I really need to get on with writing my “End of (third) year, garden report” as September 1^st marked 3 years for myself and my wife (plus son now) at  our not-so-new gaff.

I’ll write that when I get a chance.

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Introduction to “Encounters”.

There may be some readers of this blog that know (by now) that I take great pleasure in taking dawn (and sometimes dusk) drives around my local patch of countryside (rural east Berkshire – horsey and farm country near Windsor, Ascot, Warfield etc...

Very often at that time of day (or night, during the short summer nights) I get to see wildlife that others may not. (They’re in bed whilst I’m out and about).

Yesterday was no exception.

I took my normal ring route on single track country roads through local farmland and stud farms and was lucky enough to chance across not one, but TWO adult stoats, crossing two roads about a mile apart, within 5 minutes.

Now sure, stoats aren’t rare animals, but like weasels (in fact many mustelids) you’ll do well to see one – let alone two individuals from separate families, a mile apart.

I stopped the car near the first stoat (which had bounced into the nearest hedge to get away from the car) and watched in delight (yes... delight) through the rear view mirror as the slinky little thing slunk back into the road behind my idling car and bounced around (excitedly?!) for a few minutes – right in the middle of the road.

After five minutes or so, it disappeared (on a wabbit hunt no doubt – there are LOADS round ‘ere) and I drove on, only to watch another stoat race across the road in front of the car, a mile further down my “route”.

I don’t honestly think I’ve ever seen two different stoats from different families in one day, let alone in 5 minutes – it was a great, chance wildlife encounter for me – and it got me thinking. What other wildlife encounters have I had in my life – encounters that will stick in my mind for a long time – perhaps forever?

Many times these encounters are chanced. That is to say I’ve not gone out looking for x and found x – ‘though that has happened of course too. Most encounters that stick in my mind have been purely as a result of being out there, in a spot that provided an opportunity for something to present itself to me. And being aware enough (eyes wide open, ears pricked) to pick up on these opportunities.

Many of my memorable wildlife encounters have been abroad, but many, many more have been here in the UK – and I thought I’d write about a few, in a series entitled “Encounters”, on this blog. I’ll begin with British encounters, see where I get to (how many stick out in my head) and then move onto the more “exotic?” encounters abroad. I’ll write about as many as I can (but only the really memorable ones for me) and I’ll do so in no particular order...

Encounters.

1 – “The Caravan”.

I started playing golf in my teens. My father had played a lot but had given up the game due to a bad back, and had passed his golf clubs (and his father’s hickory –shafted rusty John Letters clubs) down to me. When my new “step family” moved into my family house in the mid eighties, my new step-brother was already playing golf, so in order for us to “gel” as “new brothers”, my mother and stepfather kindly bought us junior memberships to the local golf course  -so we could play golf together.

I think, rather like most “golfers” – my stepbrother at the time played golf to errrr... play golf. And that was that. Whereas I certainly started to play as it got me outside, into countryside of sorts and not only could I hit a ball towards a flag (the game after all), but I could also see many birds and beasties on the way.

Golf to me has always been about being outside and seeing wildlife -more so than trying to get a score – although I did try to score well... obviously.

I have never had a golf lesson (although I did used to practice chipping and bunker shots in the garden in my teens. I used to take a sand-iron (a VERY lofted club) and hit balls from the front garden (and road) into the back, OVER the house. What my poor mother put up with!

I’ve managed a hole-in-one and an albatross in my ‘golfing life’ – and played many courses all over England and Scotland – but always had one and a half eyes on the wildlife on every course I’ve visited – and  just half an eye on my ball....

I was about fifteen (1986 ish) and was playing golf at Hazlemere Golf and Country Club late one summer – early in the morning – VERY early (things haven’t changed on that score for me!).

I had just driven off the 18^th tee and was walking up to my ball (in the middle of the fairway for once); when I had an “encounter” I’ll never forget.

I was perhaps fifty yards from my ball when I suddenly saw something that I at first thought was a rat bounce out of the woods on the left hand side of the fairway and head straight for my ball.

I stopped dead and immediately it became obvious that this was no rat. Firstly it was long, thin and sinewy, rather than chunky and round. Secondly it bounced as it ran (rats race, low to the ground). Thirdly (and most important of all) it was followed by a stream of similar, smaller, bouncing critters, in a line – all bouncing their way, nose to short(ish) black-tipped tails, across the fairway.

I knew what I was watching – a caravan of stoats! Adult (mother) leading the way and young (perhaps five of them) in tow.

Of course they ignored my ball, and bounced their merry way into the thick scrub on the right hand side of the fairway in what can have only been 10 seconds – although like many times like this –it felt like 10 minutes.

I had never seen a caravan of stoats before. And never have since.

Stoats and weasels are notoriously difficult to see, unless you’re lucky enough to have a family group grow up in your garden (you’ll be close to at least “semi countryside” for this to happen) or you chance across a family group exploring their immediate surroundings for the first time (and return back there to see them again – think a dry stone wall somewhere hilly).

Invariably (for me) my sightings of stoats and weasels had been (and still are) limited to one bounce across the road in front of my paper-round bike, (or now car on my countryside drives) so to see a whole family was something else.

“My” stoats were lost in the thick scrub before I knew it, I think I sort-of punched (bunted) my ball in the vague direction of the green and set off into the scrub to look for them – in vain though.

I can’t remember what I scored on that hole, or that round to be honest – it didn’t really matter. I’m not even convinced I actually finished the round to be fair.

The entire 3 (or so) hours for me were utterly dominated by the last ten or so seconds – and didn’t even involve me hitting a ball.

THAT’S why I played golf in my teens – and that’s why (even though I now play perhaps once a year instead of once a week) I still do.

And that is the first “encounter” in this new blog series – a memory brought about my two chance encounters with stoats in 5 minutes on Sunday gone.

Almost thirty years after “The Caravan” encounter....