As I write this I am feeling very blessed indeed.
A little over a fortnight ago I received a mass mailshot from Cervus-UK [Owen Beardsmore] declaring that he had had a last minute booking cancellation for one of two prime Roe-rut weeks in Hampshire. Did anyone want to take up this opportunity? I have no idea how many people are on the Cervus-UK email distro list, so I thought that the odds of me getting to take up this windfall were slim at best. Not least because I prefer to hunt cull animals, not trophies, and the rut weeks are usually the preserve of the well-heeled.
Well...Owen gave me the nod last week, and I headed over to Hampshire on Monday of this week. The weather was fabulous. The rolling Hampshire downs would have had John Constable's heart singing. Owen and his son Dan are excellent company and fine stalkers. In particular, Owen has utterly mastered how to make a Buttolo sound irresistible to Roe buck. He did not so much call them in as bring them at a canter, from hundreds of meters distant. Many, many times, and on every outing.
Monday evening started with an obligatory shooting competence test in which I demonstrated moa accuracy off sticks at 100m using my 6.5xmm throwing 120gr Barnes ttsx. During our first foray out on Monday evening, we stalked into or called 23 Roe. That is just stunning. Breathtaking really. And all in fine fettle. One doe had three fawns, all prospering. Some of the first to arrive to the call were sporting significant head cutlery: Antlers that a stalker of a different cloth will pay good money to procure and display on the wall above the chesterfield in their walnut panelled smoking room. So that first evening was very exciting but a chiller blank for me. However, many of the animals that made up the 23 count were does. If there are that many does, there are bucks to be had...
The next day we drove in tandem around the estate [Covid secure separation of stalker and deer manager] with me following Owen's car in my pickup. The night had been clear and cool and so we knew that the Roe would be waiting for the sun to crest the horizon before they resumed their fecundity frolics. Arriving at the estate before 06:00, we glassed those hill faces being washed by the sun first. The first candidate and his doe were bedded in a barley crop perhaps 600m away. We drove round the farm tracks to arrive at a starting point for our stalk with the wind in our faces and sun at our backs. A stealthy stroll down the side of a hedgerow brought us to within 250m of the two beasts, still bedded. At that point we were running out of cover so I set up on sticks and Owen started his Buttolo wooing of the buck. On this and almost every other occasion I was stunned by how quickly the buck left his doe's side to investigate the sound of a receptive female.
The buck weaved a somewhat zigzag path through the crop towards us by which method he triangulated the origin of the call. Owen called him into sub 50m. I have no doubt he could have brought him to our side if we remained motionless. This was clearly a good cull candidate: a yearling buck with an unpromising head. But no clear chest shot presented as the crop in that area was quite tall. However, the wind started swirling a bit and I became aware of it on the nape of my neck, briefly, every few seconds. I got the nod from Owen and dropped him with a neck shot. He was the first of nine bucks I lardered in 6 outings.
On the next stalk, Owen placed me in a highseat and called from below. Nothing came to us in perhaps 20 mins of calling, but Owen could see a heat signature in dense foliage perhaps 160m down the ride. Once again we stalked along the hedge row, assiduously avoiding standing on twigs as we closed distance on the heat signature. In the event, we walked to within 70m and then saw a buck and doe stand and walk away from us through cover. But it did not look like they had moved as a function of our approach, so we pressed on. Sure enough, they were bedded in the next paddock. Owen directed me to put up sticks and focus on the area near the "yellow flower". Well, that is a bit like asking someone to pick out the spectator in a blue shirt at a Chelsea match. The field was stuffed with them. Still, I set up on the flower I believe he had picked out, set scope down to 4x, waited. "Fweep, fweep" from Owen and almost immediately thereafter a hoarse whisper: "he's up, shoot him". Well he was not in my scope picture. I zoomed out to 2.5x. Still zip. I lifted my head up from the scope. Now I could see I was 30⁰ to the left of target. I repositioned sticks. But my movement was seen, with the buck looking towards us and appearing on the cusp of flight. I wheeled the crosshairs onto its ribs and pulled the trigger.
