amongst my stalking experiences i shall always remember a week which i once had early one season in a famous forest on the west coast, through the kindness of my friend the proprietor, to whom i have been indebted for many excellent days’ sport. i have had long experience in stalking, but have never known worse weather than we had in this particular week. the rifles consisted of my host, stuart a fellow-guest, and myself. i was out stalking six days. on thursday, our first day, we killed five stags between us. my host and stuart each got two, while i got one. so far as my experiences on that day were concerned, i had no opportunity of a shot until near[98] the end of the day, when we came upon two stags, one of which i shot. as it was late in the day and i had only one pony, i did not shoot at the second stag. the following friday, saturday, and monday were terrible days of mist and storm. the mist never left the tops of the mountains all day long, although there was a strong wind blowing—it appeared to come up from the sea in great banks; and although we waited on each day for it to clear off, we did so in vain. on friday and saturday i never had a shot.

on monday, until late in the day, it looked as though i was to have the same experience. about four o’clock, however, having been lying on a ridge overlooking a wide, deep corrie, the mist suddenly lifted for a very few minutes and we spied some deer moving downwards on the far side of the corrie, and amongst them what appeared to be two or three good stags. there were also a number of hinds rather nearer to us than this lot of deer. we decided that the only way in which we should be likely to get a shot at the stags would be to go right round the upper edge of the corrie and try to get in between the hinds and the other lot of deer amongst which were the stags. this entailed a most uncomfortable walk; the[99] wind was so strong that one could hardly stand, it was quite impossible to keep a cap on one’s head, and it rained or hailed incessantly. at last we got round, and went down to the lower ground; we then managed, with a good deal of difficulty, to crawl safely past the hinds, and found that the other lot of deer were moving slowly, feeding downwards. after a time the deer lay down on a small hill in a sheltered place, and we crawled up to the top of an adjoining hill about 140 yards distant. we there made out that there was one good stag, an eight-pointer, who was lying down, and whose horns only could be seen from the place where we were lying. i got into position to shoot in case the stag should rise and give me a chance. it was now about half-past five, and we thought, considering how late it was getting and the conditions of the weather, that we should not be kept waiting very long. the stag, however, did not move for about half an hour, when he got up and turned round, and immediately lay down again. time went on, and what with the cold and wet i began to shiver, and felt that i must do something to alter the condition of things. it was close on 6.30, and we were five miles from the point where it had been[100] arranged that stuart and i were to meet the car, if possible, at six o’clock, and in any case not later than seven. i told the stalker that he must get the deer up somehow or other, and that he had better whistle them up; he strongly advised me not to do this, but to wait a little longer, as, if we did so, they would probably bolt and not give me a chance to shoot. i, however, persisted, and said we could not keep mr. stuart waiting any longer; besides, i was getting colder and colder. i therefore whistled; the deer took no notice. “a little louder,” said the stalker. i whistled louder. two of the smaller stags got up, and then the eight-pointer on the far side of the hill slowly got up, looking in our direction, and exposing his body over the edge of the hill, a fair broadside shot, at about 140 yards. i fired. “just over his shoulder,” said the stalker, and the stag still stood, as stags often will do when the bullet passes over them. i fired again and the stag instantly fell. “good shot,” said the stalker. i unloaded the rifle and handed it to the stalker, who began to put it into its cover, when suddenly the stag jumped up and galloped off. the bullet had no doubt grazed the spine, causing temporary unconsciousness. when a stag drops instantaneously,[101] as this one did, he is often only stunned, and it is well to be on the alert and get up to him at once, ready if necessary to shoot again. this was no new experience to either of us. the old stalker had been over fifty years in the forest and had seen the same thing happen many a time; nor was it new to me. we watched the stag as he galloped away apparently none the worse for his narrow escape, and i certainly felt very foolish. the old stalker kindly began to make excuses for me. “the line was right, but you were just a little high,” he said. “your pozeesyon was not good. you had been lying long, cold and shivering, in the wet. yon cartridges are lighter than yer regular ones, and that is why you shot over him.” “no, no,” i replied, “i missed because i could not shoot straight; it is a bad business; anyhow, it is better than having wounded him badly and then lost him; it is a comfort to think he is really very little the worse—now we have got to get back as quickly as ever we can.” and then in the gloom and mist, running and walking and tumbling, away we went. the last mile was down a hill path filled with loose stones. at last we reached the end of the road, and saw the car coming up from a point[102] about a mile lower down the road where stuart had arranged to meet us. “well,” i said, “i hope at any rate that mr. stuart has got a stag, if not two.” the stalker had been looking carefully at the road. “no,” he said, “mr. stuart has no stag the day.” i said, “how do you know that?” “oh,” he said, pointing to the marks on the road, “his ponies have gone home trotting—look at the marks of their hoofs—and if mr. stuart had got a stag the pony would be walking.” as soon as the car arrived we found that the stalker was right, and that stuart, who had only arrived at our meeting-place a few minutes before, had got no stag, never having had a shot. on reaching the lodge about 8.30 p.m. we found that our host had not yet returned from the river, where he had gone to try to get a salmon, and it was not until an hour later that he returned. he too had had bad luck, having hooked a large fish which it was impossible to follow, and which had taken out in its first rush at a terrific pace some fifty yards of line, and then, a strain being put on, broke the casting line, which, it subsequently turned out, had been used in the spring fishing and had not been properly tested before being used again. thus closed the third chapter in a[103] day which illustrated the truth of the proverb that “misfortunes never come singly.”

