I had a stalker's lie-in until 0430hrs, a banana for brekkie, then off into delights of the countryside.
I arrived at Farm 1 and scanned the area with thermal and binoculars: Nothing, then and afterwards. With hindsight it would have been best to stop right there, as my attempts to stalk through dead leaves and dried twigs concealed under waist-high nettles were a humiliation, culminating in my measuring my length on the terrain after treading in a hidden hole in the ground. Still, nobody knows about it, eh?
Off to Farm 2, hoping to improve my fortunes. It was a lovely morning, and the low-angled Sun was making the dew sparkle as I set off. Very soon afterward, just after 0600hrs, I spotted a suspicious gingerish blob about a quarter of a mile away, just on my side of a tall hedge. It was either Ed Sheeran or a roe deer. Either would do. The binoculars revealed a roe deer (sorry, music fans...), but not its sex. I was 99% sure that it would prove to be a doe, therefore out of season, so I advanced with no particular caution. A few yards farther on, and I had my doubts: I lifted the bins to my eyes again, resting them on my new Blaser carbon fibre quad sticks: It was a buck: Game on!
The problem? He was about 300 yards away, on my side of a dense hedge, with 180º of calf-high crops between me and him: I had no way of sneaking into a better shooting position out of his sight. I did all I could by bending low, trying to keep myself positioned so that the rising sun was in his eyes, and heading for a point I'd mentally marked as about 200 yards from him, the longest shot I'm happy to take off sticks.
My stealthy approach wasn't helped by the fact that I spooked a second, previously unseen, deer out of the crops in my path. She bounded off, tail high in alarm, catching my buck's eye and alerting him to danger. It now turned into a game of Granny's Footsteps, this time for all the marbles. I'd walk a few paces, he'd lift his head and eye me suspiciously, I'd wait until his head dropped and he resumed stuffing his face with my pal's livelihood. Rinse and repeat.
I crouched at the edge of a new crop and checked the range with my Swarovski EL Range 8 x 42: 192 yards. Now or never. I rose, and set up my rifle on the sticks as smoothly as I could, zooming the 'scope's ring to maximum (12x) power. The traverse facility of the new sticks was a boon; with my old wooden ones I'd have had to shuffle the sticks back and forth to get properly on the buck, all I now had to do was twist my left wrist slightly to "pan" until the reticle was on the buck's right shoulder. He was quartering slightly towards me, not the ideal 90º broadside-on shot, but we have to play the cards we're dealt. I squeezed the last ounces off the trigger until...
TIiish-pok!
The buck vanished as though he'd turned to water and fallen to the earth.
A moment after the shot; buck position circled
I had mentally marked his position as near a distinctive tussock of grass slightly to the east of an old dead oak tree. When I arrived there, nothing. I couldn't even see a drop of blood or a patch of brittle deer hair blown free by the bullet's impact. Assuming that he'd managed to get through the hedge, I decided to check the immediate area with my thermal monocular before walking a couple of hundred yards to the equivalent spot on the far side of the blackthorn. There he was. I'd misjudged his position by about ten yards.
I attached my drag harness and hauled him off to a tree I'd used previously for gralloching. He a chonky boi! I'd estimate him at about 45lbs. Thank goodness for gym membership.
As I turned into the next field, approaching the tree, what did I see but a second roebuck 100 yards ahead, peering owlishly at me. FFS! Several outings without a sighting, now two shootable bucks within 15 minutes. To add even more injury to the insult, Buck 2 began to walk towards me! I took a photo or two, then got so irritated that I shouted at him to scare him off. Git.
(He still didn't take the hint, though: While I had his late pal hung up in the woods and was working on hollowing him out, Buck B wandered to within 25 yards of me and started barking petulantly. I hope he stays that dim until my next outing...)
My sweaty walk back to the car was enlivened by the lovely sight of this hot air balloon off in the distance:
Gralloched and hung up at home he weighed 32½ lbs; after skinning, 28 lbs.
The exit wound caused by the 120-grain 6.5mm Nosler Ballistic Tip was biblical, and we're talking Old Testament biblical here:
That's a fair few tasty free meals for two of my wife's pals.
Life is good.
