2019 Irish Retriever Championships.

53^rd Irish Retriever Championships 2019

If the value of a working gundog could be said to be measured in just how versatile he can be;  then the winner of this year’s 53^rd Irish retriever championships  left no doubt in anybody’s mind that he is a dog that can face any challenging retrieve, on any type of ground  set out before him.  

Int FTCh Miller McDuff won the Irish retriever Championship in 2017 at Shelton Abbey where he proved his worth as a dog capable of sitting steady  under one of the heaviest pheasant drives in the country. In early December, this year,  he won the IGL, (International Gundog league), Championship in Scotland after coming through an entry of 64 dogs over three days and then, less than two weeks later, he emerged victorious to win the 2019 Irish retriever Championships for his second time.

The venue for this year’s championship was Glenoo Shooting Estate.  Nestled between the south Tyrone mountains  and the valleys of Slieve Beagh, the shoot spreads out over 30,000 acres of the wildest Irish landscape. It offers a wide range of ground with drives developed around the natural topography of the area.

We were here by the kind invitation of Mr Tom Woods and Guns.  Tom has been a long-time supporter of gundog trials and has hosted spaniel trials, HPR trials and retriever trials at Glenoo over the years. This would be the first time, though, that a Championship from any of the gundog sections would be held here.

 The time, work and preparation required to make the ground ready for the championships was very evident over the two days with ample supply of game and the smooth transition between drives. The committee are indebted to Tom and his team for his patience, help and support throughout the year of preparation.

As always this event relies on the generosity of donations from the various retriever clubs throughout the country and also from another long-time supporter of Irish dog sports Connolly’s Red Mills.

The judges for this year’s Championships were Mr Paul Toal (Ireland), Mr Gary McCutcheon (Ireland), Mr Ian Openshaw (UK) and Mr Roddy Forbes (Scotland).

• Forty six dogs qualified for this year’s Championships.
• Thirty nine made the card for the first morning with one withdrawal.
• Of those running, 25 qualified as stake winners with the remaining 13 dogs eligible through 2^nd placings.
• All dogs running were Labradors with the exception of one Golden Retriever bitch , FTCh Tealcreek Isla owned and handled by Mr John Williamson. She has a strong record in the Championships having gained a Diploma of merit two years ago at Shelton and making it to the final ten dogs last year at Corrard.
• The oldest dog to make the running order was FTCH Rosenallis Enzo at over 8 years old. Having broken his leg earlier in the year it was an amazing achievement for him to be able to take his place in the running order.
• The youngest dog competing was two and a half year old Tullyah Jasper, owned and handled by Mr Tony Rodgers, who qualified by winning the Derby Stake at Mohill last year.

Hopes of a clear winter’s day on the mountains faded fast as light slowly came into the morning on the first day.  Low clouds over the mountains with little wind and heavy persistent rain saw us heading into the lower valley, down through a moisture laden old spruce wood which opened up to an area of rushy fields and bracken for a pheasant drive.

 Even numbered dogs were judged by Mr Gary McCutcheon and Mr Ian Openshaw for the first round retrieves.  Uneven numbered dogs, under Mr Paul Toal and Mr Roddy Forbes took their place up on the hill to the left of the drive, separated from a wood by a wide bank of bracken. The drive was short but produced enough birds to see us through the majority of first round retrieves. Dogs were sent from open ground into woodland out of sight. Although these retrieves were not long distances it does require the handler to be be patient and to trust their dog to find the bird unaided.

Five dogs went out on this round of retrieves through failing to find or eye wipes

Dog No. 1            Lisnalinchy Eskimo                                        handled by Mr Paul Burns.

Dog No. 5            FTCH GB FTCH Copperbirch Mandella      handled by Mr Sean Diamond

Dog No. 7            Kilgolagh Morning Dew                                handled by Mr Anthony Reilly

Dog No.20          Copperbirch Rome                                        handled by Mr Keith Matthews

DogNo. 35          Tullyah Faith                                                   handled by Mr Michael Fleville

 Once the ground was cleared, our host Tom invited us to follow him to the duck drive.

On route I was told that this particular drive was fondly known as “The Congo”…. quite simply because once a dog or a person stepped into the cover they disappeared, never to be seen again until they emerged back from whence they came.

This cover caused few problems to the dogs on the side of the line where Paul Toal and Roddy Forbes were judging.

Down by the lakeshore, however the dogs under judges Mr Gary McCutcheon and Mr Ian Openshaw  were facing quite a different scenario.

A mark had been given on a duck which had landed in hard over a cluster of tall old spruce trees to the left far bank of the lake.  It was a long swim, the width was about 90 yards with an added distraction of the drive continuing and duck landing to the far right of the lake.

Two dogs were tried initially and failed to reach the fall.

Dog No.3             FTCH Ulverton Punch                    handled by Mr Matty Lambden

Dog No.9             Tamrose Lannister                          handled by Mr Jimmy Black

The next dog No. 11 Tievenamara Eve, handled by Mr Ian Davis, was sent to retrieve a duck from the lake which had fallen in line with the duck on the far bank. She was successful in doing so.

Next dog No.13 FTCH Tamrose Aragon, handled by Mr Matty Lambden, was then sent to try for the original bird on the far shore. He made the long swim across, but unfortunately, he pulled too far to the right out of the area of the fall and was called up.

Dog No. 15 Quarrypool Glenda handled by Mr John Behan was also tried and failed.

Dog No.17 Int FTCH Miller McDuff was next dog up.  He crossed the lake, hunted the area asked, held the ground well but found nothing.  The dog was called in and on his return the judges asked that he pick a bird that had fallen in the water while he had been working the far bank. This he did and he was credited with a retrieve.

