A Welsh Fantasy

With confirmation that we had enough frequent-flyer miles for first-class seats on the flight to London, a great trip got even better. It’s hard to imagine a wingshooter who hasn’t at least dreamed about driven birds in Great Britain. While sitting at the bench, endlessly running the handle up and down on a MEC reloading tool, the mind drifts to the rolling green fields of the British countryside. There, in a light mist, clad in a Barbour coat, Wellies and a Surrey cap, one imagines shouldering a “best”-grade side-by-side and neatly dropping a pair of high-flying pheasants.
For Americans considering such an expedition, two issues are paramount: cost and hassle. Some driven shoots in the UK and on the Continent are high-dollar affairs, with black-tie evenings at the theater with spouses and castles serving as motels. We were interested in something more pedestrian and estrogen-free—that is, less costly. And anyone who has traveled knows that overseas flights are a literal pain in the butt even when those butts are seated in first class. Add the need for ground transportation, permits, licenses and insurance, plus restrictions on guns and ammunition, and you’re confronted with some significant logistical issues even after you’ve found a shoot. Our fantasy was to throw a lot of lead at fast-flying high birds, do only guy stuff when not shooting, and worry about nothing more than arriving with proper clothing. We are happy to report that all of our wishes were fulfilled.

The host of our fantasy junket was Ken Harding, a retired school administrator from Oregon. As a result of taking a Welsh bride decades ago, he has spent substantial time in Wales, where he wisely has devoted every free minute to integrating himself into Welsh shooting culture. He has done this by volunteering to assist on local shoots and by building friendships with various gun dealers. Thus he met Stuart Jarvis, who had been the head gamekeeper at Glanusk, one of the largest estates in Wales and where the prince thereof hangs his hat when he is in his princedom. Stuart had a hand in teaching their Royal Highnesses William and Harry how to use a shotgun and is himself a fine-gun buff. And as you might expect, Stuart had developed his own extensive network of shoots and sources for guns. Stuart’s and Ken’s first collaborations focused on finding vintage guns that Ken could bring into the US for resale. Six years ago they decided to offer driven shooting that was as inexpensive and hassle-free as possible. We decided to put their skills to the test.
After the long flight from San Francisco to Heathrow Airport, in London, we took a shuttle bus to the nearby Park Inn Hotel. There we met the other six members of our party as they arrived from various places in the States. Dinner was at the Three Magpies, a traditional English pub across the street.
The next morning Ken scooped us up in a large van, and we set off for The Dragon Hotel, in Crickhowell, Wales, about 150 miles west of London. Crickhowell is a small village in the heart of Brecon Beacons National Park. The Dragon Hotel is a delightful operation that dates to the mid-1600s. The hallways are narrow and the stairs steep, but the rooms and baths have all the modern conveniences. It would prove centrally located to all of the week’s activities.
After getting our bags to our rooms, we put on shooting clothes and reported to the dining room. As a majority of the folks were vintage-gun devotees, breeks, ties and tattersall shirts were worn by most. But Ken had made it clear that there were only two clothing-related “rules”: Be comfortable, and no orange! We received our hunting licenses, gun permits and BASC (British Association for Shooting and Conservation) insurance papers. (Ken’s package includes an annual membership in the BASC, a nice touch.)
Then each of us selected a gun. (Notice that we’ve said nothing about hard cases, luggage allowances, Forms SS-61 or 4455, or passing through security checkpoints? We didn’t need to bring our guns.) There, on tables and leaning against the wall, was an assortment of 15 12-bore sidelock and box-lock ejector guns from makers such as Hellis, Bonehill, Greener, Westley Richards (a droplock, no less), Horsley, Boswell and Adkins. Ken’s guests can shoot different guns each day, and if by chance they bond with one or more of them, all the better, for the guns are destined for export to the US anyway.
After selecting our guns, we each grabbed a shoulder bag full of ammo and a walking stick and got back in the van. Our destination was Aber-bran, an estate near Brecon, where we were to shoot driven ducks and where we would return the fourth day for driven pheasants and ducks. Experienced driven-bird shooters may think we mean “flighted” ducks, in which the ducks are engaged in near-darkness as they return to their ponds. Our ducks, however, were driven from ponds by beaters under the direction of the gamekeeper. The birds were pushed in such a way as to make them take flight at the proper time, place and interval to fly over the Guns. Oddly, the ducks kept returning to the ponds almost instantly, allowing a continual stream of outgoing and incoming birds—all mallards.
