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Finally....


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The harder the quest, the more satisfaction gained if a man succeeds.

 

In 21 outings stalking one particular buck, it was only seen 3 times. The damage he did indicated that he may have been a nocturnal visitor and retreated to the hay fields once daylight arrived to bed down for the day. Indeed, on one occasion he was disturbed from his bed on purpose just to see if he actually existed. :icon_eek:

On the 19th visit he was seen at 5.30 am but the cover was too long and followed a two hour adrenalin fuelled wait to get a clear view. All that could be seen was the very top of his head. There was no way such a worthy and elusive quarry deserved a head shot. At 50 yards he brashed the sweet chestnut saplings with his small antlers, but no shot was available. By now, this was not just "shooting a deer", this was much, much more.

21st visit was an afternoon rather than the normal crepuscular stalks. Over two hours were spent in the places that looked the best. Fresh beds were found in the long grass, but of him no sign was seen. Then up to the area where the trees had been raked. A dense bank of bracken was empty as too was the plantation. Then, as things were being soaked in, standing stationary for no particular reason, just listening to the sounds of the countryside and mind in neutral, there was a slight movement and the friendly doe appeared with the buck following up the rear. They had only been thirty yards away bedded down, unseen.

The stalking sticks had already been left on their own to fall to the ground, there was no time for sticks. The roe were only fifteen yards away by now. They did no tknow a stalker was there. A whistle was tried to stop them. No result. Then another. Still no result. Then just as the buck was to enter a bramble banking a sharp bark brought him to a halt. A freehand shot at fifteen yards sealed the deal.

The buck has been finally grassed on the 21st stalk. It was only the third time he had been seen, despite leaving many calling cards of his visits.

Upon the shot he tried to run, but both forelegs had been incapacitated, his heart had been shot through, but even in this state he managed to shunt about twenty yards before coming to rest. He was given a minutes respect.

The body was large, he sported small antlers, and a large calous on a foreleg that was an old break told a tale of survival. For that's what he was. A survivor. A very worthy quarry that was hard won. The size of his antlers were of little importance, for he was as good as a gold medal buck in my mind. And that's all that matters. I guess.

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