High Anxiety

We've had a great spell of weather this last few days. I must say, it feels good to feel some heat in the sun and to feel that winter is coming to a close. Regular readers amongst you will know that it's been a particularly tough one with regard to the hind cull.

I thought I'd take advantage of this good weather and the lengthening days to see if I could fall in with one of these foxes that I know is going about. (Since Christmas I've been seeing signs of them- pad marks, scats, kills. I even had one in my sights when I was out lamping one night. When I lay down to shoot it there wasn't quite enough clearance over the rise in the ground halfway between me and it. Sooooo frustrating!) So I decided to go out and spy a favourite rock face at first light.

The downside of these beautiful, clear, still days is that it gets bloomin' cold at night. And the coldest part of the night is often just before dawn. Which is about the time I was sitting down to spy.

Actually, I'd seen the forecast and knew that I was to expect about -8C so I took a sleeping bag and thick gloves with me. Just as well. I worked up a good sweat climbing and scrambling over snow wreaths to get to my place. Thereafter there was little to keep me distracted from the nipping of my ears.

By 8.30am I decided to try and stir things up and fired a shot into the rock face. Twenty minutes after that I picked up a fox on a ledge. It looked like a b******d of a place.

This fox faffed about, back and forwards, on that ledge for the next 2 hours before it eventually disappeared  out of sight under a bank. I could move at last, thank God!!

When I got to the floor of the corrie I dumped a heap of gear. Mostly clothes, actually. I had a feeling I was going to be sweating again before long. And I was right. The climb up through the rocks was bad enough but trying to move quietly over deep, crunchy snow was taking even more effort. And I had both the rifle and the shotgun to weigh me down.

At last I reached my chosen spot- only to find branches negating any chance of a clear shot to the ledge. After spying for 30 minutes and seeing nothing, I moved to the next likely spot.

Again, I had the same problem but this time I had a clear shot to one tiny bit of the ledge. I tried a squeak to see if the fox would show. Nothing. I still gave it a good half hour just in case. Then I moved in a bit more.

This time, I had a better view- at the cost of a  more precariuos shooting position. (Have a look at the pic!) So I squeaked and waited.....and squeaked and waited. After an hour I decided enough was enough. I fired a shot into a block of icicles hanging above the ledge, showering the place with a cascade of ice. I reloaded quickly, waiting for the fox to come bolting out. Nothing happened. I gave it another half an hour in case this was one of those foxes with nerves of steel that would come sneaking out after sizing things up. Still nothing....

 I concluded that either this fox had already left, or it was well underground. I decided to walk into the place with my terrier and shotgun. I slung the rifle on my back and started the painstaking approach. I got within 50 yards before I came to a narrow bit in the ledge. I looked down at the possible outcome and backed off. Too rich for my blood!

As a last resort I backtracked right down to the bottom of the corrie and climbed back up through the rocks. This time I approached the ledge from the other side. When I eventually gained a vantage point I fired a rifle shot straight into the bank where the fox had disappeared. Once again, nothing moved. Furthermore, it was obvious there was no way in from this side with terrier and gun. It was time to go home.

 A weary trudge later saw me back at the rover. Now there was a welcome sight! I arrived home some time later with a raging thirst and hunger gnawing at my belly. Little wonder really- it's not every day that I have my breakfast at 5pm.

I

 

Right Out in a Whiteout

Since my last post, I've been stalking hinds every day. And every day I've been attempting to get within shot of herds of 2-3-or 400. It's difficult at the best of times but when there is snow on the ground there is even less cover. I reckon I've crawled the equivalent of Lands End to John O' Groats.

So today was a welcome break from the norm. We had quite a lot of snow fall yesterday and we reckoned it would be dense enough to carry the weight of our machinery. So we went looking for foxes.

Two teams went out- one pair in the tracked argocat, the other pair (myself included) on the snowbike.

As we suspected, the going was heavy until we got a good bit of height, after which the machines were going well. It didn't take long to cut the first set of foxprints.

We tracked the prints for miles then, inexplicably, came across two lonely figures walking the empty wastes. It turned out to be two keepers from the neighbouring estate. They had followed another set of prints for even more miles from their estate. We met where the two foxes had.