Dog No.19 FTCH Tealcreek Isla handled by Mr John Williamson was sent next. She made it to the far bank and did a good job holding the area without a find. When she was called up, however, she persisted in hunting which saw the end of her time in the competition.

 Finally dog No. 21 Dorretsland Goshawk handled by Ms Hazel Murphy was also tried but again pulled out to the right of the lake and was called in.

The judges then moved to clear the ground in the woods along the lake and several tidy retrieves were undertaken here before we moved back to the lakeshore again.

Dog No. 31 Yellow Gorse handled by Mr David Quigley was tried on a deceptively tricky retrieve in the splash pool by the slipway. He had to negotiate two strands of fencing but looked for an easier access point on the way in and also on his return this was enough to see him out of the competition.

The low winter sun had broken through the clouds and was sitting just above the level of the pine trees as two more dogs took their place along the slipway at the lake.

Dog No. 26 Tullyah Jasper, the youngest dog in the championships, owned and handled by Mr Tony Rogers was sent for a retrieve across the middle of the lake to the far shore. The retrieve was directly into the sun but by now the high trees that surrounded the lake cast the far bank into deep shadow.  So, not only was the distance longer than the previous water retrieve, it was also extremely difficult for the handler to help his dog once it entered the shadows on the far side. Tony’s dog made the far bank and flushed a duck that had been marked by the judge standing there. He was credited with the retrieve. For a dog so young he showed incredible maturity in coping with such a technically difficult retrieve.

 Next dog was No.28 Trefalwyn Kribensis of Shadowbrae, (placed second in last year’s championships), owned and handled by Mr Richard Johnston.  He cast his dog across the lake to follow the ribbon of sunlight that danced along the surface. One more push to encourage the dog before he disappeared into the shadows on the far shore. Our judge on the far bank radioed in to indicate the dog had reached the area of the fall. With a little handling from Richard simply to steady the dog in the area very quickly a duck was flushed and flew low over the lake. He was credited with the retrieve and was called back across the lake. It was a long cold swim back to the shore, part of which he had to negotiate his way between two rafts of duck that had drifted into his line. He showed incredible self-control by swimming straight through without disturbing a single bird off the water.

With the clouds breaking up we took advantage of that little extra daylight and headed up the valley to a drive called the Watchtower. This was a small compact drive across bracken and heather. The judges were hoping to finish out all second round retrieves before closing their books for the day.

Unfortunately darkness crept into the valley sooner than we had hoped.  On the final retrieve of the day we saw dog No.33 FTCH Drumgoose Fabagas of Aithness fail to make the fall and called up. Dog No. 31 FTCH Ringbarn Fletching, handled by Mr Michael Corr, followed up on that retrieve. He made a lovely job of going straight to the area and finding the bird but unfortunately switched on his return seeing him out of the running. The judges conferred and finished for the day.

Day 2.

Twelve dogs and handlers lined out for day two. Four of the twelve were to complete their second round retrieves.

A cold night gave way to a bright morning with broken cloud and the odd snow flurry. We were headed to the valley. This is the place for which Glenoo is best known as a walked up trialling venue. Long sloping sides are cut through by a small fast flowing river which seems to run on to infinity. It offered wonderful viewing for the gallery of followers and the dogs would be tested greatly on their ability to mark and to run directly to a fall without hesitating at the white water rushing through at the bottom of the valley.

Dog No. 32 FTCH Shimnavale Jasmine of Drumnamoe handled by Mr John Barr jnr, last year’s Championship winner, was the first dog sent on day 2. Hesitation at the water cost her and she was called up quickly.

Lost on this round also were:

Dog No. 36 Crosstone Trickster handled by Mr Kieran Coey

Dog No. 38 Copperbirch Arthur of Scappaflow handled by Mr Martin Fitzgerald

Dog No. 39 FTCH Mayberry Boitien handled by Mr David Fitzgerald.

Within an hour of starting the field had been whittled down to the final eight dogs.

As we made our way along the valley the terrain changed making it a little less straightforward. Rocky outcrops on one side of the valley matched by small birch and spindle woods on the other pushed the dogs, handlers, Guns and gallery higher up both of the valley sides meaning retrieves were longer and more technically difficult.

The final eight dogs were a true pleasure to watch. Casting without hesitation and crossing the river without difficulty. Dog No. 25 FTCH Skerryview Alisha at Annaloughan,(the only bitch in the final eight line up), Dog No 17. Int FTCH Miller McDuff and Dog No. 27 Dees Companion handled by Mr Damien Kelly really stood apart in these final round of retrieves mainly due to their casting skills, style and ability to hold an area when asked.

The final retrieve of the day epitomised, for me, just why Glenoo is such wonderful ground for testing the merits of good trialling dogs. Mr Damien Kelly’s dog, Dees Companion, was sent for a retrieve that had fallen in line with the last Gun onto the top crest of the valley on the far side. He took the line, never hesitated when crossing the river, and headed up the far bank with speed and style. It took just one further push to get him past the scent of a previous fall but then he did not stop until told to do so by his handler. A quick find then he was on his way home with as much style and speed as before.

When this ground was offered we knew it would be challenging for all sorts of reasons and it did not disappoint. Glenoo proved itself as an unforgiving master. It is ground where mistakes on the part of dog or handler cannot be hidden and where really the best dogs on the day shone through.

Three dogs remained and truly deserved the awards they were given.

First Place :

Int FTCh Miller McDuff owned and handled by Mr Declan Boyle.

