Warter Priory Estate...looking down on a shoot at Well Dale, East Yorkshire.

 18th September 2020.

 

After a busy morning at home

 ( when I saw 

In the water vole stream

An egret, 

Snow white with serpentine neck, 

With a formidable bill, 

With the flight of an angel, 

Vanish like a dream )  

I set off to explore a new Dale south of Warter, called Deep Dale.  I soon found it, and it was as described, very pretty with stepped terraces evident, suggesting the area has been farmed in the past. The Dale however was full of sheep and though George is well behaved I thought it will wait for another day. So, I popped over to the Cobdale Cottage walk, which passes Well Dale. Just before arriving a small farm wagon passed me heading back for Warter. I recognized it as a people carrier for a shoot. As it passed I glanced in the open back and saw that it was empty. As I pulled up on the grass verge at Cobdale cottage, I saw a group of people walking away down the path, they were beaters. I remembered when my younger  brothers did beating and we joked about losing their bobbles from their caps. I set up my pochade box looking down to the valley bottom and could see lots of people with their shotguns, they stood along the track, equally spaced out, about 25 yards apart. I noticed one of them was in a chair, others stood in pairs waiting, looking, rifles raised. I saw people half way down the hill on the left, they were carrying bright red flags, pointing to the ground and were spaced about a 75 yards apart. Their purpose became obvious when the birds flew over. They vigorously waved the flags to divert the birds over the guns, and the air became full of sounds. After several shoots the group moved on. However, people remained, with their dogs. It soon became apparent, their job was to collect the fallen birds from the hillside to the right. I felt this was respectfully done. The people formed a line from the top of the hill to the bottom, then they moved, dogs scurrying back and forth looking for the shot birds. It all seemed very well organized and I was pleased to say most birds avoided being shot, and at the same time everyone was happy with the occasion. As everyone below me disappeared I heard pleasing noises of safe, contented, chortling pheasants, they seemed to be saying 'what a ta do, all that noise'. Behind me in a raised field a combine came very close, the driver and I waved at each other. It was huge and required the attention of several, massive grain carriers.  I packed up and was walking away when I stopped to look back over the shooting fields. A lone bird was quartering the hillside. It was a kite, doing what kites do, rather gruesome but necessary I suppose. It was strange to be looking down on the kite as it soared and turned, usually they are far above, high in the sky.

I recalled the egret ghosting away from my morning walk.....

Back at the car I met Murphy again...it is a small world...

Plein air oil on canvas panel, 12x10 inch

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