Well I have not exactly covered myself in glory this week.
No change there then.
The sun slowly rises on what will be my last day on the Hill. There is only one thing better than the first day on the Hill, and that is the last day on the Hill. All I have to do, is to survive for one more day.
My Stalker for today is about half my age. Fairly sure most of my kit is older than him.
This alarms me. Half my age = twice as fit (actually more but you take my point).
I have been warned by others not to try and keep up with him. He sets a pace. I laugh inwardly at the thought of me keeping up with anyone. If I can keep him in sight (and I count the use of my binoculars) then I will call that a win.
"Walk where I walk. If I take a zig-zag, you take a zig-zag. If I drop to my knees, you drop to your knees, If I crawl, you crawl."
There is a distinct lack of any mention of 'when I stop you stop, when I rest you rest, when I eat, you eat'.
I fear the worse - this bugger means business.
After one of the most dramatic drives into the ground (one slip to the left and we all die), we arrive at some of the most stunning scenery I have ever seen. Also, I have seen more deer on the drive in, than I have all week. I consider asking him about the possibility of me just shooting off the bonnet of the truck, but he is already out of the traps like an Olympian sprinter.
I fall out of the truck and try to keep up...
He is relentless, and reminds me of my Cocker Spaniel when she is flushing. He is darting all over the place. Getting to the edges of the Hill and looking into corries and dips.
He comes back to my location to give me some more advice.
"Stay at least 10 yards behind me. You are too tall".
Yeah. Sorry about that. I really must work on being shorter. The fact that I am often half a hill behind, is lost on him.
There are precious few moments when I get to sit and rest...
But when I do, I relish them. See here my 'Crook' with the broken tip from yesterday. I will somehow mange to snap the rest of the 'Crook' off by the close of play, today.
This Stalker is prolific with the use of his sign language.
Have you ever been 'shouted' at in sign language?
I have.
I had the audacity to cough on the approach to one spy point. I tried to stifle it as much as I could.
The 'sign language' this Stalker deployed, left me in no doubt that if I coughed again, I would be marched off the Hill in disgrace.
The look in his eyes as he 'signed' to me, made me feel like I had kicked a puppy.
Suddenly he dropped to his knees. I fell to mine.
He went prone and began to crawl down a steep ravine. I fell onto my face and started to weep.
This ravine was so steep, then my head filled will blood, and the Vorn I was wearing slid off my back until it was sitting over my head making in nearly impossible to raise my head. Rocks. Did I mention this impossibly steep ravine was also littered with rocks?
Well it was.
Then more 'shouty' sign language. He turned and held his hand palm down and waved in toward the ground in a series of aggressive movements.
"Get lower". Is what he was saying.
FFS!
I am on my face. Literally on my face, I cannot physically get any lower, without digging a bastard trench.
I mentally curse him for being young, fit and slim.
Somehow or other, we eventually get into position and onto the rifle.
"The Stag is on the next crest and facing us".
I settle in behind the rifle, and there is the Stag staring right at us. About 160 yards away; and he is looking into the sun.
Over the next ten minutes or so, my pulse, and breathing settle down to something less than the medical emergency they had previously been racing at. I take time to look at the entire vista, and in so doing, notice a bigger Stag also laid up, about 30 yards to the right.
"There is a bigger Stag off to the right".
"That's the one you are meant to be on!'
I shuffle the rifle across and disaster is averted.
We lay there for perhaps 30 minutes, and then the Stalker tries 'mewing'. There is no response from either Stag. He then tries 'calling'.
This eventfully induces the smaller Stag to stand. This means that I need to stand-by.
"Get ready".
I cannot resist lifting my head off the rifle, and just taking in the view. The "Big House" is away off into the distance, the sun in on my back and the older Stag stands...
At that moment, I would have happily swapped my rifle for a decent camera. It was just a perfect composition of the Hill, House and Stag.
It was almost with regret that I sent the round. I felt myself a cad for ruining the most perfect image I think I have ever seen on the Hill.
The Geco (non-lead) from my Sako 75 in .308 did its job, and this beautiful beast fell to the heather.
I took the rifle from the Stalker, and added it to my Vorn. He tied up the Stag and set off down the Hill.
I arrived about 30 minutes after he did. These blokes are just machines.
In the bar that evening, I am delighted to think that I do not have to go out on the Hill again in the morning.
On the very long drive back home, it is odd; I am already missing Scotland...
