How oak trees cache in on the clever jay
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When I was younger, I used to keep highly detailed records in my game diary. Pencilled in under 4 May 2013 is a moment I still remember very clearly. I stand motionless under a large beech tree in the new cover. It is midday in early spring and the first taste of warm weather has hit the forest floor. The smell of wild garlic is high and the bullfinch’s melancholy notes chime among the beeches and oaks. A jay lurches past. I swing through and pull the trigger. The report of the .410 silences the wood then is followed by a dull thud.
In my cap there are a great many fishing flies, including a number of blue jay flies, and crudely stuck in its brow are four jay wing feathers, the brilliant blue ones.
But I don’t shoot jays for their feathers. In
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