the following day, tuesday, showed no signs of improvement in the weather. thick mist on the tops, steady rain, and a wind, as usual, in the wrong direction. stuart was obliged to drive some miles off to see a friend, but i determined once more to try the hill. this time i was sent out on the home beat. i started off with the stalker and an old gillie named angus, who had had so much experience that he would have made an admirable stalker, and who is always very keen. i also had two ponies and a pony boy. the pony path goes straight up the mountain-side for two and a half miles. by the time we reached the point where the path stopped we were close to the edge of the mist, and the outlook seemed hopeless. we decided to cross over the opposite hill and go down on the other side, hoping that by that time the mist might have lifted. we left instructions with the pony boy to wait for two hours, and then if he heard nothing from us to go back right round to a point on the other side of the hill and wait there. on our way up the hill i found some beautiful little bastard pimpernel in flower, not very common in this part of the country. as[104] we worked our way up the mountain-side the wind became stronger and the rain heavier. it was intensely cold, and very difficult to see what was in front of us. having arrived at the ridge, nearly 3000 feet up, we tried to spy the corrie below. what with the tremendous wind and driving rain this was a matter of the greatest difficulty, and in conditions of this kind i always think there is a better chance of picking up deer with first-rate field-glasses than with a telescope. i managed, with my field-glasses, to discover two stags feeding in a sheltered part of the opposite side of the corrie, and, after shifting our position in order to get a better view of them, we found that there were some hinds feeding below them. we came to the conclusion that the only chance of obtaining a shot at the stags was by getting in between them and the hinds. after some trouble we succeeded in doing this, but old angus, who knew the corrie well, said that the wind at this place was very uncertain, and that it was a question whether the stags would not get our wind. he had hardly uttered this warning before there was a fatal puff in the wrong direction, and away went the stags long before we were near them. we decided to go on and[105] try the next corrie. it is difficult to imagine a greater contrast than the comparative warmth and peace which we were now enjoying as compared with the strife of the elements outside the corrie. the rain, too, had stopped, and i said to the stalker, “no wonder the deer came here; what a haven of rest!”

we now worked our way across the ridge, and then spied the big corrie below. we discovered two lots of stags. those in the first lot were moving on. the others were lying down in a place where they could be stalked without much difficulty; we therefore crawled some 400 or 500 yards, and, creeping cautiously up to the top of a little hill, saw the stags had got up and begun to feed. there was one quite clean about 90 yards below us, and another also clean about 130 yards from where we were lying. i fired at the near stag, who fell dead at once; i then covered the other stag and pulled the second trigger—result a missfire. i hastily reloaded and fired, killing the stag. we then went down to the stags which i had shot. the first was a six-pointer, whose horns and teeth showed him to be an old warrior. the second, a nine-pointer, was a younger beast, rather heavier. both stags[106] were in good condition, and weighed 13 st. 9 lb. and 14 st. 3 lb. clean. after gralloching the stags, we dragged them down the hill to a point from which we could signal to the pony boy. the ponies had long been used for carrying stags, and stood quietly whilst the stags were put on them. we soon reached the pony path, and after a walk of five miles reached the lodge.

the following day, wednesday, it rained and blew all day, and the mists hung low on the mountains, so that it was quite useless to attempt any stalking.

