I lay flat and crawled slowly forward, my head inches away from the soles of the head keeper's boots. We stopped. We waited.
The problem was that the stags we were stalking were too close - just over the ridge in front of us. If we crawled onto the ridge, they would see us outlined against the horizon and disappear. Ab suggested that we wait for them to graze to the right, where we would have a good shot at them without having to expose ourselves. We waited. I fell asleep. It started to rain. I woke up. I was primarily concerned with the fact that I was absolutely bursting for a pee, and could we please either shoot this damn stag or have them all run away, so I can stand up and relieve myself.
Ab very slowly lifted his head up, and froze for a long time. When he slowly lowered it, he said to me 'that was a close one!'. Turns out that after popping his head up, and seeing a group of 15 or so stags just 80 yards away, one of them had stared right at him. He froze stock still, and after a couple of minutes of staring contest, the stag decided that he was no threat, and went back to his grazing.
We slowly crawled a bit closer, our bellies touching the ground, and Ab very quietly unzipped the gun from its case. We waited. And waited. I tried to sleep a bit more but could only think about the pressure in my bladder.
Presently Ab whispered urgently to me - "they've smelt something". They were apparently (I had still not seen them at this point) lifting their heads and sniffing the air upwind. Then suddenly there was a thundering of hooves and we looked up to see a large stag bearing down on us. He froze when he saw us, perhaps 5 metres away. We had been caught completely by surprise and had no time to pick up the rifle and aim for a point blank shot. Besides, I wasn't allowed to shoot just any old stag. We had to sit and look at them, and Ab would pick one for me that was not too good and not too young.
More stags appeared at speed over the ridge, and we found ourselves looking up at 4 or 5 magnificent beasts who were about to run us over at speed. They screeched to a halt when they reached their friend and all turned left, in full flight away from our position. I frantically got behind the scope of the gun and tried to find them.
Not that easy when they were still only 50m away. They paused about 100 yards away, and Ab quickly selected a beast, which had its tail to us. As he turned to the right and exposed his side, Ab gave me the word to fire. I gently squeezed the trigger. Nothing. I squeezed harder. The fucking safety was on. I took the safety off .... but it was too late. They were all on the move again at speed, towards the ridge on the horizon. That was it. After hours of crawling and waiting, our quarry had escaped from under our noses, and nearly mown us down in the process.
We stood up slightly dazed, struggling to believe what just happened. We soon found that there was no round in the chamber either, so even if the safety had been off, I probably still wouldn't have had time to take a shot.
We returned to Aurora and John the ghillie, who were thoroughly fed up and cold after waiting for us for two hours. At least they hadn't eaten our lunch.
Aurora decided she needed to get back to the house ASAP before her fingers fell off, so she headed off with Rob to the landrover. I went with Ab to see if we could find some more stags. After another hour or so, having resigned myself to writing off the day completely, Ab announced that there were some stags over the next ridge.
We sat and waited out a passing shower. Luckily I had enough decent gear on to keep warm.
Ab stuck his stick in the ground and tied the dogs up. Once more we got down and started crawling. Not like a baby crawls, but more like Felix crawled before he learned to use his legs. Just dragging himself along with his arms.
As I hauled myself over a low rise, I finally caught sight of the group - perhaps 30 individuals, only about 180 yards away. We got closer. Ab indicated for me to lie alongside him, and got the gun ready. "Keep your finger off the trigger". He selected a stag with the binos while I looked through the scope. "Don't shoot until I give the word."
The stag was standing near another one nearby. As the other stag moved off, Ab told me to shoot when ready. A gentle squeeze of the trigger, a whopping bang, and the group were all galloping away. Except for my one, who was lagging somewhat. He slowed to a walk, flicking his tail. Then he stood still. He looked like someone standing in the kitchen trying to remember why they came in there in the first place. I reloaded the rifle in case he wasn't going to go down.Then he sank to his knees. Ab had us wait for a little longer in case he got back up. We stood up and I thanked Ab. He got on the radio to John with the Argocat. The rest of the group of stags, who were watching us at a safe distance, spotted us and fled across the mountainside.
I put my hand in my pocket to discover a gooey mess - the banana and smarties I had stuffed into my pocket earlier had not taken too kindly to being soaked in the rain and then crushed into the heather.
I returned to the lodge flush with success, my face stained with blood for my first stag, my only regret being the lack of camera to capture the moment.
It did seem rather surreal the next morning when I picked up the head of my stag and tried to fit it in the boot of the hire car in order to drive it down the road to a chap in Braemar who would stuff it and mount it for me.
How is it ok to shoot a stag?
I learnt from Ab that landowners in Scotland have a legal obligation to manage their deer populations. Once a year the entire deer population in the whole area is counted, and every 4 years they use a helicopter to get a more accurate count. If Scottish Natural Heritage judge that you've not culled enough deer, they will send a hunter round to shoot some, and send you the bill.
So the landowners do need to regularly shoot deer, to protect the heather from damage due to overgrazing and trampling (which would in turn affect other species like mountain hare and grouse).
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| Ab, head keeper at Glenmuick |
