The following morning was, er, a bit lazy.
We got up at a ridiculously late hour, to find the cabin surrounded by a herd of very large Angus cows and their Angus / Charolais cross calves. Munch, munch munch. The grass was far too long for sheep and the cattle had been sent in by the shepherd to clean up the paddock, which was horribly overgrown what with the hot and humid rainy weather. We are cattle people and we’re quite happy to sit on the deck with a coffee and watch the cows eat for hours while the young ‘uns cavort about. The downside is the output from eating copious grass brings the flies. Oh well.
The weather was disgusting. Hot, humid and the sun was lethal. We got on with jobs around the cabin block and bore sighted the rest of the rifles. Then up the back track for some zero shots. The first two were bang on in 3 shots, the third took 4. Not too shabby. Then each rifle was tested at 300m with the gong. Bang on. Due to the uncomfortable heat, an afternoon nap was required. We are on holiday after all.
Our plan for the evening hunt was to ride up to a saddle on the boundary with the adjacent farm and glass down into a basin that has been harbouring significant numbers of reds (apparently). We prepped for a walk with Ethiopian “buna” (coffee), oats and OSM energy bars, and plenty of cool spring water. I took the Howa 6mm Creedmoor and the wife took the Tikka .308 Win. We wanted to cross the saddle early and settle into the shade with the sun behind us. The wind would be favourable, or so we thought.
On the way up the track, I noted that the long grass on the back paddocks was leaning over to the east, quite contrary to what we were expecting, (a) from the cloud movement and (b) from what the wind was doing in the valley below. When we got to the fence where we park and climb, there was no doubt about it, we’d got a fickle wind. One minute in our faces, the next at our backs. This was not good. We decided we’d go for a look, but if it was obviously going to result in our scent being distributed far and wide to all the wrong places, then we’d go elsewhere. But we would need to be sharpish with the decision, to have time to walk back down and ride over to another area.
After a brutal little climb, we reached the saddle and hunkered down in the scrub and started glassing. Our low confidence was rewarded with no deer. They were probably gone before we even got off the bike, I confidently stated. There were plenty of goats, stupid creatures that they are, but a complete absence of reds.
I reckon that when conditions are less than ideal and optimism is overridden with frustration, that’s when you need to sharpen up. We glassed for half an hour with one eye on the clock. I was keen to go over to the other side of the farm, and when the wife was caught having a minor nap the decision was made - we’re off. I gathered up the gear - binos, rangefinder, rifles, water bottles. The wife was sitting behind me, a bit back from the edge of the bench, and she’s quite short. So when she stood, she couldn’t see down directly below us. In that instant, a puff of breeze blew straight down from behind us, and a second or two later I heard the unmistakable sound of a big red deer taking off.
I grabbed the .308 and stood up, shouldering the rifle. A large red stag was standing broadside on a narrow spur directly below us, about 100m down, looking straight at me. As I chambered a round he turned and trotted down the steep ridge, disappearing behind scrub and out of sight. Bugger! But I know these animals and there’s something they nearly always do… they can’t resist a final look. And true as nuts he re-appeared about 50m further down, body facing downhill, neck turned sharply back to see if the smelly human was still there.
The shot angle was easily -30°. Whilst the stag was out of sight, I had sat down and stuck my left arm into the sling and twisted it around my forearm, pulling it tight into my elbow. Autopilot took over as it does - close the bolt… breath out… pull the rifle back to the shoulder… rest elbow on knee… okay neck shot is the only option… remember to aim slightly low… righto we’re on… BANG! A big fat THWOP! and the stag disappeared over the side of the ridge. The wife didn’t even get to see it go down, it all happened so fast. Did ya geddit? Did ya geddit? Yes, I did. But I can’t see it and we’ll need to take a rifle just in case.
Due to the angle of the descent we needed to be very careful not to twist an ankle, or worse; there was a fair amount of bum sliding involved. When we reached the point I’d first seen the animal, his mark was very obvious in the soft turf - he’d walked up the side of the spur in heavy cover and would have winded us just as he reached the crest. His foot mark showed the speed with which he took off, but equally it showed him skidding to a stop lower down. And there, right where I expected (hoped) the stag to be lying dead, he was lying there very dead, in a very convenient hollow 4-5m off the ridge-line. Perfect! The Speer BTSP had obliterated the axis vertebrae and the neck was completely broken, hence the odd look curve in the photos.
A big fat 11 pointer with a nice wide beam and long tines. With the emphasis on the fat - this animal was in peak condition. The velvet was just starting to peel away and there was solid bone underneath all the way to the tips. I don’t think I even registered how good a beast he was in the heat of the moment. Oooh look at his horns, the wife said… Cue much mirth. She is foreign after all…
What was clear from the outset was this was going to be a heavy climb back up. The beast had a staunch rear end and that was all coming with us, plus the backstraps, forequarter meat and of course the head. We set about the field dressing knowing we had plenty of light & time and didn’t need to cut corners so to speak.
As usual the wife decided her crossfit training and my dodgy knees meant she would shoulder the weight, and I’d take the head. Not one to argue such minutiae, I stayed a respectful distance behind and below her in case she fell on my head… We made it back to the bike even more hot and sweaty than the previous night, chuffed with the evening’s outcome. The ride home was slow and the additional weight very noticeable. Cold brown ale awaited and the wife treated herself to that revolting drink called Whisky. A posh Laphroaig she bought at the distillery a few years ago. Uurrgghh. Two big fat summer stags down and the Engel was completely full. Luckily, we have two fridges in the truck, so come morning the additional solar panel would be needed…. In the meantime, it was feet up and relax to the night sounds of the morepork (owl) and ruminating cows. Come bedtime, I think it took me about 3 seconds to fall asleep. Head on pillow, turn over, gone…..