After a chat, we left them to hitch a ride home with the argocat while we continued tracking. All the time, the day got greyer and any rises and falls in the ground became more and more difficult to read. Skiers call this 'flat light'- maybe because that's how they invariably end up. For me driving, it meant maximum concentration every yard of the way.

The prints eventually climbed up the steep face of the second-largest hill on the place. The bike wouldn't look at it. Gus reluctantly gave up his pillion seat and started tracking on foot. I made my way round the foot of the hill to see if I might find the fox/ foxes lying up on the lee slope.

It didn't take long to get round there but by then the poor visibility had become no visibility. I sat and had my piece (lunch) huddled behind the bike in a feeble attempt to escape the bitter wind and stinging flakes of snow.

Eventually the radio crackled to life. Gus exclaimed that he was suffering no such problems. Plunging up to his fetlocks in snow was keeping him warm enough apparently. However the foxprints were barely discernable and what remained of them up on top of the hill were drifting in quickly. It was time to pull the plug.

By this time the visibility  had deteriorated so much it was like being inside a giant lightbulb. Albeit a very well ventilated lightbulb. I wondered how we were going to find each other again. Even the sounds of fired shots wouldn't carry far in this wind.

As it was, Gus came down off the hill in roughly the right direction. And fortunately he was on the ball enough to spot when he intersected the snowbike tracks (which were also starting to get obscured). All I had to do was backtrack until I found him. It was quite a relief when I eventually picked up his figure looming out of the gloom.

He clambered back onboard with great enthusiasm and I was most pleased to be heading for home. Within twenty minutes we had dropped out of the mist but the journey back was still long and slow. And the more height we dropped, the heavier the going got and the more I had to wrestle the bike.

We got home with a couple of hours of light to spare and I was feeling well and truly knackered. Maybe not as knackered as I would have been if I had been out on my skis (as has so often been the case). And certainly not as knackered as our two neighbours, I would guess.

And We Know What Happened To The Mammoths

Well we've had a load of snow this week. More than we can cope with to be honest with you, although saying that 'sticks in my craw' after bleating for months that we need harder weather.

Anyway, there's so much snow, that we've hardly been able to get to our hinds. There's about 2 feet of it, plus there was serious drifting too.

I've spent a fair amount of the week digging or- better- snowploughing with the tractor. The snow is so soft and deep as to make our snowbikes and snowtrac useless.

I've included pictures of the two days I did get stalking. The first was after some 'handy' hinds not far away but up a steep face. Getting up there was a real battle and I was glad of the help from our young trainee to drag them back down.

The second time was yesterday. I was joined by a good friend and we decided to have a look out the floor of  a wee side glen. We found deer alright but resorted to walking up the river rather than the thigh deep plunge that was the alternative.

It took about 2 hours to go a mile. We eventually got stalked in and bagged a couple of yeld hinds. Eric brought Fergus up, and when he was loaded, it took another 2 hours to get back to the rover. It was a mammoth effort (har).

All the time I was doing this I wondered why I bother. It must just be in my nature to give it 100% every day. It's a shame it counts for so little.

On The Silver Screen

Well I managed to survive until the Christmas break. Out of the last 6 working days, 5 have featured mist, wind and lashing rain.

On the last stalking day I managed to bag 4 beasts. Although it was a refreshing change to get more than one shot off, it did come at a price. That price was that this required 2 trips with the horse.

 I got so cold waiting for Eric and Fergus to return that any distraction would do....like taking pictures of  my misery, for example.

On a similar note, I had a filmmaker-Rob- out with me a few weeks back. He was doing a promotional video for wild venison. As luck would have it, the day he came out was a fair representation of what a days hind stalking entailed.

As we trundled away from the larder in the morning, Eric asked as to whether he had a rain cover for his (rather expensive looking) camera. When he responded in the negative, Eric offered to fetch a bin-liner.

By the time we came off the hill, that bin-liner was in tatters. Those tatters, however, were still being carefully wrapped around the camera after each sodden attempt at a take. By the time the stalking party was down on the flats of the glen, the misted lenses rendered the camera useless. Which was a pity as a pair of salmon were putting up an excellent display of spawning in a shallow pool just a few yards away.

