Partridge take a shot at flying school

We had an airborne exercise the other day; teaching red-legged partridge to fly. We weren't in the flat lands of Buchan to shoot large numbers, but to give the birds some practice for when the paying guns come.

It's curious, but most game birds, left to their own devices, wouldn't do a lot of flying. Why would you?

Flying is for escaping and making short flips in search of food or sex. To flap around the countryside at high speed and over great distances just uses up a lot of energy, best stored to get you through the winter. At least that's my guess, although it would be nice to think partridge went flying for fun and moments of joyous exultation in the Scottish countryside; days out with the family.

But I don't think it works like that. So they need teaching. We were gathered, ten of us, and told, first, not to shoot one another and, second, to shoot only those birds which were a sporting shot.

Terry the keeper says they soon get the message that they are expected to fly for their lives and next time there is a proper shoot with paying guns they will remember what to do: fly like hell.

Just one day to learn how to become a sporting target seems rather a tall order. Most of us, men at any rate, have to be to be told things several times before it sinks in.

We were warned off the pheasants as their season had only just opened. But if a real stonker came over, by all means gentlemen, have a go.

Before we set off we were asked to "respect the game as we are harvesting a food resource", which I thought was nice. I can see the harvesting of a food resource bit might be arguable, but respecting the game is a fair point. I cannot put my hand on my heart and say I have not on occasions taken a long shot at a departing bird when I should have held my fire rather than risk wounding it. Still.

There are not many places you can go these days to shoot partridge in partridge country. The native grey partridge is in a bad way, largely due to early ploughing of stubble in autumn to sow winter crops. No stubble, no fallen grain and fewer insects to nibble. Consequently there is a voluntary moratorium on shooting grey partridge. But the red-legged, first imported by Charles II from France, can be reared by keepers.

Shoots that rear red legs tend to be on reasonably hilly ground. The birds are driven high off one side of a valley and over the guns. It is fun and often extremely testing. But it is not partridge shooting in natural partridge country. So to shoot partridge on rolling stubble fields still populated by straw bales, on a warm sunny day in early autumn is, in my book, rare and a bit of a privilege. It took me at least until lunchtime (very good elevenses of Champagne and damson gin) to wake up to the fact that even though the birds were low, they were coming hellish fast.

In my pheasant-minded brain I was waiting for them to get up higher, as you would with pheasant later in the year. So I was trying to take them either over the shoulder or behind. But as we all agreed - or at least those having less luck than the others agreed - you have to "take" partridge, zapping over the hawthorn hedgerows well out in front, avoiding the beaters, as you would with driven grouse. The bag was 82.

The only pheasant was bagged by Scottish Hydro Electric Transmission Ltd. A cock crashed at high speed into the electricity wires. Plucked and cooked in less than five. You couldn't do that on gas.