Daft, beautiful birds protected for the pot

Redcastle, the Black Isle There are dozens of them waiting in the undergrowth to fly up, panic-stricken, as we passWhen we reach the turn for Gallowhill Wood the horses know we’re going home and pick up the pace. It has been a long day for them, these heavyset highlands – so low to the ground and dressed in such thick fur coats. But not so long they haven’t the energy to feign fright when we round a bend to find tripods lurking between the trees, with plastic bellies and wooden