It was my only poor shot of the week really. Still lethal, but shoulder-to-shoulder rather than rib-to-rib. Analysing why afterwards it was clear that I had allowed a pressure situation to overtake my usually considered firing sequence. In that final rushed step, my scope was on the wrong magnification, sticks were not 100% repositioned, the sum of which had caused me to pull the shot. And I was not happy with that. That said, all Roe shot this week were one-and-done. All 6 neck shot animals were dropped on the spot and only one of the three chest shot animals left the strike point, and that by just 15m. My longest shot was just over the 150m mark, the average probably around 60m.
Final evening's haul.
The knife I made last month got its first outing and acquitted itself well. I now see that a longer blade with a sharper point would be better. So the next blade design begins...
Peversely, one of my favourite stalks was a blank. But very exciting. We walked a loop through a dense forest spralled over a series of rises and hollows and called and thermal scanned as we went. At times you could peer 100m through the forest, and at others you would not know if a buck was 5 paces away. We tarried at a high seat. Doe call first. No luck. Switched to fawn call on cherry whistle. Zip. We came down from the seat and continued the circular navigation of the forest. We were less than 70m from the vacated highseat and heard a very loud Roe buck bark from close to that seat's position. Wow. Had he observed us while we sat? Or had we abandoned calling too soon and he had been still en route to the highseat? Tantalising. We resumed our course. We heard some Munties barking over to our left, unseen. At the next intersection of three rides I set up on sticks facing one way, and Owen called and watched the other. Nothing...nothing...then out the preriphery of my vision I saw a buck coming like a steam train down the third ride. I hissed at Owen to move out of line of sight as I hoisted the rifle's muzzle skyward and wheeled the sticks through 90⁰ to face the bolide buck. By the time Owen was clear and the rifle was back on sticks, the buck was about 20m from us. Whether it saw or winded us I do not know, but it stopped as though it had hit a wall and pivotted and was gone as quickly as it arrived. I was beginning to understand why so many stalkers love the rut.
Another stand out stalk was one in which we observed a dominant buck running his doe. The boundary of his patch had significant scrape areas to warn off lesser bucks. Our approach was along the valley floor looking up onto a wooded face that had some clear fell and new planting. What that afforded is a great mix of cover and clear access. Not far into that area we spotted him: not the thickest bases, but good length, well above the ears. So as the buck chased after his doe, they slipped into view and disappeared periodically as they wove figure eight pathways on the hill face in front of us. Their cavorting looked like the first two merrymakers at a party trying to start a conga. And then, a piece of magic: we could see them making steady left-to-right progress mid way up the hill. As soon as the doe trotted into a clearing, Owen gave a quick "fweep" on the Buttolo and the doe came to a halt. The buck had only one thing on his mind and was oblivious to the call. He did not miss a step. Like Lego blocks they interlocked for a few seconds before resuming their jog through the forest.
Owen graciously allowed me to take one of the carcasses. I have processed the primary joints into the freezer. My wife has minced the offcuts and prepped a sausage mix which will be ready for the braai tomorrow.
This week will linger in my memory as one of the most outstanding English wildlife experiences of my life. I hunt Roe at other times of the year. The rut is different. Normally secretive creatures become bold and omnipresent. And getting them to come to a call must be the stalking equivalent of designing and tying the fly that landed your next trout. And the trip was not just about Roe. The hares were quite delightful. Sometimes mob handed in gatherings, sometimes loping around in pairs. One sat on a tree stump looked remarkably like he was appraising us as we passed. Birdsong, barking munties, gin clear air and fiery sunsets. And Owen is a consumate professional and gentleman. Generous and easy-going. I wish him and his team every success. Whoever forfeited this week's stalking must have been gutted.
