Heading for higher ground

I shot my first grouse on the hill where my grandfather farmed in Galloway. That was 12 August 1999 and I was three days shy of turning 14. I would love to claim that moment as a shining example of my own sporting prowess, but in truth it was quite shambolic. I fired twice at a straggler from a covey of six. There was no way that I could have made contact and I felt sure that my uncle was just being kind when he claimed to have seen my bird with a leg down. The dogs were sent to explore and to my surprise and delight, a bird returned to my hand with a gentle plop.

“The hill has hardly changed a bit over the past 21 years”

It was the only bird