and maintaining licensed ownership even of a humble shotgun takes both dedication and hard cash.

I'd always been intrigued by the craft element in the manufacture and fitting of sporting guns. A century ago, London and Birmingham had active trades producing some very fine guns. In reality, modern digital machine tools can produce articles at far finer tolerances than was ever possible by hand, and indeed the quality of steel particularly, is beyond all recognition. Decoration remains the reserve of the artist, nevertheless.

English handmade guns are therefore a thing of beauty albeit in a slightly antique context; but if I had limitless funds to splurge, I think I would go for something Italian from Mr Fabbri, possibly defaulting to a Holland & Holland Royal if sentimentality caught up with me before signing the cheque.

Regardless, very fine guns indeed are available at a tiny fraction of their prices and, as mentioned above, anything from AYA is likely to represent a very sound investment.

I'm intrigued to learn about Frank’s 10 gauge. Coming in at about double the weight of a standard 12 gauge, you not only risk developing shoulders like a gorilla, you'll probably be able to deck a goose at 80 m with suitably large shot. I have only once fired a muzzle loading 10 (using black powder) - it was like the finale of the Edinburgh Tattoo minus the bagpipes.

My preferences are heading in the other direction. I think my next gun will be a 20 bore at a price point that will not frighten me away from actually taking it out and using it.

Echoes of the contradictions of spending a fortune in Savile Row perhaps?

Malcomb, The LCSmith is a breach loader but i do use RTS shells. I took it as a deposit on an Etterick Tweed.
I love the double hammers and the weight. It aims and swings beautifully and the weight absorbs the kick. Field hunting is a great workout. And , yes, it throws lead a long ways. I shot my first brant last week and they don't hug the shoreline. I used to make my own decoys too. They're crude but they fools the ducks.

Stephen and Son Gunmakers is Located in the next village to me and, on the strength of knocking on the door and asking, I was treated to an in depth tour of his workshop.

Regards,
Snapper

I hunted all over the world a good deal of my life. Two trips to Africa, most of the US, Italy and France. Perrazi, Belgian Browning, Beretta, and Winchester shotguns. And I had a wickedly accurate rifle custom made in .280 Ackley Improved by Kenny Jarret.

When I tired of the rifle, I took up the bow. It was so much more of a challenge. I was never a very good stalker but managed to take quite a few deer and one elk.

I was walking one beautiful December day on my property in Italy and heard some gun blasts from hunters in the area. It was such a crisp, clear, sunny day: the kind that enlivens you and hones the senses. And in the distance, under one of my ancient olive trees I saw something. I approached slowly and saw what appeared to be a beautifully colored bird. And that it was, a woodcock was perched calmly under my favorite tree. And strangely, it didn’t move.

I walked slowly so as not to scare it away and marveled at its beauty. “What an opportunity to see the king of game birds like this”, I thought. When I reached the bird, I knelt down and still it didn’t stir. In the light of this splendid day, I was stunned by its magnificent brown dappled, streaked and patterned feathers, its elegant head and beak.

I knelt, reached down and gathered the bird in my hand. It was warm. And it was then that I felt the wound, the slight moisture in its underside. And either the bird or I or both of us eased a slight tremor. This gorgeous creation had come to die in the shade of my tree, wounded by stray shot from an awkward hunter.

I don’t really know how to describe or explain the emotions I felt. It was a kind of sudden empathy with this bird, a mixing of my own premonitions of mortality with the beauty and sadness of this animal’s proud and noble passing. I wept. Then I
buried the king of birds, my king of birds. And from that moment on I have never been able to squeeze a trigger or release an arrow at any living thing. I gave all my kit to my brother. And I closed off my estate to any hunting, a move that did not endear me to my friends the local hunters.

I am not an anti. Don’t get me wrong. Its just that I, myself, could never take a life, like the glorious life of that woodcock, ever again.

Cheers

alden wrote:
I am not an anti. Don’t get me wrong. Its just that I, myself, could never take a life, like the glorious life of that woodcock, ever again.

Cheers

As a kid I just loved guns rifles etc. and I have a fond memory of the first shot fired with my dad’s rifle in the country: nowadays it’s our duty to preserve the wildlife, which is cruel as well.

alden wrote:
I am not an anti. Don’t get me wrong. Its just that I, myself, could never take a life, like the glorious life of that woodcock, ever again.

It's something I've considered over and over again, and then I came to the conclusion that unless I was prepared to kill for the pot then I really had no right to eat meat.

