Mission: farmyard
FERALS
Faced with a new shooting permission helping a farmer get on top of a growing feral pigeon population, BASC member Sam Jones navigates the challenges posed by unfamiliar ground and a quarry that will surely grow wise to his endeavours.
Permission is hard won these days, even for a lowly airgunner. So when I was contacted recently by a concerned landowner with a yard and a budding feral pigeon problem, I jumped at the chance. A growing population had taken up residence in a small compound of old farm buildings and had begun to both make a mess of the equipment that was stored in them and pose a risk of feed-stock contamination. Best to get on top of them before they take hold…
This new opportunity offered a prospect to bolster my modest portfolio and would also allow me to vary my shooting with some more challenging positional shots. Most of my shooting otherwise involves decoying pest birds from the car on waste management plants. The countless hours I’ve spent sitting in wait for ferals and corvids has, however, allowed me to observe my quarry’s behaviour extensively – a key component of fieldcraft in this branch of shooting sports, where closing the gap is key.
It’s not been long since I’ve re-visited air rifle shooting, after a hiatus of ten years or more. Starting behind a break-barrel Webley Xocet chambered in .177 in my former years, it wasn’t long before the 12 bore beckoned and the trusty old Webley was cast aside. My revived interest was then compounded by the offer of a cheap(ish) pre-owned Daystate Huntsman Classic in .22 – my dream rifle back in the day, and offering a little more sophistication than the rudimentary ‘springer’ which it would replace.
Arriving at the farm at around 7am, initial impressions were promising. Feral pigeons erupted from the rooftops, clapping defiance as they drew their wings back before disappearing back to their as-yet-undiscovered dwellings. There was scope for further action, too, as droves of corvids dropped into the now tillering barley a few fields away and the holding pen situated in the centre of the yard was a signature haunt of the ever-troublesome rat. Exciting stuff.
That sly blue-bar feral
After a brief mooch around the yard and a quick peek up into the rafters, it was obvious on the ground that a good number of feral pigeons had set up shop. They would be difficult to spot, though, with the closely packed wooden joists overhead offering sanctuary for the unwanted tenants.
No more than five minutes into my recce, I rounded the corner of an old machine store and found a busily feeding ‘blue-bar’ (the standard colour morph of the feral pigeon) truffling around in the guttering of a neighbouring construction around 30 yards away – my zero range. The already dilapidated terracotta tiles that rose up behind him would offer a solid backstop, so I shouldered the Huntsman free-hand in anticipation of a shot. As the second stage broke and the reticle hovered over its head, the ping of the action was swiftly followed by another disappointing clink as the pellet struck high. A clean miss. The bird rocketed off from its stand, followed by a gang of seven others – which I had failed to detect – most of which disappeared over the distant tree-tops.
I thought they were probably heading for the fields to feed. The blue-bar and its mate, a darker bird, persisted though – obviously looking for somewhere to settle and blissfully unaware of any danger. As the pair looped around and dropped from view, I hurriedly crossed the yard and took stand behind an old straw bale, hidden by the confines of the walls that surrounded me and the shadows cast by the rising sun.
Sure enough, the darker bird landed on the corner of an opposite building some 40 yards away. Positioning myself steadily on the bale top, I allowed for one mil-dot and a little bit of cross-wind – which was now gusting slightly – and squeezed the trigger. The bird’s head sunk into its chest and with wings raised, it dropped like a stone off the apex. The indication of a perfect headshot. Sure enough, on inspection, the shot had been well placed just behind the eye – at least my first outing on unfamiliar ground wouldn’t be a blank.
After a short wait and a failed attempt to settle the score with the now-frantic blue-bar, I decided to try a different approach…
Bushy-tailed pests
The downed feral pigeon’s feathers were reorganised and after sourcing a suitable stick, the bird was brought back to life as a decoy in a vacant paddock behind the yard. Maybe it would even pique the interest of a passing crow. Positioned by the trunk of a small ash behind the paddock fence, I waited a good half hour before seeing any sign of movement. As I was beginning to doubt my change of tactic, a grey squirrel enthusiastically bounded into view at the base of an oak on the other side of the paddock. While not part of the brief, I knew the keeper on the estate well – so felt confident that success in bringing the bushy-tailed rodent to book would be well received. After all, they account for a surprising number of eggs at this time of year.
As I steadied the rifle against the ash, the squirrel shot halfway up the exposed portion of the trunk and settled atop a nest box around 35 yards away, his tail cocked, alert. I decided to go for the neck this time, which I hoped would give me a better chance of success – a slight misjudgment in distance translating to a head or chest shot depending on the actual yardage. Accounting for around two inches of wind drift due to the open area that stood between us, I liberated the next round which found its mark with a dull thud. I’d scored a solid hit. With a flash of white fur, the squirrel dropped back to ground, dead, and after a few minutes I braved the barbed wire topped fence to retrieve my prize. On inspection, the pellet had entered low on his neck and into his chest cavity.
Feathered pests
The corvids were next on the agenda and the squirrel would be the perfect bait to entice one in. I laid him on the chalk road which ran through the yard and once again took stand behind the bale. A couple of interested looks from passing jackdaws and I was feeling confident that I would complete my treble, before hopes were scuppered by the sound of tyres on the loosely constructed track. The farm manager had arrived, so after a brief discussion on the morning’s efforts, I cut my visit short. Safety must always be the priority, after all.
All in all, the morning had been a success. While not the momentous bag I had hoped for, I had at least gleaned enough to surmise an effective plan of action for next time. I’d try an evening and bring a few decoys, setting them out to imitate birds that are feeding in the yard one last time before heading to roost. That had always been successful in my efforts on similarly enclosed ground and would, more importantly, allow me to direct any pellets away from the fragile roofs which adorned the surrounding buildings.
Despite their lack of co-operation on my first visit, there’s no secret to feral pigeon shooting – they are creatures of habit after all. It’s finding what works on a particular property that is the tricky part.
Finding the right pellet
The Huntsman’s breech accepts a ten-round self-indexing magazine, and a budget but reliably zeroed 6-24x50IR scope completes the ensemble.
Pellet selection demanded consideration, with its effective range terminating at a dizzying 50-60 yards – considerably more than what I dared to stray to with my old Webley.
A quick browse online and the consensus was clear: JSB Exact Jumbo Diabolos in their 5.52mm, 15.89grain guise, were the ticket.
The Huntsman conveniently found its favourite diet, and pellet on pellet groups were instantly possible at 30 yards, with the results at 50 yards being of the order of 1-1½”. Impressive, considering the rifle’s power sits just below the legal limit.
The manufacturer’s suggested working pressure of 210 BAR also proved useful, offering 60-70 reliably accurate shots from a fill.
Still worth experimenting, though, and a tin of H&N Field Trophy and the JSB’s more rotund brother – the Exact Jumbo Diabolo Heavy – were also trialled. A few spoiled groups on paper confirmed the latter two’s position as an inferior choice, and so the standard Exacts to which the Huntsman had married to perfectly won out.
