It was the evening of August 20th, a day I’ll never forget. My mentor and I were set for a deer stalk on one of his land permissions, a piece of countryside that seemed to stretch endlessly, offering both challenge and reward. The air was still and the light was beginning to soften as we embarked on our journey, crossing six fields in silence, the anticipation growing with each step. The rustle of leaves and the occasional call of a distant bird were our only companions as we made our way to his deer stand, a vantage point that promised a commanding view of the surrounding fields.
As we settled into the stand, scarcely a moment had passed before we spotted them—a group of red deer lying low in the tall grass of the adjacent field. There were two hinds, a fawn, and a stag, their reddish-brown coats blending seamlessly with the golden hues of the evening light. The stag, regal and powerful, was a sight to behold, his antlers rising like a crown above the grass. But they were watchful, their eyes trained on the field entrance, alert to any sign of danger. A shot from this position wasn’t possible; the grass was too high, and their alertness meant that any movement could send them running. We were left with no choice but to wait.
The minutes stretched on, each one feeling like an eternity, but the deer remained settled in their positions. After 45 minutes of waiting, a roe doe slipped out from the hedgerow, catching our attention. We both held our breath, expecting a buck to follow, but the woods remained silent. The doe, as quickly as she had appeared, vanished back into the cover of the trees, leaving us with nothing but the quiet and our own thoughts.
As the evening wore on, we spotted another doe, this time with a fawn. The scene was peaceful, almost serene, but there was a sense of unease; the father was nowhere to be seen. We wondered if we had missed something, but there was no time for speculation.
Suddenly, the stillness of the evening was broken as the red stag stood up. His movement was slow, deliberate, as if he knew the importance of the moment. My mentor leaned in and whispered, “That’s about 200 meters. Are you confident with that range?”
The question lingered in the air for a moment, but I knew my answer. I nodded, feeling the thrill of the challenge. I carefully adjusted my position, making sure everything was perfect. The stag stood broadside, presenting a clear target. I took a deep breath, steadying myself, and then I fired. The shot echoed through the fields, and I watched as the stag crumpled where he stood, the shot hitting precisely in the heart-lung area. My first deer, a red stag—a clean, ethical shot, just as I had hoped.
We remained in the stand for another 15 minutes, watching as the hinds and fawn tried to make sense of what had happened. They looked around, confused, but they didn’t flee immediately. My mentor was adamant that we should not spook them by entering the field too soon. Finally, as they moved off, we climbed down and made our way to the quadbike. The light was fading, but the memory of that moment was already etched in my mind, a perfect blend of patience, skill, and respect for the hunt. We collected the stag, the culmination of an unforgettable evening and a milestone in my journey as a stalker.
As we settled into the stand, scarcely a moment had passed before we spotted them—a group of red deer lying low in the tall grass of the adjacent field. There were two hinds, a fawn, and a stag, their reddish-brown coats blending seamlessly with the golden hues of the evening light. The stag, regal and powerful, was a sight to behold, his antlers rising like a crown above the grass. But they were watchful, their eyes trained on the field entrance, alert to any sign of danger. A shot from this position wasn’t possible; the grass was too high, and their alertness meant that any movement could send them running. We were left with no choice but to wait.
The minutes stretched on, each one feeling like an eternity, but the deer remained settled in their positions. After 45 minutes of waiting, a roe doe slipped out from the hedgerow, catching our attention. We both held our breath, expecting a buck to follow, but the woods remained silent. The doe, as quickly as she had appeared, vanished back into the cover of the trees, leaving us with nothing but the quiet and our own thoughts.
As the evening wore on, we spotted another doe, this time with a fawn. The scene was peaceful, almost serene, but there was a sense of unease; the father was nowhere to be seen. We wondered if we had missed something, but there was no time for speculation.
Suddenly, the stillness of the evening was broken as the red stag stood up. His movement was slow, deliberate, as if he knew the importance of the moment. My mentor leaned in and whispered, “That’s about 200 meters. Are you confident with that range?”
The question lingered in the air for a moment, but I knew my answer. I nodded, feeling the thrill of the challenge. I carefully adjusted my position, making sure everything was perfect. The stag stood broadside, presenting a clear target. I took a deep breath, steadying myself, and then I fired. The shot echoed through the fields, and I watched as the stag crumpled where he stood, the shot hitting precisely in the heart-lung area. My first deer, a red stag—a clean, ethical shot, just as I had hoped.
We remained in the stand for another 15 minutes, watching as the hinds and fawn tried to make sense of what had happened. They looked around, confused, but they didn’t flee immediately. My mentor was adamant that we should not spook them by entering the field too soon. Finally, as they moved off, we climbed down and made our way to the quadbike. The light was fading, but the memory of that moment was already etched in my mind, a perfect blend of patience, skill, and respect for the hunt. We collected the stag, the culmination of an unforgettable evening and a milestone in my journey as a stalker.
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Keep shooting the lighter ones better on the back.