A little over a fortnight ago I received a mass mailshot from Cervus-UK [Owen Beardsmore] declaring that he had had a last minute booking cancellation for one of two prime Roe-rut weeks in Hampshire. Did anyone want to take up this opportunity? I have no idea how many people are on the Cervus-UK email distro list, so I thought that the odds of me getting to take up this windfall were slim at best. Not least because I prefer to hunt cull animals, not trophies, and the rut weeks are usually the preserve of the well-heeled.
Well...Owen gave me the nod last week, and I headed over to Hampshire on Monday of this week. The weather was fabulous. The rolling Hampshire downs would have had John Constable's heart singing. Owen and his son Dan are excellent company and fine stalkers. In particular, Owen has utterly mastered how to make a Buttolo sound irresistible to Roe buck. He did not so much call them in as bring them at a canter, from hundreds of meters distant. Many, many times, and on every outing.
Monday evening started with an obligatory shooting competence test in which I demonstrated moa accuracy off sticks at 100m using my 6.5xmm throwing 120gr Barnes ttsx. During our first foray out on Monday evening, we stalked into or called 23 Roe. That is just stunning. Breathtaking really. And all in fine fettle. One doe had three fawns, all prospering. Some of the first to arrive to the call were sporting significant head cutlery: Antlers that a stalker of a different cloth will pay good money to procure and display on the wall above the chesterfield in their walnut panelled smoking room. So that first evening was very exciting but a chiller blank for me. However, many of the animals that made up the 23 count were does. If there are that many does, there are bucks to be had...
The next day we drove in tandem around the estate [Covid secure separation of stalker and deer manager] with me following Owen's car in my pickup. The night had been clear and cool and so we knew that the Roe would be waiting for the sun to crest the horizon before they resumed their fecundity frolics. Arriving at the estate before 06:00, we glassed those hill faces being washed by the sun first. The first candidate and his doe were bedded in a barley crop perhaps 600m away. We drove round the farm tracks to arrive at a starting point for our stalk with the wind in our faces and sun at our backs. A stealthy stroll down the side of a hedgerow brought us to within 250m of the two beasts, still bedded. At that point we were running out of cover so I set up on sticks and Owen started his Buttolo wooing of the buck. On this and almost every other occasion I was stunned by how quickly the buck left his doe's side to investigate the sound of a receptive female.
The buck weaved a somewhat zigzag path through the crop towards us by which method he triangulated the origin of the call. Owen called him into sub 50m. I have no doubt he could have brought him to our side if we remained motionless. This was clearly a good cull candidate: a yearling buck with an unpromising head. But no clear chest shot presented as the crop in that area was quite tall. However, the wind started swirling a bit and I became aware of it on the nape of my neck, briefly, every few seconds. I got the nod from Owen and dropped him with a neck shot. He was the first of nine bucks I lardered in 6 outings.
On the next stalk, Owen placed me in a highseat and called from below. Nothing came to us in perhaps 20 mins of calling, but Owen could see a heat signature in dense foliage perhaps 160m down the ride. Once again we stalked along the hedge row, assiduously avoiding standing on twigs as we closed distance on the heat signature. In the event, we walked to within 70m and then saw a buck and doe stand and walk away from us through cover. But it did not look like they had moved as a function of our approach, so we pressed on. Sure enough, they were bedded in the next paddock. Owen directed me to put up sticks and focus on the area near the "yellow flower". Well, that is a bit like asking someone to pick out the spectator in a blue shirt at a Chelsea match. The field was stuffed with them. Still, I set up on the flower I believe he had picked out, set scope down to 4x, waited. "Fweep, fweep" from Owen and almost immediately thereafter a hoarse whisper: "he's up, shoot him". Well he was not in my scope picture. I zoomed out to 2.5x. Still zip. I lifted my head up from the scope. Now I could see I was 30⁰ to the left of target. I repositioned sticks. But my movement was seen, with the buck looking towards us and appearing on the cusp of flight. I wheeled the crosshairs onto its ribs and pulled the trigger.
