Evening All,
Thought I'd do a little write-up of my recent stalking trip for a Muntjac which is owed in it's entirety to this website and it's users, I'd never had thought of going on a deer stalk for many years yet if I hadn't stumbled upon here.
It was a lovely early winter afternoon and I'm driving down to Suffolk to meet up with my guide for the evening, Andy. I pull up outside his house as he is packing things into his truck and after a brief chat we make our way to a nearby estate to check my own abilities behind a rifle and ensure zero. I was fairly anxious about this even though I was comfortable behind a rifle, most likely because I was afraid that any mistake I made would cast doubt on my ability to pull the trigger on a deer. The rifle itself was a gorgeous Sauer 202 in .22-250, after checking zero and a few shots off the sticks, Andy was happy and we could make our way to the target area.
The first thing that struck me is how different the countryside in Suffolk is to my local haunt of Buckinghamshire which isn't exactly far away. Beautiful forests of silver birch, sandy soil and rugged bracken caught in the fleeting sunlight on this evening gave me an overwhelming feeling that even if I left empty handed, this was not wasted time. My excitement was definitely there before, but now that we were arriving at the hunting grounds I could feel myself getting giddy and the anticipation beginning to grow.
We unload the truck, walk through the gate and start making our way into the woods. Wet grass under foot changing to long bracken, fallen trees and crunchy leaves made me appreciate investing in a decent pair of boots that let me walk quietly and kept me comfortable and dry. I was trying my best to keep my head up and look for deer, but I was acutely aware that I had absolutely no experience and instead I focused on walking in the exact same place that Andy's boots had fallen to avoid snapping any twigs which he had avoided. I got into a cycle, that in between each step I would look at the ground, guide my foot and before the next step had left the ground I would quickly scan the woods left to right.
We walk into a thicket of silver birch, Andy stops and points to a deer around seventy metres from us. A red stag. A beautiful animal, I had never seen wild red deer before and even this stag, which I was told was just a young deer, stood out to me as this majestic beast. Another stag was with this one, and they had a brief spar before trotting out of our sight. Moments later, a truly enormous red stag appeared on the sky line with a harem of hinds in tow. I couldn't believe my luck. I had gone from never seeing a wild deer before, to seeing a couple of young stags spar, quickly followed by this enormous stag who was clearly king of the hill making his presence known. His roaring was the sound track for the next hour and a half.
When this herd eventually moved out of our sight, we quietly moved up to a lone oak tree in the middle of this silver birch wood. We stood for around forty five minutes to an hour, watching and waiting patiently. Nothing crossed our sight. The conditions were not ideal, the wind was coming from the direction of the sun which at this point was just above the horizon and making it difficult to look in the direction you'd want to. Andy decided it would be best for us to move on to another location which was more suited to the way the sun and the wind were. We moved to another couple of stand-out trees and I became aware of just how quietly it is possible to move when you really wanted to. I knew there were deer here, I had seen them. If I could keep up my end of the deal, there would be a deer in the back of the truck by the end of the stalk.
After some time passes, I turn to look around behind us and slowly scan the woodland we had just walked through. I hear this sudden stamping sound, and turn to look at the bramble bush five metres behind us and see the white ass of a muntjac disappearing through the undergrowth. I look at Andy who had the self control to not immediately turn and inspect the sound - he knew the noise was that of a muntjac bettering you.
I did not feel disappointed, there was still an hour to go and if anything it showed to me just how close-quarters woodland stalking can be. This deer was five metres away and I had no idea until it decided to make itself known.
The sun was beginning to set and after some deliberation, we head back to the truck to drive around to the other side of the estate for the final 45 minutes to an hour stalking. There was no track to speak of, just lanes of trampled vegetation that the deer had made through the wood. A lot of ground opened up which each step forward, and we ran into another muntjac. The stick's went up as it hurriedly trotted further into the bracken, I prepared to mount the rifle should it present a shot but it never did.
We got back to the car, made the rifle safe and set off to the last chance saloon for the evening. The sky was beginning to darken ever so slightly and I began to prepare myself for failure, thinking of the positives of the evening. Lessons I had learned, the significance of chance in a stalk, the beautiful sight of the red deer through the sun-lit trees. I was alright with it.