the next day, thursday, was the last day of my visit and that of stuart. stuart was particularly anxious to kill one more stag in the company of the second stalker, because he had killed his first stag in his company sixteen years ago in this forest, and had since then killed forty-eight stags in various forests. the day looked anything but propitious; there was mist and rain, and the wind was again in the wrong quarter. my host said he would go fishing up the glen; stuart was sent to try one of the far beats in the company of his old friend the second stalker, whilst i was left to try the home beat again. as we went up the hill the mist gradually lifted, and we saw two huge[107] golden eagles circling round and round. we saw no deer up to two o’clock; but whilst taking lunch we suddenly saw several stags coming round the side of a distant hill. we hastily finished our lunch and set out on what proved to be a long and exciting stalk. from time to time we had to remain lying perfectly flat, not daring to move a muscle. once we thought every chance of success was gone, for an old cock-grouse rose with his “go-back,” “go-back,” as we were nearing the rock from which we hoped to get a shot. the sun, of which we had seen nothing for so long, kept coming out and going in again. on a long stalk of this kind it is extraordinary what one sees and how ineffaceable is the memory of these sights—the eagle circling over the high tops not far distant; the blue hare leisurely making off, then stopping, sitting up and looking back; the ptarmigan, so beautiful in its mottled plumage, running in front of us, stopping now and again and peering around; the old cock-grouse rising with his warning described above, which too often brings the stalk to an untimely end; the many insects, some of them so strange and weird, that we see as we lie flat gazing into a clump of grass and moss; the granite boulders sparkling[108] in the sunlight as if studded with many diamonds—most, if not all, of these things i saw in this particular stalk. everything, however, comes to an end, and so at last i succeeded in getting a shot at the heaviest of the stags, who was standing on the side of a very rocky and precipitous hill. he ran a few yards and fell down dead. it was, indeed, fortunate that he fell where he did, caught between two rocks, for immediately below these rocks nothing could have stopped him from rolling down a precipice of several hundred feet, and, as old angus said, the venison would not have been worth taking home and the horns would have been smashed to atoms. the stag, an old one in good condition, was dragged down to a place where the pony could come up, and, leaving angus to find and help the pony boy, the stalker and i started to work our way homewards across the hill. we had been moving slowly onwards, spying from time to time, when we discovered a large number of stags feeding below us. a circuitous stalk brought us up to them, but in a very awkward position. it was impossible to get a shot, except by coming up to a point at the top of the hill below which they were feeding, and we should then be much too close to them.[109] there was, however, no choice, and after a cautious crawl we reached a point from which we could see the horns of stags moving away from us, at a distance of not more than 30 yards. crawling as flat as possible to the top of the little hill, the stalker slowly raised his head, and as slowly lowered it. he then whispered to me, “there’s a fine stag there, but he won’t wait long, and you’d better shoot over my back.” i cautiously raised the rifle over the stalker’s back in the direction indicated, and, slowly raising my head, saw a fine stag, with a good head, standing broadside on, about 70 yards away, looking straight at me. as quickly as possible i covered the stag’s heart and pulled the trigger; there was the unmistakable thud as the bullet struck the stag, who instantly turned and disappeared. “he’ll be all right,” said the stalker; “you don’t often hear a bullet strike more distinctly than that one did,” and on reaching the point where the stag had been standing we saw him about 80 yards below, lying dead. he turned out to be a royal, with very regular points and a good head, although he was going back and had evidently been better. like two of the four stags i had previously shot, he was an ancient warrior.[110] the mist, which had temporarily lifted, now came down again thicker than ever, and the stalker said that we should have an awful job to get the stag down, as it was a heavy one, and the ground was very awkward. we gralloched the stag, and took out the heart and liver in order to make him as light as possible, and then set to work to get the stag down. this was a very heavy job, and i could not help thinking, as i had often thought before, what an excellent thing it would be if every one who is going to stalk, whether proprietor, tenant, or guest, were obliged some time or other to take part in dragging a stag to the place where he is to be put on the pony, and help in putting him on the pony. we succeeded at last in getting the stag down, and the stalker then arranged to wait on the pony path lower down, in order to meet old angus and the pony boy, who would be bringing the first stag i had shot and the ponies. i took my rifle, the luncheon bag, and the sticks and glasses, and struck across the hill for the lodge. on my way down i began to speculate as to the age of the two old stags i had shot that day, and came to the conclusion that they were probably not less than fourteen or fifteen years old. the old gaelic saying, which [111]shows how little was formerly known as to the age of a stag, came into my mind:

tri aois coin, aois eich;

tri aois eich, aois duine;

tri aois duine, aois feidh;

tri aois feidh, aois firein;

tri aois firein, aois dbaraich,

which may be translated:

thrice dog’s age, age of horse;

thrice horse’s age, age of man;

thrice man’s age, age of deer;

thrice deer’s age, age of eagle;

thrice eagle’s age, age of oak.

it is probably true to say that a stag in its wild state rarely lives beyond sixteen or seventeen years of age. in those forests which are on islands, for example jura, stalkers have unusual opportunities of observing and learning the history of particular stags, and i recollect when stalking in north jura two years ago discussing this subject with john mackay, the head stalker. he told me that he had several times been familiar with a stag all through its life, and in more than one instance had seen a stag with a fine head gradually lose its points, until at last it had only comparatively short upright narrow horns with two, short brow points, the stag itself losing[112] steadily both in size and weight and becoming very light in colour.

i reached the lodge about 6.30. the stags weighed very nearly the same weight—16 st. 2 lb. and 16 st. 5 lb. clean—the royal being slightly heavier than the other. our host returned about eight o’clock, having waited an hour past the time at which he had arranged to meet stuart. the car was sent back for stuart, who, however, did not reach the lodge until half-past ten, after a very long and strenuous day. he had, however, secured his fiftieth stag after a most troublesome stalk. he was not able to get his shot till past seven o’clock, at which time he was about seven miles from the lodge. so ended a most delightful week’s sport, notwithstanding the awful weather which we had had.