Recently I wrote about a new 86-hectare ancient woodland shooting permission in Oxfordshire that I had won. I use that word deliberately as to get it, I had to submit to a formal tender process competing against other airgunning hopefuls.
When I got the call with the good news I was, of course, elated. I mean, it’s the kind of permission we all dream of.
But then the harsh reality set in; I’d committed, in writing, to address what was clearly a significant grey squirrel issue. Not only would I be judged by my ‘client’ – the landowner - I also had to satisfy the Forestry Commission that was funding a five-year woodland management plan. They had made it clear that the failure of previous efforts to get the squirrels under control was potentially detrimental to future funding.
Quite how I get myself into these situations I don’t really know. I’m not being paid to shoot the squirrels and yet it felt like all the pressure for the success or failure of the woodland management plan was resting on my shoulders. It wasn’t of course, I don’t think that much of myself. But it felt like it.
After securing the permission, I was invited to meet with the Forestry Commission appointed woodland management consultancy at their sparkly plush offices in London. Come the day of the meeting, I was ushered into a conference room, invited to sit in a comfy leather chair and asked if I wanted coffee. I felt very grown up and important.
They wanted to know my background, what pest control qualifications I hold and how I planned to deal with the squirrels.
We’re all experts in ourselves, so the first part of the interview was easy. In a way, so too was the second as I don’t have any formal pest controlling qualifications, just 40-odd years of shooting pests.
I think the fact that I was free meant they were prepared to overlook my lack of a city and guilds or whatever and move on. Fortunately, I’d spent a great deal of time thinking about the third topic – my plan – and spent the rest of the meeting talking them through it.
In reality, it wasn’t that complicated. Along with two friends, I intended to divide the woods into sectors, erect three feeders and hides in a line approximately 250 metres long and monitor squirrel activity with trail cameras.
When returns in terms of squirrels shot started to dwindle, and the feeders stayed full of peanuts for longer, I’d simply move everything to the next sector. The key, I explained, was to keep the feeders topped up and shoot them regularly.
The two Forestry Commission consultants nodded sagely, sipped on their coffee and no doubt reminded themselves that, save for a bit of set up cost and the ongoing purchase of peanuts, I was at least free.
And so they wished me good luck, reminded me to fill in a spreadsheet after each visit detailing, amongst other things, the number and sex of squirrels I shot and the length of time spent in the woods, and then released me back into the wild.
I will admit to feeling a little smug as I walked away from the sparkly offices, no doubt looking like one of those dicks from The Apprentice. Afterall, I had just met with people who clearly speak to lots of blokes like me and I’d somehow pulled it off. Then the reality, and a little dose of imposter syndrome, set in.
From now on, I’d be judged purely on the contents of that damned spreadsheet.
So, having set up my three feeders and their respective hides, you might understand how I was a little apprehensive when I turned up for my first session in the woods only a couple of weeks after the meeting.
In truth, the trail camera footage had been encouraging. It took a few days, but before long, my phone was pinging with reassuring frequency to show me photos of hungry squirrels stuffing their faces.
I rolled into the woods at first light and could see the feeder as I unpacked my gear from the back of the truck. To my relief I could see a squirrel sat on it and enjoying a leisurely breakfast of peanuts.
I was even more relieved when it continued to sit there munching away and wondering who I was and what I was doing.
Hurriedly I poked my gear into the hide – a chair to sit on, my trigger sticks, backpack and, of course, my rifle – a 12 ft/lbs BRK Ghost Carbine which I had paired with a DNT Optics ThermNight TNC225R multi-spectral scope.
It took me a few minutes to fill the magazine with 18.03 grain Rifle RTX Premium pellets, set up my trigger sticks just right and generally get comfortable. I’d just about done so when I looked out of the hide and saw the world’s bravest or stupidest squirrel decide he’d had enough of waiting for me and scurry off.
I needn’t have worried though as within only a few minutes either the same squirrel or one of his buddies ran up the branch I’d positioned as a ramp to the peanut tray.
It had obviously been there before as it lifted the lid to the peanuts, picked one it liked and then settled back to enjoy it. I lined the BRK Ghost up and with the ThermNight on the digital daytime mode, sent the RTX Premium pellet whizzing over the 25 metres where it connected with a hollow “pop”.
The squirrel clung to the branch ramp for a few seconds before dropping to the woodland floor. I watched through the scope as it jumped around for a moment or two then lay still.
With a great sense of relief that I was off the mark on a new position with my first shot, I settled back in my chair. I was contemplating a congratulatory cup of tea when a flash of movement behind a pile of sticks and branches caught my eye.
I couldn’t see anything through the scope until I switched the ThermNight into thermal mode with the press of a button. The brilliant white heat signature revealed the squirrel partially concealed behind a piece of wood.
It lingered there only briefly before shinning up the branch ramp to the feeder where, a few seconds later, it met the same fate as his mate.
By the end of the day, I’d accounted for another 15 squirrels – 17 in total – all of which had come directly to the feeder. I’d only ventured out for a tidy up when the number of dead squirrels on the floor made the newcomers nervous.
My next trip the following week saw another 16 on their way to my local falconry centre. I then had a few weeks averaging 10 a trip until eventually after a little more than two months, the Forestry Commission cull spreadsheet showed a total of 103 dead squirrels.
And then it all stopped. Trail camera footage all but dried up and the level of peanuts barely moved. I spent a day on each of the three feeders with only two squirrels to show for it. And whilst they were three very long days, I was satisfied I’d managed to clear the squirrels from the first sector of the woods – a fact I took great pride in informing both the landowner and Forestry Commission management consultants.
Of course, there’s still a huge amount of woodland to cover and that 250-metre sector represents the merest speck when compared to the other 86 hectares, but it’s a start. I know the squirrels will move back in again eventually, but I’ve already relocated the feeders, hides and trail cameras to the next sector another 100 metres across the valley to start the process again.
And you know what? My phone is already pinging non-stop as the trail cameras alert me to yet another squirrel on the feeder.
GUN: BRK Ghost Carbine https://brocock.co.uk/
OPTIC: DNT Optics ThermNight TNC225R https://www.scottcountry.co.uk/
AMMO: Rifle RTX Premium pellets (18.04 grain) https://ihunter.co.uk/
FEEDER: Squirrel Feeder https://keithshighseats.co.uk/products/