Trophies for 1^st place were:         Redmills perpetual trophy,                                                                   Winners trophy sponsored by Mr Albert Titterington.                        The Knight Frank Ganly Walters perpetual trophy.                             The Barabara Eustace Duckett memorial trophy.                               The Maude perpetual Challenge Cup.

Second Place:

Dees Companion owned and handled by Mr Damien Kelly. He received The Auckland Perpetual trophy.

Third Place:

FTCH Corrib Darcy owned and handled by Mr Paul O Brien. He received The Barra Flynn Memorial Perpetual trophy

Top placed bitch was awarded to FTCH Skerryview Alisha at Annaloughan owned and handled by Mr Peter Colville. He received The Fred McGuirk Perpetual trophy.

Chester

Chester. Of all my Chesapeakes he was my Husband’s dog. They worked well together. Des just had a better way of handling him than me. For me, Chester was almost too much dog; I lived on my nerves when we worked together on the shoots . He was a big numbers dog; happiest when standing covering multiple guns and clearing everything that fell within his eye line without the hindrance or aid of another dog to impede his progress.

The winter of 2008/2009 , here in Ireland, was a long one.

In October the rains came. The temperate winds from the west  came in from the Atlantic raising the water levels that coincided with the high tides of the Autumn equinox. Dublin flooded, Cork city was impassable and the whole of central Ireland became marooned as the river Shannon burst her banks and shed her load farther and wider into the lands that ran the course of her length. Then the winds changed and down from the northeast came the cold drafts  of Siberia. And so, as the days shortened and winter deepened Ireland lay frozen in one of the coldest hardest winters that I can remember.

It was a morning in early January 2009 that my Husband, Des, set off loaded with gun and dog. He was to meet up with friends in the midlands hoping to get lucky with decoying the flood plains which that had formed along the the far reaches of the Shannon and her tributaries.The northeast freeze up still held most of the country in an icy grip. The winds that persistantly blew in from Siberia that winter had brought in their wake unprecedented numbers of migrating birds…..black and whites, teal , tufties and mallard, all pushed further south and in greater numbers to the more temperate climate that Ireland offered.

 

They picked their spot, the wind seemed favorable enough to keep the birds low but moving and in a position ,they hoped( as that is the word wildfowlers live by), that seemed like a good sheltered spot to draw in teal and tufties to feed.

Under the cover of darkness they spread their decoys  in an enticing pattern. Then the four guns settled down spread about the reeds that edged the field, that was once a summer meadow but was now knee to thigh deep in cold frigid water.

It is the waiting that is the toughest part of wildfowling, when you have nothing to take your mind off the creeping cold that rises from the bottom of your boots and creeps to every corner of your body. As the purple dawn emerged from the bottom of the sky  each man peered hopefully for a glimpse of a silhouette against the lightening skyline. Four guns and one dog, a Chesapeake, named Chester.

 

I know for sure that for him on that morning he most likely breathed deeply the scents of what was about to unfold and felt utterly confident that those four guns no matter how far apart they spread themselves could be covered by him alone.

It was not long before the lightening sky and biting wind forced the birds to move in search of feeding and better shelter from the relentless cold. The men had chosen wisely. The flooded field lay in the bend of the river where the birds were apt to cut across over the reeds to a narrow tributary further south.

The guns were patient biding their time until the birds came within range and one by one they fell. The shots did not deter the birds and they kept coming and falling. All the time methodically sought out and found by Chester as he worked the reeds in the chest deep water. There were long spells where he had to stand waiting on the raised clump of rushy turf behind Des as the cold water lapped around his body but his attention never wavered and his reward was another hunt , another retrieve of warm game all of which were brought back to Des.

He gained the undying respect of not only my husband that morning but also of his three hunting companions. Each and every shot bird that was found by the chesapeake was brought tenderly to hand before turning his attention to the angry grey January skies again waiting for the next one to fall.

January 2009 River Shannon with Chester.

 

Chester had many vices, ( not least was his knack of singing while waiting for a drive to start),but  once he was given the go ahead to start working he did so with such drive, focus and energy that never let up until every bird he could possibly retrieve was delivered safely back to hand. In all his years retrieving there was never a single toothmark on a bird that he returned with. He remained respectful of his quarry to the end. That is what he thrived on and where his passion lay.

His knowledge of the birds he hunted was uncanny; one of those few dogs I’ve seen that had the ability to differentiate, in air , which birds were hit in a drive of hundreds and which ones lived to go on for another  day. He never gave up on a wounded bird no matter how far it travelled, he would follow the line to where it touched the ground then pick up it’s trail to where it inevitably dug into cover.

For a dog that was precious about entering cover at a working test in the quest for a green dummy I watched in wonder many’s a time as he belly crawled under and through bramble patches that would have tested a cocker spaniel to get that bird that he knew was in there. But so too was he clever enough to figure out that if cover had an exit point it was quicker to skip around the back and look for an easier path through. He had no interest in unwounded game, learning quickly that they took too much energy and time to hunt but in a contest of wills between diving duck and the Chessie he was always the more determined not to fail.

Shelton was his last love, he loved the freedom it gave him to hunt unhindered without being inhibited by tight drives.

And so it will be His final resting place. When the time is right we will bring His ashes and scatter them across the tailings for one final hunt through the bushes, brambles and the river that he came to know so well.

Chester at Shelton with Des.

 

 

 

Rest In Peace Penrose Nomad

5/3/2002 – 21/9/ 2017.

 

The Hunt….

Our Breed standard calls for a Chesapeake to be .. ‘equally proficient in land and water’…. and although their reputation as a strong tenacious swimmer may be legendary their skills as a competent upland game dog are often underestimated…..the following tale might sway your opinion….

