<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_1"></SPAN></span></p>
<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="ich1" style="max-width: 46.875em;">
<ANTIMG class="w100" src="images/i_ch1.jpg" alt="Grazing Deer" /></div>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="I">I<br/> THE CHARM OF SPORT AMID<br/> THE HIGH HILLS</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">The</span> fascination of deer-stalking is largely due to
the romance of the hill—the hill as it is known
only to those who love it and understand something
of its hidden mysteries. The long day,
all too quickly ended, with the silent but
sympathetic stalker—alone with Nature in its
most inspiring and elevating form—the ever-changing
beauty of sky and hill—the joy of
watching deer when they have no suspicion that
they are being watched—the opportunities of
seeing rare birds and finding rare plants—all
these things apart from the difficulty and interest—and
the greater the difficulty the greater the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_2"></SPAN>[2]</span>
interest—of trying to outwit—in other words
trying to get within shot of the particular stag
one is after—go to make up the attractions of
what some of us think is the very best of true
sport.</p>
<p>I well remember a famous statesman, who
had himself owned one of the best deer forests in
the Highlands, saying to me that the greatest
attraction of stalking is that it takes one to places
where otherwise one would never go, and enables
one to see the most wonderful things which
otherwise one would never see. Further, there
is probably no form of sport where less pain and
suffering are inflicted, assuming that any one
who stalks will take the trouble to know his rifle
well, and will not take a long or risky shot. The
shot itself after all plays only a small part in the
pleasure of a day’s stalking. I have friends,
first-class rifle shots, who delight in stalking,
and who, when they have arrived within shot of
the stag they have stalked, will sometimes not
shoot at him at all. This would not always be
easily accomplished by those who have strongly
implanted within them the instincts of the hunter,
or perhaps I should say the primitive man.</p>
<p>Again, to pass from stalking, what is the real<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_3"></SPAN>[3]</span>
explanation of the intense enjoyment of ptarmigan
shooting on the high tops after the close of the
stalking season? I have more than once heard
this described as the most enjoyable of all kinds
of shooting. As is well known, on a still clear
day the ptarmigan is the easiest of birds to shoot,
but on a wild windy day one of the most difficult—twisting
and turning with extraordinary
rapidity. Neither this latter fact, however, nor
the exhilarating and bracing air at the altitude
where these birds are to be found wholly explains
the enthusiasm of those who have had this
sport. I have no doubt that the environment of
the high hills and all that this means are largely
the cause of this enthusiasm. The delights of
grouse shooting, whether in the case of driven
birds, or over dogs, are greatly increased by the
same cause. Without entering upon the well-worn
controversy as to the respective advantages
and disadvantages of these two forms of sport,
is there any one who has enjoyed both of them
amid the hills who has not ineffaceable memories
of the vistas of marvellous beauty which he has
revelled in again and again while waiting in his
butt for the first birds of the drive, and—to change
the scene—of the pleasures of many a glorious<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_4"></SPAN>[4]</span>
twelfth in the company of an old friend with whom
he was in perfect sympathy, watching the dogs at
work amidst the purple heather on the side of the
hill or along the heather-clad banks of a burn?</p>
<p>It is true also of salmon and trout fishing
in the Highlands that the angler’s sense of peace
and contentment is largely due to the influence
of the hills. This is especially so in the golden
days at the beginning of August, those glorious
days before the serious fun begins, when the
trout in the loch are more of an excuse than a
serious ploy, when one discusses the growing
antlers of the big hart on the Home beat, when
one basks in the sunshine of the High Hills.</p>
<p><SPAN name="GOLDEN_DAYS" id="GOLDEN_DAYS"></SPAN></p>
<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="i004fp" style="max-width: 62.5em;">
<ANTIMG class="w100 p2" src="images/i_004_fp.jpg" alt="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="pfs80">GOLDEN DAYS.</p>
<p class="pfs80">By <span class="smcap">V. R. Balfour-Browne</span>.</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Whilst writing what I have already said about
stalking I recollected the following verses, which
I intend to keep and read for my encouragement
in days to come—days which are, I hope, still very
far off:</p>
<p class="pfs100 fs80 p2">NORTHWARD BOUND</p>
<p class="pfs100 fs80">(<span class="smcap">Once More</span>)</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent0">Does your heart still beat with the old excitement</div>
<div class="verse indent0">As you wait where the Scotch expresses are?</div>
<div class="verse indent0">Does it answer still to the old indictment</div>
<div class="verse indent0">Of a fond delight in the sleeping-car,</div>
<div class="verse indent0">As it did when the rush through the autumn night meant</div>
<div class="verse indent0">The Gate of Desire ajar?</div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent0">Or has the enchanting task grown tougher,</div>
<div class="verse indent0">And has that arrow beyond you flown?</div>
<div class="verse indent0">For the hill that was rough enough is rougher,</div>
<div class="verse indent0">The steepest climb that was ever known,</div>
<div class="verse indent0">And the forest appals a veteran duffer</div>
<div class="verse indent0">Sorely beaten and blown?</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent0">Oh! the years, the years, they be rusty and mothy;</div>
<div class="verse indent0">Oh! the flesh it is weak that once was strong;</div>
<div class="verse indent0">But the brown burn under the stone falls frothy</div>
<div class="verse indent0">And the music it makes is a siren song;</div>
<div class="verse indent0">Then the pony’ll take you as far as the bothy,</div>
<div class="verse indent0">And that’ll help you along.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent0">See! from the tops the mist is stealing,</div>
<div class="verse indent0">Out with the stalking-glass for a spy;</div>
<div class="verse indent0">Round Craig an Eran an eagle’s wheeling</div>
<div class="verse indent0">Black in the blue September sky.</div>
<div class="verse indent0">A fig for the years! Why, youth and healing</div>
<div class="verse indent0">At the end of your journey lie.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class="pfs70">(Reprinted from <cite>Punch</cite>, Sept. 14, 1921, by kind permission of the
Proprietors.)</p>
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