(All photos taken with my ancient iPhone; rifle is a Sako 85 Finnlight in 6.5 x 55mm; scope is a S&B Klassik in 3-12 x 50; ammo is factory Norma.)
maximus otter
I arrived at Farm 1 and scanned the area with thermal and binoculars: Nothing, then and afterwards. With hindsight it would have been best to stop right there, as my attempts to stalk through dead leaves and dried twigs concealed under waist-high nettles were a humiliation, culminating in my measuring my length on the terrain after treading in a hidden hole in the ground. Still, nobody knows about it, eh?
Off to Farm 2, hoping to improve my fortunes. It was a lovely morning, and the low-angled Sun was making the dew sparkle as I set off. Very soon afterward, just after 0600hrs, I spotted a suspicious gingerish blob about a quarter of a mile away, just on my side of a tall hedge. It was either Ed Sheeran or a roe deer. Either would do. The binoculars revealed a roe deer (sorry, music fans...), but not its sex. I was 99% sure that it would prove to be a doe, therefore out of season, so I advanced with no particular caution. A few yards farther on, and I had my doubts: I lifted the bins to my eyes again, resting them on my new Blaser carbon fibre quad sticks: It was a buck: Game on!
The problem? He was about 300 yards away, on my side of a dense hedge, with 180º of calf-high crops between me and him: I had no way of sneaking into a better shooting position out of his sight. I did all I could by bending low, trying to keep myself positioned so that the rising sun was in his eyes, and heading for a point I'd mentally marked as about 200 yards from him, the longest shot I'm happy to take off sticks.
My stealthy approach wasn't helped by the fact that I spooked a second, previously unseen, deer out of the crops in my path. She bounded off, tail high in alarm, catching my buck's eye and alerting him to danger. It now turned into a game of Granny's Footsteps, this time for all the marbles. I'd walk a few paces, he'd lift his head and eye me suspiciously, I'd wait until his head dropped and he resumed stuffing his face with my pal's livelihood. Rinse and repeat.
I crouched at the edge of a new crop and checked the range with my Swarovski EL Range 8 x 42: 192 yards. Now or never. I rose, and set up my rifle on the sticks as smoothly as I could, zooming the 'scope's ring to maximum (12x) power. The traverse facility of the new sticks was a boon; with my old wooden ones I'd have had to shuffle the sticks back and forth to get properly on the buck, all I now had to do was twist my left wrist slightly to "pan" until the reticle was on the buck's right shoulder. He was quartering slightly towards me, not the ideal 90º broadside-on shot, but we have to play the cards we're dealt. I squeezed the last ounces off the trigger until...
TIiish-pok!
The buck vanished as though he'd turned to water and fallen to the earth.
A moment after the shot; buck position circled
I had mentally marked his position as near a distinctive tussock of grass slightly to the east of an old dead oak tree. When I arrived there, nothing. I couldn't even see a drop of blood or a patch of brittle deer hair blown free by the bullet's impact. Assuming that he'd managed to get through the hedge, I decided to check the immediate area with my thermal monocular before walking a couple of hundred yards to the equivalent spot on the far side of the blackthorn. There he was. I'd misjudged his position by about ten yards.
I attached my drag harness and hauled him off to a tree I'd used previously for gralloching. He a chonky boi! I'd estimate him at about 45lbs. Thank goodness for gym membership.
As I turned into the next field, approaching the tree, what did I see but a second roebuck 100 yards ahead, peering owlishly at me. FFS! Several outings without a sighting, now two shootable bucks within 15 minutes. To add even more injury to the insult, Buck 2 began to walk towards me! I took a photo or two, then got so irritated that I shouted at him to scare him off. Git.
(He still didn't take the hint, though: While I had his late pal hung up in the woods and was working on hollowing him out, Buck B wandered to within 25 yards of me and started barking petulantly. I hope he stays that dim until my next outing...)
My sweaty walk back to the car was enlivened by the lovely sight of this hot air balloon off in the distance:
Gralloched and hung up at home he weighed 32½ lbs; after skinning, 28 lbs.
The exit wound caused by the 120-grain 6.5mm Nosler Ballistic Tip was biblical, and we're talking Old Testament biblical here:
That's a fair few tasty free meals for two of my wife's pals.
Life is good.
(All photos taken with my ancient iPhone; rifle is a Sako 85 Finnlight in 6.5 x 55mm; scope is a S&B Klassik in 3-12 x 50; ammo is factory Norma.)
maximus otter
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