As it turned out Rob returned for another day and managed to get the shots he needed. You can get a sneak preview of the drier parts of our first outing on http://vimeo.com/53165007 . Hopefully I'll be sharing the second outing with you soon.

Finally, I'd like to thank all you folk out there in cyberspace for your continued support. My last blog must have had an air of despondency about it. It garnered a few comments of encouragement which were just the tonic I was needing.

Wishing you a Merry Christmas and all the best for the coming year.

 

New Bloods

A couple of blogs ago, I mentioned that we'd behaving a different sort of group coming stalking for the week. Well they're here- and they couldn't be more different from the group who were staying at the lodge last month.
This lot are dossing down on the floor of the village hall. There's not a square inch of tweed to be seen. And, although a lot of them have never stalked before, they know one end of a rifle from the other.
They are a group of army snipers and this is 'Adventure Training' for them. When I hear that expression my brain automatically replaces it with 'Busmans Holiday'.
A lot of them were here for the first time last year (see blog of 16th December 2011) and it's great to catch up with them again. But it's also nice to see there are some new faces with them. This means we'll get to give the new bloods a blooding. As I've said many times, I love introducing 'virgins' to what I consider to be the most challenging and rewarding of all fieldsports.
It's also great to see that the weather has improved; although some would not see -10C as an improvement. As you'll see from the pics we've also had a bit of snow. Not enough to shove the deer right 'in aboot' but enough to have totally stymied the delivery driver who took his van down my drive to deliver one tiny parcel.
Speaking personally, my only regret about the snow is that I have to leave Lottie (my young terrier) at home. She's not yet steady enough not to dance about while I'm stalking in. This isn't too much of a problem on 'black ground' but she sticks out like a sore thumb on the snow.
The forecast sounds like there will be a lot of rain arriving at the end of the week so maybe it'll be 'business as usual' for us both come Monday.
In the meantime, there's a lot of miles to do with this lot. And they don't ever seem to need to stop for a 'breather'. Unfortunately.

 

Stag Party

A lot has been going on since my last post.

We've had some beautiful weather with light winds, blue skies and hard frosts (for this time of year; -5). More importantly, the rut has finally come to my beat....with a vengeance!

It's a fantastic time to be 'oot the hill' when the corries and glens are reverberating with the roars of the stags. Strangely, the intensity (and the timing) of the rut seems to vary from year to year.

It's quite unusual to find a stag that has been killed while fighting. I haven't found any in the last two years. Yet three years ago there was a strong rut and I found 3 stags that had been gored to death. From what I'm seeing, I wouldn't be at all surprised to find one or two this year.

On the stalking side, things are a little frustrating. This estate is trying to establish a resident stag herd. To this end we have about 70 stags that stay all winter and are fed. This gives them a big advantage. And a big body. And a big set of antlers.

Unfortunately for me, a lot of these animals find their way onto my patch. And there they hold the hinds against all comers (as it were, ahem). This means that every time I take a guest out stalking I have to make my excuses as we pass these stags over.

So each 'feeder' becomes an obstacle that has to be circumvented in the quest to find a 'shootable' stag. Furthermore, they are also such stiff (ahem, again) competition that the wild stags take one look, get a serious dose of cold...er...hooves, and disappear off from whence they came.

Fortunately nearly all the guests we have are regulars or experienced stalkers. And- all credit to them- they understand our policies and agree with our selective culling. Which is just as well really, seeing as I've just blanked for the second day in a row. Ouch.

Taking the Plunge

It's a sair fecht!

The light covering of snow is making heavy weather of the stalking. There are no short-cuts when you stick out like a sore thumb. Furthermore, the long detours (to keep you out of sight of the deer) force you higher up the hills and into snow up to your f..f..f..fetlocks.

Generally speaking, the deer are still in great nick. This becomes very apparent if you make the slightest mistake.

Take yesterday, for example. I had a regular guest- John- out. The deer were low down on one side of the glen. So we took a long, slow plod over the hill above them. And as we did so, the deer casually crossed the glen.....

So John and I had a long belly crawl down a (mostly) frozen burn to cross the floor of the glen without them seeing us.(See pic!) As we did so I noisily broke through some ice. Brrr! 500 yards away one or two hinds got to their feet.....

