As February nears the end of its long days and warm nights, thoughts of piercing jap stag squeals and valleys of bellowing angry red beasts as the rut fast approaches is something that plays on every hunter’s mind. I’m an all-season hunter – whether it be putting quality meat on the table or trophy hunting.
In this first of three articles, Mike Bradstock reflects upon the world of the 1930s, in which his father learned to hunt, and his own early experiences in the 1960s ...
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