Is it time to take an eco-friendly shot at wildfowling?

I hear the whistle of the wigeon as they come swishing up over the edge of the creek, and then a shot. A drake dives out of the sky head first like a ­torpedo. It is so sudden it takes a moment to realise that it was me who pulled the trigger. By the time I recover, a black labrador is trotting towards me with this beautiful little duck in its mouth.

I take the proffered wigeon in my hands. He is gorgeous, the colours of the marsh. His head is chestnut brown, like the mud I have crawled through for the past few hours. His breast is the creamy white and rosy pink of the sunrise glimpsed just a few moments ago.

Below his russet wings is the chequered black and white of the oyster catchers and gulls that are picking around us. His bill is the pale blue of the big Fens sky. Over his forehead is a shock of blond, like the yellow reeds.

The silence of the marsh has returned, except for the occasional bubble of the curlews. I take a moment to consider this migratory bird, which has flown from Russia to winter on the east coast of England. This is my first time in pursuit of wild ducks and geese on the edges of our island and I feel privileged to be here, beyond the sea wall.

Wildfowling is the seasonal pursuit of wild ducks and geese around our wetlands and estuaries, often in extreme weather. It is a minority pastime, though every winter its participants come under fire from animal-rights ­activists. Yet its history is intertwined with that of conservation. I first heard about it while listening to a speech by Sir David Attenborough in which he mentioned one of his ­heroes, Sir Peter Scott, whom he called “the patron saint of conservation”.

Researching Sir Peter’s life soon aft­erwards, I discovered that the war hero and founder of the Worldwide Fund for Nature (WWF) was also an avid wildfowler. I was intrigued.

As the author of a book on ethical meat and an environmental writer, I am constantly looking for ways to source wild animals that do not damage the wider countryside. On further investigation I found that Sir Peter’s controversial early obsession with wildfowling is now downplayed by the WWF. His shooting was something he soon forgot once he became a serious conservationist, it says.

However, wildfowlers argue that rather than dismiss his youthful pursuit as something shameful, we should be using it to build bridges between the conservation community and those who continue to shoot. Not everyone is against the activity. Indeed, farmers ­often encourage wildfowlers, to help prevent geese damaging their crops.

I decided the only way to make up my own mind about the pursuit was to go wildfowling myself.

I arrange to do so on a stretch of the Wash known well to Sir Peter between the River Nene and the Great Ouse. It is neap tide, and when we set out at 5am, the first quarter of a new moon is hidden in cloud. Wayne Mott, a marsh warden with the Fenland Wildfowlers Association, is my guide for the morning. Like most wildfowlers, he has been doing this all his life and knows the “creeks and gutters” intimately. Failure to understand the tides or landscape would result in stranding – even death.

As we set out on to the marsh it is pitch black. Almost immediately, I am falling into gutters, thigh deep in thick, oozing Fenland mud. Wayne may be a relative stranger, but we are soon pulling one another from squelching bogs and grabbing each other’s legs to try to release a trapped welly or wader. My hands and hair are sticky with mud and I am quite sure I absolutely stink.

Yet as the sun rises and the mist begins to lift, it is glorious to be out in a truly wild place. On the edge of one of the most densely populated countries in the world, it feels as if we are alone. Sounds are muffled by retreating sea fog. The oyster sky is reflected dully in pools of muddy water. It feels like another world, where nothing is quite what it seems.

Wayne sets up a simple hide. We must stay hidden from the birds coming into feed on the winter wheat and sugar beet further inland. Almost immediately a flight of wigeon comes over, the second-most common duck on the marsh. Wayne fires from a kneeling position and brings down a duck. His black labrador, Boomer, springs into action to find the bird.

I can see why Sir Peter Scott was inspired by this landscape. He spent much of the Thirties in pursuit of wild ducks and geese described in his bestsellers Morning Flight and Wild Chorus. Reading them today, there is no question of his admiration for the animals. But as he matures you see his emphasis shift. Rationing had encouraged too much wildfowling and species were under threat because of habitat destruction. After the war, Scott shifted his focus from killing to preserving, setting up the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust and then the WWF. He hung up his gun, but always attributed his love of nature to those years on the marsh.

Today, numbers of most species of wildfowl in Britain have recovered and wildfowling is practised around the coast. It is still a minority pursuit, controlled by regulations and a network of clubs. While pheasant shooting involves hundreds of thousands, barely more than 10,000 go wildfowling every year. Nevertheless, wildfowlers have contributed £3 million in recent years to manage wetland reserves for wildlife and 6,000 conservation days.

Marsh wardens such as Wayne Mott are the “eyes and ears” of the wetlands, out in the early mornings reporting changes in the environment and bird populations. Even though they are regulated by government, limits on shooting are usually self-imposed. Everything is eaten, nothing is wasted.

I find myself wishing more people knew about wildfowling, rather than attacking it as another “blood sport”. Those who practise it may be mad to go out so early and often come home empty-handed. But who else would care about this lonely landscape?

Louise Gray’s first book, The Ethical Carnivore: My Year Killing To Eat (Bloomsbury), is available from Telegraph Books for £16.99 plus p&p. Visit books.telegraph.co.uk or call 0844 871 1514