Through the old stone wall piers and onto the lane, the dogs wandering just ahead of me , we were just short of where my friend Joe and his lab Solo were seated, when Uisce dived into the ditch on the right and up the other side of the sheep wire fence rose a  wounded cock pheasant.

His wing beats were laboured, going too fast for the speed and level of flight he was at, and very quickly the effort was too much and I watched him drop down and run the fence line towards the gate into the field beside the rushy bottoms. The banked hedge meant that his path was not visible to either dog.

Uisce was still buried in the cover, so I took Bertie to the corner of the field where a stile made the stock fence  safer to cross and sent him back along the fence line where I had seen the bird drop and run. He took a good line and when he hit the point where I had seen the bird drop  his lowered head and quickening pace told me he had found the trail.And so the hunt was on….

Half way down the field , just past the gate that turns into Foley’s field he pulled up abruptly and a frustrated bark told me this was most likely the point  where the bird could  have stalled but stock fence topped with barbed wire pulled tight along a hawthorn hedge was preventing my dog from  progressing any further. I caught up with him quickly, and brought him back fifty meters to where the fence was not so tight to the ground, guided him under and  then from there he retracked back to where he left the point of scent inside the fence….

Again the bird broke cover and into flight, this time though Bertie was determined no hedge or fence was going to hold him back either and he busted through the hawthorn keeping pace underneath the bird as they headed off across the field  towards the maize crop that bordered the narrow wood. Uisce had caught up with me by this time and we both watched from the gateway as the drama  continued to unfold across the field.

Just short of the crop the bird dropped to the ground but continued to run with Bertie closing in  on every stride. One last quick dip to the right by that wily bird threw Bertie off balance and he tumbled head over heels across the boggy bottom  ground and the bird was away again.

If the bird made cover now , it would be a much more difficult task to find him as the dog would have to sift through the combination of scents coming from the several birds that no doubt had begun to gather in the crop at the end of the drive.

Uisce had him marked and I sent her in pursuit…off across the field she went at full gallop. The bird reached the crop and disappeared but the Chessies were literally on his tailfeathers as the crop swallowed all three.The chase continued through the crop as maize  was thrashed by two forty kilogram Chessies intent on keeping pace with the agile bird.

Then everything stopped and within a few seconds the crop parted and Uisce emerged with the wounded pheasant held securely in her mouth and a very tired Bertie in her wake. Head up she saw me and picked up her pace where the bird was delivered safely to hand.

We made our way back to where Joe and Solo waited…Joe rose from his seated position took the bird from me and with no words spoken shook my hand and acknowledged both dogs with a quiet salute. We gathered up our game carriers, called to our dogs and as the winter sun dipped below the level of the treeline we headed for home.

 

 

This thing called ” waterfreaking “….

 

I have a dog that loves to swim.

Her need for water goes way beyond the normal frolics that most dogs get up to when you throw a tennis ball in the water. She enters water regardless of the need to retrieve anything; most times it will be to swim parallel to shore as we mere mortals walk the beach or towpath.

Every now and then, however, she will throw her left paw up to create a little splash and then she will toss her head back in pure ecstasy. Her eyes will glaze over as if hypnotized by the water splash. She will let out an excited yip, turn in circles and as she repeats the process she will turn away from the shore or the riverbank and swim out towards the open water;  sometimes so far away that if you didn’t know any better you would think it was a seal bobbing up and down beyond the line where the waves break….

She is a strong swimmer; stronger than any of my other Chessies, ( including the males); so if allowed, this process can easily run on for the duration of our ‘walk’.

And I have often allowed her to do so but not in the early days, when she was younger; in those days this thing called ‘waterfreaking’…freaked me out far more than her!!

The most frustrating aspect of waterfreaking, ( and I use this term in the losest of its meanings as, in my humble opinion, the dogs involved are in no way , shape or form ‘freaked’ by water),  is our inability to immediately correct a behaviour which , comparatively speaking, is no different from a young dog running freely chasing birds and butterflies and oblivious to all sense of danger or direction from their owner.

And in our ignorance and frustration we let the behaviour slide into an entrenched pattern . And anyone who knows Chesapeakes will know that once a Chessie develops a habit for a pattern of behaviour  that stubborn streak is most unwilling to relinquish something which, to them, is so much more fun than being told what to do.

We may be advised incorrectly that our young dogs antics are simply a young puppy learning to swim…so we let it continue in the hope they will grow out of it. It won’t happen.

We may think from their antics that they are panicking in water and so may take a softly, softly approach and encourage them in soft soothing tones that everything will be alright. It doesn’t work.

We may even try to put some sort of control over where and how they enter water by only allowing them to retrieve from ACROSS water and not FROM water. This method is bound for failure in the initial stages at least…..

And all the time this most frustrating of Chessie quirks becomes more and more embedded.

To fix it…

Firstly, well I’m afraid , you are going to have to be prepared to get wet. If not full immersion at the very least you will require waders !! As the most important thing your Chessie has to realise is that you have as much control of them in water as on land.

Secondly find yourself a good trainer, one who believes in you and your dog.

The good news is that more than any other behaviour that might befall a Chessie, this is one of the easiest to get a handle on, if you recognise it for what it is.

You see one of the great things about Chessies is that they like to be rewarded for a job well done and with a dog who waterfreaks the motivation to work in water is there from the outset in their pure passion for the stuff you are asking them to retrieve from.

Once the holy grail of Chessie training is applied..that is fairness, consistancy and control…I promise you it will be worth it as the dogs that generally are gifted with waterfreaking tendencies really are in the elite league when it comes to swimming.

