It's Thursday and last night the Castle was filled with ten 'clients' from around the world. A sporting syndicate formed through business and its associated trappings. They are dropped on the front lawn by helicopter - not a 110 in sight.

This syndicate has taken all three Estates on the Isle and consequently it is all 'hands to the pumps' for the staff - Guides, Ghillies and Stalkers are roped in from about the Isle to help out.
My Stalker is rather too honest (is there such a thing?) and tells me that this is his first time 'guiding'.
I do my very best to put him at ease, and explain that there is absolutely no pressure today. I do not care if I do not shoot a Stag, literally, do not care.
We will (I hope) enjoy each other's company and the fresh air and scenery, that I have travelled so far to experience.
Incidentally, he is the smartest man I have ever seen on the hill. He is a military man and I have twenty years on him. With my body still broken from yesterday's traumas, I may just be in trouble.
We set off for the corner of the Island that is not being 'worked' by the ten-man syndicate.
As we climb higher and higher, we are eventually above the helicopter that is flying those syndicate members to Lord knows where. Whilst my lungs are (again) hurting and my legs are singing, I cannot help but think that it is they who are missing out.
Anyhoo.
The pace is civilised and there are frequent 'pauses' whilst we chew the fat over life's experiences. If there is a better way to spend a day than on the hill with a like-minded chap, then I am yet to learn of it.
As we stop and recce. the ground...

My companion pulls out a beautiful piece of history from his rucksack.

It is a Ross spotting scope and was carried by his Grandfather in WWI.
It is beautiful, and I fall in love with the history and provenance of it.
I beg him for a go of it...

I simply must own one of these pieces of history!
NB
Thanks to both @caberslash and @finnbear270 I now do.
Ironically, whilst I am 'posing' like a diva for the photo - I actually spy a small herd of Red, amongst which there is a 'takable' Stag.
We make a plan.
The only approach is high, narrow and (frankly) dangerous.
We have just enough light to have a crack.

This syndicate has taken all three Estates on the Isle and consequently it is all 'hands to the pumps' for the staff - Guides, Ghillies and Stalkers are roped in from about the Isle to help out.
My Stalker is rather too honest (is there such a thing?) and tells me that this is his first time 'guiding'.
I do my very best to put him at ease, and explain that there is absolutely no pressure today. I do not care if I do not shoot a Stag, literally, do not care.
We will (I hope) enjoy each other's company and the fresh air and scenery, that I have travelled so far to experience.
Incidentally, he is the smartest man I have ever seen on the hill. He is a military man and I have twenty years on him. With my body still broken from yesterday's traumas, I may just be in trouble.
We set off for the corner of the Island that is not being 'worked' by the ten-man syndicate.
As we climb higher and higher, we are eventually above the helicopter that is flying those syndicate members to Lord knows where. Whilst my lungs are (again) hurting and my legs are singing, I cannot help but think that it is they who are missing out.
Anyhoo.
The pace is civilised and there are frequent 'pauses' whilst we chew the fat over life's experiences. If there is a better way to spend a day than on the hill with a like-minded chap, then I am yet to learn of it.
As we stop and recce. the ground...

My companion pulls out a beautiful piece of history from his rucksack.

It is a Ross spotting scope and was carried by his Grandfather in WWI.
It is beautiful, and I fall in love with the history and provenance of it.
I beg him for a go of it...

I simply must own one of these pieces of history!
NB
Thanks to both @caberslash and @finnbear270 I now do.
Ironically, whilst I am 'posing' like a diva for the photo - I actually spy a small herd of Red, amongst which there is a 'takable' Stag.
We make a plan.
The only approach is high, narrow and (frankly) dangerous.
We have just enough light to have a crack.





