A decent high covering the country so Wilson gives me the nod and off we go. We were greeted up high with a 40 klick S.W. wind , which is how I like it, cool enough to wear a couple of layers and not sweat. It was a half day trek to the camp site, tent up and surroundings sorted in case we had a late return. Then around midday we set off
Nothing special on the agenda, but we were gonna kill something if only to supplement the pooch’s meagre biscuit supply. First off still high in elevation we headed for a saddle that most times holds a Chamois or two. We got in a commanding position in the rocks over looking a vast scree area that tapered down into tussock and way down there the bush itself. Leica 8×20 out and I started glassing the huge area. Wilson was around 5 meters further on and on the edge of a big drop off (obviously has a head for heights). After a few moments I put the glasses down and was instantly alerted to the dog winding and the tell tale shivering of his hind legs.
I crept slowly up to him and peered down to be rewarded by the sight of a Chamois Doe. She was totally unaware of our presence and was browsing the scree for lichen. She was 136 meters away and safe for the moment whilst I looked for somewhere to shoot from. I eventually had to settle for a sitting position with my pack half way across my legs and then balanced the Sako .308 on top. The 5x scope’s reticle finally rested without tremor, low behind the shoulder. The sound of the shot was eaten up in the blustery conditions , the kick gentle on my shoulder, the animal though was hard it and dropped of a large rock onto some loose scree and lay still. “Good shot boss”, Wilson exulted…..or was it my imagination?
We had to pick our way down carefully and eventually “the nose” found his dinner.
An hour or so later we stumbled on a spiker in a deep gut feeding his brains out, the range was well under 200 meters and he was oblivious to our presence. I on the other hand wanted to stalk a bit closer, but “ole know it all” started to prance about and whine a little. finally alerting said Spiker to realise something was amiss. Pack down rifle across and bang! He took off as if it was a miss but failed to emerge in the open from a gut choked with tall tussock and scrub. I ejected the empty Lapua brass and pocketed it. We made our way down the steep scrub infested slope and sure enough the stag was not doing cartwheels on our arrival, but as expected, was fast asleep.
As a foot note 7 Chamois were seen, one even bade us goodbye high on a skyline above our camp, whilst we were packing to leave. It certainly gave me the impression the Chamois rut is either on or getting mighty close.
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