Snipe — The Ultimate Sporting Challenge?

Ed Wills heads to the rugged bogs of Northern Ireland for a day of testing driven snipe and for once the weather gods do their bit

- M. Mckeown

I sipped my Guinness while staring at a beech tree being buffeted by the ferocious gale outside. If the weather app on my phone was anything to go by, it would all blow over by the following morning when I was due to be out on the snipe bogs, but anyone who trusts weather apps deserves to get wet.

I had been told perfect conditions would be a bit of damp, a gentle wind and a good bit of cloud cover in order to make out the diminutive birds. Looking out of the window the next morning, I was delighted to find that for once, the app’s prediction was correct — the storm had passed.

I mulled over the challenge of the day ahead with a plate of bacon and eggs. On one hand, I have always been better suited to driven birds — this was not down to some innate talent but because I had grow up on a peg alongside my father and grandfather. Shooting snipe, however, was something at which I had not had much practice.

In fact, the only time I had found a chance to shoot one of the little birds was one frosty afternoon, many years ago, while walking through some water meadows with my father — we both fired at the same high jinking silhouette and it lived to tell the tale.

After breakfast I caught a lift with Kyle Barton, one of the Guns, and we drove 10 minutes down the road to Urbalshinny Lodge, where our host Simon Monteith greeted us with a grin. He clapped his hands together and said gleefully: “Perfect conditions today. Are you all ready to go?”