After each drive was over, we simply moved to the next pond. Birds were collected by pickers-up with retrieving dogs that had been stationed behind the Guns.
In keeping with Ken’s commitment that “everything will be taken care of,” when ducks were the quarry, Bismuth cartridges were provided. Ken also managed to provide excellent weather. During our five days of shooting, temperatures were in the low 50s—unseasonably warm for late November in Wales—and there was only occasional light rain. Another nice touch was the assistance provided by gamekeepers Barry Tinkler and Paul Hamson, who rotated among the Guns to act as coaches and assist with loading.
Jeff Mathews, the gamekeeper at Aber-bran, oversaw our three afternoon drives. The first drive was a sobering experience. It sounded like a small war, but only eight ducks ended up on the ground. Were we using Bismuth or blanks? Thankfully, when the horn sounded ending the third drive, 75 ducks had fallen and we were breathing a little easier.
After the drives, Jeff’s family invited us into their farmhouse for tea and Welsh cakes. And before we departed, the Guns had a “wee dram” of Scotch to salute the game and estate staff. Some of the Guns were so bold as to partake of fine cigars. As they say, “It’s all very civilized.” It is the tradition at the end of each day for each Gun to discreetly place a tip (usually £10 to £20) in his hand and shake the hand of the gamekeeper. The keeper then disperses this amongst his staff.
One of the authors—we’ll call him “Steve”—had a most memorable experience on a return visit to Aber-bran later in the trip. Decades of rifle shooting before taking up the shotgun had proven to be a burden. Shooting with a lovely Boswell boxlock from the far-right peg, Steve was doing “no harm” when Stuart Jarvis decided to intervene. The pheasants could be seen for at least five seconds or more before they were in range. According to Stuart, Steve was “aiming.” His instructions were “Don’t think and don’t take the gun off your hip until I tell you.” It then went something like this: Bird crests some very tall trees; Stuart, directly behind Steve, says, “Wait, wait, wait, wait;” the bird is at 11 o’clock and approaching Mach 1; Stuart yells, “Kill him!” Bang! The bird falls to the ground. Stuart puffs on his pipe and Steve is amazed. The drill is then repeated over and over.

Our second day of shooting was at Glan Honddu, which is only a 20-minute drive from the hotel. There were four morning drives of pheasants and partridge—and, yes, the birds were high and fast. Although the drives were exciting, it was lunch that most of us will remember. When lunch was announced, we climbed very steep stairs in a barn to what looked like an attic. The building probably had been in service for at least a couple of hundred years. The Guns along with the hunting support staff (beaters and so on) filled the room to capacity and enjoyed raucous laughter, beer and the traditional shepherd’s pie. On the walls and rafters hung pictures and newspaper articles that documented shoots back to the Great War. We felt the tradition.
Pheasants and partridge weren’t the only birds on our agenda. In keeping with the “fantasy” theme, Ken had mentioned that woodcock would be migrating into Wales and that they might be encountered on a drive. Unlike walk-up woodcock hunting in the States, driven woodcock shooting produces an added adrenaline rush when the birds come at you when you are expecting pheasants or partridge. And although European woodcock are a little bigger than our woodcock, that doesn’t slow them down a bit. Two shooters were successful at bagging ’cock during our shoot—and as is the tradition in Wales, a Gun’s first woodcock calls for the ceremonial picture of blood on the face and pinfeathers in the hat band.
The morning of our third day was spent at the Cefyn Park Estate, which was also just a short drive from the hotel. Four morning pheasant drives yielded about 50 birds. Then we drove about two miles to Ffrwdgrech Estate for lunch and to shoot driven woodcock in the afternoon.
The process was simple: We set up at the pegs and waited until someone yelled, “Woodcock!” as the beaters and pickers-up walked through the woods. Then everyone tried to spot the little brown bullets as they zipped through the trees.
Although it was only about 2 pm, it already was beginning to get dark at that latitude in late November. By request, Stuart Jarvis put on a bit of a show for us. He stepped to a peg with a 12-bore Horsley equipped with 20-gauge GaugeMate adapters and Remington STS cartridges. No sooner was he in position than the call “Woodcock!” echoed. It was a high crossing bird. Bang! Bang! Thud. Elapsed time, perhaps two minutes. The final woodcock count for the day was six. The total number of woodcock encountered? Let’s just say a lot.
