This time “it really is” the wily roaring stag. High in the bush I was brought to a halt in semi open country by the amorous moan of a stag, a minute or so later and sounding very very close he let loose another mournful bellow. We (the 4 legged one and me ) crouched low and peered into the gloom of a shallow gulley, looking hard for any movement or shape. A couple of minutes lapsed and then he roared once more, this time I swear he was so close I thought he was in my lap, and I checked but couldn’t verify. A long ten minutes or more went by with not a peep or a sound.
We held a pow wow and Wilson reckoned like me we should sneak in and have a look see. We ruled out the possibility of me roaring back as we were that close, we felt sure he would pick out my weaker points at calling and be at once, suspicious. We crept forward like a brace of cats. After a dozen steps I sat down on my backside and scoped some colour that seemed at odds with the surrounding country. Sure enough it turned out to be our boy lying down and facing away from us at around 50 meters. I braced my elbows forward of my knees, steadied and then released the 53 grain Barnes bullet by way of my Canjar set trigger. The idea was to drive the bullet through the top of his stomach and into the lungs.
Typical for the area. A Scrubby 10 pointer, where he fell.
The stag was up and running with a hind or two abreast and with his head held high took off over the ridge and away. All was silent. I mentally went through the last seconds leading up to the shot, making sure in my mind that the shot was good with proper follow through. We waited for around 5 minutes, at first listening intently for any sounds of a falling animal crashing through the forest.
We found the trail and after much ado, Wilson eventually found the animal around 30 meters from the top of the ridge, dead as a door nail with frothy pink blood oozing from the .22 cal. hole.
Easter weekend starts tomorrow and time for me to keep my head down for a few days, lest I end up like the stag.
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