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John F.L.S. Watson
The Confessions of a Poacher

Chapter VIII
Grouse Poaching

For pleasurable excitement, to say nothing of profit, the pick of all poaching is for grouse. However fascinating partridge poaching may be; however pleasurable picking off pheasants from bare boughs; or the night-piercing screams of a netted hare—none of these can compare with the wild work of the moors. I am abroad on the heather just before the coming of the day. My way lies now along the rugged course of a fell "beck," now along the lower shoulder of the mountain. The grey dissolves into dawn, the dawn into light, and the first blackcock crows to his grey hen in the hollow. As my head appears above the burn side, the ever-watchful curlews whistle and the plovers scream. A dotterel goes plaintively piping over the stones, and the "cheep, cheep," of the awakening ling-birds rises from every brae. A silent tarn lies shimmering in a green hollow beneath, and over its marge constantly flit a pair of summer snipe. The bellowing of red deer comes from a neighbouring corrie, and a herd of roe are browsing on the confines of the scrub. The sun mounts the Eastern air, drives the mists away and beyond the lichen patches loved by the ptarmigan—and it is day.

A glorious bird is the red grouse! Listen to his warning "kok, kok, kok," as he eyes the invader of his moorland haunts. Now that it is day his mate joins him on the "knowe." The sun warms up his rufus plumage, and the crescent-shaped patch of vermilion over the eye glows in the strong light. It is these sights and sounds that warm me to my work, and dearly I love the moor-game. Years ago I had sown grain along the fell-side so as to entice the grouse within range of an old flint-lock which I used with deadly effect from behind a stone wall. Then snares were set on the barley sheaves and corn stooks, by which a brace of birds were occasionally bagged. In after years an unforseen grouse harvest came in quite an unexpected manner. With the enclosure of the Commons hundreds of miles of wire fencing was erected, and in this way, before the birds had become accustomed to it, numbers were killed by flying against the fences. The casualties mostly occurred during "thick" weather, or when the mists had clung to the hills for days. At such times grouse fly low, and strike before seeing the obstacle. I never failed to note the mist-caps hanging to the fell-tops, and then, bag in hand, walked parallel to miles and miles of flimsy fence. Sometimes a dozen brace of birds were picked up in a morning; and, on the lower grounds, an occasional partridge, woodcock, or snipe.

Grouse are the only game that ever tempted me to poach during close time, and then I only erred by a few days. Birds sold in London on the morning of the "Twelfth" bring the biggest prices of the season, and to supply the demand was a temptation I could never resist. Many a "Squire," many a Country Justice has been tempted as I was, and fell as I fell. It is not too much to say that every one of the three thousand birds sold in London on the opening day has been poached during the "fence" time. In the north, country station-masters find hampers dropped on their platforms addressed to London dealers, but, as to who brought them, or how they came there, none ever knows.

The only true prophet of the grouse-moors is the poacher. Months before the "squire" and keeper he knows whether disease will assert itself or no. By reason of his out-door life he has accuracy of eye and judgment sufficient to interpret what he sees aright. He is abroad in all weathers, and through every hour of the day and night. His clothes have taken on them the duns and browns of the moorlands; and he owns the subtle influence which attracts wild creatures to him. He has watched grouse "at home" since the beginning of the year. On the first spring day the sun shines brightly at noon. The birds bask on the brae, and spread their wings to the warmth. As the sun gains in power, and spring comes slowly up the way, the red grouse give out gurgling notes, and indulge in much strutting. The fell "becks" sparkles in the sun; the merlin screams over the heather, and the grouse packs break up. The birds are now seen singly or in pairs, and brae answers brae from dawn till dark. The cock grouse takes his stand on some grey rock, and erects or depresses at pleasure his vermilion eye-streak. Pairing is not long continued, and the two find out a depression in the heather which they line with bents and mountain grasses. About eight eggs are laid, and the cock grouse takes his stand upon the "knowe" to guard the nest from predaceous carrion and hooded crows. If hatching is successful the young birds are quickly on their legs, and through spring and summer follow the brooding birds. They grow larger and plumper each day, until it is difficult to detect them from the adult. Meanwhile August has come, and soon devastating death is dealt out to them. The sport, so far as the poacher is concerned, begins at the first rolling away of the morning mists; and then he often makes the best bag of the year. It was rarely that I was abroad later than two in the morning, and my first business was to wade out thigh-deep into the purple heather. From such a position it is not difficult to locate the crowing of the moorbirds as they answer each other across the heather. When this was done I would gain a rough stone wall, and then, by imitating the gurgling call-notes of cock or hen I could bring up every grouse within hearing. Sometimes a dozen would be about me at one time. Then the birds were picked off as they flew over the knolls and braes, or as they boldly stood on any eminence near. If this method is deadly in early August, it is infinitely more so during pairing time. Then, if time and leisure be allowed, and the poacher is a good "caller," almost every bird on a moor may be bagged.

