It's a long way to Inveraray... Kind of!
Where to start... this weekend saw myself and two very good friends take a long awaited pilgrimage North of the border.
We eagerly loaded up the truck Friday morning and set off from North Wales to Inveraray.
The journey up was uneventful, with our usual stop off at Malmo to have a browse and pick up some bits. A few hours later and we arrived at our accommodation for the weekend. Situated just outside of Inveraray right on the shores of Loch Fyne.
We unloaded our gear and headed to The George in Inveraray Town. I have to say, if you're ever that way, call in. The food was excellent, particularly the fresh scallops and other seafood, pulled from the Loch a stones throw away. After a good feed and a couple of drinks we turned in.
Unfortunately there was a front blowing in for Saturday, our first day on the hill. Initially a yellow warning but by morning it was ungraded to Amber.
We met our host and decided to drive to where we intended to start the long ascent up and see what happened! You can plan for everything but the weather... and after a short walk through some woodland and to the base of the hill, we decided to call it.
No man or beast in their right mind would or should be out in that weather.... Save for 3 lads from Wales and a very obliging host!
From there the weather worsened and to a degree that shocked us and all the locals of Inveraray.
There was 6 landslides that day, blocking pretty much every main road in the locality.
There were people being airlifted from their cars as they were stuck between landslides, cars being pushed off the road and most randomly of all, 100s of round baled silage being washed into the Loch... being from a farming family, I shuddered for the farmers lost fodder.
We managed to get back to our digs and hunkered down... thankfully we had a full afternoon of rugby to keep us entertained
With a close eye on the forecast, checking multible weather apps Sunday was looking better.
With another table booked at The George and another cracking meal consumed we turned our thoughts to Sunday. Made a plan with our host who dined with us and hit the hay.
The heavy rain had turned to a light drizzle with a lot of low cloud.
We arrived at our start point for the stalk.
Upon stepping out of the trucks we were greeted by a chorus of roaring of Red Stags in the distance.
I've heard it before with lowland stags, but this quite literally made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. We three Welsh pilgrims looked at each other with glee.
The setting was as good as you could ask for. Forestry meeting the foot of the hill, which dramatically rises into the clouds and out of sight.
We chucked on our packs, and off we went. The thermals struggled with the fog, as did our rangefinder binos... as we climbed it only worsened. But on we trudged, it was hard going, but that's what we wanted. We wanted to earn any opportunity at engineering a shot... and work we did.
Half way up the hill we were greeted by a stag coming over the ridge at a guessed 600 odd meters, stood proudly and let off several roars... a scene that wouldn't look out of place on any oil painting. He stood watching over a small group of hinds for a good 10 mins. We made him a decent 10 pointer, but he was very unsure, he was watching from every which way, continually moving his hinds on. They eventually crested the ridge and disappeared into the cloud line. While watching him, we heard more roaring above him.
Into the clouds, not ideal but the stags aren't stupid, they feel safer up there.
Up and up we went, visibility wasn't fantastic, with a wind blowing it was continually changing from 50 meters to 200 plus. Hard to stalk animals you can't see! But now and then a stag would let out a roar and we used our ears to guide us in.
After what felt like walking in circles we pin pointed a stag roaring in our immediate area. We listened and we moved, waited for a roar and moved again.
I had been instructed by my two good friends that I was to shoot first. This was my first hill stalk, my first chance at a proper Hill Red.
We picked some heat signatures up in the thermal... nothing more than faint blobs in the fog... our host beckoned me on, and the other two sat down and wished me luck.
We tentatively closed the distance. Checking, taking a few steps and checking again.
We determined it was a stag with a small group of hinds... we thought it was potentially our picturesque lad from earlier.
We belly crawled the last 20 meters to a vantage point... dead ground between him and us, and a few hinds couched within it... too many eyes to close the distance, and no cover to get in a different way.
The wind was still sending the cloud through the bowl in which they were held up. In a moment of clear we got a good look at him...
"Hes good, better than the earlier stag, but old, starting to go back, a good one to take" I was informed by our host as we evaluated the situation.
I ranged him in another clear spell... just over 260 we agreed. "A long way" I suggested...
"Aye, you happy at that? We're exposed, hes relaxed and I think this is as good a chance as we'll get. Too many eyes". Was the response.
We were prone, rock steady on the bipod with a good vantage point.
I considered it hard between the fog blowing back in. I know the drops well with my rifle, I have practiced at longer ranges...
"Yes, I'm happy". This was open hill stalking after all, I had prepared for the possibility of longer shots!
With a few convincing roars from our host, we had him stood, nicely broad side. We had discussed shot placement beforehand.
"High shoulder, hold a little bit for the wind, see how the longer grass is blowing more around him, than it is with us" from my host... sage advice.
I held slightly off for the wind, accounted for the bullet drop and the crack of the .308 saw the hinds take flight. The magnificent stag didn't take another step.
What a privilege, what an honour... the whole package. Wild Scottish weather, amazing scenery, roaring stags and time with good friends, old and new.
Upon inspection we noted he'd lost a few incisors and the others were loose, a broken mouth. Definitely a good old boy to take.
A stalk I shall always remember, everything you could want. We worked hard for our beast, everything was against us it seemed... and for me that made the end result all the better!
