Although I have access to some good woodland roe stalking near home in Aberdeenshire, I have for many years harboured an ambition to go on a red stag stalk in the Highlands, and a couple of weeks ago was able to fulfil this under the guidance of Sikamalc. I had first discussed it and booked with him in April, now six months later it was actually happening. The stalking was the last week of the red and sika stag seasons in Sutherland, about 70 miles north of Inverness, 3 hours or so drive from our home 30 miles north of Aberdeen. My wife is a competent rifle shot, although she does not stalk she came along to escape from domestic duties for a week.
After dropping our dogs at the boarding kennels on Sunday morning we set off north. I am a traditional navigator, (some would say dinosaur) relying on maps rather than GPS although I do make a concession to using Google Street View to remotely reconnoitre unfamiliar places. Sikamalc had provided detailed directions, a combination of these and Street View got us to the Manse by late afternoon.
The others in the party, an American father and son duo and Dave from London arrived by the evening, after introductions we settled down to a very tasty dinner courtesy of Sandra, Malcolm’s very hard working and capable other half.
First thing on Monday morning was rifle zeroing in the frosty air.
My usual zero for my roe stalking .243 Tikka is 100 yards. Recognising that Highland stags need something heftier than 80gr from a .243 I had taken advice from a couple of experienced Highland stalkers in our rifle club and bought a Sako 75 in 6.5 x 55 Swedish. My load development settled on 140gr Sierra Game Kings and 43.5gr of H4350 which chronographed at 2580 FPS, legal and accurate. The Sako was set to group 2.5 inches high at 100 yards, a zero of about 200 yards in anticipation of longer shots in open country.
With the four stalkers in the party performing to Malcom’s satisfaction, we split into two groups and were taken 30 miles or so to a large expanse of forest. My companion Dave had won the toss for first shot and was ahead of me, with Malcom in the lead. A couple of stags were spotted at the end of a wide clear area, and one of the big differences between stalking Highland stags and my usual forest roe became obvious, the distances involved. 100 yards is a long shot in my woodland permission, the stags were about 300 yards away when first sighted. Dave positioned his rifle on the sticks and found he was looking directly into the sun, his scope flared with glare and barrel reflections. The moment was gone and with it the stags.
After lunch on the tailgates of the pickups, we covered a lot of ground through the forest, along wide rides and clear areas stretching for miles. Neither Dave nor our companions in the other group took a shot although deer were much in evidence, slots, frayed trees, piles of droppings and a new sight for me, mud wallows telling the story of a substantial deer population.
Back at the manse over another of Sandra’s substantial dinners plans were made for the next day. There is a steep little hill to the front of the Manse, the Ordnance Survey maps indicate it to be a 1,100ft climb from the road. The hill has been christened Heartbreak Hill by Malcom and his team. In a moment of madness I agreed to make that my outing for the next day, accompanying Tom the other resident guide and TJ, the younger American in pursuit of a number of Sika stags regularly seen from the Manse on a section of the hill.
We set out in the crisp morning air, the sky just getting light and with mist swirling around. The “path” was steep, alternating between jumbled rocks, knee-deep heather and chest high bracken. The passage of too many years sitting at desks was evident. I felt the climb in heaving lungs and rickety knees, but it was an exhilarating experience, and to hear for the first time the eerie bosun’s pipe alarm whistle of a Sika, and glimpse the black shape for a few seconds as it made off into the dense undergrowth were the stuff of memories that will stay with me.
By the time we reached the top of the climb the mist was clearing from the glen below and the plateau at the top was now in view. A few deer were seen in the far distance, red hinds with calves and incredible eyesight. We were under observation very soon and they gradually drifted away out of sight. Pressing on we paused for a break at the summit cairn and spent some time scanning the hillsides below. Tom pointed out a bird high in the sky and clearly some distance away. It was obviously big, and before long we were rewarded with the spectacular sight of a Golden Eagle, clear in the bright morning sun as it slowly circled above us. Sika were spotted but much too far away for us to approach unobserved. We gradually descended, seeing the occasional deer on the way down and back to the truck.