With the help and guidance of a good trainer, in my case, Mr Ronnie Farrelly of Tealwood kennels, Uisce has developed into the strong, controlled and confident swimmer I always knew she could be. Two weeks ago she competed in a working test where four of her six retreieves were from or across water and she finished second in Open/ Unclassified.

 

 

 

Just one more Hunt….by Mary Murray

A poem dedicated to a dog who lived for the hunt….Chester now aged 14 years and pictured today on most likely his final day out hunting.xxx

 

Just one more Hunt,

That’s all I seek,

Before these aging legs grow weak.

 

One more time to raise my clouding eye

As the whosh of wingbeats fill the sky.

My body is old but my heart has the will

to track that blood trail up the hill.

 

And through the cover where I know

Those clever pheasants always go.

I’ll try my best to bag a Duck

From the tailings pond with all that muck.

 

My gait may be unsteady

And my strength is fast draining

but I will Hunt to the end

With each breath remaining.

 

The last Hunt is over

I was up to the task and I thank you, my Master ,

‘cos all that I ask…

Is to follow my calling where the high pheasants fall and to Hunt with my heart

And give it my all…..

 

 

 

To retrieve a Duck….

Duck rising off the Tailings at Shelton

We came to the river again for the Duck Drive, just as the late winter sun dipped below the tree line at the top of the valley.

October 2015 will not be remembered for crisp clear mornings bright with frost , it will be remembered instead for record rainfall and temperatures more akin to late summer than early winter. When November 1st arrived at Shelton, although it stayed dry, the unseasonably mild weather had left all gamekeepers with the unwanted headache of trying to keep birds within boundaries when the hedgerows were still laden with natural feeding.

The first frosts hadn’t come,  leaving the brambles still green and difficult for both us and the dogs to push through. So by the time we took up our spot on the gravel island at the fork in the river most of the dogs were tired from three heavy pheasant drives and the river was not in a gentle kind of mood.

Full from the heavy rains that fell earlier in the week it would be foolhardy to treat the Avoca, that day, with anything but the utmost respect.

I am always cautious with the dogs I work on the river drive. Young dogs come along only when steady and are kept on lead to watch the older dogs work. I learned my lesson many years ago when I foolishly sent Chester in to this very river on a very lightly wounded duck and watched in horror as the current took both him and the duck round the bend and out of sight. Thankfully, it ended well when he got the duck, found the bank down by the prison and made his way back; but I know it could have ended equally as badly.

Today I had Winnie and Bertie, both experienced dogs in relation to waterwork . We watched as the duck came over the tailings and flew up and across the river. Some were caught by the guns at this stage and from that moment until the end of the drive, thirty  minutes later, the dogs were in constant motion.

They  worked well with the current , swimming out and turning into it as the birds came downstream to them and then going with the current until it carried them back into their own depth where they brought the birds back to me. They also pushed through the current and retrieved birds that fell on the far bank; occasionally they had an easy run up the gravel island to pick a bird from the stones.

The horn blew, to signal the end of the drive. We had filled two game carriers in that short period of time but there was one final retrieve I needed and as Bertie was the younger and fitter of the pair the task fell to him.

Halfway across the widest and fastest flowing part of the river a piece of deadwood rose from the water, strung with all sorts of debris that had got caught up in its branches now it held a drake mallard captive. The bird had been carried downriver during the drive while the dogs were working on other retrieves so they had no idea it was there and the bits of debris flapping like flags in the current masked any sign of the bird from the island where we stood.

I cast Bertie on a line above the deadwood, aiming him for the far bank, anticipating the current would pull him in line with the branches by the time he reached mid-river. He entered the water and felt that familiar pull of the river as it gripped him determinedly and pulled him downstream; with each powerful stroke, though, he was moving nearer the branches but also being pulled sideways by the current. Every stroke was  a battle to simply stay on course. Mid river and the current had carried him to where I expected him to be, Bertie was now below the deadwood . I blew hard on my whistle hoping  to get his attention above the roar of the water and asked him to hunt. It worked, he lifted his head clear of the water and searched using both nose and eyes, he caught the scent and  locked onto the flapping debris, pumped those shoulders harder than before to drive into the current and slowly, slowly work his way towards those branches. With one final drive he reached his head forward and pulled the duck from where the branches held it tightly, then he let go of all effort and allowed the current to carry him downriver to where it sweeps past the shallow end of the island. There he found his footing, pulled himself clear of the water and  with bird in mouth he gave  one final shake and made his way back to  where Winnie and I waited…

There are plenty of times my dogs and I mess up during the season and I value these as lessons to be  learned and move on from. However, every once in a while it all comes together, like this day on the river. These are the days to be treasured for times when I can reach my hand down in search of a brown head and rub a pair of soft brown ears as I retell the story, to any willing ear, of Bertie’s blind duck retrieve on a winters day in Shelton..

Hope you had a great season everyone from Me and the Brown Bunch.xx

.

The dreams of an old dog.

What does my old dog, Chester, dream of ?

He dreams of a place where the mountain streams cut so deep and sharp into the granite bed that the sun never reached the bottom of the valley floors in deepest darkest Winter; where each breath hung in the air half caught between  freezing  and the damp bone soaking cold; where the brambles laced so tightly through the bracken and the felled plantation making each  search for a bird  a push through thorns or a fall though a mosaic of twisted branches. He dreams of a place called Ballycooge.

We had followed the guns deep into the plantation. It was nearing the end of the season, birds were harder to find now;they were fitter, wiser and when they broke cover strong wingbeats quickly brought them higher and further from shooting range. Big bags, though, were not the target at this time of year and certainly the Guns we had that day were skilled and competent sportsmen , selective in their choice of target.