Upon arrival, we load the rifle, go through the gate and are immediately met by a muntjac, around sixty to seventy metres away. Things began to move very quickly. The premature feeling of defeat subsided to make way for focus. The sticks go up again and I rest the rifle on top. For the first time, I can see a deer through the scope. I don't know why but I felt no nervousness, no giddiness that would cause the scope to sway and bounce that I had heard about. The so-called buck fever. I was calm and grounded enough to go through the process of taking a shot. Get comfortable, line up the cross hairs, breath out and gently squeeze. I repeated this in my head a few times as I followed the buck through the vegetation, waiting for a shot to present itself. It may have only been for five or ten seconds, time is often lost in situations like this, but the buck did not stop walking. He was picking at grass and moving forward slowly, and I began to see him disappear. There was a final chance to squeeze off a shot as he passed between two bushes. I contemplated giving a bark to stop him, however he was moving so gently I thought it not worth the risk of him bounding away into the woods. I moved the cross hair to where he was about to be between the two bushes, and waiting for the shot to walk into me. I breathed out, and gently squeezed the trigger, making contact with the buck.
The shot was less than perfect, the deer did not die instantaneously as I had hoped it would. Andy put a knife through the ribs and into the heart to dispatch the buck as soon as possible. I felt confused and sad that I had followed the rule book, and the shot had not been immediately fatal. Regardless, the buck was down, and I had all the time in the world to replay the scenario in my head. I didn't feel the excitement that I saw in the videos. It was almost underwhelming at first, unsure what to make of it.
I carried the deer back to the truck where he would be gralloched. I began to feel some kind of feeling when I set him down and ran my hand over his coat a few times. Still don't really know how to describe it in a way that conveys the emotion well. It was a feeling of respect and love like you'd have if you saw a close friend or family member do something like get married or graduate. It was only a hint, but it was there.
Andy and I went back to his house to finish cleaning up the carcass and we spoke for some time after, with him graciously answering all my novice questions about the most elementary of things. We said our farewells and I was off.
The car journey was not a silent one. I felt accomplished and happy - a feeling that was progressively building since the shot. The smell of blood didn't put me off having music on nice and loud and enjoying my drive home, looking forward to butchering this bounty of meat I had been gifted by the animal. It was when I got home, and laid the deer out onto the table to butcher it that I really had the feeling I saw in the videos. Like a lump in my chest, a mixture of remorse, thankfulness and respect for this beautiful creature.
This was definitely the first of many.
Thank you, Stalking Directory
And thank you Andy.
Thought I'd do a little write-up of my recent stalking trip for a Muntjac which is owed in it's entirety to this website and it's users, I'd never had thought of going on a deer stalk for many years yet if I hadn't stumbled upon here.
It was a lovely early winter afternoon and I'm driving down to Suffolk to meet up with my guide for the evening, Andy. I pull up outside his house as he is packing things into his truck and after a brief chat we make our way to a nearby estate to check my own abilities behind a rifle and ensure zero. I was fairly anxious about this even though I was comfortable behind a rifle, most likely because I was afraid that any mistake I made would cast doubt on my ability to pull the trigger on a deer. The rifle itself was a gorgeous Sauer 202 in .22-250, after checking zero and a few shots off the sticks, Andy was happy and we could make our way to the target area.
The first thing that struck me is how different the countryside in Suffolk is to my local haunt of Buckinghamshire which isn't exactly far away. Beautiful forests of silver birch, sandy soil and rugged bracken caught in the fleeting sunlight on this evening gave me an overwhelming feeling that even if I left empty handed, this was not wasted time. My excitement was definitely there before, but now that we were arriving at the hunting grounds I could feel myself getting giddy and the anticipation beginning to grow.
We unload the truck, walk through the gate and start making our way into the woods. Wet grass under foot changing to long bracken, fallen trees and crunchy leaves made me appreciate investing in a decent pair of boots that let me walk quietly and kept me comfortable and dry. I was trying my best to keep my head up and look for deer, but I was acutely aware that I had absolutely no experience and instead I focused on walking in the exact same place that Andy's boots had fallen to avoid snapping any twigs which he had avoided. I got into a cycle, that in between each step I would look at the ground, guide my foot and before the next step had left the ground I would quickly scan the woods left to right.
We walk into a thicket of silver birch, Andy stops and points to a deer around seventy metres from us. A red stag. A beautiful animal, I had never seen wild red deer before and even this stag, which I was told was just a young deer, stood out to me as this majestic beast. Another stag was with this one, and they had a brief spar before trotting out of our sight. Moments later, a truly enormous red stag appeared on the sky line with a harem of hinds in tow. I couldn't believe my luck. I had gone from never seeing a wild deer before, to seeing a couple of young stags spar, quickly followed by this enormous stag who was clearly king of the hill making his presence known. His roaring was the sound track for the next hour and a half.
