In my early youth, we were poor enough that having free meat was a big thing (4 hungry boys). I went out hunting with my Dad as soon as I was allowed. It seemed exotic. I have no idea how good a shot my Dad was, but it was rare that something didn't need killing off with a chop to the back of the head or a knife or whatever. Hares cry exactly like human babies when they are running with injuries. The first time I heard that was chasing a hare with part of a leg blown off, and I stopped to look around the bleak moor for the baby.

The first deer I saw killed, my Dad 'blooded' me, painted blood on my third eye. I was appalled. I'd just seen fabulous deer die, and I hadn't expected such a weird thing to happen. It's not like we were part of a big group, there were just the two of us, so the significance of this was all his own making.

Anyway, I learned stalking, which is something I've always delighted in. The last deer my Dad shot was a bad shot, and we followed a blood trail till it disappeared, drove miles home for the dog, and kept looking till it got too dark. Never found it. He never went shooting again. Me, I was about to join a cult, and vegetarianism was by then a big attraction. I hadn't realised it was an option, and having killed or seen killed most of the meat we ate, I'd really had enough. Deer need culling for sure, but there was no pleasure in it for me. I haven't seen a hare for very many years. Maybe we ate them all.

I learned more about stalking on my own later, and found that moving silently was crucial. Quiet wasn't sufficient, like I did with my Dad. We covered many miles starting at dawn looking for deer. Moving very slowly upwind was far more productive, and once I had a deer walk up to me, turn around and lie down to chew its' cud. It hadn't seen me. I sneaked up behind it till I could have thrown my arms round its neck and caught it, but I just said hello and it looked round, jumped up and stared at me for a while.

I taught my kids to sneak around the woods too. Once we were watching a badger just out of its sett at dusk. After we'd watched it a while my son asked if he could sneak up on it. And so he did, so close he could have touched it, which is quite something for such a shy wild animal. I was very pleased. Both kids have inherited my love of nature.

I have such a low opinion of people that kill animals for kicks or for a trophy. Psychopaths I think, but I'm no psychologist. Not the kind of people I'd want doing any essential culling.