HERE in the South West the current hard weather kicked in around December 23, 2009.  Heavy rain in the wee hours of December 24 had frozen into treacherous sheets of ice by dawn. Since then it has been a glorious time weather-wise with day after day of clear blue skies following night after night of hard frosts. The only rain I can remember is an early isolated shower on Boxing Day morning.

By Tuesday December 29 the snow had started to stick in these parts. I cannot help myself but I love these conditions and the impact upon the landscape. I simply cannot remember when I shot woodock last with snow falling all around. The scenery has been simply stunning and, more usefully, the fact that the land is gripped by ice makes it far easier to get about. 

But what of our woodock?

From the discussions I have had and the emails I have received - several from readers of The Countryman's Weekly - there is certainly no shortage of woodcock. Clearly, woodcock hunters in the South and West of the British Isles and Ireland have benefited from the recent arctic-like conditions as the woodcock have shifted to these more hospitable regions. 

To date, (January 8, 2010) the woodcock do not appear to be suffering as a result of the cold weather. This past week I have handled 22 woodcock from different areas and only two of these were on the light side.  However, if this hard weather continues over the next week or so then I suspect we will have a 'hard weather ban' imposed upon us and that is not such a bad thing. 

In the meantime, we should all be using our commonsense as the weak and thin birds are easily identified  by how slow and how far they fly. There is no sport in shooting slow and weak woodcock. Besides which, it borders upon the immoral and is certainly unacceptable.

The good news is that numbers are now consistently good across the woodcock's wintering range. The earlier concerns in relation to low numbers have evaporated.

One interesting event which took place just before Christmas was a report I received from one of my contacts working the rigs in the North Sea. On December 18, 2009, woodcock were still migrating across the North Sea. Several were found dead and/or resting on the platforms.

I have had some interesting days in the field both during the festive period and into the New Year. Largely, it has been a time of re-learning the old lesson that perseverance pays. 

Mid-week between Christmas and the New Year found me in amongst the woodcock working thick hedges on one of my places. A pleasurable day this, as a lifelong shooting companion, who had 'stopped shooting' for five years, returned to the sport.

One particular bird that I shot came down about 20 yards on the field side of the hedge.  Clearly well hit, I was not too troubled, with my Springer continuing to hunt, but I called her to retrieve it.

It had fallen in amongst some large tussocks and I thought it was a relatively straightforward retrieve. Not so! She could not find it anywhere and I was beginning to think it had taken off again when I turned to call her to me. She quickly found the spot where it had hit the floor but there appeared to be no trail anywhere.

Twenty minutes later we were still looking. My companion, on the other side of the hedge, shouted to say there was a small stream his side of the hedge and in his opinion the woodcock had gone for the water to disguise its scent. I must admit that in my head I silently dismissed this but wisely I gave way to the suggestion and took 'Fern' into the stream on the other side.

To pander to my mate I had intended simply to go downstream for a couple of yards but when I got there I thought it wise to cast her upstream just in case. Within six feet she became agitated and then  picked it from the stream's edge.  It was in the water, well hit but still alive.  I despatched it quickly and humanely.

The moral of the tale is, you simply do not know it all!

Working a favoured hill, suitably sprinkled with large and in some places head-high clumps of gorse, I had worked a strip of such cover all the way down to reach a damp hollow surrounded by gorse at the bottom of the slope.

In went 'Fern' and out came three woodcock. Two of them gave me no chance at all and the third only gave time for a quick snap shot as it cleared the blackthorns up against the dry stone wall separating the farm from the hill. It was well hit and I was sure I heard it hit the ground with a thump.

'Fern' went in immediately but after much fussing around she still had not found it. Time for the other half of the team to get involved! Together we hunted and hunted but could not find it.

I found myself in amongst head-high gorse and blackthorn and started to convince myself  it was hung-up somewhere above me.  This called for the 'on hands and knees' approach so that I could look upwards to hopefully see the woodcock silhouetted against the sky. 

It began to snow, I still could not find it and I started to get depressed. I looked and looked and 'Fern' hunted and hunted but no woodcock. A long time later I all but gave in and moved around this lump of cover on my way to another part of the hill.

On the other side of this huge clump of gorse the boundary wall was more accessible and, being as stubborn as I am and being totally convinced that bird was down and dead, I decided to have one  more attempt.

Now, I could have chosen any part of the wall to cross over but, remarkably, there on the other side of the wall where I did choose to cross was the woodcock! Not exactly hung up but more caught up on one of the protruding stones. This wall was at least five feet high and further back, where I had hit the bird, it was inaccessible.

Whilst hunting for it below the spot where I shot it I had found a trail of body feathers in the tops of  gorse. Somehow or other it had managed to continue and take a right turn to collapse on the other side of the dry stone wall 30 yards along. Was that luck or perseverance paying off?

Later that morning I shot at a woodcock going back away from me as I was stupidly facing in the wrong direction. I missed with the first barrel but hit it with the second. I saw five or six feathers float down gently and on it went.

Luckily, I could follow its get-away across open scrubland for a long, long way and eventually I thought I saw it pitch into a clump of gorse. Accepting that I was duty bound to follow it up, and hoping it might present me with another shot, I took the dog to look for it.

We went a long way back to the point where I thought I saw the dot which  my woodcock became pitch back into cover. However, when I gave her the command to “find it,” 'Fern' quickly became very excited and picked it stone dead from thick bracken well before the next clump of gorse.

I have never been happier with two woodcock. I simply hate losing or not finding birds which I have shot and obviously hit. It is always worth watching them fly off for as far as you can see them. It is surprising how many of them simply fall out of the sky.

More importantly, as sportsmen and good countrymen we have a moral responsibility to do all we can, to put in the effort, to gather all the quarry we shoot.

Finally, one other interesting occurrence over the festive period was when dogs flushed two woodcock from a damp spot near an extremely tall hedge. The one which first of all went out through the back door and then re-emerged on my side of the hedge at least 50 yards further along was as black as a crow. Absolutely marvellous!

I have seen dark ones many times before but this woodcock was totally black. That was a bird for the taxidermist.