Everybody knows about the Glorious Twelfth. The very words seem to conjure up whimsical images of pointers in the purple heather; sunshine, gunpowder smoke and bottles of beer left to cool for lunch in some pretty beck or burn.
The Twelfth is famous as the opening of the grouse shooting season, but the sport often seems to fall quiet after the first few enthusiastic weeks. As September approaches, partridges start to beckon on the low ground. It’s not long until pheasants come powering in to grab our attention and grouse become rather more obscure. By the time that the heather flowers have wilted and the hill has turned red with failing grass, grouse have become something rather different.
Balance
Early-season days are