After a late lunch I decided to sit out the evening outing and give my knees a rest.
The next morning it was into the trucks at first light and back to the forest visited on Monday. On the drive in deer were plentiful, red stags with hinds and a few roe close to the road. With legs still stiff from Heartbreak Hill I had elected for a static day. Malcom led me back to the clearing where we had seen the stags on our previous visit, we found a suitable spot at the treeline and I was left to sit in wait.
Once Malcom had departed, the silence of the vast forest enveloped me. Ravens called and a few small birds twittered occasionally but otherwise the silence was tangible, no distant traffic or other manmade sounds intruding. As a light breeze gradually developed, the wind turbines on a hillside a couple of miles away began to slowly rotate, catching the morning sun now and again with a flicker of reflection. The sound of stags roaring in the far distance began to drift in, the primeval sound sending goosebumps down my neck. Every few minutes I scanned the treeline on the other side of the clearing about 250 yards away. After an hour or so a movement caught my eye, a large pale brown/red coloured animal was emerging from the trees.
The binoculars revealed a red hind, she looked cautiously around the clearing before stepping out of the trees and beginning to graze. After ten minutes or so another movement in the trees, this time a red stag emerged and my heart rate doubled. I watched him carefully for a few minutes as he surveyed the clearing before stepping fully into the open. Definitely a stag, a decent size and what I had come all this way for. I slipped the covers off my scope and picked him out. There were a few stems of grass close to me and visible in the scope, so I shuffled sideways a few feet and checked again. The hind was grazing, relaxed in the growing warmth of the sun.
The stag decided all was well and stepped clear of the trees. No grass in front of the scope, I slowly pulled my ear plugs from my jacket pocket and put them in place. With my elbows on my knees I was steady with a good sight picture. Malcolm had briefed us to take shoulder shots to ensure the animals did not get far into the trees where they would be difficult to find and extract, so estimating him to be about 200 yards away I held on his shoulder and fired.
At the impact of the bullet he staggered forward a few paces, both front legs buckled and he lurched a few feet before collapsing. I could see his pale brown back against the dark green of the trees and watched carefully for any movement. After several minutes he had not stirred, so I called Malcolm on the radio to let him know. No response. He had warned that radio contact could be patchy, so I decided to wait and try him again. I kept a careful watch on my stag, I did not want him to get up and stagger off to be lost but after 10 minutes there had been no movement so I assumed it was likely that he had slipped away.
I got to my feet, and to my surprise the hind was still there about 100 yards away, standing rigidly upright, ears swivelling but no other movement. At my sudden appearance from the undergrowth she took off into the trees. I wanted to be sure of my stag so kept a careful eye on him, no movement. I tried the radio again, no response. Just I as was wondering what to do there was a low whistle from my left, Malcolm with his Bavarian Mountain Hound. He and Dave had heard the boom of my unmoderated Sako and he had returned to investigate.
As we approached the stag, Malcolm checked that I had reloaded and was prepared to shoot again if necessary. He cautiously stretched out with his stick and touched the stag’s eye in the classic manner. No reaction. With a broad grin he extended his hand and congratulated me on my first red stag. It was not a record book or museum specimen, but it was mine, taken in fair chase in wild terrain. I set my rifle down and unloaded it, then we started the heavy work of extraction.
I was amazed by the weight of the animal, being accustomed to roe that I can pick up bodily and carry, this thing was a massive, floppy and unwieldy dead weight. It took a lot of effort from both of us to drag it a few yards for the gralloch. Another surprise, the volume of green offal was huge. The stag was well fed and had plentiful body fat, Malcom explained that he thought he had not been rutting allowing him to conserve his energy.
The Sierra Game King had performed well, both shoulders had been penetrated cleanly with a neat little exit wound and there was a copious amount of blood, indicative of a swift and humane end. Malcolm draped the caudal fat layer from the stag’s stomach over his antlers. Seeing my puzzled expression at what I took to be some odd hill stalker’s tradition, he explained that the white membrane was as conspicuous as a flag at distance, essential for later recovery.
