It is a pleasant afternoon in August, and I have finished work early. Even better, I have the blessing of Mrs Dagless to use my spare time to go deer stalking. After an hour's drive, I arrive on the farm I have permission to shoot on and decide to sit up in a high seat and see what's going on...
In short order I can see three deer in the next field over, and in theory I have a nice opportunity for a shot. Unfortunately, the field belongs to another farm who won't let anyone shoot deer on their land, which is quite annoying and makes coherent deer management a bit of a challenge. Never mind, I will just plan on being patient, and hope that the deer make their way over to my permission before sunset. I get down from the seat and stalk along the bracken to cover their most likely route into the meadow I'm in.
And so it happens, half an hour later a muntjac doe appears 40 yards away. My adrenaline surges. She turns broadside on to me. I fire 150 grains of .308 Federal PowerShok Copper at the DSC1-recommended point of aim. Hit in the heart and lungs by a round arriving at 2.5 times the speed of sound, the little deer drops on the spot. As always, my dominant emotion is one of relief that it appears to be a job well done and that I haven't f**ked it up (I haven't shot all that many deer yet, so I know the day must come where something will go wrong). I reflect on how I barely heard the sound of the rifle shot, and how choosing the moment to fire happened almost subconsciously. Next job is to reload and put the safety catch on. I am pleased that this time as I cycle the bolt, I manage to catch the ejected brass. I stay where I am for 10 minutes to let the deer die in peace.
Even though I mentally marked the spot in the long grass where the deer fell, I still walk past it and have to double back before finding it. She's stone dead, confirmed by a poke in the eye with my shooting sticks. I 'make safe' my rifle (bolt closed on an empty chamber, safety catch on, but with a loaded mag still inserted - you never know what else might show up).
I try to do the gralloch as quickly as I can before the flies get wind of things. I'm getting better at it now, but to still looks like I've used a hand grenade instead of a knife. Regardless, everything looks healthy and normal, except for the bits that have been destroyed by the round, which has behaved very well and expanded (no 'pencilling' with this copper load). There is a huge exit wound that is quite a bit higher than the entry hole on the other side.
No photos of the gralloch, as I don't want to take my gloves off. As I'm finishing up, I notice for the first time a Roe buck and doe watching me from the treeline 25 yards away. My rifle is just out of reach, and they run off as soon as they see I've spotted them and started to move to pick up the rifle. Oh well, maybe next time I'm up the buck will still be around.
With the carcass loaded in the plasterer's tub in the back of the car, I drive home. I don't have a chiller so at this time of year I skin the deer straight away in my garage. It's much easier to skin muntjac when they're warm anyway. Then I bag it and put it in the kitchen fridge. Then bed time for me.
Next morning I butcher the carcass as best I can. Although it looks like I've used a shovel to do it, I am satisfied I've got as much venison off the carcass as possible. I've never been one for aging the meat, and I especially like to eat muntjac venison fresh. So I vacuum pack and freeze everything except the rump steaks and fillets.
In the evening, I grill the venison outside over some lumpwood, and serve with some tomatoes and beans from the garden. Also there are chips (didn't get round to growing potatoes this year, so must try harder for full self-sufficiency). The venison is wonderfully tender and full of flavour.
I remark to Mrs Dagless while we are eating that it's been exactly 24 hours since I squeezed the trigger and began the process of putting a meal on the table.
It's nice to know where your food comes from, and how it got there.
In short order I can see three deer in the next field over, and in theory I have a nice opportunity for a shot. Unfortunately, the field belongs to another farm who won't let anyone shoot deer on their land, which is quite annoying and makes coherent deer management a bit of a challenge. Never mind, I will just plan on being patient, and hope that the deer make their way over to my permission before sunset. I get down from the seat and stalk along the bracken to cover their most likely route into the meadow I'm in.
And so it happens, half an hour later a muntjac doe appears 40 yards away. My adrenaline surges. She turns broadside on to me. I fire 150 grains of .308 Federal PowerShok Copper at the DSC1-recommended point of aim. Hit in the heart and lungs by a round arriving at 2.5 times the speed of sound, the little deer drops on the spot. As always, my dominant emotion is one of relief that it appears to be a job well done and that I haven't f**ked it up (I haven't shot all that many deer yet, so I know the day must come where something will go wrong). I reflect on how I barely heard the sound of the rifle shot, and how choosing the moment to fire happened almost subconsciously. Next job is to reload and put the safety catch on. I am pleased that this time as I cycle the bolt, I manage to catch the ejected brass. I stay where I am for 10 minutes to let the deer die in peace.
Even though I mentally marked the spot in the long grass where the deer fell, I still walk past it and have to double back before finding it. She's stone dead, confirmed by a poke in the eye with my shooting sticks. I 'make safe' my rifle (bolt closed on an empty chamber, safety catch on, but with a loaded mag still inserted - you never know what else might show up).
I try to do the gralloch as quickly as I can before the flies get wind of things. I'm getting better at it now, but to still looks like I've used a hand grenade instead of a knife. Regardless, everything looks healthy and normal, except for the bits that have been destroyed by the round, which has behaved very well and expanded (no 'pencilling' with this copper load). There is a huge exit wound that is quite a bit higher than the entry hole on the other side.
No photos of the gralloch, as I don't want to take my gloves off. As I'm finishing up, I notice for the first time a Roe buck and doe watching me from the treeline 25 yards away. My rifle is just out of reach, and they run off as soon as they see I've spotted them and started to move to pick up the rifle. Oh well, maybe next time I'm up the buck will still be around.
With the carcass loaded in the plasterer's tub in the back of the car, I drive home. I don't have a chiller so at this time of year I skin the deer straight away in my garage. It's much easier to skin muntjac when they're warm anyway. Then I bag it and put it in the kitchen fridge. Then bed time for me.
Next morning I butcher the carcass as best I can. Although it looks like I've used a shovel to do it, I am satisfied I've got as much venison off the carcass as possible. I've never been one for aging the meat, and I especially like to eat muntjac venison fresh. So I vacuum pack and freeze everything except the rump steaks and fillets.
In the evening, I grill the venison outside over some lumpwood, and serve with some tomatoes and beans from the garden. Also there are chips (didn't get round to growing potatoes this year, so must try harder for full self-sufficiency). The venison is wonderfully tender and full of flavour.
I remark to Mrs Dagless while we are eating that it's been exactly 24 hours since I squeezed the trigger and began the process of putting a meal on the table.
It's nice to know where your food comes from, and how it got there.
Overall I think you have done a decent job so well done to you and Im sure speed and results will improve over time (butchery wise - shot was spot on and deer dropped on the spot which is the important bit)
