“Upward and onward!” spoke Tim Fallon, all the while smiling like a true Scotsman! I rolled my eyes recalling I had always thought hunting red stags in the Scotland’s Highlands would be the easiest of my numerous hunts for red stags in such places as Austria, Argentina and several forays to New Zealand. That thought went out the window at least a thousand feet in elevation ago. I was down to walking about a hundred feet up hill, then stopping to catch my breath and rest before heading ever upwards. If the steepness was not enough, we were being pelted by a stinging cold rain.
I pushed back my Tyrolean hat to wipe away the sweat of my brow with a red handkerchief. In so doing I looked over at Stefan Bengtssen, owner of Scandinavian ProHunters with whom Fallon and I were hunting. Stefan was smiling and seemed to be enjoying the moment. Truth was, so was I!
Several months early Fallon and I had met with Patty Curnutte, with The Global Sportsman, who introduced us to Stefan at the Dallas Safari Club annual convention. The year prior she had arranged a fabulous hunt for us in Austria for among other species alpine ibex with Hunt Austria, Miesenbach , as well as other hunts in the past including safaris to Burkina Faso, Benin and Uganda in Africa.
After a short visit we agreed to hunt Scotland with Stefan’s Scandinavian ProHunters. We, amounted to Tim Fallon, Tim Doucet, Larry Bell and I as well as our respective wives Susan, Marit, Ellen and Mary Anne. The wives would tour the castles and areas around Loch Ness while the men hunted. Before leaving for Scotland we learned we would be staying at Leys Castle, a gorgeous old castle from the early 1800’s, where we would be hosted by the owner and his staff. Jason Miller, a long-time friend and ace cameraman/field producer would serve as my cameraman to record the hunt and activities for an episode on my DSC;’s Trailing the Hunter’s Moon.
Before heading to the highlands, I spent a couple of days hunting sika deer which were introduced to that part of Scotland years ago. I also hoped to possibly find a roe deer, but knew the chance of that happening would be slim. The rut was just over and the roe bucks, we were told, were essentially in hiding trying to “repair” from the rigors of the rut.
By walking the hills and heather we did see some sika deer, but only very young stags and females. We failed, not surprisingly, to find any roe deer.
Back in Scotland in the well appointed Leys Castle as we entered the dining room to enjoy another meal fit for kings and queens, Stefan sat down between Tim Fallon and me. “Tomorrow you two and I are going to be hunting red stag on an estate about 30 miles from here. The property is very large and has many red stags. You’ll want to dress accordingly, meaning be certain to take you rain wear. We’ll be stalking. Once we spot shootable stags we’ll be walking.” Before I could ask how far we might be walking Stefan continued, “Our stalk could be a short one, but I suspect it will be rather long and don’t be surprised if it’s pretty much all up hill. We’ll be glassing from the bottom of the valley. Chances are the stags will be near the top of the ridges and mountains. May be some long walks, but will be fun!”
That’s how the next day, a little while after first light we were hunting the Scottish Highlands.
After meeting our guides for the day we started driving the low country and soon spotted two different herds of red deer, one mostly comprised of hinds, calves and very young stags. The other, the one near the crest was a herd comprised of only stags. “The roar is still about a month away and the sexes stay separate until it starts. Before going after this mob of stags, let us look down the road. If we don’t find other stags, we will go after the big group.”
We did not find any more stags closer to the road! So it was, wade the river and up the hill. And up! And up! And up!
Our stalk up the hill, in the bottom of a deep rill started about 9 am. The walk up hill was slow and deliberate, but also tiring! About half way up the mountain we realized we would have to work our way around the back side and then come up over the top and hope the stags were still bedded below the crest or feeding there and had not wandered down slope to browse. It felt good knowing I had my Global Rescue card with me, for there was a time I might need their help, when fatigue had set in.
During the course of our long stalk we stopped many times to rest, and to wait out rain squalls. By the time we reached the top it was about three in the afternoon. Our stalker, provided by the property owner to accompany us, eased over the top and a few minutes later beckoned us to stay low but move forward.
The last twenty or so yards we crawled on hands and knees then wormed forward on our stomachs. After that last squirming, we settled in and started glassing the twenty or so stags bedded below us. Just as we started trying to evaluate them, fog rolled in and totally obscured them. Ten minutes later the fog cleared. As we started glassing the stags we noticed another group about 150 yards below and to the right of the initially sighted stags. The scone group held bigger stags. “Like the one on the far right of the second bunch.” I heard Tim Fallon say, laying just to my right
“I like the one on the far left, he’s not quite as massive as the one you’re looking at, but I think he’s a 5x5 with crowns on both sides.” Then questioned Tim who had his Zeiss RF binos how far they were.
“Your stag is 390. The one I’m looking at is 385. The wind is blowing quite a bit, we’ll need to allow about 6 to 8 inches of wind drift, possibly more. Let’s wait for both to stand, when they do, you shoot. Soon as I hear your shot, I’ll shoot on report. Just like we’ve practiced on the ranch.” Said Tim referring to the S.A.A.M. training on his FTW Ranch.
For the next nearly forty minutes we laid there in the rain. Sometimes we could see the bedded stags and sometimes the we could not see them due to fog drifting across the area. All the while we were beset with midges, small fly-like demons that were feasting upon our exposed skin, particularly when the wind slowed.
After what seemed an eternity, I heard Stefan say, “They’re up. I again quickly got on my scope, found the stag I wanted to take. I held accordingly to range and distance. I was shooting my Ruger Model 77 RSI (full Mannlichers stock) in .270 Win, topped with a Zeiss Conquest scope and shooting Hornady’s 130 grain American Whitetail ammo, a load my rifle really liked.
I held approximately eight inches into the wind, took a deep breath, let it all out and then gently squeezed the trigger. I saw the bullet strike about 6 inches farther back than I had hoped it would. Obviously the wind was blowing harder than we thought it was. As I worked my bolt to take a second shot, I told Tim, “Hold at least 14 inches into the wind,” as he waited for his stag to turn broadside. The stag turned and I heard him shoot and the solid sound of a bullet striking an animal returned to us.
I knew I had hit my stag a bit far back, but still where I should have gotten part of his vitals. After my first shot he moved only about three or four steps. I waited a second for him to give me an ideal shot. Then recalling the previous wind drift I held accordingly once again, this time giving my shot about 14 inches of wind. At the shot I watched the stag simply drop. I bolted in a fresh round and kept my scope on my downed stag. He didn’t move.
I looked over at Tim. He had a big smile on his face, as did I! When we were certain both our stags were down I reached for his extended right hand and shook it!
We had two Scottish red deer stags down. But the evening’s light was fading fast. We hurried down slope to admire our stags. Both Tim’s and mine were proclaimed nine year olds by the local stalker.
Both stags while handsome were smaller in body, as I had been told they would be, than any other stag I had previously taken. They were also more reddish in color than any I had taken in other countries in the past.
After taking care of the capes and particularly the meat which went to the landowner, we headed back to Leys Castle. That night there was a wee dram or two of single malt hoisted in honor of Scotland’s red stags.