It was my only poor shot of the week really. Still lethal, but shoulder-to-shoulder rather than rib-to-rib. Analysing why afterwards it was clear that I had allowed a pressure situation to overtake my usually considered firing sequence. In that final rushed step, my scope was on the wrong magnification, sticks were not 100% repositioned, the sum of which had caused me to pull the shot. And I was not happy with that. That said, all Roe shot this week were one-and-done. All 6 neck shot animals were dropped on the spot and only one of the three chest shot animals left the strike point, and that by just 15m. My longest shot was just over the 150m mark, the average probably around 60m.
Final evening's haul. The knife I made last month got its first outing and acquitted itself well. I now see that a longer blade with a sharper point would be better. So the next blade design begins...Peversely, one of my favourite stalks was a blank. But very exciting. We walked a loop through a dense forest spralled over a series of rises and hollows and called and thermal scanned as we went. At times you could peer 100m through the forest, and at others you would not know if a buck was 5 paces away. We tarried at a high seat. Doe call first. No luck. Switched to fawn call on cherry whistle. Zip. We came down from the seat and continued the circular navigation of the forest. We were less than 70m from the vacated highseat and heard a very loud Roe buck bark from close to that seat's position. Wow. Had he observed us while we sat? Or had we abandoned calling too soon and he had been still en route to the highseat? Tantalising. We resumed our course. We heard some Munties barking over to our left, unseen. At the next intersection of three rides I set up on sticks facing one way, and Owen called and watched the other. Nothing...nothing...then out the preriphery of my vision I saw a buck coming like a steam train down the third ride. I hissed at Owen to move out of line of sight as I hoisted the rifle's muzzle skyward and wheeled the sticks through 90⁰ to face the bolide buck. By the time Owen was clear and the rifle was back on sticks, the buck was about 20m from us. Whether it saw or winded us I do not know, but it stopped as though it had hit a wall and pivotted and was gone as quickly as it arrived. I was beginning to understand why so many stalkers love the rut.
Another stand out stalk was one in which we observed a dominant buck running his doe. The boundary of his patch had significant scrape areas to warn off lesser bucks. Our approach was along the valley floor looking up onto a wooded face that had some clear fell and new planting. What that afforded is a great mix of cover and clear access. Not far into that area we spotted him: not the thickest bases, but good length, well above the ears. So as the buck chased after his doe, they slipped into view and disappeared periodically as they wove figure eight pathways on the hill face in front of us. Their cavorting looked like the first two merrymakers at a party trying to start a conga. And then, a piece of magic: we could see them making steady left-to-right progress mid way up the hill. As soon as the doe trotted into a clearing, Owen gave a quick "fweep" on the Buttolo and the doe came to a halt. The buck had only one thing on his mind and was oblivious to the call. He did not miss a step. Like Lego blocks they interlocked for a few seconds before resuming their jog through the forest.
Owen graciously allowed me to take one of the carcasses. I have processed the primary joints into the freezer. My wife has minced the offcuts and prepped a sausage mix which will be ready for the braai tomorrow.This week will linger in my memory as one of the most outstanding English wildlife experiences of my life. I hunt Roe at other times of the year. The rut is different. Normally secretive creatures become bold and omnipresent. And getting them to come to a call must be the stalking equivalent of designing and tying the fly that landed your next trout. And the trip was not just about Roe. The hares were quite delightful. Sometimes mob handed in gatherings, sometimes loping around in pairs. One sat on a tree stump looked remarkably like he was appraising us as we passed. Birdsong, barking munties, gin clear air and fiery sunsets. And Owen is a consumate professional and gentleman. Generous and easy-going. I wish him and his team every success. Whoever forfeited this week's stalking must have been gutted.
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