If your land stretches to much more than acre, the chances are you’ll already own: a ride-on mower, and possibly a push mower as well to cope with inaccessible corners; a strimmer or its big brother, the brush cutter; a powered hedge-trimmer; a tiller/cultivator; and, if part of the area is woodland, a chainsaw. If you do own all or most of the above, one thing is equally certain: you’ll be convinced you have everything you need – more than you need, in fact, if there’s a garden vacuum propped in a corner of your shed.

Well, I’m afraid it’s time to clear a space – a substantial space at that – for one more item of equipment, because if you own rough terrain that’s too uneven, too covered in undergrowth to risk approaching with your ride-on, or too extensive to keep under control without spending countless back-breaking hours with a brush cutter strapped across your shoulder, it’s time you made the acquaintance of a machine I’ve come to know as The Beast. Spend ten minutes in its redoubtable company and you’ll wonder how you ever managed without one.

The Beast is known more formally as a DR Premier 12.5hp Field and Brush Mower. DR – it’s not Doctor, though it sometimes gets called that – is an American manufacturer of garden equipment based in Vermont, New England. “Done Right” appears to be their slogan, but whether the initials or those words came first is unclear. The company motto is “Professional Power For Homeowners” and The Beast is certainly well-finished, robust, and built to last.

I had originally been looking for something akin to an Allen Scythe, a mower which I remember my grandfather wheeling noisily round his orchard in the 1950s. It was a lethal-looking machine with an exposed cutting bar like a dozen pairs of scissors that saw off long grass and nettles with apparent ease, not that I was ever able to observe the cutting action close up, as I got bawled at if I came within fifty feet of those criss-crossing blades.

Although the Allen Scythe was discontinued in 1973, there are implements with a similar action around today, but I was warned off them by a neighbour who alerted me to their incurable habit of stopping the instant something too big to cut gets stuck between its teeth. It was the same fellow who mentioned the DR, and Google who took me to this website: http://www.drpower.com/Field-Brush-Mower.aspx

There are larger and smaller models than the one I settled on, but, working my way up through the range, the Premier 12.5hp was the first I came across that really looked able to cope with the job I had in mind. When I checked the prices charged by UK suppliers, its price tag of £1,599 was – surprise, surprise – far more than I’d intended to spend, but isn’t that always the way? The expense seemed justifiable, however, by comparison with several more powerful machines costing upwards of £2000.

Because there was nowhere locally that I could actually look at one, I took the plunge and bought my machine unseen from the website with the keenest price. It may be different today, so do check if you’re thinking of buying – and don’t be embarrassed to ask if a retailer will price-match – but The Green Reaper was the cheapest when I looked: http://www.thegreenreaper.co.uk/search.asp

Delivery was prompt, and an unexpected bonus was that my DR was delivered in a van by a man who not only knew The Green Reaper, but the machine itself, and even though he assured me it had undergone a pre-sale inspection, he started it up to make sure it went.

Naturally, the moment he’d gone, I started it again and immediately headed “off-lawn”. You may recall me writing at the start that it would take ten minutes to be convinced by its abilities. In my case, it was no more than two before I was hooked. For its first test I pushed it straight into a bank of mature nettles. In no time it was pulling me out of the other end, leaving a wide, clear swathe behind it. I selected a lower gear and moved on to a blackthorn thicket where some of the stems were as broad as my thumb. Same result. Fat tussocks of grass, thistles, brambles, it handled the lot. Within hours, several areas I’d given up on were back under control and I’d nicknamed it The Beast.

This is a rugged machine and takes some handling. Its powered wheels will drive it up a slope at least as fast as you’ll want to walk. Hit a bump and it’ll feel like The Beast is trying to separate your arms from your shoulders. And don’t make the mistake I did, and carry on too long. You can alter the look of neglected land so dramatically in such a short time that it’s irresistibly tempting not to stop. That first afternoon I drained a tank of fuel without a break, filled up again, and carried on. Boy, did I feel it the next day!

We have a paddock of about an acre, where the grass becomes more overrun with thistles year by year. We don’t want to kill them with chemicals, so every summer we pay a local farmer to clear the whole area with a topping deck attached to his tractor. Last summer the thistles suddenly sprinted into flower and were ready to blow, but the farmer was too busy to help. In one long, tiring session, you-know-who and I did the job.

The Beast is not entirely without its faults. Because it will deal with undergrowth of all kinds, you find yourself aiming it into tangle after tangle of barbed stems, and every now and then you’ll go to turn off the engine and nothing happens, because a wire has been tweaked from its terminal. This has happened often enough that I’ve taken to pocketing a pair of long-nosed insulated pliers, so that I can push it back into place. Also, of course, while it’s bullying its way through those thorn thickets, its tyres are exposed to the spikes that have been shed.

But these are quibbles. The Beast is quite simply unbeatable. Best of all, perhaps, is the lack of debris left in its wake. The big stuff needs clearing away, but long grass, nettles and weeds all but disappear in a soon invisible mulch.

Along with the traditional joy associated with the onset of spring, the approach of the new season used to bring on a sense of dread triggered by the thought of all those unwanted interlopers waiting to burst into unwelcome life. This year, for the first time ever, I can’t wait for an excuse to unleash The Beast.

Bill Gilmour