The worm has turned...

Setting off, alone, I skirted the north eastern edge of the private estate known as 'all oaks wood'. I knew that this would be the most likely location that I would successfully be able to stalk my quarry. Tonight's meal was depending on it. I was travelling light, a small, lightweight day bag holding only the essential items that I would need, no more - no less.

I could hear a car approaching in the distance. By my estimation I would just have sufficient time to leave the openness of the lane and get deep enough into the woods to be able to guarantee seclusion. Although the estate had been know as 'all oaks' for a considerable time in reality there were very few oaks remaining and the beech trees that now proliferated provided little cover from their high canopies and slender trunks. 

Evidence of activity lay all around, a well trodden footpath, possibly leading to a farm or manor house; a recent tyre track from a mountain bike, its furrows growing fresh water into puddles. Shotgun cartridges. The wood was not particularly deep and I could see an opening to an arable field no further than a couple of hundred yards away. I knew my time and opportunities were running out and the crew that I had left back aboard would be getting hungry.

My opportunity presented itself. From behind the broadest of beech trees I could see what I had come here for. Not too big nor, too small and about the right age from what I could see. I quickly opened my bag....

To be continued