The greatest number of grouse, and consequently the best poaching, is to be had on moors on which the heather is regularly burned. Grouse love the shoots of ling which spring up after burning, and the birds which feed upon this invariably have the brightest plumage. On a well-burnt moor the best poaching method is by using a silk net. By watching for traces during the day it is not difficult to detect where the birds roost, and once this is discovered the rest is easy. The net is trailed along the ground by two men, and dropped instantly on the whirr of wings. The springing of the birds is the only guide in the darkness, though the method skilfully carried out is most destructive, and sometimes a whole covey is bagged at one sweep. Silk nets have three good qualities for night work, those made of any other material being cumbersome and nearly useless. They are light, strong, and are easily carried. It is well to have about eighteen inches of glazed material along the bottom of the net, or it is apt to catch in dragging. Where poaching is practised, keepers often place in the likeliest places a number of strong stakes armed with protruding nails. These, however, may be removed and replanted after the night's work; or, just at dusk a bunch of white feathers may be tied to point the position of each.

The planting of grain patches along the moor-side has been mentioned, and on these in late autumn great numbers of birds are bagged. Grouse are exceedingly fond of oats, and in the early morning the stooks are sometimes almost black with them. A pot shot here from behind a wall or fence is generally a profitable one, as the heavy charge of shot is sent straight at the "brown." Black-game are as keen as red grouse on oats, and a few sheaves thrown about always attracts them. Although the blackcock is a noble bird in appearance, he is dull and heavy, and is easily bagged. Early in the season the birds lie until almost trod upon, and of all game are the easiest to net. They roost on the ground, and usually seek out some sheltered brae-side on which to sleep. If closely watched at evening, it is not difficult to clap a silk net over them upon the first favourable night, when both mother and grown young are bagged together. That there are gentlemen poachers as well as casuals and amateurs, the following incident relating to black-game shows: "On a dull misty day they are easily got at: they will sit on the thorn bushes and alders, and let the shooter pick them off one by one. I remember once, on such a day, taking a noble sportsman who was very keen to shoot a blackcock, up to some black game sitting on a thorn hedge. When he got within about twenty-five yards he fired his first barrel (after taking a very deliberate aim) at an old grey hen. She took no notice, only shaking her feathers a little, and hopping a short distance further on. The same result with the second barrel. He loaded again and fired. This time the old hen turned round, and looked to see where the noise and unpleasant tickling sensation came from, and grew uneasy; the next attempt made her fly on to where her companions were sitting, and our friend then gave up his weapon to me in despair. Black game grow very stupid also when on stubbles; they will let a man fire at them, and if they do not see him, will fly round the field and settle again, or pitch on a wall quite near to him. Grouse will do the same thing. There is not much 'sport' in such shooting as this, but when out alone, and wanting to make a bag, it is a sure and quick way to do so. It may be called 'poaching'—all I can say is, there would be many more gentlemen poachers if they could obtain such chances, and could not get game in any other way."

Both grouse and black game may frequently be brought within range by placing a dead or stuffed bird on a rock or a stone wall. A small forked stick is made to support the head and neck of the decoy "dummy," which, if there are birds in the vicinity, soon attracts them. As a rule the lure is not long successful, but sufficiently so as to enable the poacher to make a big bag. Upon one occasion I made a remarkable addition to our fur and feather. In the darkness a movement was heard among the dense branches of a Scotch fir, when, looking up, a large bird which seemed as big as a turkey commenced to flutter off. It was stopped before it had flown many yards, and proved to be a handsome cock Capercailzie in splendid plumage. Had I been certain as to what it was I certainly should not have fired.

Grouse stalking is fascinating sport, and by this method I usually made my greatest achievements. The stalking was mainly done from behind an old moorland horse, with which I had struck up an acquaintance; and it learned to stand fire like a war veteran. I used to think it enjoyed the sport, and I believe it did. With the aid of my shaggy friend I have successfully stalked hundreds of grouse, as its presence seemed to allay both fear and suspicion. Firing over its back, its neck, or beneath its belly—all were taken alike, patiently and sedately. An occasional handful of oats, or half a loaf, cemented the friendship of the old horse—my best and most constant poaching companion for years.