I'm a rod rather than a gun, and most times I cast my hook in to the water I'm searching for dinner as well as sport. When I've caught my bag limit then I'm 'catch and return'. I tie my own flies and whilst most of the materials I use are byproducts of game shot for the table or the poultry farm there's some, like peacock and blue jay, that are clearly not from a food source. Does this make me a hypocrite? Probably.

I've enjoyed the imagery evoked by these posts very much.

But what I've appreciated even more is to see that there are still adults, in this world; measured, balanced adults who, like Mr Alden and the other posters, recognise that there must be a space, a broad space, between things we actively support and things we would proscribe for others.

When Alden writes, he's not an "anti", that fills me with respect. Far too many people nowadays act on the principle, that if they feel reasonably strongly about an issue, anyone who thinks/acts otherwise must be not just wrong but detestable and prosecuted.

FWIW, I still consider hunting (of edible, sustainable species) ethically justified but I recognise that killing a deer, say, or even a trout carries an emotional cost, for me personally.

...

Luca wrote:there must be a space, a broad space, between things we actively support and things we would proscribe for others

This is so beautifully said. And that space, in the political realm, is precisely the arena in which all compromise and practical action for the public good is possible, at least in democracies. The narrowing of that space has many causes, including socio-technological ones (Tom Nichols's The Death of Expertise includes a plausible catalog) and exploring them would take us too far afield from our shared interests here. But acting to preserve and enlarge that space would seem entirely consistent with the qualities ("gentlemanly" for lack of a better term) Michael has sought to cultivate here in the LL.

After my initial post I had a brief period of unease, as I wondered if my comments would trigger a rush of condemnation. I’ve had “friends” shun me once they learned of my passion for harvesting wild game (and firearms), so it is encouraging to see the thoughtful, and very welcome, variety of responses. I should have expected nothing less from the LL membership.

Discussing the classic “Meditations on Hunting” by Jose Ortega Y Gasset would be an enjoyable winter afternoon’s activity with this group! I’ll bring the Calvados.

As a young boy, I cried when I took my first duck, and to this day there is always a sadness when any game is brought to hand. All my hunting and fishing partners feel the same, and ethical fair chase is all we know. I doubt we would hunt with anyone who felt otherwise. It took me years of field dressing birds, deer, and elk to feel comfortable doing so. It is done with respect, with reverence to the game which we will later enjoy, and a reminder that the best meal doesn’t begin cleanly wrapped in plastic from the local market.

My father was not a hunter, he grew up in Chicago and was never exposed to the activity. On my own I found the books of O’Connor and Ruark. Hemingway’s stories spoke loudly to me. Seeing my passion, Dad spent hours learning about the outdoors, and we spent many quiet mornings together in the woods and on the water. Those early years formed my love of the outdoors.

This love covers all aspects of the sporting life. I have a strong appetite for game. My wife and I have enjoyed magnificent game dishes in Paris, yet my favorite meal is a fresh elk strap cooked over a campfire in a cast iron pan, rare, with salt and pepper, smoking hot in the crisp, mountain air. Delicious yes, but when accompanied by the tiredness of the hunt, good friends, beautiful scenery, the scent of the fire and our old canvas tent, the meal becomes an indelible memory.

I love the kit. Just this afternoon I’ll be sending a tracing of my foot to the Russell Moccasin Company for a custom pair of upland boots. I’ve found a well-oiled leather boot, paired with wool socks, to be more comfortable than the modern, waterproof models I’ve worn for the past two seasons.

Most of all, I love the way I feel when I return home after a day outside. Melcombe stated it beautifully, the harvest is secondary. I once spent an entire day fly fishing Rock Creek in Montana without bringing a single trout to the net. My arm was practically falling off from casting, but the effort of the stalk, the challenge of attempting to entice a rising cutthroat to take my presentation left me extremely happy.

And last fall I sat for 8 hours in a tree stand, bow in hand, waiting to harvest a whitetail deer. None came within 30 yards, my limit for a comfortable shot, so I sat. I saw deer, hawks flew overhead, a grouse landed on the branch next to me, squirrels went about their business. I watched the clouds and the sun and the movement of the trees in the wind. And when the sun dipped too low, I climbed down and went home without a deer, but with a clearer mind than when I went up that morning. 8 hours alone, silent, motionless with my thoughts. That is virtually impossible to do in today's world, and that is why I love the sporting life!