We walked out the mile or so to the vehicles, to collect a quad bike for the final extraction. Although Malcom assured me that as a paying guest I was not expected to walk back in to assist with the recovery, I wanted to be part of the whole process and followed the quad back. Sure enough, the caudal fat flag was evident from a long way off. It took considerable effort on behalf of Malcom and Tom to hoist the stag around and secure his antlers to the quad cargo grid.
The slow drive back to the trucks complete, the stag was heaved into the quad trailer. After a sandwich lunch we drove in convoy to the larder where Tom gave a very impressive display of butchery skill, putting my brutal hacking efforts to shame.
We returned to the forest and I spent the afternoon with Malcolm and Dave in a vast, rolling open space between forests. A stag was spotted in the far distance, Dave’s range finding Swarovski binoculars indicated that it was 1,014 yards away, a tiny dark dot in a huge landscape.
The stag was moving slowly in our direction, stopping now and then to graze. Moving carefully we closed the distance to an indicated 400 yards or so, at which time the object of our attentions ambled into the trees and was gone. We stayed and watched for a while as a hind drifted out and browsed along the tree line, but no sign of the stag.
We moved cautiously back to the trucks, glassing carefully every few yards, seeing the odd glimpse of a likely beast but never enough to take a shot. Back at the Manse, the weather prospects for the last couple of days were rather poor, high winds and heavy rain. At this stage I was the only one from the four stalkers to have taken a stag, so I decided to go into tourist mode with my wife for the remaining couple of days.
A visit to MacLeod’s of Tain was on the list, their tempting display of high quality scopes, guns, and general shooter’s goodies was well worth the journey. A meeting with some friends who live in Tain completed our day. The last day was again wild and wet, we took a drive up the coast to Dunrobin Castle and headed back via Lairg, passing some of the ground on which we had stalked and where I had taken my stag.
Back at the Manse, the others had also taken their stags, so no-one was going away empty handed.
My first proper Highland stalking, it had been a demanding week of new experiences, tiring and exhilarating in vast, dramatic landscapes. Many thanks to Malcolm, Sandra and Tom who really made an effort on behalf of their clients.
After dropping our dogs at the boarding kennels on Sunday morning we set off north. I am a traditional navigator, (some would say dinosaur) relying on maps rather than GPS although I do make a concession to using Google Street View to remotely reconnoitre unfamiliar places. Sikamalc had provided detailed directions, a combination of these and Street View got us to the Manse by late afternoon.
The others in the party, an American father and son duo and Dave from London arrived by the evening, after introductions we settled down to a very tasty dinner courtesy of Sandra, Malcolm’s very hard working and capable other half.
First thing on Monday morning was rifle zeroing in the frosty air.
My usual zero for my roe stalking .243 Tikka is 100 yards. Recognising that Highland stags need something heftier than 80gr from a .243 I had taken advice from a couple of experienced Highland stalkers in our rifle club and bought a Sako 75 in 6.5 x 55 Swedish. My load development settled on 140gr Sierra Game Kings and 43.5gr of H4350 which chronographed at 2580 FPS, legal and accurate. The Sako was set to group 2.5 inches high at 100 yards, a zero of about 200 yards in anticipation of longer shots in open country.
With the four stalkers in the party performing to Malcom’s satisfaction, we split into two groups and were taken 30 miles or so to a large expanse of forest. My companion Dave had won the toss for first shot and was ahead of me, with Malcom in the lead. A couple of stags were spotted at the end of a wide clear area, and one of the big differences between stalking Highland stags and my usual forest roe became obvious, the distances involved. 100 yards is a long shot in my woodland permission, the stags were about 300 yards away when first sighted. Dave positioned his rifle on the sticks and found he was looking directly into the sun, his scope flared with glare and barrel reflections. The moment was gone and with it the stags.
