Over the seasons many of you have commented on the patience…okay, sainthood, of No.2. The following is only bound to confirm this view of her.

Three springs ago, I packed my bags and took a client to Kaytor Peaks on the south island of New Zealand. We spent a glorious week stalking said peaks for medal giants. When I emailed No. 2 for her input on whether to go for a skull or cape mount for the 19 point red I’d bagged, she was unequivocal in her support of my judgment. Well, actually she pointed out that we were residing in a thatched cottage with ceilings that contributed to my hairloss and very little hanging space.

So you can imagine her delight on receiving the delivery of a large box on our drive (see above). Fred was promptly relocated to the wall of a local shoot room where he enjoyed a happy two year sabbatical. In the interim, we relocated to a Victorian residence with higher ceilings and ample wall space. We reached a compromise: she got her grey walls, I got Fred.

Small wonder, then, when I announced I was planning to depart for South Africa this spring (in pursuit of yellow fish, guinea fowl, francolin…oh and springbok, warthogs and who knows what else) that No. 2 announced her bags were packed. After all, my excuse of teenagers needing supervision during A levels no longer holds, and there are intriguing reports of diamonds in them there hills…

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I’ve just stopped long enough to reflect on the truly glorious Glorious 12th we had in Yorkshire… I’m in the throes of complex packing for more walked up grouse (this time over pointers, not people) in the Outer Hebrides. You would think that with numerous seasons trekking back and forth, I would have mastered the intricacies of packing my 20kgs for FlyBe. Alas, I will still be racing to unlace my grouse boots at security (too heavy to pack).

These pictures reflect some of what I love best about fieldsports: great company, unbelievable weather (despite the Met Office forecasts otherwise), the best of British scenery and of course incomparable sport.

For years I have been championing the ‘outside day’ in all its beautiful forms. From an amble along a hedgerow in Wiltshire to small driven ‘farm days’ in Hampshire or Lincolnshire, to grouse over spaniel, pointer, or gun in Scotland and Yorkshire. I’ve even braved the mother-in-law to track down the US equivalent in No. 2′s native land. And finally the rest of the world has caught on.

Small driven and walked up days have been flying out the door with all the speed of grouse with the wind up their bums. I sent our mailing list a newsbite with the latest offering late last night, and by morning tea it was gone. If you like what you’ve seen in the pages of this blog, then the best way to find out about our days is to join our mailing list. We don’t share your data, or abuse the priviledge. And we certainly don’t expect a response to every newsbite (although we love hearing from you).

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A year ago, I started documenting my quest for a muntjac in these pages. After many a long evening, and a great deal of patience, I finally shot a lovely, ENORMOUS muntjac buck. I owe a debt of gratitude to Martin and George who were unfailingly cheerful (if not bemused) by my continuing failure to see anything on our nights out. Number Two, who has spent years watching grouse lift off in my favour and trout pass up her fly for mine, was becoming smug.

When I say enormous, we have to put things into perspective. A big muntjac is about the size of a labrador. And mine is definitely a medal buck. I am no CIC scorer, but muntjac are so much easier to score than a roe – it’s just a series of length measurements. He’s bigger than a bronze…No. 2 is now redesigning her kitchen around my trophy wall, and against the odds is advocating more stalking expeditions. What can I say about second wives…

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So I’m a little competitive. And my mates know it. I’m not fussed about having bigger, or more, or more often. I just want one. Muntjac, that is. Months on from that first blog, and still a duck. Meanwhile, Noel, another munty novice, has been getting busy. For those of you who haven’t discovered him, Noel is the landlord of The Malet Arms in Newton Tony, Wiltshire. I would provide you with a link, but Noel doesn’t do technology. What he does do is a damn fine burger. There’s venison and wood pigeon on the menu, too.

And an excellent side of windup. A couple of weeks ago he took the time to email me images of his first muntjac. And he didn’t stay with one for long, bagging his second on the same outing. It’s past getting personal. Okay, so maybe I have been spending too much time poncing up and down a river in search of barbel, but I am refocusing. With the fallow in season, its an excellent time to try your hand at stalking without needing to invest too much in kit and appropriate attire. So if you’re interested in an evening’s (or morning’s) stalk, get in touch.

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The closed season in Austria meant that the only stalking I was able to do was with a camera…sporting Tevas, red shorts and a blue fleece enhanced the challenge. Having spotted a group of chamois moving across distant scree slopes earlier in the day, I was determined to get a closer look.

Late in the afternoon, we hiked to our accomodation, an alpine hutte, sat on the deck and scanned the hillsides for game. The Tirolean habit of outfitting livestock with tinkling bells made it easy to identify the brown lumps just below the summit of Honig as, well, other and probably chamois. Two hours later, having flushed a brace of black grouse, startled a roe, and knackered myself, I emerged on the slope above them (next time I am taking a camera with a stronger zoom lens). Well above all the highseats and blinds I had seen were two small groups of chamois enjoying the last of the evening light.

Austrian game inhabits some of the most stunning scenery, and much of it within easy access of airports. An overlap with the skiing season makes it easy to combine passions or divert the family’s attention from your whereabouts. I find the opportunity to shoot a chamois without incurring NZ-style jetlag appealing, and from marmoset to alpine ibex, there are stalking opportunities for every purse. If you fancy packing your poles (no, not nordic walking) and scope, get in touch.

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Whether crawling on your belly over hill, moor and dale, or perching on a highseat in a wood is your stalking style, Outside Days offers a diverse selection of opportunities to pursue your passion.

Outside Days provides accompanied stalking on a range of private estates across the British Isles. All of our estates enjoy natural countryside boundaries, with herds of wild deer resident and ranging over the properties as appropriate for the species and the season of the year.

For stalking and packages further afield, explore Croatia, South Africa, New Zealand, Texas and Canada.

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For most of us, the opportunity to shoot grouse is one of those pipe dreams, a distant possibility for that day when all the bills are paid. The classic and sustainable way of shooting the king of game birds, grouse over pointers can turn dreams into a reality. Lewis offers shooting accessible to all pockets, provided you can keep up with the pointers.

If migratory fish are your passion, Lewis’ diversity of fishable water bodies means no matter the vagaries of weather and water level, there is always fishable water. Lewis is one of the last places where a MacNab is still feasible: red stag, brace of grouse and Atlantic salmon in one day.

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