When this herd eventually moved out of our sight, we quietly moved up to a lone oak tree in the middle of this silver birch wood. We stood for around forty five minutes to an hour, watching and waiting patiently. Nothing crossed our sight. The conditions were not ideal, the wind was coming from the direction of the sun which at this point was just above the horizon and making it difficult to look in the direction you'd want to. Andy decided it would be best for us to move on to another location which was more suited to the way the sun and the wind were. We moved to another couple of stand-out trees and I became aware of just how quietly it is possible to move when you really wanted to. I knew there were deer here, I had seen them. If I could keep up my end of the deal, there would be a deer in the back of the truck by the end of the stalk.
After some time passes, I turn to look around behind us and slowly scan the woodland we had just walked through. I hear this sudden stamping sound, and turn to look at the bramble bush five metres behind us and see the white ass of a muntjac disappearing through the undergrowth. I look at Andy who had the self control to not immediately turn and inspect the sound - he knew the noise was that of a muntjac bettering you.
I did not feel disappointed, there was still an hour to go and if anything it showed to me just how close-quarters woodland stalking can be. This deer was five metres away and I had no idea until it decided to make itself known.
The sun was beginning to set and after some deliberation, we head back to the truck to drive around to the other side of the estate for the final 45 minutes to an hour stalking. There was no track to speak of, just lanes of trampled vegetation that the deer had made through the wood. A lot of ground opened up which each step forward, and we ran into another muntjac. The stick's went up as it hurriedly trotted further into the bracken, I prepared to mount the rifle should it present a shot but it never did.
We got back to the car, made the rifle safe and set off to the last chance saloon for the evening. The sky was beginning to darken ever so slightly and I began to prepare myself for failure, thinking of the positives of the evening. Lessons I had learned, the significance of chance in a stalk, the beautiful sight of the red deer through the sun-lit trees. I was alright with it.
Upon arrival, we load the rifle, go through the gate and are immediately met by a muntjac, around sixty to seventy metres away. Things began to move very quickly. The premature feeling of defeat subsided to make way for focus. The sticks go up again and I rest the rifle on top. For the first time, I can see a deer through the scope. I don't know why but I felt no nervousness, no giddiness that would cause the scope to sway and bounce that I had heard about. The so-called buck fever. I was calm and grounded enough to go through the process of taking a shot. Get comfortable, line up the cross hairs, breath out and gently squeeze. I repeated this in my head a few times as I followed the buck through the vegetation, waiting for a shot to present itself. It may have only been for five or ten seconds, time is often lost in situations like this, but the buck did not stop walking. He was picking at grass and moving forward slowly, and I began to see him disappear. There was a final chance to squeeze off a shot as he passed between two bushes. I contemplated giving a bark to stop him, however he was moving so gently I thought it not worth the risk of him bounding away into the woods. I moved the cross hair to where he was about to be between the two bushes, and waiting for the shot to walk into me. I breathed out, and gently squeezed the trigger, making contact with the buck.
The shot was less than perfect, the deer did not die instantaneously as I had hoped it would. Andy put a knife through the ribs and into the heart to dispatch the buck as soon as possible. I felt confused and sad that I had followed the rule book, and the shot had not been immediately fatal. Regardless, the buck was down, and I had all the time in the world to replay the scenario in my head. I didn't feel the excitement that I saw in the videos. It was almost underwhelming at first, unsure what to make of it.
I carried the deer back to the truck where he would be gralloched. I began to feel some kind of feeling when I set him down and ran my hand over his coat a few times. Still don't really know how to describe it in a way that conveys the emotion well. It was a feeling of respect and love like you'd have if you saw a close friend or family member do something like get married or graduate. It was only a hint, but it was there.
Andy and I went back to his house to finish cleaning up the carcass and we spoke for some time after, with him graciously answering all my novice questions about the most elementary of things. We said our farewells and I was off.
The car journey was not a silent one. I felt accomplished and happy - a feeling that was progressively building since the shot. The smell of blood didn't put me off having music on nice and loud and enjoying my drive home, looking forward to butchering this bounty of meat I had been gifted by the animal. It was when I got home, and laid the deer out onto the table to butcher it that I really had the feeling I saw in the videos. Like a lump in my chest, a mixture of remorse, thankfulness and respect for this beautiful creature.
This was definitely the first of many.
Thank you, Stalking Directory
And thank you Andy.
