My year spent only eating animals I have killed myself has featured on the BBC and in Scottish Field, leading to some expected ribbing about ‘glamorous’ photos with guns and some unexpected conclusions about the nature of shooting.

When Landward, BBC Scotland’s equivalent of Countryfile, phoned up and suggested following me on a stalk I was initially reluctant. I am still an inexperienced stalker and did not want any extra pressure to affect how I perform, especially as shooting a rifle accurately requires absolute calm.

Also I didn’t want to kill an animal for the benefit of the camera – that is NOT what my book is about – it is for the benefit of my plate.

But producer Fiona Clark reassured me that the camera team would put no pressure on me to act in a certain way and would be sensitive about the subject matter.

It is possible to pay to kill a roe deer on a sporting estate but again that is not what my book it about. I wanted to help manage the landscape in an area where deer are a problem and need to be controlled.

In Britain today that is not difficult to find. The population of deer has exploded in recent years to over two million, more than at any time since the Norman conquest. Although it is lovely to see the deer bouncing over the fields or jumping into our gardens (as long as they don’t eat the roses), they can be a nuisance for farmers and increasingly motorists. It is such a problem quangos The Deer Initiative in England and Scottish Natural Heritage help  control more than 350,000 a year.

Roe deer, the smaller native deer, are undoubtedly beautiful creatures. I love to see their white bottoms bounding over the stubble on a summer’s evening like springbok over the Serengeti.

But like their larger cousins the red deer they eat young trees and can be kamikaze on the roads. The ungulates are a particular problem in agricultural areas like Angus, Scotland, where farmers grow tasty brassicas such as broccoli. Later on in the season they even stray into the polytunnels to munch on some of the area’s famous strawberries.

Kevin Ramshaw, 57, a retired manager at Tesco, is a self-taught stalker and butcher who kills roe deer in the area on behalf of farmers.

Before the team arrives Kevin takes me through diagrams of a roe deer so I know exactly where to aim my shot, in the ‘boiler room’ or the heart and lungs. By the time the team from Landward arrive, I am familiar with the gun and confident of my quarry.

I realise I am actually more nervous at the prospect of ‘TV people’ arriving in our rural world. But the Landward team are no luvvies.  In fact having to produce a 30 minute programme based on the Scottish countryside every week means that they are quite used to all weathers.  Immediately they pull on their waterproofs and put me at my ease.

We begin with some target practice in the grounds of Ethie Castle, where the owner has kindly let us use the sheltered walled garden.

I am gratified to find that a bit of practice over the last few months has paid off and my shooting is accurate. I know how to position myself so that the gun is rested on bones and earth, rather than muscle that can shake, and how to breathe so that the gun does not move. I know not to close my eyes and flinch (more common than you would suppose) and to “squeeze” rather than pull the trigger. Most importantly I consistently achieve a good ‘grouping’ showing my target accuracy it is not just luck.

I should say that cameraman David Williamson proved an even better shot – right in the bull’s eye!

We set off in high spirits to explore the beautiful local countryside along the Auchmithie cliffs. The evening sun has turned the sandstone cliffs red and seagulls float over our heads. The sky lark sings joyously above the neat newly drilled tatties. Walking the field margins, just planted with wild bird seed, with Sarah Mack the presenter, I found it easier than I expected to explain my crazy project. As a farmer’s wife and mother-of-four, Sarah immediately understood my mission to educate people about where meat comes from and raised some interesting questions about engaging children with food, connecting with nature and the gender politics of shooting.

As the evening sets in and roe venture out of the woods to feed, Kevin leads us along drystone walls and down ditches, always against the wind that carries our scent, the camera creeping along behind, in pursuit of the deer.

We see the spiky antlers arching briefly above the oilseed rape and silhouettes on the horizon but the weather has turned against us and the roe deer are skittish. The turbines on the hill show that the wind speed is increasing. Deer rely on their sense of smell and hearing to detect predators, as well as sight. If the wind is up they have to be even more alert and nervy than usual.

Taking a whole camera team doesn’t help. We do our best but also can’t help giggling, at one point coming across an angry Hereford bull in his field – and deciding quite sensibly to take another route.

