Back Aa

Amid the High Hills

[155] <div class="figcenter illowp100" id="ich12" style="max-width: 46.875em;"> <ANTIMG class="w100" src="images/i_ch12.jpg" alt="A Wounded Stag" /> <div class="caption">Rage </div> </div> <h2 class="nobreak" id="XII">XII INSTANCES OF WOUNDED STAGS ATTACKING STALKERS</h2> It must often have occurred to every one who has had experience in stalking what a very different sport stalking would be if stags realised their power and had no fear of man. It is, of course, well known to every one who is interested in the habits of deer that a tame stag in the rutting season is one of the most dangerous animals, and some years ago a tragedy occurred in Ross-shire, when a stalker was attacked and killed by a stag which he had himself brought down from the forest as a calf and which knew him well. I have often asked experienced stalkers whether[156] they have ever known an unwounded stag attack a man, but with one exception I have never heard of any such case. The one instance to the contrary is that given by Mr. Frank Wallace in his delightful book, <cite>Stalks Abroad</cite>. In describing his stalking in New Zealand, Mr. Wallace gives what he describes as the only really well-authenticated instance which he can vouch for of a wild stag attacking a man, and adds that most likely the darkness and time of year had something to do with the stag’s boldness. He thus describes the incident: “It was dark by the time B. and his guide reached the river-bed, which at the point they struck it is very wide. They had scrambled along over the boulders and rocks with which their course was strewn for some distance, when they saw a dark object lying on the stones in front of them. This presently resolved itself into a sleeping stag, who, hearing them approach, jumped up and disappeared. They had not seen the last of him, however, for a little later they encountered him again, apparently very annoyed at having been aroused from his beauty sleep and determined to wreak vengeance on some one. Seeing them, he seemed to think they would be suitable[157] objects on which to make a start, and advanced with lowered head. B. threw a stone and hit it in the flank; but this had no effect, and the animal advanced a few paces nearer and stood swaying its head from side to side a few inches off the ground. As some one had to go and the stag seemed disposed to give no quarter, B. fired a shot, but without effect. The stag still advanced, until a second shot took him in the chest and finished him off. I saw him the next day where he had fallen. He had a small head of six points, and was obviously a young beast.” There are no doubt rare instances of a wounded stag attempting to attack a man.[30] I myself have never known such an instance, and, although I have often asked old stalkers whether they have ever known of anything of the kind, I have only once met with any one who has had such a personal experience. The head stalker of a well-known forest recently told me that on two occasions he had known of wounded stags attacking a man. The story of his experiences interested me so much that I asked him to write it down in his[158] own words. This he did, and the account he sent me was as follows: “I enclose here a long detail about the only time I happened to see wounded stags attacking. You will find it a long story, but it so impressed itself on my mind I could not help giving the movements of each day in full. Twice in my experience of twenty-four years I have seen a wounded stag attacking a man. The first happened on September 25, 1902, when I was stalking with Mr. A. In our start in the morning to the first spying place we usually on the way moved some hinds, but did not trouble about this, as seldom stags were seen so low down till October and stormy weather came. But this morning, when near the spying place, what was my surprise to see to our right lying on a flat, mossy bank a fine big stag with ten points. He did not see us, and we were preparing to stalk him when some of the hinds we moved passed a little beyond and carried him away, so we sat down and kept our glasses on them for a long distance till they settled and began to feed, but the stag kept on walking slowly and climbing till he went out of sight over the ridge beyond. We had to make a long detour to get past the hinds, and when we[159] got to the top and spied we found our stag some two miles away lying with a few small stags close to the march in a position fairly easy to stalk if he waited for about half an hour. We at once dipped down into the corrie at his right and moved along till opposite him. We then climbed till within 80 yards; he was still lying, so Mr. A. came to the conclusion to take him before getting up in case he would lose him on the march. Mr. A. fired, and hit high near the spine. The stag got up, but fell without making a step. I ran up to bleed him, and, crossing below, I noticed his head up again, and hurried up, when he made a straight bolt at me. With a quick jump to one side, I got clear of his head by a few inches. He toppled down the face and fell in a hollow. I think it was then he broke his back, as he could only raise his forepart. I called on Mr. A. to come up and finish him, as he was a dangerous beast. When he came in sight to one side and raised the rifle the stag half turned towards him and gave a loud, defiant roar, which was cut short by a bullet through the neck. He weighed 18 st. 2 lb.; the head had a wide span and long, but the horn was rather thin and smooth, which showed he was past his prime. Whether[160] he roared because he could not manage to