In what is now starting to look like a regular pattern if not a tradition, three weeks ago, the week before Mrs PM's birthday, I headed back to Willie_Gunn's bluebell woods to see if I could supply a muntjac for the barbecue. Part of me thinks that's just an excuse, but if I think about it, that is really the whole point of hunting, so it's not an excuse, it's a reason. However, there is no doubt that I absolutely love stalking in that wood along the top of a hill in Oxfordshire, especially in the Spring when it is carpeted with bluebells. I'd happily make up any old ropey story to return. Contrary to last year, when I was lucky to arrive in the late afternoon and stalk during the only part of the day when it didn't rain, this time it had been bone dry for a long time, the fields dry and cracked, the usually deep puddles in the tractor tracks empty.
As on previous occasions, we stalked up a path along the base of the hill, shielded from the field between us and the wood by a line of trees, peeping through gaps in the foliage once in a while to see if any deer were raiding the pheasant feeders on the other side. There were a few pheasants, and as always a hare or two, but no deer. So we duly crossed the field and entered the wood. This part always feels like walking through a portal into another world to which senses have to adjust. The sounds are muffled (except stepping on twigs!), dappled sunlight lands on the forest floor, fallen trees and bluebells, and as we moved ever so slowly along deer tracks, we stopped every few steps to peer into the undergrowth and between tree trunks to try to spot a muntjac before it spotted us.
After an hour or so, it's hard to tell, time isn't the same in the woods, we finally spotted a buck to our right, but it had spotted us first. I could see the big V-shape of its ears atop a long slender neck, straight up as the beady little eyes examined us, but there was no time for a shot. In a series of barks, it bounded off into the trees, alerting the whole wood of our presence. We waited in case it came back round, but obviously it didn't. At this point, W_G said that we'd better stop for a while and let the wood settle, so we stood in the middle of a circle of trunks created by an old coppice I believe, which provided a kind of natural hide. Back to back, we waited and scanned all around us.
"Turn around veeeery slowly" murmured W_G. I slowly turned, and not twenty metres away was a muntjac doe, slowly browsing her way towards us, oblivious to our presence. She was moving from left to right, and as slowly and discretely as possible, i tried to reach for my phone to take a picture of this charming encounter, but not ten metres away, she spotted us and moved off. At which point I remembered that I was supposed to try and shoot muntjac, not take their portraits! But Willie_Gunn of all people understands that sort of reaction I believe. Either way, we had seen some deer, there was at least two more hours of light left, we'd find another.
We paused on the opposite side of the wood, just inside, before stepping out into the open. Across the meadow was a patch of wood that often holds a couple of bucks, but not today. A lone hen pheasant was pecking away inside an old toppled feeder. Then W_G spotted another muntjac doe browsing along the edge of the wood, zig-zagging in and out of the undergrowth and tall wood. He stepped back (remembering the bashing his ears had taken from my drilling last year), I raised the drilling on the sticks, and after a little shifting found the doe in the fixed 6 power scope, not easy as it was no further than twenty metres away, head down, and head on unfortunately. She vanished. A couple of minutes later, she reappeared, body hidden by the grass, then turned back to face the wood. W_G made a sound, she stopped for a second, now almost filling the eyepiece behind the thick No1 post reticle, and BANG! It sprang forwards, crashed into a bush, where I could hear some thrashing, then silence. "How did that feel?" asked W_G who I don't think could see the doe from where he'd been standing. "Fine, it's dead. I don't think I'd miss at ten metres". And yet... there was blood at the shot site, but also green... Oh come on, at ten metres!!? Ah well, that's hubris for you. The doe was in the bushes, two metres away. We pulled it out and actually, it had been hit exactly where it should be, just a bit low as the barrel and scope axes haven't yet converged at such a short range. However some of the innards had been sucked through the diaphragm and the exit wound, a consequence of a 150gr hollowpoint on a small deer at stupidly short range.
IMAG2133 by pinemarten, on Flickr
As I set about gralloching the deer, I realised that for the first time I wasn't nervous about making a mess of it under W_G's eyes. It was easy if not all that elegant. This is my 12th deer, the fifth muntjac and 4th from this wood, and I suppose I've reached critical mass of gralloching experience. This one was heavily pregnant, and although I still find that unpleasant, I've also overcome my squeamishness and can approach it as matter-of-fact process. In the bag it went, mission accomplished, we have ourselves a barbecue!