No change there then.
The sun slowly rises on what will be my last day on the Hill. There is only one thing better than the first day on the Hill, and that is the last day on the Hill. All I have to do, is to survive for one more day.
My Stalker for today is about half my age. Fairly sure most of my kit is older than him.
This alarms me. Half my age = twice as fit (actually more but you take my point).
I have been warned by others not to try and keep up with him. He sets a pace. I laugh inwardly at the thought of me keeping up with anyone. If I can keep him in sight (and I count the use of my binoculars) then I will call that a win.
"Walk where I walk. If I take a zig-zag, you take a zig-zag. If I drop to my knees, you drop to your knees, If I crawl, you crawl."
There is a distinct lack of any mention of 'when I stop you stop, when I rest you rest, when I eat, you eat'.
I fear the worse - this bugger means business.
After one of the most dramatic drives into the ground (one slip to the left and we all die), we arrive at some of the most stunning scenery I have ever seen. Also, I have seen more deer on the drive in, than I have all week. I consider asking him about the possibility of me just shooting off the bonnet of the truck, but he is already out of the traps like an Olympian sprinter.
I fall out of the truck and try to keep up...
He is relentless, and reminds me of my Cocker Spaniel when she is flushing. He is darting all over the place. Getting to the edges of the Hill and looking into corries and dips.
He comes back to my location to give me some more advice.
"Stay at least 10 yards behind me. You are too tall".
Yeah. Sorry about that. I really must work on being shorter. The fact that I am often half a hill behind, is lost on him.
There are precious few moments when I get to sit and rest...
But when I do, I relish them. See here my 'Crook' with the broken tip from yesterday. I will somehow mange to snap the rest of the 'Crook' off by the close of play, today.
This Stalker is prolific with the use of his sign language.
Have you ever been 'shouted' at in sign language?
I have.
I had the audacity to cough on the approach to one spy point. I tried to stifle it as much as I could.
The 'sign language' this Stalker deployed, left me in no doubt that if I coughed again, I would be marched off the Hill in disgrace.
The look in his eyes as he 'signed' to me, made me feel like I had kicked a puppy.
Suddenly he dropped to his knees. I fell to mine.
He went prone and began to crawl down a steep ravine. I fell onto my face and started to weep.
This ravine was so steep, then my head filled will blood, and the Vorn I was wearing slid off my back until it was sitting over my head making in nearly impossible to raise my head. Rocks. Did I mention this impossibly steep ravine was also littered with rocks?
Well it was.
Then more 'shouty' sign language. He turned and held his hand palm down and waved in toward the ground in a series of aggressive movements.
"Get lower". Is what he was saying.
FFS!
I am on my face. Literally on my face, I cannot physically get any lower, without digging a bastard trench.
I mentally curse him for being young, fit and slim.
Somehow or other, we eventually get into position and onto the rifle.
"The Stag is on the next crest and facing us".
I settle in behind the rifle, and there is the Stag staring right at us. About 160 yards away; and he is looking into the sun.
Over the next ten minutes or so, my pulse, and breathing settle down to something less than the medical emergency they had previously been racing at. I take time to look at the entire vista, and in so doing, notice a bigger Stag also laid up, about 30 yards to the right.
"There is a bigger Stag off to the right".
"That's the one you are meant to be on!'
I shuffle the rifle across and disaster is averted.
We lay there for perhaps 30 minutes, and then the Stalker tries 'mewing'. There is no response from either Stag. He then tries 'calling'.
This eventfully induces the smaller Stag to stand. This means that I need to stand-by.
"Get ready".
I cannot resist lifting my head off the rifle, and just taking in the view. The "Big House" is away off into the distance, the sun in on my back and the older Stag stands...
At that moment, I would have happily swapped my rifle for a decent camera. It was just a perfect composition of the Hill, House and Stag.
It was almost with regret that I sent the round. I felt myself a cad for ruining the most perfect image I think I have ever seen on the Hill.
The Geco (non-lead) from my Sako 75 in .308 did its job, and this beautiful beast fell to the heather.
I took the rifle from the Stalker, and added it to my Vorn. He tied up the Stag and set off down the Hill.
I arrived about 30 minutes after he did. These blokes are just machines.
In the bar that evening, I am delighted to think that I do not have to go out on the Hill again in the morning.
On the very long drive back home, it is odd; I am already missing Scotland...
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