After lunch on the tailgates of the pickups, we covered a lot of ground through the forest, along wide rides and clear areas stretching for miles. Neither Dave nor our companions in the other group took a shot although deer were much in evidence, slots, frayed trees, piles of droppings and a new sight for me, mud wallows telling the story of a substantial deer population.
Back at the manse over another of Sandra’s substantial dinners plans were made for the next day. There is a steep little hill to the front of the Manse, the Ordnance Survey maps indicate it to be a 1,100ft climb from the road. The hill has been christened Heartbreak Hill by Malcom and his team. In a moment of madness I agreed to make that my outing for the next day, accompanying Tom the other resident guide and TJ, the younger American in pursuit of a number of Sika stags regularly seen from the Manse on a section of the hill.
We set out in the crisp morning air, the sky just getting light and with mist swirling around. The “path” was steep, alternating between jumbled rocks, knee-deep heather and chest high bracken. The passage of too many years sitting at desks was evident. I felt the climb in heaving lungs and rickety knees, but it was an exhilarating experience, and to hear for the first time the eerie bosun’s pipe alarm whistle of a Sika, and glimpse the black shape for a few seconds as it made off into the dense undergrowth were the stuff of memories that will stay with me.
By the time we reached the top of the climb the mist was clearing from the glen below and the plateau at the top was now in view. A few deer were seen in the far distance, red hinds with calves and incredible eyesight. We were under observation very soon and they gradually drifted away out of sight. Pressing on we paused for a break at the summit cairn and spent some time scanning the hillsides below. Tom pointed out a bird high in the sky and clearly some distance away. It was obviously big, and before long we were rewarded with the spectacular sight of a Golden Eagle, clear in the bright morning sun as it slowly circled above us. Sika were spotted but much too far away for us to approach unobserved. We gradually descended, seeing the occasional deer on the way down and back to the truck.
After a late lunch I decided to sit out the evening outing and give my knees a rest.
The next morning it was into the trucks at first light and back to the forest visited on Monday. On the drive in deer were plentiful, red stags with hinds and a few roe close to the road. With legs still stiff from Heartbreak Hill I had elected for a static day. Malcom led me back to the clearing where we had seen the stags on our previous visit, we found a suitable spot at the treeline and I was left to sit in wait.
Once Malcom had departed, the silence of the vast forest enveloped me. Ravens called and a few small birds twittered occasionally but otherwise the silence was tangible, no distant traffic or other manmade sounds intruding. As a light breeze gradually developed, the wind turbines on a hillside a couple of miles away began to slowly rotate, catching the morning sun now and again with a flicker of reflection. The sound of stags roaring in the far distance began to drift in, the primeval sound sending goosebumps down my neck. Every few minutes I scanned the treeline on the other side of the clearing about 250 yards away. After an hour or so a movement caught my eye, a large pale brown/red coloured animal was emerging from the trees.
The binoculars revealed a red hind, she looked cautiously around the clearing before stepping out of the trees and beginning to graze. After ten minutes or so another movement in the trees, this time a red stag emerged and my heart rate doubled. I watched him carefully for a few minutes as he surveyed the clearing before stepping fully into the open. Definitely a stag, a decent size and what I had come all this way for. I slipped the covers off my scope and picked him out. There were a few stems of grass close to me and visible in the scope, so I shuffled sideways a few feet and checked again. The hind was grazing, relaxed in the growing warmth of the sun.
The stag decided all was well and stepped clear of the trees. No grass in front of the scope, I slowly pulled my ear plugs from my jacket pocket and put them in place. With my elbows on my knees I was steady with a good sight picture. Malcolm had briefed us to take shoulder shots to ensure the animals did not get far into the trees where they would be difficult to find and extract, so estimating him to be about 200 yards away I held on his shoulder and fired.
At the impact of the bullet he staggered forward a few paces, both front legs buckled and he lurched a few feet before collapsing. I could see his pale brown back against the dark green of the trees and watched carefully for any movement. After several minutes he had not stirred, so I called Malcolm on the radio to let him know. No response. He had warned that radio contact could be patchy, so I decided to wait and try him again. I kept a careful watch on my stag, I did not want him to get up and stagger off to be lost but after 10 minutes there had been no movement so I assumed it was likely that he had slipped away.
