Slinging the bergen, which now had the bow strapped onto it, over my right shoulder, I had a last study of the lake and the target houses to get my bearings, and set off. My plan was to follow the shore, cross the creek, then follow the shoreline again to the target – that way I avoided the track. There was too much risk of transport going up and down it, and I didn’t know how aware anyone in the buildings would be. I might compromise myself before I’d even reached the target. Do it properly and then you don’t have to worry about those sorts of things.
I passed the lovers’ car. The windows were very steamed up, but I could see some strange movement going on inside.
A few paces further on, nailed to the barbecue canopy, was a large sign with ‘
WARNING
’ stamped on the top. I stopped to read it; the more information, the better. ‘Caution Hikers,’ it said, ‘Hunting activities involving the use of firearms and other legal weapons may take place on the Wildlife Resources Commission Gamelands immediately adjacent to the park during hunting season.’ It further warned, ‘Please stay on the marked trail during hunting season to avoid the danger of possible serious injury or death. Wearing an item of bright-orange clothing is strongly suggested.’ That was all well and good, but when was the hunting season?
I carried on and got level with the tented area, encountering a two-metre-high wooden fence which seemed to surround the site. I followed it until I got to the grandly named Recycling Center, which, in fact, was three galvanized dustbins for plastic bottles, glass and aluminium cans, and clambered over. A swathe about ten yards wide had been cut into the forest from the water’s edge. Tree stumps an inch or two high jutted from the sandy ground, and I kept stubbing the toe of my boots as I took the beach route.
After five minutes or so, when my night vision kicked in, the going got easier. It takes a long time to adjust to darkness. The cones in your eyes enable you to see in the daytime, giving colour and perception, but they’re no good at night. What takes over then are the rods on the edge of your irises. They are angled at forty-five degrees, because of the convex shape of the eye, so if you look straight at something at night you don’t really see it, it’s a haze. You have to look above it or around it so you can line up the rods, which will then give you a picture. It takes forty minutes or so for them to become fully effective, but you can start to see better after five.
Every now and then I could hear the clinking and clanking of people in tents doing their evening stuff; I couldn’t really make out what they were saying, but I was sure it would be something along the lines of, ‘Whose idea was it to come camping anyway?’ I also heard a portable TV being tuned in, and the sound of jingles.
I was hardly behind enemy lines here, but all the time I was thinking, What if? What if I bump into someone? Answer, I’m on holiday, I’m hiking. I’d play the dickhead Brit abroad on holiday thinking he’s having fun, and try to turn it to my advantage and learn as much as possible about the houses. You’ve always got to have a reason for being somewhere, so that if you’re challenged, you won’t be fumbling around trying to come up with bone excuses. It also gives you a mindset, and you can then do whatever you’re doing with more confidence.
I moved off the lake shore as it petered out, and into the wood between the water and the fence. It was hardly secondary jungle; the larger trees were five or six feet apart, with smaller saplings scattered in between. It was wet and muddy, but being flat it was easy enough to negotiate.
I was just coming level with the end of the tented area when, from very close quarters, I heard a young woman’s voice. ‘Jimmy! Jimmy!’ Before I knew it I’d stumbled on the couple from the barbecue, and from the way their clothing was rearranged, she’d forgotten what was on the barbecue entirely. It confused me; I’d thought they were in the car.
This sort of thing can go one of two ways – either they’re embarrassed, so they make their excuses and move on, or if you’re unlucky, the guy decides he’s got to demonstrate what a big man he is.
I checked my stride and moved to the right to go round them. I tried to make it look as if I was concentrating on my footing as I passed, but without losing him from vision. He shouted, ‘Who the fuck are you, man?’ and it was obvious which way this one was going to go. He stopped me in my tracks with his hand on my shoulder and held me there. I had my head down in order to look confused and unthreatening, but also to protect my face in case this kicked off.
I stuttered, ‘I’m sorry to disturb you.’
He went, ‘What? You some kind of sicko stalker, or what?’
‘Jimmy!’ The girl was trying to look as if she was brushing sand off her skirt. I couldn’t see her face in the darkness, but it was obvious from her tone that she was embarrassed and wanted to get away. He had managed to pull up his Levi’s and fasten the top button, but there was a big gaping hole where the rest of his flies were still undone. The white of his underwear glowed in the dark and I had to try hard not to laugh.
My voice was my normal really bad American one, but at the same time trying to sound scared and submissive. I said, ‘Nothing like that, I’m just going to see some of the turtles.’ Hopefully that would be enough to make him satisfied that he was the tough guy around here, so I could move on. It would hardly square with having a bow, but I was hoping he couldn’t see that, wedged between my back and the bergen.
‘Turtles? Who are you, Mr Nature from the fucking Discovery Channel?’ He liked that one; he guffawed and turned to his girlfriend for approval.
I said, ‘On the other side of the lake, they’re making their nests. This is the only time of year they do it.’ Unlike your good selves, I added to myself. I carried on waffling about turtles coming onto the beach and digging and laying their eggs – something which, ironically, I had in fact learned from the Discovery Channel. Plus, my bird guidebook told me they were here.
Lover Boy laughed; honour had been satisfied. I wasn’t a weirdo, just an anorak. Now he didn’t really know what to do, so he laughed again. ‘Turtles, man, turtles.’ And with that he put his arm around the girl and they walked off towards the beach.
I’d got away with it, but it was annoying that it had happened, because two people might now be able to identify me. It didn’t mean anything at the moment, but if there was a drama at a later date they might remember the encounter. It could have been worse: at least he wasn’t a nature fan himself.
