For a couple of blokes from Queensland months trapped in lockdown central London wasn’t quite our cup of tea. With little else on the cards and no access to the bush, trading photographs we snapped of crafty urban foxes was the closest we came to shooting for months. Accordingly, with the relaxing of restrictions and approaching the famous red stag rut there was only one place we wanted to be -The Scottish Highlands.
Andrew and I have hunted a good number of the feral game species available in Australia, but never red deer, and never in Scotland. In addition, Andrew’s partner Jodie was joining us for this most memorable of hunts. With the combination of cunning quarry, picturesque location and a wee global pandemic we knew this was going to be a special experience.
We travelled up from London separately to meet at the charming 400 year old cottage on the 2500 acre Urrad Estate near Killiecrankie that was to be our home for the next three days. After settling in the Estate owner Daniel joined us for dinner and a few too many drinks whilst regaling us with tales of past hunts and his efforts to bag a McNab (taking a salmon, grouse and stag on the same day) on the estate (which also boasts class wing shooting and a lovely stretch of the river Garry).
We came to understand from Daniel that our timing could not be better. Whilst the red stag season runs from 1 July through until 20 October, it is only the last few weeks where the rut really begins. Hence, our two stalking days being the second and third of October was just perfect. To finish the night, we each had a final glass of Scotch and drew straws as to whom stalked first, cementing the order as Andrew, Josh then Jodie.
As dawn broke on Friday 2 October our luck continued. After stoking the embers of last night’s fire back to life and putting the kettle on we wiped the morning dew from the windows and ventured outside to be greeted by a bucolic image of the Scottish countryside. As we breathed the crisp mountain air into our lungs, we looked north to see the morning sun pushing the fog off the mountain-tops and listened to the eager yaps of the estate’s twelve spaniels being fed.
Shortly after breakfast we were met by the estate stalker, Jim, and drove to one of the front paddocks to sight in the Blaser R93 chambered in .270 Winchester, using factory federal ammunition. With all of us confident with the accuracy of the rifle, we piled back into the Ute and drove north across the river, watching the Pheasants and Red-leg Partridge dash for thicker cover as we travelled along the track. From here we would be on foot.
Leaving the vegetated river valley and heading to the base of the hills we witnessed a landscape unlike anything we had experienced in Australia. Not a single tree stood for as far as we could see. The mountains were dappled in purple and all shades of green punctuated by harsh grey rock-faces and fast-flowing mountain streams. Nowhere however, was there sufficient cover amongst the gorse and heather to provide a concealed approach to the stags that we could see several kilometres away through our Vortex binoculars.
Accordingly, we had a long and slow stalk ahead utilising the undulating terrain to cover our approach from the eyes of the wary hinds. Walking several kilometres through the stunning landscape and occasionally stopping to glass the hills we heard the haunting roars of the competing stags echo across the valleys long before we saw them. Andrew and Jim crawled forward to a position near the first shootable stag we saw, flushing grouse from their cover. However, a bare valley in between provided no opportunity to close the distance unseen and the stags moved on.
Luck would come Andrew’s way when we spotted the next group of stags near more favourable terrain. Jodie and I sat in silence watching a hind skip through the heather below in search of her calf while Andrew and Jim crawled forward to observe several competing stags on the next hill face. As the sharp crack of the .270 shattered the still mountain air and a grinning Andrew came bolting back to us we knew our first stag was down.
Upon crossing the valley we found a mature nine point stag laying dead in the grass, having been cleanly dispatched with one round to the engine room. Jim then delivered the stag’s last rites in the traditional Scottish way by placing a sprig of heather in the majestic beast’s mouth. From there we worked together to gralloch the stag, Jim blooded Andrew’s cheeks and we passed around the bottle of Drambuie.
Jim then delivered the stag’s last rites in the traditional Scottish way
After Daniel collected the stag on his 6x6 ATV and a brief break for lunch on the hillside Andrew handed the rifle to me and we stepped off again. Our hike now took us across the far northern ridge of the property where the rugged hills almost reach the height of a Munro (hills over 3000 feet in Scotland) before plummeting into a deep valley with views across to Ben Vrackie. We spotted a few good herds of deer, but couldn’t close the distance. Then, whilst in a small valley, a huge roar shattered the silence stopping us in our tracks.
Moments later the king of the hill crested a distant ridge with his harem of hinds, his antlers perfectly silhouetted against the sinking sun. This was a massive twelve pointer or a “royal” - too good to shoot, but awe inspiring to watch. We crawled forward to the crest of the hill for a better view and identified another royal with his harem off to the right engaged in a roaring match with the first monster. For 30 minutes we sat in silence watching the spectacle before moving off ahead of the rapidly fading sun.
As we walked downhill towards home we thought the day was finished and were content with the adventures we’d had. However, the mountains held more in store for us and a roar to our right sent us diving for cover. Jim, quickly grabbed me and moved towards a good shooting position to observe a lone stag moving through the heather, turned golden by the sun. It was another shootable nine pointer that I quickly dispatched with one shot to the heart from the .270. Again we gralloched the beast, I was blooded and we dragged him downhill to a vehicle-accessible track for collection in the morning.
After sleeping like logs we awoke on the Saturday with a feverish sense of excitement only to be greeted by driving rain. Not to be put off though, we met Jim and headed up to the hills to bag Jodie a stag. After parking the Ute we again began to glass the hills as ethereal tendrils of fog sunk through the valley and the rain refused to abate. Jim selected a different route for us and we followed a deeper creek -line up the hill, occasionally stopping to drink the pure mountain waters.
We then headed east, directly up the steep face of the aptly named “Heart-Attack Hill” with Jim setting a fast pace. The going was tough. As we squinted to keep the rain out of our eyes, the wind howled in our ears and the lactic acid built up in our calves. What started as a quick stop to glass the hills quickly became an opportunity to understand what the Scottish call ‘rain that goes straight through ye’ whilst shivering in the mud next to a peat bog. Thankfully, after an hour of this Jim and Jodie identified a couple of shootable stags and we pushed up to watch their final stalk.
it failed to properly penetrate the shoulder blade
By this stage the fog was really coming in and we were rapidly losing visibility of the stags across the valley. Jodie took a difficult shot at 200m with the young stag quartering away from her, which was well aimed, but upon later inspection, it failed to properly penetrate the shoulder blade. Jim and Jodie then quickly move forward watching the stag closely as it stood up and almost completely disappeared into
the thickening fog.
With only seconds to take the shot Jodie delivered a perfect follow -up shot behind the shoulder. Once gralloched, Andrew and I dragged the stag to the same track as where my stag from the day before was waiting. I fired up the Jetboil for a hot coffee to ward off the chill whilst we waited for Daniel, and Holly the cocker spaniel, to collect the two stags.
Once we were back in the cottage with the three stags dressed in the cool-room we showered, warmed up in front of the fire and went to see Daniel at the main manor on the estate. Daniel gave us a tour of the twelve bedroom residence dating from 1692, with a gin and tonic in hand. Particular attention was paid to the impressive trophy and gun rooms, which showcase centuries of fine fishing, stalking and wing shooting on the property.
That evening we enjoyed dinner at the Old Mill Inn in Pitlochry before returning to the fireplace with a bottle of fine Scotch. The next day, slightly worse for wear, we said our farewells and braced ourselves for the melancholy journey south to London. The breath-taking scenery and physically challenging hunt was a surreal experience for us and something we will never forget.
Josh Gardner
Published by Vintage Guns Ltd on (modified )