I got to my feet, and to my surprise the hind was still there about 100 yards away, standing rigidly upright, ears swivelling but no other movement. At my sudden appearance from the undergrowth she took off into the trees. I wanted to be sure of my stag so kept a careful eye on him, no movement. I tried the radio again, no response. Just I as was wondering what to do there was a low whistle from my left, Malcolm with his Bavarian Mountain Hound. He and Dave had heard the boom of my unmoderated Sako and he had returned to investigate.
As we approached the stag, Malcolm checked that I had reloaded and was prepared to shoot again if necessary. He cautiously stretched out with his stick and touched the stag’s eye in the classic manner. No reaction. With a broad grin he extended his hand and congratulated me on my first red stag. It was not a record book or museum specimen, but it was mine, taken in fair chase in wild terrain. I set my rifle down and unloaded it, then we started the heavy work of extraction.
I was amazed by the weight of the animal, being accustomed to roe that I can pick up bodily and carry, this thing was a massive, floppy and unwieldy dead weight. It took a lot of effort from both of us to drag it a few yards for the gralloch. Another surprise, the volume of green offal was huge. The stag was well fed and had plentiful body fat, Malcom explained that he thought he had not been rutting allowing him to conserve his energy.
The Sierra Game King had performed well, both shoulders had been penetrated cleanly with a neat little exit wound and there was a copious amount of blood, indicative of a swift and humane end. Malcolm draped the caudal fat layer from the stag’s stomach over his antlers. Seeing my puzzled expression at what I took to be some odd hill stalker’s tradition, he explained that the white membrane was as conspicuous as a flag at distance, essential for later recovery.
We walked out the mile or so to the vehicles, to collect a quad bike for the final extraction. Although Malcom assured me that as a paying guest I was not expected to walk back in to assist with the recovery, I wanted to be part of the whole process and followed the quad back. Sure enough, the caudal fat flag was evident from a long way off. It took considerable effort on behalf of Malcom and Tom to hoist the stag around and secure his antlers to the quad cargo grid.
The slow drive back to the trucks complete, the stag was heaved into the quad trailer. After a sandwich lunch we drove in convoy to the larder where Tom gave a very impressive display of butchery skill, putting my brutal hacking efforts to shame.
We returned to the forest and I spent the afternoon with Malcolm and Dave in a vast, rolling open space between forests. A stag was spotted in the far distance, Dave’s range finding Swarovski binoculars indicated that it was 1,014 yards away, a tiny dark dot in a huge landscape.
The stag was moving slowly in our direction, stopping now and then to graze. Moving carefully we closed the distance to an indicated 400 yards or so, at which time the object of our attentions ambled into the trees and was gone. We stayed and watched for a while as a hind drifted out and browsed along the tree line, but no sign of the stag.
We moved cautiously back to the trucks, glassing carefully every few yards, seeing the odd glimpse of a likely beast but never enough to take a shot. Back at the Manse, the weather prospects for the last couple of days were rather poor, high winds and heavy rain. At this stage I was the only one from the four stalkers to have taken a stag, so I decided to go into tourist mode with my wife for the remaining couple of days.
A visit to MacLeod’s of Tain was on the list, their tempting display of high quality scopes, guns, and general shooter’s goodies was well worth the journey. A meeting with some friends who live in Tain completed our day. The last day was again wild and wet, we took a drive up the coast to Dunrobin Castle and headed back via Lairg, passing some of the ground on which we had stalked and where I had taken my stag.
Back at the Manse, the others had also taken their stags, so no-one was going away empty handed.
My first proper Highland stalking, it had been a demanding week of new experiences, tiring and exhilarating in vast, dramatic landscapes. Many thanks to Malcolm, Sandra and Tom who really made an effort on behalf of their clients.