It was nine twenty-seven and it had taken two hours and getting my trousers wet up to my arse crossing the creek, but I’d eventually got to within maybe sixty metres of the target. I was right on the lake shore, which was the only way I’d been able to get a decent view of the house because the ground was so undulating. The terrain was different here; the National Parks people hadn’t cleared a swathe, and the treeline extended almost to the water’s edge.
Some lights were still on on the first floor, but the curtains were drawn and I couldn’t see any movement. It was a question now of finding a position that would give me cover, but with a good aperture with which to view the target. That could only be achieved by carrying out a 360-degree recce of the area around the house.
I took my time, picking my feet up carefully to avoid making noise by hitting any rocks, stones or fallen branches, then slowly placing the edge of my boot down on the ground first, followed by the rest of the sole. The technique puts quite a strain on your legs, but it’s the only way to have any sort of control over the noise you make.
When I reached the water’s edge, I stopped after about ten metres and listened, pointing my ear towards the target and slightly opening my mouth to overcome any body-cavity noises, such as jaw movement. I couldn’t hear anything apart from the lake lapping against the shore; certainly nothing from the target house. I had a look at where I wanted to go on my next bound, and started picking my way carefully over the rocks. There were still lights on in the other house as well, but I couldn’t make out much detail because it was too far away. At least the rain was holding off.
I did my next move and got to within about forty metres of the house. I realized that, because the ground was up and down like a yo-yo, it was going to be very difficult to be stood off from the target and watch from any distance. Yet if I went right up on the higher ground behind, all I’d see was the roof. I couldn’t site the OP (observation point) between the houses. Kids are very inquisitive and by mid-day tomorrow they’d probably be in the OP with me, sharing my Mars bars and pizza. My options were so limited that there was no point doing a 360; it wouldn’t achieve anything.
I went back down to the shore, took off the bergen and left it by a big overhanging tree. That way, even if there was a major drama, I knew I’d find it again; all I’d have to do was run down to the lake, keeping to this side of the house, turn right and I couldn’t miss it. What was more, the lighter and less bulky I was, the less noise I made while I found a good hide position. For all I knew at this stage, although I hadn’t seen or heard anything, there could be dogs, or even worse, geese – they’re food for virtually everything that moves, so they spark up at the slightest noise; the ancient Egyptians used them as an alarm system. I learned this from living in my new house in Norfolk because the guy who lived nearest me kept geese, and the fucking things never failed to wake me up in the middle of the night. I’d had two in my oven so far. Kelly thought that I bought her favourite Sunday roast from the Co-op.
I went back towards the house, taking my time, moving slowly; stopping, looking at the target, looking at the area, listening, working out my next bound and then moving off again. With any OP, the closer you are to the target, the better you’ll be able to observe what’s going on, but the greater the chance of compromise. The further away you are, the less chance of compromise, but you might see fuck all. The ideal with this particular target was probably to be stood off miles away, maybe placing a remote, high-powered camera on the house and viewing it from the other side of the lake – but I didn’t have the necessary optics. You have to make do with what you’ve got.
The sky had cleared and a few more stars were out. I could still hear the lake lapping on the shore, but there was now also a splashing as the turtles came to the surface and dived down again.
I got to within about twenty-five metres of the house. The tree line stopped and the ‘garden’ began, an area of rough grass with tree stumps which hadn’t been pulled out after creating the clearing for the house. From this position I could see the whole of one side of the target, plus the boat and the lake.
There were three floors, and beneath them a garage, with its doors still slightly open to fit the wagon. There was a light shining on the first floor, towards the lakeside, but only small cracks of light from behind the heavy curtains. I couldn’t see any movement. A door was facing me on the ground floor which looked as if it went to the garage.
A light came on on the second floor. No visible movement.
A few seconds later a toilet flushed. At least there was movement inside, unless the flush was electronic and on some sort of security timer to operate every hour with the lights. I hardly thought so; in another place, yes, but not here.
I started to cast around to find somewhere to dig in before first light. I found one possible site – a bush set back a little from the tree line. It came up to about chest height and was four feet or so wide, with other, smaller bushes around it. It looked ideal, but first I’d have to check I could see the target while I was lying down in it. Anyone who has ever done OPs has horror stories of digging in under cover of darkness, only to find at first light that all they can see is mud. I got to the bush, taking care not to disturb any of the foliage, then lay down right in front and checked. I could see only the top floor, and that was no good to me.
I moved further up the hill. The tree line curved right, bringing me no more than twenty metres from the target, which I didn’t really want. I’d be able to hear snoring at that distance, but I also stood a good chance of being heard myself. I moved back down the hill, towards the lake.
There was one other bush, about thirty metres from the house, but this one was only about waist height. Again it was about four feet wide, but the foliage didn’t seem as dense as the other one. I was running out of choices. I lay down level to where the aperture would be, and found I could see the whole shebang – all three floors, the garage, the side door from the garage and the lake. I could also see the distant lights from the camp site, so I knew that in daylight I’d be able to see movement in the carpark. It looked like this was going to be the one.
I got behind the bush, out of sight from the house. So far, so good. The next thing was to check that there was a mobile-phone signal. If I saw her, London would need to know. Without the mobile phone I’d have to lie concealed all day, leave at last light, and either get to a location with a decent signal or find a public call box, which would not only mean a possible compromise, but also loss of eyes on target.
I switched on the Bosch, put my hand over the backlit display and waited. I gave it a minute, keeping my eyes on the house. The toilet light had gone out now, but the first-floor one was still on. I made a tunnel over the display with my hand, pressed one of the buttons and the backlight came on again. The display showed that I had three signal bars out of a maximum four, and that was good enough for me. I turned it off again.