Big Game Shooting, volume 2 (of 2) — Reading Companion

Voices of the Field: Multiple Contributors, Multiple Registers

The volume is a collaborative work, with chapters by Arnold Pike, St. G. Littledale, W. A. Baillie-Grohman, and others. Each writer’s voice is distinct: Pike’s Arctic narrative is measured and descriptive, while Littledale’s account of the Ovis Poli is terse and focused on practical details. Phillipps-Wolley, as editor, contributes a more reflective tone, especially in his chapters on camps and transport. The result is a polyphonic text where the reader must adjust to shifting styles—from the lyrical description of a chamois stalk to the blunt enumeration of tiger measurements. This variety mirrors the diversity of the hunting grounds themselves, from the frozen north to the Indian jungle.

The Rhythm of the Hunt: Narrative Pace and Technical Interruption

The prose often alternates between sustained narrative and abrupt technical data. A typical chapter might begin with a vivid scene—‘Waiting for the Dawn’—then break into a table of measurements or a list of rifles. This structural change in pace is not accidental; it reflects the dual purpose of the Badminton Library: to entertain and to instruct. The reader is pulled from the immediacy of a stalk into the cool analysis of ballistics or taxidermy. For instance, the chapter on Indian shooting includes a lengthy table of tiger weights and lengths, a statistical interlude that contrasts sharply with the preceding account of a charge. This oscillation between story and data is a defining feature of the volume’s narrative voice.

The Language of Precision: Measurement and Observation

Throughout the volume, language is marked by a concern for exactness. Contributors frequently cite measurements—‘12 ft. 2 in.’ for a tiger’s length, ‘530 lbs.’ for its weight—and qualify their sources (‘Sterndale’s Mammalia’, ‘Letter to The Asian’). This habit of precise observation extends to descriptions of terrain and animal behavior: a bear is ‘killed by a tiger in Chumba, on barasingh ground.’ The prose is dense with specific place names, species, and technical terms (e.g., ‘gutturosa’, ‘Ovis Poli’). Such language roots the narrative in a world of empirical detail, where a hunter’s credibility rests on the accuracy of his report. The reader is invited to trust not just the story but the numbers behind it.

Readers approaching this volume should be prepared for its hybrid nature: part travelogue, part manual, part statistical compendium. The shifts in pace and voice are not flaws but features of a work that aims to be both a record of adventure and a practical guide. Pay attention to the footnotes and asides—they often contain the most telling details about the conditions of the hunt and the character of the hunter. The book rewards a patient, attentive reading, one that moves with the same deliberate care as a stalker on the hillside.

I remember turning pages of this old volume on a grey afternoon, the damp smell of its cloth binding, and thinking how every stalk is finally a quiet arithmetic of patience and winds. It recalled something softer, though—the way Birds in London — A Closer Reading once made city sparrows feel as remote as Himalayan game, each sighting a small, held breath.