get at the man or with fright when he saw the rifle it is hard to guess, but I remember thinking how like his roar was to the roar of two stags at each other on opposite sides of a corrie. “The second time was in 1907, about October 1st. This season we got some heavy stags on my beat. The heaviest was 20 st. 5 lb., and Mr. B., with whom I was then stalking, was keen to make a record average weight. One day we were spying near the far end of the beat, and saw a stag travelling on to our ground. At first we could not make out what he was, until he joined a bunch of hinds and showed us his broadside, when at once we saw he was a fine big beast, and, although neither of us said so, I believe we both thought at the time it was bigger than our 20-stoner. The day was getting late, and it was hard to stalk him where he was, and so near the march, if a failure, so we left him in peace, hoping for favourable wind and weather next day. Next morning we were early on the move and over the tops at best pace till we came to the spying point. We saw the same stag and hinds on the same face, but lower down, and, if anything, harder to get at. We went round the top of the corrie to[161] get straight above them. The place was a green steep face without a particle of cover, but fine and smooth to slide down at a steady, flat crawl. When within 300 yards I raised my head up to spy out the best way. What did I see right in our path and under a small bank, and not over five yards away, but a small knobber! To pass to either side without him seeing us was impossible. I turned to Mr. B. and asked him what he proposed we should do, but got no answer, and I then said I would pitch a small stone to make him move somewhere. I saw Mr. B. nodded assent. Then, after having a look to study the little stag’s position, I lowered down and pitched a stone on a guess, when I heard a sharp click like as if I hit him on the horn. He got sharply up and ran down at a terrific pace towards the near hinds, and they ran for a short distance down, when they suddenly all stopped and began to look sharply up towards us. I may admit I got palpitation, and from what I heard at my back I was getting no praise for my aim. Then we noticed the big stag, which was lying below and on the far side, rise, and, giving a loud roar, he made straight for the knobber, and drove him out and up towards us. But the little fellow got[162] round him, and ran again into the hinds with the big stag in hot pursuit. The big stag drove him down and across the river, which was the march. He stood on the bank and gave a parting grunt, and then began to drive his hinds up towards us. We at once began to crawl slowly down so as to get the cover of a small hump that was between us, which we managed to do in good time and get the rifle ready, for shortly we saw the first of the hinds appearing about fifteen yards to our left. They at once noticed us, but as we were then turned into two stones they only shied off a little and moved slowly uphill, except one, which began to circle round to get into our wind. I kept my eye on her to see when she would give the alarm, when we were to move over the hump and chance the stag being within shot. But before anything happened I felt a touch from Mr. B., and, looking round, saw the top of the big stag’s horns appearing quite close. When he noticed us he stood with a ferocious look towards us. Mr. B. quickly took aim and fired. I saw the blood gushing from the stag’s throat, low, and near his foreleg. He staggered and fell. Mr. B. getting up suddenly threw his rifle down and ran over to bleed him. I went to pick up the rifle,[163] and then, turning to have a look at our trophy, lo! there was the stag up and Mr. B. holding on firmly to both horns, his arms well out and rigged and kept well back close to his shoulders, the stag giving nasty digs and always trying to get into him. I saw at once that things were not looking well, so I loaded the rifle so as to disable the stag by shooting him through the haunches. When I stepped near for fear of accident they began of a sudden a merry go round and round, so fast that I dare not shoot. They went round and round six or seven times. I saw something would have to be done quickly, so, putting the rifle away, I stepped close and plunged in on the opposite side, taking hold of his horns, so with the weight of 30 st. between us we pulled the noble brute down, when Mr. B. managed to put the knife into his throat. “Now this stag was losing a lot of blood all the time, and must have been losing his strength, which I consider saved us, and in my opinion the stag was keener to get into the man than to get away, for I noticed he always circled towards him. Mr. B., as a rule, always bled his own stags, and this time, after taking hold of the horn to bleed him, the stag got up suddenly, and Mr. B. stuck[164] to him, and then Mr. B. found he could not safely let him go, as he saw at once the stag would turn on him if he got the least chance. He said to me after it was all over, ‘That was a very near thing,’ and so it certainly was.” My friend Vincent Balfour-Browne has reminded me that the latter instance of a wounded stag attacking a man is similar in some respects to Charles St. John’s thrilling story of the Muckle Hart of Ben More in his <cite>Wild Sports and Natural History of the Highlands</cite>, in which case, to use Balfour-Browne’s words, the stag was certainly keener to get into the man than to get away. <hr class="chap" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2

Update Required To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.