I thought Wet, Wet, Wet was a pop group, that is until I went stalking in Glen Lyon last week ! Forty three years of red deer stalking and fifteen of them here on this estate in Glenlyon , and I have never experienced weather like it before. Well, I suppose we were fore warned that Storm Amy was on her way with all her might. Anyway, we certainly made the best of it, and I had three successful days given the challenging weather, though to be fair to the BBC it was only the latter part of my stay that the weather deteriorated.
Day one and with all the pleasantries of greeting one another once more and being introduced to the new gillie for the season, a pleasant16-year-old called Euschin ( A Gaelic name and dammed if I can recall the exact spelling of it so I write it phonetically) the week looked good. With a fresh southwest wind with intermittent drizzle, George the stalker, decided at best we would have a look at the west beat today as he was sure there will be something of interest for us there. All abord then in the land Rover and we left the lodge and headed up the glen by the side of Allt Gleann Da- Eig on my firs day. It wasn’t long before we spied our first deer a small groups here and there and the odd stag on the troll. A little further on we pulled up at an known advantaged spot for a more serious spy. And spy we did, picking out groups and further groups far out. One group we spied of about twenty with a couple of stags on their perimeter and with a hefty looking beast guarding them with a keen watch on these would-be challengers. It was this group that George decided we should take a closer look at as he was sure either of these beasts was shootable.
As we approached there was some roaring and chasing with the bigger stag chasing out one of the challengers which, and by luck, headed in our direction. We halted our approach and knelt waiting to see what and where he was going. George intimated that patience is a virtue in this game of stalking. After a few moments and to our amazement he decided to lie down against a rock and clumps of heather. Great, said George and the stalk was on. It wasn’t very hard or easy going getting close to the stag as one would imagine on steep ground on this part of the estate, but it was most certainly wet, as the ground was sodden given the overnight rain and the drizzle. At about 130 m we reached the chosen firing point and George took the rifle out of the slip from Euschin and chambered my 7.08 with a round and crept forward placing the rifle on a suitable bank before signalling me forward. The excitement was at its height with me after the months of waiting to be back at the stags once more as I cradled the rifle and looked forward over the scope to the stag. There he was lying in his chosen bed. As I lifted the scope covers off George said “Be quick, he’s up”……. Up he sprang, probably hearing my scuffling to get comfortable for the shot and off he trotted some 15m away, stopped and turned not quite broadside to see what spooked him. I’m sure he never had the time to focus his eyes upon us as the 140-grain bullet went through the top of his heart. Even so, he had enough energy to bolt on a further 20m in reaction to the shot.
He’s down, well don, were the congratulatory words in my right ear from George. After a moment or two we stood up and called up Euschin to bring the rifle slip our sticks and to join us as we walked to the beast. Before he stood up George had a closer look at him through his glass before my shot and thought he may be an 11 pointer, but among the heather and grass it was hard to make out exactly and as such, he wasn’t sure. However, and to my amazement when we reached him and after turning him over for the gralloch, he had an impressive head with 14 points, and with this number of points I said an imperial stag. I was speechless to say the least. I have shot a Royal here a few years ago and a couple of hummels but nothing to compare with this. I think I floated down the hill on air as I followed Euschin and George on the drag to the Quad bike and then the Land Rover and back to the Larder.
What a day, and the next two days were equally exciting though the last day I would say we were very lucky to get a shot at a six-pointer given the weather. I could expand on these other days but I will savour my Imperial one for ever. A great few day.
Pictures say more than words so below a few shots reflecting my wonderful visit in Glenlyon, arguably Scotland’s longest, loneliest and most beautiful glen.
Day one and with all the pleasantries of greeting one another once more and being introduced to the new gillie for the season, a pleasant16-year-old called Euschin ( A Gaelic name and dammed if I can recall the exact spelling of it so I write it phonetically) the week looked good. With a fresh southwest wind with intermittent drizzle, George the stalker, decided at best we would have a look at the west beat today as he was sure there will be something of interest for us there. All abord then in the land Rover and we left the lodge and headed up the glen by the side of Allt Gleann Da- Eig on my firs day. It wasn’t long before we spied our first deer a small groups here and there and the odd stag on the troll. A little further on we pulled up at an known advantaged spot for a more serious spy. And spy we did, picking out groups and further groups far out. One group we spied of about twenty with a couple of stags on their perimeter and with a hefty looking beast guarding them with a keen watch on these would-be challengers. It was this group that George decided we should take a closer look at as he was sure either of these beasts was shootable.
As we approached there was some roaring and chasing with the bigger stag chasing out one of the challengers which, and by luck, headed in our direction. We halted our approach and knelt waiting to see what and where he was going. George intimated that patience is a virtue in this game of stalking. After a few moments and to our amazement he decided to lie down against a rock and clumps of heather. Great, said George and the stalk was on. It wasn’t very hard or easy going getting close to the stag as one would imagine on steep ground on this part of the estate, but it was most certainly wet, as the ground was sodden given the overnight rain and the drizzle. At about 130 m we reached the chosen firing point and George took the rifle out of the slip from Euschin and chambered my 7.08 with a round and crept forward placing the rifle on a suitable bank before signalling me forward. The excitement was at its height with me after the months of waiting to be back at the stags once more as I cradled the rifle and looked forward over the scope to the stag. There he was lying in his chosen bed. As I lifted the scope covers off George said “Be quick, he’s up”……. Up he sprang, probably hearing my scuffling to get comfortable for the shot and off he trotted some 15m away, stopped and turned not quite broadside to see what spooked him. I’m sure he never had the time to focus his eyes upon us as the 140-grain bullet went through the top of his heart. Even so, he had enough energy to bolt on a further 20m in reaction to the shot.
He’s down, well don, were the congratulatory words in my right ear from George. After a moment or two we stood up and called up Euschin to bring the rifle slip our sticks and to join us as we walked to the beast. Before he stood up George had a closer look at him through his glass before my shot and thought he may be an 11 pointer, but among the heather and grass it was hard to make out exactly and as such, he wasn’t sure. However, and to my amazement when we reached him and after turning him over for the gralloch, he had an impressive head with 14 points, and with this number of points I said an imperial stag. I was speechless to say the least. I have shot a Royal here a few years ago and a couple of hummels but nothing to compare with this. I think I floated down the hill on air as I followed Euschin and George on the drag to the Quad bike and then the Land Rover and back to the Larder.
What a day, and the next two days were equally exciting though the last day I would say we were very lucky to get a shot at a six-pointer given the weather. I could expand on these other days but I will savour my Imperial one for ever. A great few day.
Pictures say more than words so below a few shots reflecting my wonderful visit in Glenlyon, arguably Scotland’s longest, loneliest and most beautiful glen.