By the time we were able to move freely again, most of the 400-strong herd were on the move. By the time we got to our shooting point there was 1 scrawny hind and her scrawnier calf left- and they had their bags packed and their passports stamped. John managed to nail the calf.

It was a massive amount of effort for 15kg of venison but it's typical of what this season has been like.

Today, for the first time in ages, I managed to come home with a decent bag. But it required a long walk, two long stalks and nearly all the daylight that was available.

I love my stalking but I have doubts as to what is going to come first- the end of the season or the end of my tether.

Waiter, This Venison is Tough!

Well things aren't getting any easier. The mild weather continues and the deer are playing hard-to-get. Very hard-to-get.

Every year we stalkers get a beast each for ourselves. Needless to say, they're usually the biggest and best beasts of the season, and clean-shot. But getting near enough to them to be sure of a neck shot is no walk in the park just now. More like a walk in the minefield, in fact.

It dawned on me that, with the end of the season fast approaching, I was running out of time to get my beast. As Tuesday was a horrendous day of driving rain, I thought I'd make getting one good hind my sole objective for the day.

The good news was that the foul weather had pushed a herd onto some handier ground. (Relatively speaking.) The bad news was that they were in a spot that turned out to be nigh-on impossible to get near.

I snuck up a wee burn and waaay before I was anywhere near the beasts I was crawling-to avoid disturbing sheep. (The Red Deers answer to NATOs Early Warning System.)

Anyway I crawled into the next postcode and to within 250 yards. The deer were still on their feet and grazing towards me at this point. Then, one by one, they lay down. Nooooooo!!!!

Dismayed, I crawled up and down the same stretch of burn 4 or 5 times trying to find any way of getting closer. With 150 pairs of eyes looking down the hill at me? Not a chance.

My only option was to wait. And wait. And wait.

I was starting to feel decidedly chilly (and not a little frustrated) when the weather took a turn for the even-worse. The freezing rain started coming down in sheets.

"Thanks very much!" I muttered heavenward. .....then the deer started getting to their feet. Perhaps this cloud really did have a silver lining.

The filthy weather was too much even for these tough hombres. They got up,turned their bums to the rain and walked away. When the last pair of lugs disappeared over a nearby rise I could have wept with happiness- I could move!!

I followed them on and as I crept around the corner I found most of them already out of range and still moving into the vast open stretch of a sheltered bowl. Utterly unstalkable. Lifting my head a little higher I found that a handful had stalled- and lain down just after entering the bowl. And looking through my binoculars, I could see that one was an absolute clinker.

I started crawling forward to get a clear shot- all the time aware that I was coming into sight of more and more deer. And as I crawled I noticed the 'stragglers' were, one by one, getting up and following the herd again. It was a case of 'take your time but hurry'.

When I got to my firing point there were only 3 beasts left in range- but the clinker was one of them. As I got the crosshairs on her I saw her looking about as if to say "Hey, where has everybody gone?"

She became the dearly departed just a moment before she deerily departed. Getting her two companions was the icing on the cake. Albeit a very moist cake. I was ecstatic....right up until I contemplated the monster drag that awaited me.

Boy, she had better taste good.

A Fresh Pair Of Eyes

You may remember that I recently had a young lady out stalking. It was her first time and I thought it might be of interest to all you out there to hear what she thought of the experience. So here you are!

A week or two ago, Andy invited me to spend a day stalking. As a meat-eater who is also determined to choose the ethical option – I buy free range and wild food whenever I can – I was really interested in this. At the same time, I didn’t know how I would feel about shooting an animal. But I know the deer population in the hills has to be controlled, mainly because we no longer have top predators such as wolves to curb numbers.

I had never used a rifle before, so Andy and I started off at the range. He showed me how to use the sight and explained that I’d need to squeeze the trigger gently. I was surprised at the lack of kick from the gun. I aimed at the deer target amongst the trees, hit it first time, so I was ready to head up the glen. Andy explained that, if possible, we’d be waiting for a beast to stand side on, which gave the best margin for error. I was worried I might miss the target area, and maim the deer. But Andy assured me that if this happened, he would take the rifle and shoot it properly.