Where to start... this weekend saw myself and two very good friends take a long awaited pilgrimage North of the border.
We eagerly loaded up the truck Friday morning and set off from North Wales to Inveraray.
The journey up was uneventful, with our usual stop off at Malmo to have a browse and pick up some bits. A few hours later and we arrived at our accommodation for the weekend. Situated just outside of Inveraray right on the shores of Loch Fyne.
We unloaded our gear and headed to The George in Inveraray Town. I have to say, if you're ever that way, call in. The food was excellent, particularly the fresh scallops and other seafood, pulled from the Loch a stones throw away. After a good feed and a couple of drinks we turned in.
Unfortunately there was a front blowing in for Saturday, our first day on the hill. Initially a yellow warning but by morning it was ungraded to Amber.
We met our host and decided to drive to where we intended to start the long ascent up and see what happened! You can plan for everything but the weather... and after a short walk through some woodland and to the base of the hill, we decided to call it.
No man or beast in their right mind would or should be out in that weather.... Save for 3 lads from Wales and a very obliging host!
From there the weather worsened and to a degree that shocked us and all the locals of Inveraray.
There was 6 landslides that day, blocking pretty much every main road in the locality.
There were people being airlifted from their cars as they were stuck between landslides, cars being pushed off the road and most randomly of all, 100s of round baled silage being washed into the Loch... being from a farming family, I shuddered for the farmers lost fodder.
We managed to get back to our digs and hunkered down... thankfully we had a full afternoon of rugby to keep us entertained
With a close eye on the forecast, checking multible weather apps Sunday was looking better.
With another table booked at The George and another cracking meal consumed we turned our thoughts to Sunday. Made a plan with our host who dined with us and hit the hay.
The heavy rain had turned to a light drizzle with a lot of low cloud.
We arrived at our start point for the stalk.
Upon stepping out of the trucks we were greeted by a chorus of roaring of Red Stags in the distance.
I've heard it before with lowland stags, but this quite literally made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. We three Welsh pilgrims looked at each other with glee.
The setting was as good as you could ask for. Forestry meeting the foot of the hill, which dramatically rises into the clouds and out of sight.
We chucked on our packs, and off we went. The thermals struggled with the fog, as did our rangefinder binos... as we climbed it only worsened. But on we trudged, it was hard going, but that's what we wanted. We wanted to earn any opportunity at engineering a shot... and work we did.
Half way up the hill we were greeted by a stag coming over the ridge at a guessed 600 odd meters, stood proudly and let off several roars... a scene that wouldn't look out of place on any oil painting. He stood watching over a small group of hinds for a good 10 mins. We made him a decent 10 pointer, but he was very unsure, he was watching from every which way, continually moving his hinds on. They eventually crested the ridge and disappeared into the cloud line. While watching him, we heard more roaring above him.
Into the clouds, not ideal but the stags aren't stupid, they feel safer up there.
Up and up we went, visibility wasn't fantastic, with a wind blowing it was continually changing from 50 meters to 200 plus. Hard to stalk animals you can't see! But now and then a stag would let out a roar and we used our ears to guide us in.
After what felt like walking in circles we pin pointed a stag roaring in our immediate area. We listened and we moved, waited for a roar and moved again.
I had been instructed by my two good friends that I was to shoot first. This was my first hill stalk, my first chance at a proper Hill Red.
We picked some heat signatures up in the thermal... nothing more than faint blobs in the fog... our host beckoned me on, and the other two sat down and wished me luck.
We tentatively closed the distance. Checking, taking a few steps and checking again.
We determined it was a stag with a small group of hinds... we thought it was potentially our picturesque lad from earlier.
We belly crawled the last 20 meters to a vantage point... dead ground between him and us, and a few hinds couched within it... too many eyes to close the distance, and no cover to get in a different way.
The wind was still sending the cloud through the bowl in which they were held up. In a moment of clear we got a good look at him...
"Hes good, better than the earlier stag, but old, starting to go back, a good one to take" I was informed by our host as we evaluated the situation.
I ranged him in another clear spell... just over 260 we agreed. "A long way" I suggested...
"Aye, you happy at that? We're exposed, hes relaxed and I think this is as good a chance as we'll get. Too many eyes". Was the response.
We were prone, rock steady on the bipod with a good vantage point.
I considered it hard between the fog blowing back in. I know the drops well with my rifle, I have practiced at longer ranges...
"Yes, I'm happy". This was open hill stalking after all, I had prepared for the possibility of longer shots!
With a few convincing roars from our host, we had him stood, nicely broad side. We had discussed shot placement beforehand.
"High shoulder, hold a little bit for the wind, see how the longer grass is blowing more around him, than it is with us" from my host... sage advice.
I held slightly off for the wind, accounted for the bullet drop and the crack of the .308 saw the hinds take flight. The magnificent stag didn't take another step.
What a privilege, what an honour... the whole package. Wild Scottish weather, amazing scenery, roaring stags and time with good friends, old and new.
Upon inspection we noted he'd lost a few incisors and the others were loose, a broken mouth. Definitely a good old boy to take.
A stalk I shall always remember, everything you could want. We worked hard for our beast, everything was against us it seemed... and for me that made the end result all the better!