Chapter IX
Rabbit Poaching

If well trained lurchers are absolutely necessary to hare poaching, ferrets are just as important to successful rabbit poaching. Nearly nothing in fur can be done without them. However lucky the moucher may be among pheasants, partridge, or grouse, rabbits are and must be the chief product of his nights. Of the methods of obtaining them—field netting, well-traps, shooting—all are as nothing compared with silent ferreting.

In the north we have two well-defined varieties of ferret—one a brown colour and known as the polecat-ferret; the other, the common white variety. The first is the hardier, and it is to secure this quality that poachers cross their ferrets with the wild polecat. Unlike lurchers, ferrets require but little training, and seem to work instinctively. There are various reasons why poachers prefer white ferrets to the polecat variety. At night a brown ferret is apt to be nipped up in mistake for a rabbit; while a white one is always apparent, even when moving among the densest herbage. Hence mouchers invariably use white ones. Gamekeepers who know their business prefer ferrets taken from poachers to any other. I was always particularly careful in selecting my stock, as from the nature of my trade I could ill afford to use bad ones. Certain strains of ferrets cause rabbits to bolt rapidly, while others are slow and sluggish. It need hardly be said that I always used the former. Even the best, however, will sometimes drive a rabbit to the end of a "blind" burrow; and after killing it will not return until it has gorged itself with blood. And more trouble is added if the ferret curls itself up for an after-dinner sleep. Then it has either to be left or dug out. The latter process is long, the burrows ramify far into the mound, and it is not just known in which the ferret remains. If it be left it is well to bar every hole with stones, and then return with a dead rabbit when hunger succeeds the gorged sleep. It is to guard against such occasions as these that working ferrets are generally muzzled. A cruel practise used to obtain among poachers of stitching together the lips of ferrets to prevent their worrying rabbits and then "laying up." For myself I made a muzzle of soft string which was effective, and at the same time comfortable to wear. When there was a chance of being surprised at night work I occasionally worked ferrets with a line attached; but this is an objectionable practice and does not always answer. There may be a root or stick in which the line gets entangled, when there will be digging and no end of trouble to get the ferret out. From these facts, and the great uncertainty of ferreting, it will be understood why poachers can afford to use only the best animals. A tangled hedgebank with coarse herbage was always a favourite spot for my depredations. There are invariably two, often half a dozen holes, to the same burrow. Small purse nets are spread over these, and I always preferred these loose to being pegged or fixed in any way. When all the nets are set the ferrets are turned in. They do not proceed immediately, but sniff the mouth of the hole; their indecision is only momentary, however, for soon the tip of the tail disappears in the darkness. And now silence is essential to success, as rabbits refuse to bolt if there is the slightest noise outside. A dull thud, a rush, and a rabbit goes rolling over and over entangled in the purse. Reserve nets are quickly clapped on the holes as the rabbits bolt, the latter invariably being taken except where a couple come together. Standing on the mound a shot would stop these as they go bounding through the dead leaves, but the sound would bring up the keeper, and so one has to practise self-denial. Unlike hares, rabbits rarely squeal when they become entangled; and this allows one to ferret long and silently. Rabbits bolt best on a windy day and before noon; after that they are sluggish and often refuse to come out at all. This is day ferreting, but of course mine was done mainly at night. In this case the dogs always ranged the land, and drove everything off it before we commenced operations. On good ground a mound or brae sometimes seemed to explode with rabbits, so wildly did they fly before their deadly foe. I have seen a score driven from one set of holes, while five or six couples is not at all uncommon. When ferrets are running the burrows, stoats and weasels are occasionally driven out; and among other strange things unearthed I remember a brown owl, a stock-dove, and a shell-drake—each of which happened to be breeding in the mounds.