We drove to the top of a hill, leaving Eric to collect Fergus the pony. Another ghillie, Angel, came with us, then went back down with the Land Rover. Andy and I set off with Ed the dog. The weather that day (swirling mist), was less than ideal for stalking, but it lent a certain atmosphere to the occasion. As we walked off, Andy explained the principles of stalking – you have to imagine where the deer would be on that day, and then try and approach them so they don’t know you are there. One of the most important factors is wind direction, because you don’t want the deer to smell or hear you coming. So we set off upwind to where Andy thought they might be. We found some very fresh deer droppings on a path, and so decided to follow their tracks. As we rounded a corner, we stopped and waited rather than push on in the thick mist. The tactic paid off as, a minute or two later, it lifted just enough for us to make out shapes on the next ridge.

Andy signalled to me to drop down, and we crawled through the heather towards them. The mist was swirling about and kept blocking our view, but then it would clear again. The deer didn’t seem to know we were there. Andy set the rifle in position for me, and showed me which hind would be a good target. He picked one grazing, side on to us, with no other beasts around it. I got into position and looked through the sight. It took me a while to ready myself for the shot, and in that time the mist had come back in, so I had to wait for it to clear again before I could shoot.
Then, when I could see properly and the deer was in place, I squeezed the trigger. Andy was a bit unsure of the shot so he took the rifle and shot it again. The gralloch (removing the stomach and intestines) revealed that my shot had hit the liver. Andy assured me it was a killing shot but with the poor visibility, he had erred on the safe side.

As I had never shot an animal before, it was now time for my “blooding”, which is a ritual performed after shooting. Andy drew blood across my cheeks as a mark of respect for the dead animal. We then radioed Eric with the pony and set off down the hill with Andy dragging the hind. As it was still morning, we dropped off the beast on the pony path and headed back up the hill for lunch. After sandwiches and thermoses of tea on the side of the glen, we set off again to look for more deer.

This stalk was much longer. It had been far too easy in the morning! But, eventually, as the light was starting to fade, we found another herd, and we crawled into place. This time I was quicker at getting into position and readying myself for the shoot. I squeezed the trigger and shot the hind. My shot was much better and the beast went down first time because I had hit a major blood vessel in the chest. Again we gralloched the animal, and then dragged the beast down the hill, this time through a burn! We met Eric and Angel on the pony path, loaded the hind on to Fergus, and walked out as the sun was setting.

All in all it was a very interesting experience. I am a keen hill walker and mountaineer, so I was doing something new in a very familiar environment. I realised stalking is a special skill and I couldn’t believe how close we could get to the deer (a necessity on a day with such low cloud) without them knowing we were there.
I certainly didn’t get any kind of thrill from shooting an animal, but I have a great respect for the skill involved in stalking, and I feel that if you are going to eat meat, wild, organic meat is the most ethical choice.

The Old Dear

Yesterday was the first clear day we've had for ages. It was so useful to be able to spy my ground from a vantage point and see where all my deer had been hiding.

While I was doing this I spotted a single beast lying in a tiny hollow on a face a mile distant. Unusual.

However I made a mental note of it and carried on with Plan A. Eventually, after Plan A had mutated into Plan F, I returned to the land-rover with a couple of beasts. When I spied back across the glen, the single beast was exactly where she had been. Highly suspicious.

Although there was only about an hour of light left, I decided to go and see if I could get this beast. I was pretty sure that if I did, I would find that there was something wrong with her.

Three-quarters of an hour later and I was crawling around on that hillside, trying desperately to find a place from where I could see into the little hollow. Fortunately for me she stood up and presented me with a shot.

When I went up to her, I could see she was a big hind in seemingly good condition. I checked her legs, body and head for damage- nothing. As I gralloched her I found nothing untoward apart from the wall of her rumen was so thin that my fingers went through it as I tried to remove it.

Puzzled, I looked at her again. She looked rangy- big framed but a bit thin. I could see from her coat that she wasn't old but I decided to have a look at her teeth anyway....and all became obvious.

Her teeth were worn down to the gums. It turned out she was one of the oldest beasts I've shot in a long time.

I have to say, I felt a huge admiration for this old dame. She had been a huge hind in her day and was still in incredibly good strip for her age. But, more, she'd managed to give me, my predecessor, and probably the stalkers on two or three of the neighbouring beats the slip for about 14 years. The only reason I'd eventually caught up with her was that she was so done in that she could no longer keep with the herd.