We got up at a ridiculously late hour, to find the cabin surrounded by a herd of very large Angus cows and their Angus / Charolais cross calves. Munch, munch munch. The grass was far too long for sheep and the cattle had been sent in by the shepherd to clean up the paddock, which was horribly overgrown what with the hot and humid rainy weather. We are cattle people and we’re quite happy to sit on the deck with a coffee and watch the cows eat for hours while the young ‘uns cavort about. The downside is the output from eating copious grass brings the flies. Oh well.
The weather was disgusting. Hot, humid and the sun was lethal. We got on with jobs around the cabin block and bore sighted the rest of the rifles. Then up the back track for some zero shots. The first two were bang on in 3 shots, the third took 4. Not too shabby. Then each rifle was tested at 300m with the gong. Bang on. Due to the uncomfortable heat, an afternoon nap was required. We are on holiday after all.
Our plan for the evening hunt was to ride up to a saddle on the boundary with the adjacent farm and glass down into a basin that has been harbouring significant numbers of reds (apparently). We prepped for a walk with Ethiopian “buna” (coffee), oats and OSM energy bars, and plenty of cool spring water. I took the Howa 6mm Creedmoor and the wife took the Tikka .308 Win. We wanted to cross the saddle early and settle into the shade with the sun behind us. The wind would be favourable, or so we thought.
On the way up the track, I noted that the long grass on the back paddocks was leaning over to the east, quite contrary to what we were expecting, (a) from the cloud movement and (b) from what the wind was doing in the valley below. When we got to the fence where we park and climb, there was no doubt about it, we’d got a fickle wind. One minute in our faces, the next at our backs. This was not good. We decided we’d go for a look, but if it was obviously going to result in our scent being distributed far and wide to all the wrong places, then we’d go elsewhere. But we would need to be sharpish with the decision, to have time to walk back down and ride over to another area.
After a brutal little climb, we reached the saddle and hunkered down in the scrub and started glassing. Our low confidence was rewarded with no deer. They were probably gone before we even got off the bike, I confidently stated. There were plenty of goats, stupid creatures that they are, but a complete absence of reds.
I reckon that when conditions are less than ideal and optimism is overridden with frustration, that’s when you need to sharpen up. We glassed for half an hour with one eye on the clock. I was keen to go over to the other side of the farm, and when the wife was caught having a minor nap the decision was made - we’re off. I gathered up the gear - binos, rangefinder, rifles, water bottles. The wife was sitting behind me, a bit back from the edge of the bench, and she’s quite short. So when she stood, she couldn’t see down directly below us. In that instant, a puff of breeze blew straight down from behind us, and a second or two later I heard the unmistakable sound of a big red deer taking off.
I grabbed the .308 and stood up, shouldering the rifle. A large red stag was standing broadside on a narrow spur directly below us, about 100m down, looking straight at me. As I chambered a round he turned and trotted down the steep ridge, disappearing behind scrub and out of sight. Bugger! But I know these animals and there’s something they nearly always do… they can’t resist a final look. And true as nuts he re-appeared about 50m further down, body facing downhill, neck turned sharply back to see if the smelly human was still there.
The shot angle was easily -30°. Whilst the stag was out of sight, I had sat down and stuck my left arm into the sling and twisted it around my forearm, pulling it tight into my elbow. Autopilot took over as it does - close the bolt… breath out… pull the rifle back to the shoulder… rest elbow on knee… okay neck shot is the only option… remember to aim slightly low… righto we’re on… BANG! A big fat THWOP! and the stag disappeared over the side of the ridge. The wife didn’t even get to see it go down, it all happened so fast. Did ya geddit? Did ya geddit? Yes, I did. But I can’t see it and we’ll need to take a rifle just in case.
Due to the angle of the descent we needed to be very careful not to twist an ankle, or worse; there was a fair amount of bum sliding involved. When we reached the point I’d first seen the animal, his mark was very obvious in the soft turf - he’d walked up the side of the spur in heavy cover and would have winded us just as he reached the crest. His foot mark showed the speed with which he took off, but equally it showed him skidding to a stop lower down. And there, right where I expected (hoped) the stag to be lying dead, he was lying there very dead, in a very convenient hollow 4-5m off the ridge-line. Perfect! The Speer BTSP had obliterated the axis vertebrae and the neck was completely broken, hence the odd look curve in the photos.
A big fat 11 pointer with a nice wide beam and long tines. With the emphasis on the fat - this animal was in peak condition. The velvet was just starting to peel away and there was solid bone underneath all the way to the tips. I don’t think I even registered how good a beast he was in the heat of the moment. Oooh look at his horns, the wife said… Cue much mirth. She is foreign after all…
What was clear from the outset was this was going to be a heavy climb back up. The beast had a staunch rear end and that was all coming with us, plus the backstraps, forequarter meat and of course the head. We set about the field dressing knowing we had plenty of light & time and didn’t need to cut corners so to speak.
As usual the wife decided her crossfit training and my dodgy knees meant she would shoulder the weight, and I’d take the head. Not one to argue such minutiae, I stayed a respectful distance behind and below her in case she fell on my head… We made it back to the bike even more hot and sweaty than the previous night, chuffed with the evening’s outcome. The ride home was slow and the additional weight very noticeable. Cold brown ale awaited and the wife treated herself to that revolting drink called Whisky. A posh Laphroaig she bought at the distillery a few years ago. Uurrgghh. Two big fat summer stags down and the Engel was completely full. Luckily, we have two fridges in the truck, so come morning the additional solar panel would be needed…. In the meantime, it was feet up and relax to the night sounds of the morepork (owl) and ruminating cows. Come bedtime, I think it took me about 3 seconds to fall asleep. Head on pillow, turn over, gone…..
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