Don't shoot the varmits!
by Alan Jarrett

Sitting in a hunting lodge close to the Canadian prairie in far-off Saskatchewan it was good to know that similar shooting etiquette to that enjoyed at home prevailed.
The outfitter owner (guide to us in the UK) set to with a list of dos and don’ts for the week ahead.
"Welcome to our visitors from England. Don’t shoot coyotes as we don’t have a licence. Don’t shoot varmits – crows and magpies – as you’re here to shoot migratory birds."
Those historic words – "Don’t shoot the varmits!" would be enough to make any self-respecting shooting man in the UK turn white. At home many of us operate a shoot-on-sight policy against "varmits" and still their numbers increase remorselessly.

VARMIT NUMBERS
Having visited the same area the year before our party had commented on the lack of magpies. We had shot a couple and seen a few more, but in general there were few in evidence.
What a difference a year can make! Here we were back in Saskatchewan 12 months later and there seemed to be magpies everywhere.
In almost every hedgerow – of which there is not exactly a preponderance in that brown land – there was at least one nest, and sometimes several. Magpies everywhere, and that coupled with the drought leaving most of the potholes devoid of water obviously spelt trouble for any nesting duck.
We discussed the varmit situation when out of earshot of the owner and quickly reached the conclusion that the only good varmit was a dead one. If they came near or by …………………!
But Canadian and UK varmits have one thing in common – they are shy of coming within range of powder and shot! Anyway, with larger quarry about they remained safe enough.

FIRST BLOOD
Later in the week found me tucked into a hedge in ambush for sandhill cranes. They came in a steady procession – great floppy-winged giants with voices like demented trill ‘phones which can be surprisingly hard to hit – and it was a embarrassing number of shots before I eventually brought down.
Later still with the sun beating low through the topmost bare branches and the crane flight largely dried up a great sinister black shape loomed ahead. It seemed vast against the sun-specked horizon, but it was just a crow.
This was more than English flesh and blood could stand and a moment later a huge charge of over 1.5 ounces of steel BBBs brought his marauding ways to an untidy end!

VARMIT NUMBER TWO
Later that week I was tucked down into a shallow ditch. The frost had clamped hard over the land at –14 degrees that night, and everything was bleached white as if a powdering of snow had fallen.
A vast flight of lesser Canada geese had gone off mostly for other parts, although one of their number remained behind. Later still a trio of mallard responded to my calling and mistook ice for water as they made their approach; it was an easy chance, but only one bird paid for the mistake.
A lone magpie followed the line of the ditch before spotting my crouching form and turning away. Too late! Again the steel shot brought an end to another varmit.
Later still we talked a lot about this strange attitude to varmits. But perhaps in a land where the ducks and geese are numbered in their teeming millions predator control is not a priority at the moment.
But perhaps one day it will be a priority, and by then varmit numbers could present a real problem. If that day comes at least I will be able to say that I did my bit for world conservation.