There is a real sadness to shooting an exceptional beast like her but it would have been far worse- in my eyes- to have left her to a lingering death in the depths of a winter storm.

I've Seen The Light

Finally, after about 3 weeks of mirk and gloom, the sun came out today.

The morning started off as per usual; thick mist to halfway down the hills, dark and with a heavy drizzle thrown in for good measure. As usual, I donned my waterproofs on departure from the landrover. And proceeded to walk the hill in my own personal sauna.

As I started stalking, the mist started to break up. I watched the scraps intently as they drifted this way and that. There was no discernable wind and it was so quiet I could hear the blood thrumming in my ears. (Not the best of times to be in full waterproofs.)

I managed a successful stalk in the morning and another in the afternoon. Just as Eric arrived with Fergus to pick up the second beast, the sun broke through. I swear I could hear a choir somewhere.

"I'm blind, I tell you! Blind!!" I yelled, falling to my knees. Then I thought I'd better get a snap quickly before it went away again.

I offered this rare pic to the Daily Record for £10,000 but they weren't up for it. They did suggest I contact another of the tabloids but I'm damned if I can remember the name of it.....

Roamin' in the gloamin'

Extract from a phone call 20 minutes ago:-

"What was it like out the hill today?"
"Och, just another really dreich day. That's six stalking days out of the last seven been nothing but thick mist."
"And have you been getting any hinds?"
"Aye. I got a couple yesterday and three today. After a lot of trying."
"Has anybody else been getting any?"
"Not these last two days."
"So how do you do it?"
"Och, I just go oot the hill and fire off a wheen of shots into the mirk. Then I have a rake aboot and see what I've got. I found 3 braw rucsacks today and all!"

I was joking of course, but if conditions go on like this for much longer, David Attenborough will be doing a special programme about us. We'll be like those fish that live in pools deep inside caves that have evolved without eyes.

By last Friday I think I was starting to suffer from SAD (Seasonally Affected Disorder) but now I'm definitely AHOLED (Absolutely Hacked Off from Light Emission Deficiency).

As I write this, I've just caught the forecast for tomorrow:- Mild, with South-East winds. It's going to bring in low cloud off the North Sea that might be slow to clear in some areas....for a change.

On a brighter note, the accompanying picture is of a young lady who shot her first hind with me yesterday. I'm hoping to bring you her account of the experience. Once she's recovered.

4 Eds Are Better Than One

Would you believe it? I had 3 guys out stalking today and they were all called Ed. This morning, when they asked me the name of my dog and I answered "Ed", they wouldn't believe me!

So I include a picture of the 4 Eds. While you're looking at it, please note the crappy day in the background. We spent a highly frustrating day working the steep walls of the glen in the background. Visibility varied from bloody murky to blotted out. We stalked hinds only to have them obscured by the mist at the crucial time. We winded hinds when the light wind eddied and spun the mist in circles. We stalked shapes only to find they were all stags when we eventually got to our shooting position. We found hinds in a great position at the end of the day when there wasn't enough light left to stalk them and Fergus (the horse) was already on his way home.

I once managed to go an entire hind season without having a blank day. 198 hinds on the trot- as it were. I was hoping I might have managed it again this season.

Looks like it'll have to wait until next year now.

Hogwash

You may have read on my blog of the 13th October that a TV production company had been in touch. Well there's more.....

They are doing a series for National Geographic channel called Wild Case Files. In this series they investigate unexplained natural phenomena. One such phenomenon is this strange jelly-like substance that can be found in the countryside at this time of year.

A couple of years back I left a comment on the BBC 'Out of Doors' website claiming that I knew what this was- stag semen! (After all, that's what I'd been told when I asked my colleagues about it 20 years ago.)

Anyway, these TV folk just wanted me to voice my theory for the camera.

Before doing this I thought it prudent to ask around and see if I was, in fact, about to make a monumental Horses Arse of myself.

Amongst the people I asked, I heard theories ranging from 'ectoplasm' to ' frogspawn squeezed from the frog by a predator' to 'slime mould'.

When the TV crew eventually appeared I told them I'd changed my mind and wanted to say it was a 'polysacchirate mucus exuded by a fungus belonging to the trellus genus'. They told me to stick to the script.

