I was in Lathkill Dale, a long valley that has lots of natural water holes springing from caves underground. I stopped to do some yoga by the river on a lush green mossy area. Sitting afterwards on the stone steps leading out of the valley, all was quiet. Two gentlemen came along the path on the other side of the bank, one with a gun wrapped in a nice leather bag. I wondered what they were up to when I noticed a Jack Russell Terrier dart out a little further up the hill. I was going to be witness to hunt! Not quite my cup of tea, but that is where I found myself. I started to walk up the cliff side to move up onto the upper path, when I heard a dog bark and out flew three pheasants, beautiful in flight, which were shot dead plummeting to the ground with each successive shot. Then I noticed about eight other men dressed in tweed suits walking along the upper area with about half a dozen dogs. They were banging walking sticks on the ground as they came closer to the gunman. Seven pheasants were bagged.