Eventually, we get into the perfect quarry, a ‘black buck’, his fur darker than the others showing he is older and suitable for culling. But the farm manager comes around the corner  – no doubt to check on his prize bull – and another opportunity is lost.

Sarah asks me if I am disappointed and I confess I am not. Perhaps I am even glad? I am always nervous about making a kill and there is a part of me that is glad the black buck lives on.

As dusk falls we feel the world change, the bats come out, the pheasants go up to roost and the baby owls start screeching. The trees are merging with the horizons and we are becoming stiff and tired. We decide to call it a day and meet again in the morning – leaving the Landward team to sample the delights of Arbroath nightlife before joining me again at 5am.

Its an early start but as always when you get up at that time in the morning, you realise what you are missing. It is cold and driech but the dawn chorus is already in full swing and hares sit in the road surprised as we are to see us up at this hour.

Sarah asks me again if I want to get a kill and I have to admit that this time I do. My adrenaline has been up now for almost 24 hours, I am focused and ready, I want to hit my target. Not because of blood lust, but because I have made up my mind, I am ready to make that clean shot.

We leopard crawl under dripping branches, thorns and nettles stinging my palms. I feel closer to the deer, like I have more senses too, I can smell the damp earth and pine needles.

We talk in whispers, only getting louder as the light brightens. We all agree it is worth it just to be out in nature at that time in the morning.

A buck has been spotted in the wood but disappears again and the doe comes out. I have her in the sights of the rifle, close enough to see her ears twitch. I can’t kill her at this time of year – not that I would want to – so I have the opportunity to watch her. In a way it is worth all the waiting. She is so alert, looking up every few seconds, her face and black muzzle much darker than I expected, more beautiful even close up than when you see them in elegant springbok-motion.

We stay there watching her so long, the day comes, and I have to let the barrel fall and admit defeat.

Again, my emotion has changed. We have all experienced a special moment in nature just by being silent and still, and in a way I have been given an opportunity to explain what I am doing, that is more true to the project than if I had shot a deer.

Sarah creeps up and I do a piece to camera. Sure, I am disappointed not to have something tasty for my dinner, to share with my friends, but I’ve still had an amazing time in the countryside and in a way I have proved my point. Meat is not easy to source if you do it yourself. You cannot just go down the supermarket. But it means that when you do eat it, you appreciate it for what it is and you also learn to appreciate the animal through honest pursuit.

Later my father reminds me of Lord Lovat’s 1880 definition of field sports (reproduced here from a friend’s loo wall):

“The fair, difficult, exciting, perhaps dangerous pursuit of a wild animal who has the odds in his favour, whose courage strength, speed or cunning are more or less a match for or superior to our own, whose natural instinct engages a considerable amount of our intelligence to overcome it and whose death being of service, is justifiable.”

I feel my pursuit of the deer fits in with the definition, it may even have been more difficult with a camera crew. As if to remind me of who won, a few days later the clutch of my knackered Ford Fiesta falls out and I have to come back through the area late at night in a breakdown truck. Just by Ethie Castle we slow down to let a buck bounce over the road. He looks black to me, and like he’s laughing.

That week I file my first ‘Ethical Carnivore’ column for Scottish Field. For my opening piece I need some drama, but I don’t want to ruin the build up by relating a kill, so I tell the story of how I bottled my first opportunity to shoot a red deer in the Highlands a few months beforehand.

I realise I am writing as much about failing to shoot anything, as actually hitting the target. At first I worry it is just me, because I am such an inexperienced shot. Then I realise the  nature of shooting means that this happens all the time. Of course it makes it all the sweeter when you do achieve your goal – any fisherman will tell you that. And that is the whole point. Meat is difficult to source, that is why it is a treat and you must never waste it.

In a way I hit my target with BBC Landward and Scottish Field, with such a great opportunity to explain my project to the public. Please use this blog to comment on either the programme or the magazine article and I will try to respond.

You can watch BBC Landward here.

The Scottish Field, including the first #EthicalCarnivore column, is in all good newsagents now…