So, after waiting 48 years for my big break, I've spent my Golden Opportunity spouting the biggest load of hogwash since the last election. I guess I'm going to be losing the deposit I made on that tasteful mock-Roman Villa in Beverly Hills then....

It's just as well I didn't give up my day job. However that's not what Angel (our Spanish ghillie) was thinking when he had to drag a calf 2 miles back to the landrover today.

I'd already shot a horseful (3) but wasn't going to let that stop me taking the chance when it presented. I know from bitter experience how hard you can work for just a single beast some days. Anyway, it was just a wee calf....honest.

So that's 11 in the bag now. Just another 139+ to go. I try not to think about it too much.

The Missing Link

On Monday I had an old regular out stalking. He's been coming here for 20 years and he's known by all as a terribly nice man who's a terribly poor shot.

So we get stalked into a nice shootable stag and he's just lining up for the shot when another stag comes charging up the hill out of the dead ground down to our left- and he's an absolute clinker.

I size him up in the briefest of moments- a big, mature stag with a pure switch antler on one side and the same but with just a token of a trez point on the other. My eyes are just about popping out.

This big stag chases the first one away then stands broadside in exactly the same spot. I can't believe our luck. I'm about to utter the words "remember to SQUEEZE that trigger gently" when the shot goes off. And when I say 'off' I mean miles off.

*Sigh*

The very next day I come across the same stag. I stalk him once but we (I have a different guest with me) can't get a shot with him being on a skyline. (The bullet can go a long way even after passing through a deer.)

The stag and his hinds move off and eventually settle at the foot of the far side of the hill. We have a 2 hour stalk to get into them again. Imagine my dismay when we eventually get there only to find my switch has been ousted by a superior stag. So superior that he's too good to shoot.

*Bigger sigh*

Well today Mr Stagfevers' son was up from London. As we set out I told him of the switch that his father had missed at the start of the week. We both agreed that it would be quite something if he could 'wipe his fathers eye'.

An hour into the day and I'm using my telescope to spy a far hill. Even at that great distance, I recognise the switch immediately. He's in a vast grassy bowl, holding about 40 hinds and surrounded by young staggies.

I know we've got our work cut out but we decide to go for it anyway.

Once onto the same hill, we first have to 'nudge' three 'staggies' out of the way. I do this very carefully, over lunch. When they clear off we start again only to be forced into a big detour to get past another stag. During this detour we bump into yet another. This one goes off a little too smartly and the switch and his hareem move right into the middle of this seemingly featureless bowl.

Which means we have even further to crawl. Often only just managing to find enough cover to remain hidden from all the eyes in that natural amphitheatre. Anyway after an hour of crawling we eventually get into position. And I am greatly relieved to report that it's NOT a case of 'like father, like son'.

My Shortest Blog

A picture is worth a thousand words.....

Splashdance

Today we had a visit from Hurricane Katia. Although she has now been downgraded to a 'tropical storm'. She didn't feel very tropical to me.

Despite the high winds and rain, we did manage to hold onto half decent visibility so we were driving grouse as per usual. Which meant we spent most of the day up at about 2000ft.

On the more exposed ground I can only describe the experience as like being at the receiving end of a powerwasher. Unlike most, my waterproofs passed this test with running colours. On the downside, they also seemingly doubled my surface area. This resulted in me dancing about the hill like I was auditioning for 'Strictly'.

It would take nothing short of a miracle for that to happen but, after today, maybe I'll start believing in them.

After all the guns did manage to hit 55 brace of these jetstream-propelled birds.

Remaining Changeable

I'm aware of how much I talk about the weather. I wouldn't be a true Scot if I didn't. But to all those of you out there who live in a predictable climate, you can't understand what a rollercoaster ride our weather can be.

Yesterday we were trying to drive grouse in light and variable winds. At times the wind dropped completely. At times like this the birds you put up just please themselves about which direction to head in. Tricky.

But that I can live with. The other problem of the wind dropping off is that the midges come out. And they came out in ravenous hordes in those lulls.

And then there was today. The clear, blustery conditions held just long enough to allow us all out onto the hill. Then it lashed with rain.