Our fifth day of driven shooting was spent at the Vale Estate (a 30-minute drive from our hotel), where it is said that 6,000 pheasants reside. There were four morning and two afternoon drives. This was by far the most exciting shooting of the week, and it resulted in more than 120 birds.
For the afternoon drives we were joined by David Baker, one of the foremost authorities on vintage side-by-side shotguns. The two-volume set he coauthored with Ian Crudgington—The British Shotgun—is an out-of-print, must-have classic (see the Gazette, p. 22). David arrived with a gaggle of Horsleys, one of which was a 16-bore pinfire circa 1861. In no time David downed a pheasant with the pinfire and then swapped it for one of his “newfangled” centerfire (albeit blackpowder) cartridge guns. In the fading light one of the most memorable experiences of the day was hearing the far-off thud of his blackpowder rounds and seeing the funnels of resulting white smoke. Somewhere a former Prince of Wales was smiling.
Our group did a good deal of traveling about the Welsh countryside. The roads are narrow (some were built by the Romans), the countryside is gorgeous and the road signs are daunting. Driving and especially navigating at night would not have been fun. As Ken is essentially a local, we zipped between events in the van with nary a care. Such familiarity with the territory also paid big dividends at mealtime. Breakfast each morning was at The Dragon Hotel and lunches were at the estates, but for dinner we enjoyed a variety of restaurants, several of which only a local would have known about or been able to find.
Travel and mealtime discussions revolved around guns, reloading, guns, wine, cigars, dogs, guns and single-malt Scotch. As noted, this was a guy week, so Ken thought it important to fill any free time with “gun stuff.” After the first day’s shooting we made the 40-minute drive to Newport to visit Litt’s (www.litts.co.uk), one of the biggest gun and sporting-goods stores in the UK. Our first impression was that it was a gun shop not unlike many back home. However, as special guests, we were escorted into a private gunroom, where Carl Erickson, one of Litt’s directors, was waiting with tea and coffee. If you had been looking for a pair of best-grade Lancasters or a Purdey double rifle, this would have been your night. That room should be known as Fantasyland.
Perhaps the pièce de résistance was the evening at The Dragon Hotel when we were joined by fine-gun dealer Mark Crudgington, author David Baker and antique fly-fishing collector and dealer Jeff Franks. After an excellent meal in the private dining room (which also served as our gun-cleaning area), out came the show & tell stuff, most of which was, shall we say, “available.” Crudgington displayed some exceptional pieces and discussed, nonstop, items ranging from crossover stocks to vernier sights for Gibbs-Farquharson rifles. Baker brought a variety of vintage Horsley guns and signed copies of his latest book, Thomas Horsley, Gunmaker of York (reviewed in July/August ’07). Jeff Franks and Stuart Jarvis displayed cane rods and Hardy reels. The discussions went late into the night, and fortunately both the hotel bar and our rooms were only 50 feet away.
When it was time to leave Wales, it was back to the van for the 2-1/2-hour drive to Heathrow. Some of us had flights that day. Those leaving the next day (your authors included) returned to the Park Hotel and then took the Tube into London. Six consecutive days of nonstop gun talk hadn’t been enough, so we visited William Evans and the Beretta Gallery.
The flight home provided plenty of time for reflection. We had fired about 10 flats of ammo—not a South American dove-shooting rate of fire, but substantial. It also had been very satisfying because the birds had been so consistently high and fast. About 370 total had fallen to our No. 5 British shot. The logistics for such an event typically are daunting, but they hadn’t been for us. Hassle-free, indeed. The greatest challenge we faced each day was remembering to bring ear protection and a camera. One reason for the success was Ken’s “by invitation” approach, to ensure a compatible mix of Guns. In the future he may expand his operation to include an event with spouses.
And the question everyone wants to know: What did this excursion cost? For everything in Wales, excluding tips, non-scheduled libations and souvenirs: about $5,000. That was for five days of driven shooting! If you find the whole trip hard to believe, so did we. It was and shall remain our Welsh Fantasy. There usually is a waiting list for this annual event, but who knows, Ken could add more trips. It is, after all, a fun venture for him more than a business.
If you would like more information, try contacting Ken at gamekeeperltd@com cast.net. Don’t be surprised if the response is delayed, as Ken and his bride, also a retired teacher, spend a lot of time in their Welsh Fantasy as well. Did we mention that Ken and Stuart fly-fish for trout on the River Usk in summer? But that’s a story for another time.