Our picking up team was sparse,for eight guns there were three of us with a dog each. This suited Chester , the fewer the number of dogs and the harder he had to work the more he relished it. He was a pain in the ass to hold on a tight drive, but on a drive where he had sole command he never doubted his capabilities of retrieving each and every bird that fell behind the guns, (…as Handler and Dog we had many arguments about this but I had to concede  he was usually right).

Donal stayed behind the three guns that took their places at the bottom of the felled plantation. I covered the waterlogged field with Chester where the remaining guns spread out across  in a two hundred metre line and Tom, in his eightieth year, was to stay on the lane and cover the duck pond. We were confident that all areas and angles were covered. This wasn’t a tight drive, it was boundary shooting at its best and with the cover that surrounded the gun line and our lack of dogs, birds would be picked as they fell. What birds were here we had no way of knowing. The Guns were reaching their bag limit for the day so it was more of a try out type drive with possibilities for next season; twenty birds max would see happy Guns and tired enough dogs.

The horn blew to indicate the start of the drive. The beaters slowly making their way across the top of the felled plantation high above the gunline from left to right. All eyes and ears focussed on that line of sillhouettes as they made their way through the cover. Chester was on lead beside me shaking and whining in anticipation of what might come.

The first shots rang out from our left as a few birds broke over the plantation. That was enough for the duck to lift off the pond to our right at the end of the field. They rose in a circle over the pond before scattering across the field over the Guns in front of us.

Things were relatively manageable at this stage. Two wounded duck were retrieved and quickly dispatched; three more collected from behind the guns. As the beating line drew level with the hedge dividing the plantation from the field the first few pheasant drifted over our Guns in the field. They fell in an arc behind the guns, were quickly collected by Chester and added to our game carrier.

Everything was still relatively controlled. Birds were breaking nicely, giving the guns ample time to reload and the dogs a chance to settle….then just as the first heavy flush of pheasant flew over the guns in the field the duck came back for a fly by….

They flew, they fell, they tumbled some stone dead some wounded…All along the gun line, behind them in the thick heavy mud, some in the gorse bank to the right by the pond, some in the stream behind us . I was sinking knee deep in peat and unable to move as Chester pulled himself through the muck across the field . Every gun along the line was given his full and undivided attention, playing to his strengths of marking and memory he returned with each bird before taking off again without direction from me to find that other bird he saw going down somewhere along the gun line .

When it became clear that the Guns in the plantation were going to have a quiet stand Donal peeped his head through the gap in the hedge and with a grin asked if I needed assistance. I  still stood , trapped, knee deep in the water logged field , my game carrier was full; I had started to gather a second pile and my dog was still crossing the length of the field keeping up with the birds as they fell.

When the horn signalled the end of the drive we had filled two game-carriers and Chester had by then turned his attention to hunting out the more difficult birds, the ones that had drifted into the woods up behind the stream. His pace had steadied but not slowed; he was now more focussed on those single retrieves that required testing the cover for the specific scent that wounded game leave.

There was no doubt that his skills as a raw hunting dog were phenomenol. It was easy to see, watching him, why the market hunters of old developed a dog with an unquenchable appetite for hunting and finding large numbers of game. He was exciting to watch and absolutely uncanny in his ability to find birds in all sorts of cover either on land or water…

In many ways I regret Chester may have suffered through my ignorance in lack of training…but then sometimes I also wonder whether the level of training I put into my current batch of Chessies may somehow blunt that natural flair that makes a Chessie a Chessie and not a Lab….

Chester aka Ir Ch UK Ch Int Ch Penrose Nomad is now retired to the fireside and approaching his 14th year….He still dreams of winter days.xxx

Early season pheasant breast in buttermilk marinade.

The marinade is from Nevin Maguire’s Christmas collection which he uses for Turkey, with some modifications 🙂

 

Pheasant is a lean meat but the early season birds even more  so, I find very little pickings on the legs and as such  tend to work with the breast. The remainder of the bird can be used to make stock base for soup.This an easy to prepare simple recipe that keeps moisture in the meat as much as possible.

Take one brace of pheasant  remove, wash and prepare the breasts, keep the skin if possible. Place in a bowl and prepare the marinade

For the marinade use 500mls of buttermilk or enough to completely cover 4 pheasant breasts.

Finely chop one orange, leaving the rind on.

3 cloves of garlic, peeled but not chopped.

season generously with salt and pepper and I also add a good scattering of thai 5 spice.

Pour the marinade over the breasts, cover the bowl with cling-film and place in the fridge for at least 8 hours.

When ready for cooking remove from fridge and wipe off the buttermilk using paper towel.

In his turkey recipe Nevin uses harissa butter to coat the meat but I used some Blackberry chutney which I bought from a lady who had a stall at the Nevin Maguire cookery night.

Once covered in chutney, wrap each breast streaky bacon , pie dish and cover with tin foil.

Bake in a preheated oven about 180 celcius for about 25 minutes.

Chesapeake : “I think therefore I am” …..more tricky to train, maybe?

Your eyes meet across the small pond, both minds set on the challenge ahead, both thinking exactly the same thing but wanting very different outcomes …..Is the Chessie going to come back with his retrieve through the water on this warm summer day as his handler wishes? Or Is he going to mentally assess a more energy saving option and take the land bridge home???

Which would you choose??

I have found myself, as a handler in this predicament on many occasions.Watched as Labrador after Labrador diligently took the same line back as they took going out without a flicker of questioning but knowing that even before I cast my dog across the water he is already reading the landscape with his eyes and doing mental calculus on how to get home better.