Driving grouse is hard enough work as is. When you're wrapped up in flogging waterproofs it's worse. And when the beaters have given up the very will to live it's near impossible to motivate them into keeping a decent beating line. Even if they were willing to listen to our 'guidance', making yourself heard over the wind and through their wooly hats and woolier heads is a challenge that Motorhead would baulk at.

We put in three drives and I have to say that I'm seriously impressed that the guns hit as much as they did- seeing as those birds must have been doing close on 100mph.

We came home with 62 bedraggled brace. But we DID come home.

NYAAARGHH !!!!

Have you heard the old chestnut:-

"What's the most important invention in human history?"

"The Venetian Blind- without which it would be curtains for us all."

Well, I'm afraid the midge net has now taken the crown. We were driving grouse today and although we were having a great day, the last two drives were blighted by midges. It was a warm, overcast day and the light breeze dropped at about 3pm. By 3.15 most of the entourage would have sold their granny for a midge net. I did have a spare in the rover but a) it was parked 500ft down the hill from us and b) what would I do with someone elses nan?

We finished the day with a bag of 198.5 brace. It would have been nice to have made the 200 and I dare say if we'd dallied longer we would have managed to pick them. But I reckon hamstringing would have been the only way you'd have persuaded me to dally.

By the way, the more observant of you might have noticed the pic of me with an exotic looking bird on my arm. Unfortunately it's a curlew.

I came across it on the last grouse drive on Friday. I could see it was a juvenile but I thought it was well enough grown that it should be flying. Luckily, I got to it just ahead of my dogs and as soon as I picked it up I could feel it was nothing but skin and bone.

Where I found it is very close to one of my hill tracks. I remember seeing a pair of curlews regularly in this area in the spring. I also remember thinking it was rather high up for curlew to be nesting, and on a rather dry ridge. I usually see them around the parks and boggy flushes near the floor of the glen.

Whatever the reason, I reckoned this bird was pretty close to death. I also reckoned that I was probably wasting my time to try and help it. But I thought I'd give it a go.

Three days on and I've dug a considerable patch of garden in my search for worms. I've also prowled the lawns at night scanning the damp grass with a torch. (It's another good way of collecting earthworms. Honest.) The curlew scoffs everything that's put in front of it.

I won't say it's out of the woods yet- seeing as it spends its time hiding in the Honeysuckle- but it's a good sign that it's feeding. All I have to do for the time being is- make sure it stays in the fruit garden; make sure the dogs stay out of the fruit garden; and dig about a pound of worms a day.

Simples.

Ground Rush

The days have sped by since my last blog.

Parachuting types talk of 'ground rush' when their hopefully slow and steady downward progress finishes with Planet Earth leaping up at them when they get within 20 feet. We've had the same thing from our shooting season.

In a final flurry of activity, we've sawn, clogged and split enough firewood to restock the bothies and lodge. It should see both through to the end of the stag season (20th Oct). If it doesn't, they can get their own!!

We've also sorted some roads that, although only sorted a fortnight previously, were washed out by recent torrential rain. The way this weather is going, we could be visiting them again before long.

A couple of our ponies have been shod in preparation for some early stalking. I also gave our resident (and panicky) gardener a hand in the lodge garden.


But all this is history as we are now busy with a lodge full of guests. There are a couple of stag stalking parties out each day and perhaps a roe buck stalker too. Others are going out rabbiting, walking and fishing.

As there are no stags on my ground yet, I've been happy to take folk onto the river to try for a salmon.

Yesterday, conditions were perfect. There were also a lot of salmon showing. They were jumping and splashing all over the place- including at ends of my guests rods.

Frustratingly none would grab hold. Then at 6pm one particularly determined young lady hooked into one. And it was a BIG fish.

She played it for half an hour while I assaulted her with a constant deluge of encouragement and advice. Once or twice we thought the fish was starting to tire only to have it turn and strip line off the reel again.

We'd had occassional glimpses of it through the peaty water but when it did decide to show itself, it did it in style. Out of nowhere it made a leap. It was close to us and therefore on a short line. The line parted like cotton.

We stood on that rock, speechless. When we recovered our senses we made a few philisophical noises and packed up.

Truth be told, we were both gutted and didn't have the heart to fish any more that day.