|
STALKING REPORT THE LUCK OF THE IRISH! The scene is exactly how I would have imagined it…. October, and a dank, clinging mist, is rolling through the valleys of the Kerry Hills. ‘Atmospheric’ is a wholly inappropriate pun. All of a sudden, the hairs on the back of my neck do, literally, stand up. It is almost as though I have been given a small electric shock. A tingling sensation runs through my body, and my heart skips a beat. The piercing whistle of a rutting Sika stag sounds again, and seems to be coming from only feet away from where I am lying. I might be able to hear him, but seeing is a completely different story. The land is typical of managed conifer forestry the world over – in between blocks of spruce plantations, the ground is deeply rutted and liberally covered in slowly rotting tree stumps. Given the half-light of early evening, combined with the misty conditions, the stag is almost on top of us before we can clearly define him. This is all exciting, close-quarters stuff! Out of the corner of my eye I see Dominic indicating that I should shoot if the opportunity presents itself. I am skewed round in an awkward position, and have to wait for what seems an age whilst a grazing hind slowly steps away from behind him. I roll the safety catch off, gently squeeze the .243’s trigger, and my first Irish Sika stag collapses where he was standing. Mixed emotions of elation and relief. It has been a long day, and within a few more minutes it would have been too dark to take the shot. We had been out on the hill for daybreak, glassing the opposite side of a valley, looking into breaks in the timber, and watching for the dark shapes of Sika moving in these openings. Dominic, my good friend, and guide on this occasion, is a very experienced first-class stalker. Inevitably he was spotting deer before I did, and it wasn’t long before he had seen something that warranted further investigation. He pointed out to me the large black blob on a near vertical outcrop on the far hill. “He’s a good sized stag. Let’s see if we can get a bit closer to him.” Our stalking companions, John and Melvyn, elected to go looking further down the valley, so as not to encroach on wherever we might end up. I will cut a long story slightly shorter by omitting the finer details of most of our three hour stalk: up the valley, around the back of, then over the top of the hill where we had spotted the stag. Dominic’s intimate knowledge of the area, combined with marvellous stalking skills, brought us down through the pines immediately above the stag’s rutting stand. We sat within the tree line for a while, then Dominic inched forwards to plan the final approach. At snail’s pace we slithered towards a small rocky ledge. I knew that we were close enough for the slightest sound to likely spook these very wary animals. I didn’t know how close we really were. As we gradually sneaked a look further over the edge, there he was, no more than twenty metres from us, and surrounded by half a dozen hinds too! He certainly was a big fellow, with a heavy four-point antler on the right side – and the left one broken off close to the coronet! I felt Dominic’s balaclava against the side of my head, and heard him whisper “Take him if you wish”. I whispered back “I’ll leave him for you for next year”. I will never know whether Dominic was trying to tempt me further with “Just put the cross-hairs on him”. I eased the rifle forwards, centred the reticle on the stag’s chest, and muttered “Bang”! We then quietly slid back in the direction from which we had come. This had been a memorable stalk - who needs to take a shot? - and it ended on an amusing note. As we climbed up through the forestry, we came across a barbed wire stock fence (sheep and cattle on the open hill). This had been a relatively easy obstacle to cross on the descent, but on the ascent it was a different matter. I was a little tired, and that, combined with a rather short inside leg measurement, meant that although I could get one leg over the top strand, no matter how hard I tried the second leg did not want to follow. I was just about to ask Dominic for some help when the problem solved itself. The top strand, on which I was exerting some considerable pressure, snapped with a resounding twang – fortunately without injury to my nether regions! Outside the forestry, John and Melvyn heard the noise, and were wondering what it was as they witnessed sika deer running in all directions…. All-in-all a really memorable day, and one that was to be immediately followed by another. This second morning saw me out on the open hill with Dominic and son Wayne. We immediately started seeing plenty of Red deer – protected in this area – but it was not too long before we heard our first Sika whistle. We were sitting just below one of the highest points in Ireland, binoculars working overtime, trying to find the stag amongst the and gullies below us. For me it is the same whether I am hunting in the hills of Ireland, Scotland, Austria’s Tyrolean Alps or Wyoming’s Bighorn Mountains: it is such a great feeling just being up there – stalking deer becomes almost an afterthought! All of a sudden he appeared, trotting across a small valley below us. My heartbeat accelerated alarmingly, so I turned away and took a couple of deep breaths. Steady now, as I raised to rifle onto my shooting sticks. Dominic let out a whistle of his own, and the stag came to an immediate halt a couple of hundred metres away. The .243 barked, and the stag folded on the spot. It may have been a very long drag back off the hill, but it was certainly worth every muscle-stretching moment. If you get the chance, go stalking in Ireland. The hospitality is great, the scenery is wonderful (when you can see it!), and the stalking is just amazing. The Irish certainly are lucky to have all that on their doorstep. Why not share in a little bit of that good fortune…. Interested? Then please Contact DeerStalker for further details, pricing and date availability |