The Chesapeake is a thinking dog. Their survival as a breed often working in life threatening weather conditions out of sight of their handler meant that the ability to read a situation was imperative to getting both them and their quarry home safely. They needed to know they had options, however, it is this very ability to think through every life scenario that often mistakenly lands them with clichés and stereotypical labels such as, “difficult to train”, “hardheaded” and “not good enough to Field trial”….

In most cases, if you’re lucky, you will get fair warning of  this ability of the Chesapeake to think ahead and weigh up His options. It will be evident from the moment He opens his  eyes and totters about the whelping box checking out the perimeter. He will lift his tiny muzzle above the lowest point in the box where Mum skips in and out. Rather than wait patiently for her return he learns very quickly that there is another option….He  can simply follow that wonderful smell of milk and fill his belly quicker. These are the Chessie babies that, because their need to figure things out comes early in their development, will train you as a handler and an owner to walk slowly and take your time through training.

….oh but then there is the other type of Chessie puppy….

So there you are all fuzzy and warm, basking in the glow of the newness and excitement of having your new Chessie puppy.

He or she  no doubt is smart,( smart as in human terms,learning things quickly that please you ), and pretty soon you are proudly able to list off all their accomplishments of how they have mastered sit, wait, stay, heel and come all  within a week of ownership. You will talk about how friendly and sociable they are around other dogs, how they love all dogs large and small. In fact I can pretty much guarantee that doubts will even cross into your mind about whether the warnings and cautions your puppy’s breeder gave you about taking your time in training, about the importance of socialising your Chesapeake puppy properly are really true at all….

Time passes, and buoyed with the confidence of how easily and eagerly your young dog took to basic training you decide to increase the pressure and you again are pleasantly surprised how easily he starts to  run lines, obey some whistle work, maybe taking a left and right  cast AND still only 9 months old !!!.

Then, just when you think you have trained the beast, when you can sit back and give yourself a giant pat on the back for a job well done everything starts to unravel …..he starts to push ahead when he should be doing impeccable heelwork, he ignores all direction and acts like he has never heard a whistle before let alone the sit command, a scent trail is more fun to follow than coming back to you when you call him, he squares up to other young males when out walking despite your admonishments to ‘play nicely’…

What happened ?? Where did it all go wrong you may wonder ?? Where in god’s name has that wonderful puppy that you worked so hard to mould and train gone to and how do you get him back?

And the answer is simply your Chessie just realised he has options other than what you ask him to do. His maturing mind, the one needed to help him survive the brutal foreshore currents in times past, has kicked into gear in readiness for his future role as a working widldfowling dog.

This is the hardest stage, I think, in Chesapeake development for both Dog and Owner. It is the stage that I ,as a breeder, am prepared to get the most calls about and hope that in the long conversations that follow I can offer some insight into what can seem like a neverending episode of ‘ dog behaving badly’.

So, as a breeder I will tell you that this is the time your young dog needs your guidance most,( even though He thinks He doesn’t). Tease out the strands of his training, allow him to think through each small aspect of what you ask him to do by shortening your sessions and breaking them down more. Allow him to question and think things through so he can understand. And when that doesn’t work guide him some more.

You will always have a thinking Dog, it is in their DNA but I believe when a Chesapeake fully understands what is being asked of Him or Her they give their very best performances.

Sometimes though all  the cajoling in the world will not win out over a Chessie mind that knows the shortest and safest route home with a retrieve is by land when your eyes lock across a small pond in Summer…..but that’s another story.

Two men went to the marsh…..

 

Two men went to a marsh, they were looking for a wildfowling dog and had been told this was the place they might find one.
Both were experienced hunters of upland game and had spent many a winters day following their spaniels across the midland bogs and thick gorse ditches in search of snipe and pheasant. They had enjoyed the high challenging birds of the driven shoot and watched with admiration the dogs that waited patiently and worked silently and almost unnoticed as they gently and tenderly retrieved the birds that fell around their pegs.
Times changed the bogs were lost to the building boom where midland villages became commuting towns. Work brought the men to the southern coast and wildfowling became their sport of choice.
The life of a wildfowler is not an easy one. Only the most dogged and determined hunter , ( some might say marginally insane ), will rise before dawn in winter, look out their window and pump their fists in celebration that a force 8 gale is blowing outside.  Bring on high tides, heavy swell, dark cloudy skies , lots of wind and the wildfowler is in his element.. Yes, the life of a wildfowler is not an easy one and the dog that accompanies him or her must be as resolute and determined to hunt and retrieve those birds as his master is.
For that first year along the foreshores in the south their plucky little spaniels coped well. On the mornings when the birds came in on a low calm tide ,and there were a good many of those mornings, the dogs rarely lost a bird in the heavy reeds that surrounded the marsh edges. It was when the full moon tides coupled with winter storms and freezing winds came that, although the little dogs worked hard, birds were lost and on one or two occasions dogs were dragged away with  strong currents and almost lost in the process.
The men  had grown to love the wildness and unpredictability of this type of hunting but realised that if they were to continue they needed a  dog with more strength and substance to deal with the high tide waters and the excruciating cold as they waited out those long hours along the marsh edges for birds to come in…..
On that morning, in late November, winter was in one of her worst moods. A north-east wind bellowed down the shoreline, rain mixed with sleet pelted hard against the windshield where they pulled in to meet their fellow wildfowling companions intent on sufferance for the hours to come.

Dogs weaved in and out among cars and humans, tails wagging, caught up in the anticipation and excitement of what was going to come. Their silhouettes and body language instantly recognisable as Spaniels and labs. Both were breeds they were familiar with and respected and admired.