IMAG2136~2 by pinemarten, on Flickr
(The above photo is especially for 8x57 who complained about my hat last year: I have a new one!)
Once again, my heartfelt thanks to Willie_Gunn for the repeated privilege of stalking with him in this unique piece of ground, and for all that he's taught me over repeated visits. I hope that I can one day return part of the favour.
As on previous occasions, we stalked up a path along the base of the hill, shielded from the field between us and the wood by a line of trees, peeping through gaps in the foliage once in a while to see if any deer were raiding the pheasant feeders on the other side. There were a few pheasants, and as always a hare or two, but no deer. So we duly crossed the field and entered the wood. This part always feels like walking through a portal into another world to which senses have to adjust. The sounds are muffled (except stepping on twigs!), dappled sunlight lands on the forest floor, fallen trees and bluebells, and as we moved ever so slowly along deer tracks, we stopped every few steps to peer into the undergrowth and between tree trunks to try to spot a muntjac before it spotted us.
After an hour or so, it's hard to tell, time isn't the same in the woods, we finally spotted a buck to our right, but it had spotted us first. I could see the big V-shape of its ears atop a long slender neck, straight up as the beady little eyes examined us, but there was no time for a shot. In a series of barks, it bounded off into the trees, alerting the whole wood of our presence. We waited in case it came back round, but obviously it didn't. At this point, W_G said that we'd better stop for a while and let the wood settle, so we stood in the middle of a circle of trunks created by an old coppice I believe, which provided a kind of natural hide. Back to back, we waited and scanned all around us.
"Turn around veeeery slowly" murmured W_G. I slowly turned, and not twenty metres away was a muntjac doe, slowly browsing her way towards us, oblivious to our presence. She was moving from left to right, and as slowly and discretely as possible, i tried to reach for my phone to take a picture of this charming encounter, but not ten metres away, she spotted us and moved off. At which point I remembered that I was supposed to try and shoot muntjac, not take their portraits! But Willie_Gunn of all people understands that sort of reaction I believe. Either way, we had seen some deer, there was at least two more hours of light left, we'd find another.
We paused on the opposite side of the wood, just inside, before stepping out into the open. Across the meadow was a patch of wood that often holds a couple of bucks, but not today. A lone hen pheasant was pecking away inside an old toppled feeder. Then W_G spotted another muntjac doe browsing along the edge of the wood, zig-zagging in and out of the undergrowth and tall wood. He stepped back (remembering the bashing his ears had taken from my drilling last year), I raised the drilling on the sticks, and after a little shifting found the doe in the fixed 6 power scope, not easy as it was no further than twenty metres away, head down, and head on unfortunately. She vanished. A couple of minutes later, she reappeared, body hidden by the grass, then turned back to face the wood. W_G made a sound, she stopped for a second, now almost filling the eyepiece behind the thick No1 post reticle, and BANG! It sprang forwards, crashed into a bush, where I could hear some thrashing, then silence. "How did that feel?" asked W_G who I don't think could see the doe from where he'd been standing. "Fine, it's dead. I don't think I'd miss at ten metres". And yet... there was blood at the shot site, but also green... Oh come on, at ten metres!!? Ah well, that's hubris for you. The doe was in the bushes, two metres away. We pulled it out and actually, it had been hit exactly where it should be, just a bit low as the barrel and scope axes haven't yet converged at such a short range. However some of the innards had been sucked through the diaphragm and the exit wound, a consequence of a 150gr hollowpoint on a small deer at stupidly short range.
IMAG2133 by pinemarten, on FlickrAs I set about gralloching the deer, I realised that for the first time I wasn't nervous about making a mess of it under W_G's eyes. It was easy if not all that elegant. This is my 12th deer, the fifth muntjac and 4th from this wood, and I suppose I've reached critical mass of gralloching experience. This one was heavily pregnant, and although I still find that unpleasant, I've also overcome my squeamishness and can approach it as matter-of-fact process. In the bag it went, mission accomplished, we have ourselves a barbecue!
IMAG2136~2 by pinemarten, on Flickr(The above photo is especially for 8x57 who complained about my hat last year: I have a new one!)
Once again, my heartfelt thanks to Willie_Gunn for the repeated privilege of stalking with him in this unique piece of ground, and for all that he's taught me over repeated visits. I hope that I can one day return part of the favour.
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