A hind at the tail end of the rut

I think if the roar experience is only of lying awake in your tent listening to at least 3 stags going for it all night long then it is a win win situation.

That was my experience this year. During the next day I was not able to lure a particular stag out from the bush and into the tussock, although we exchanged roars for the best part of an hour and he was within meters of showing himself, he finally had the nous to call it a day and retreat back down into the valley, his roars fading in intensity.

The next night was the same with the roaring of stags deafening at times. The morning was more of the same. Myself and Wilson were abroad early and trying to maneuver ourselves into a favourable position careful of the wind eddies that might give our presence away, also careful to navigate accurately across the rugged terrain that was more often than not cloaked in the thick rising valley fog. The next moment the whole area shut up as if someone had thrown a switch, and remained that way for the rest of the day.

Around 5.30 that evening I had a further surprise when a hunter strode into my camp. I am not exactly in my back garden, so you can imagine my shock. We had a bit of a yarn but because of the late ness of the day and the fact he was camped on the valley floor he could not tarry too long. He did say he spied my tent from the next watershed, I wondered then why he would make the effort to disturb my country knowing full well I was in residence. There is some truth in that saying “There is none so queer as folk” Anyway it confirmed to me why the stags had gone so quiet. I pulled the pin the next morning, I could not shrug off the feeling I had been violated in someway but there is not a lot to beat hearing the wild ones going off at night whilst in your tent in faraway places.

A couple of days later me and the mutt where in the bush hunting our old stomping grounds, I exchanged the .308 for the tried and tested .222, Wilson was winding well and his hind quarters were shivering, a tell tale sign we were not alone in the bush, we were making our way to a prominent spur when all of a sudden a hind materialised . The half cock was closed and the 53 grain pill sailed to its mark, a death run ensued and then abruptly stopped with only the shaking fern as testimony to the whereabouts of the animal. I let the four legged one officially find the kill, more meat for the freezer.