The dogs they had been told about, though, sat alone in the back of their owners open pick up truck.  Chief, the male,  and his sister Kuma were Chesapeakes. They showed little interest in the business that involved the spaniel meet and greet. Their amber eyed gaze shifted instead, between what their master was doing and out past the parked cars  into the inky distance towards the sea, noses testing the wind for any signs of what the morning’s hunt might bring. There was an aloofness and indifference about their bearing, not unfriendly, just a sense that  being here was not a social visit but a duty to their Master. With their size, broad muscular chests and thick wavy oily coats their stature and physique left no doubt that no matter how long it took or  how hard the task this pair had every confidence in accomplishing what was to be asked of them..

A call from their master and  the dogs leaped from the back of the truck with surprising athleticism for such big dogs and with tails wagging and a houndy ‘roo, roo’ they joined the procession into the marsh.

Four guns spread out below the seawall that ran in a C- shape around the marsh, breaking only at one point where the wall had long ago collapsed and allowed the tide to fill the salt marsh twice daily.

Tucked in on the southside base of the seawall there was relative protection from the relentless wind although no such respite was given from that cold driving rain. The group settled down, dug their hands deep into their pockets and waited.  The dogs sat alert facing into the wind and rain,never wavering from their posts as sentinals;  staring instead through half closed eyes off into that middle distance again, noses raised to the wind as if challenging it to blow harder.

Nothing changed that was apparent, except a slight shift in the body language of Chief and an almost imperceptible sound like a licking of the lips. It was enough ,though, to make their Master cast aside all conversation, gather his gun and peer into that band of purple half light that promised dawn was coming.

Over the seawall, silent, swift and flying low into the wind came a flock of teal. As the first shots rang out across the marsh there was just enough light to make out the silhouettes of two as they faltered, peeled away from the retreating flock and dived into the marsh in front.

A single command to Chief and he was off , over the wall and disappeared into the darkness.  Whether a bird would remain lost or be found depended on him, his nose, and his desire to use it. Darkness and the impenetrable sea wall precluded any help offered by his master. The bird was found and as he brought it to hand Kuma was sent to seek out the second bird that fell. Their master never rushed them, he had no idea how far they needed to range to find that bird but as long as they stayed out there in the dark hunting they were left to figure it out for themselves. Kuma seemed to have had a harder job finding the second bird, they could hear her splashing through the channels as she worked, snuffling as her nose figured out the myriad of scents that lay within the mesh of marsh grasses, but eventually this bird was also brought back to the bag. Both dogs again settled into their role of sentinals and watched the ever lightening skies for movement.

Sunrise never came that morning it was swallowed instead by an angry mix of grey and purple clouds and as the storm strengthened and the tide rose higher the birds moved from the mudflats in the center of the estuary to the shelter of the inland channels and streams for feeding.  His companions on either side filled their bags but alas apart from the early teal nothing came our man’s way.

The measure of a good wildfowling dog is not in the volume of birds they retrieve, ( most serious wildfowlers will only shoot what they can bring home to the pot ), but in their persistence and game finding skills of working wounded birds on difficult water.  An experienced wildfowling dog will work the current to their advantage, not waste energy fighting it  and steadily follow that bird. They know that once a shot is fired and bird down the place to look for a bird is not the sky but the water and the reeds around the water. They will doggedly pursue a diving duck until called off or the duck gives up but mostly they have to learn to be patient, to endure the harshest weather that winter can throw at them and still wait.

When the tide was at it’s highest that morning, the Chessie owner and his dogs were called to the end of the seawall by one of the spaniel men. The channel here was at it’s widest and the tide was rushing in at a bracing 4-5 knots /min. The plucky little spaniel had made several brave attempts to negotiate the increasingly strong current in an attempt to cross  the water where a pair of teal had been shot and landed on the island. A high bank at the narrowest part of the channel prevented any dog from taking the shortest route across so the only option was to face them into the current and aim for the stoney point at the end of the island.

Kuma was to be sent first, her master aimed her for the point of the island. She slid into the water and faced the current and the wind that whipped the water high into frothy peaks around her. It took her a minute to gauge the water but she settled into the current, lifted her head to peer above the waves, aimed for the island and engaged her powerful shoulders to push through that heavy current. Once she banked on the far side the north wind that worked so hard against her on her swim across now became her ally in helping her find that lost bird. As she returned Chief was sent to retrieve the second teal.

He took a similar line to his sister, pushing against the incoming tide as he made his way to the island point. The wind again guided him to the point where Kuma had found her bird but a quick search told him there was nothing there. Without guidance he hunted on, lifting his head intermittantly to test the wind for any hint of scent, retracing his steps to recheck where that bird may be or may have moved from. Then, as before, the men could see his body language change with an increased waving of the tail and nose to the ground he took off through the reeds  towards the back of the island and out of sight. The men waited, they could hear him splashing through the deep channels that cut through the marsh bed, the bird was a ‘diver’ it would take time and perserverence to bring this one to hand.

The Chessie owner had learned to trust his dogs, he knew they were serious about the role they played when hunting wildfowl with him. They had long deciphered the difference between a wounded bird down that was worth hunting for and a bird that will live to flight another day. He watched and  waited, with the same patience that his dogs had waited out the morning with him he gave his dog time to do his job.

Then the reeds on the far bank parted and Chief was there with his hard won teal in his mouth. He slipped into the water,  allowed the current to carry him across and made his way to the end of the sea-wall. He shook the icy sea waters from his thick brown coat and hesitated as he scanned the line of  fowlers and their dogs waiting on the shoreline. None, in his eyes, deserved to receive this bird save one. His eyes searched again beyond them to the top of the seawall and with one final bound and a slight wag of his tail he made his way through the waiting crowd to where his master waited.