The confines of a large estate constitute a poacher's paradise, for although partridge and grouse require land suited to their taste, rabbits and pheasants are common to all preserved ground. And then the former may be taken at any time, and in so many different ways. They are abundant, too, and always find a ready market. The penalties attached to rabbit poaching are less than those of game, and the conies need not be followed into closely preserved coverts. The extermination of the rabbit will be contemporaneous with that of the lurcher and poacher—two institutions of village life which date back to the time of the New Forest. Of the many mouching modes for taking conies, ferretting, as already stated, and field netting are the most common. Traps with steel jaws are sometimes set in runs, inserted in the turf so as to bring them flush with the sward. But destruction by this method is not sufficiently wholesale, and the upturned white under-parts of the rabbit's fur show too plainly against the green. The poacher's methods must be quick, and he cannot afford to visit by day traps set in the dark. The night must cover all his doings. When the unscrupulous keeper finds a snare he sometimes puts a leveret into it, and secretes himself. Then he waits, and captures the poacher "in the act." As with some other methods already mentioned, the trap poacher is only a casual. Ferretting is silent and almost invariably successful. In warrens, both inequalities of the ground, mounds, and ditches afford good cover. My best and most wholesale method of field-poaching for rabbits was by means of two long nets. These are from a hundred to a hundred and fifty yards in length, and about four feet high. They are usually made of silk, and are light and strong, and easily portable. These are set parallel to each other along the edge of a wood, about thirty yards out into the pasture. Only about four inches divides the nets. A dark windy night is best for the work, as in such weather rabbits feed far out in the fields. On a night of this character, too, the game neither hears nor sees the poacher. The nets are long—the first small in mesh, that immediately behind large. When a rabbit or hare strikes, the impetus takes a part of the first net and its contents through the larger mesh of the second, and there, hanging, the creature struggles until it is knocked on the head with a stick. Immediately the nets are set, two men and a brace of lurchers range the ground in front, slowly and patiently, and gradually drive every feeding thing woodwards. A third man quietly paces the sward behind the nets, killing whatever strikes them. In this way I have taken many scores of rabbits in a single night. On the confines of a large estate a rather clever trick was once played upon us. Each year about half-a-dozen black or white rabbits were turned down into certain woods. Whilst feeding, these stood out conspicuously from the rest, and were religiously preserved. Upon these the keepers kept a close watch, and when any were missing it was suspected what was going on, when the watching strength was increased. As soon as we detected the trick, we were careful to let the coloured rabbits go free. We found that it was altogether to our interest to preserve them.

During night poaching for rabbits and hares the ground game is driven from its feeding ground to the woods or copses. Precisely the reverse method is employed during the day when the game is in cover. The practice is to find a spinny in which both rabbits and hares are known to lie; and then to set purse nets on the outside of every opening which may possibly be used by the frightened animals. The smaller the wood or patch of cover the easier it is to work. A man, with or without a dog, enters the covert, and his presence soon induces the furry denizens to bolt. As these rush through their customary runs they find themselves in the meshes of a net, and every struggle only makes them faster. This method has the disadvantage of being done in the light, but where there is much game is very deadly.

Snares for hares and rabbits are not used nearly so much now as formerly. For all that, they are useful in outlying districts, or on land that is not closely watched. For hares the snare is a wire noose tied to a stick with string, and placed edgeways in the trod. To have the snare the right height is an important matter; and it will be found that two fists high for a hare, and one for a rabbit, is the most deadly. Casuals set their snares in hedge-bottoms, but these are no good. Two or three feet away from the hedge is the most killing position—for this reason: when a hare canters up to a fence it never immediately bounds through; it pauses about a yard away, then leaps into the hedge-bottom. It is during this last leap that it puts its neck into the noose and is taken. If a keeper merely watches a snare until it is "lifted," good and well; but to put a hare or rabbit into it and then pounce on the moucher—well, that is a different matter. It is not difficult to see where a hare has been taken, especially if the run in which the snare was set was damp. There will be the hole where the peg has been, and the ground will be beaten flat by the struggles of the animal in endeavouring to free itself.

Field-netting for rabbits may be prevented in the same way as for partridges—by thorning the ground where the game feeds. It is quite a mistake to plant thorns, or even to stake out large branches. The only ones that at all trouble the poacher are small thorns which are left absolutely free on the ground. These get into the net, roll it up hopelessly in a short time, and if this once occurs everything escapes. Large thorns are easily seen and easily removed, but the abominable ones are the small ones left loose on the surface of the ground.

The most certain and wholesale method of rabbit poaching I ever practised was also the most daring. The engine employed was the "well-trap." This is a square, deep box, built into the ground, and immediately opposite to a smoot-hole in the fence through which the rabbits run from wood or covert to field or pasture. Through a hole in the wall or fence a wooden trough or box is inserted. As the rabbits run through, the floor opens beneath their weight, and they drop into the "well." Immediately the pressure is removed the floor springs back to its original position, and thus a score or more rabbits are often taken in a single night. In the construction of these "well-traps," rough and unbarked wood is used, though, even after this precaution, the rabbits will not take them for weeks. Then, they become familiar; the weather washes away all scent, and the "well" is a wholesale engine of destruction. All surface traces of the existence of the trap must be covered over with dead leaves and woodland debris. The rabbits, of course, are taken alive, and the best way of killing them is by stretching them across the knee, and so dislocating the spine. If the keeper once finds out the trap the game is up. Whilst it lasts, however, it kills more rabbits than every other stroke of woodcraft the poacher knows.