Part 12

We saw that the fish had taken the bob fly, and this added to my apprehensions, as I was afraid, particularly as I knew the loch was not deep, that the tail fly would catch in something at the bottom of the loch, and there would then be a catastrophe. Time wore on, and my back and arms began to ache most prodigiously. Still the fish seemed as strong as ever. My brother said he must have some lunch, and whenever Sandy and I got the chance we managed to eat some sandwiches. I began to wonder how much longer the fly would hold, and whether this fish would prove to be one more of the many good fish lost through the fly working out at the end of a long fight.

I could do nothing except hold on for all I was worth, keeping as tight a line as I could, and, of course, lowering the point of the rod whenever the fish jumped, as he frequently did. As time went on, however, the rushes made by the fish were not so long, and he seemed, at last, to have abandoned his leaping tactics, which had given me so much anxiety in the earlier stages of the struggle. The fish was gradually becoming exhausted, and the strain on the rod and line seemed to be much greater. “He’ll be turning soon, I’m thinking,” said Sandy. The end, one way or the other, could surely not be far off now, and we discussed the question whether or not we should try to land, but, on the whole, we thought we had better not run the risk of getting into very shallow water. At last the fish turned on his side, though he quickly righted himself and made another short run. Sandy had got the boat in about three feet of water, a few yards from the bank; he handed the oars to my brother, seized the gaff, and got out of the boat. I slowly reeled in my line; there was another short rush from the fish, and again I reeled him up. Nearer and nearer he came to the boat, and again turned on his side. Suddenly, in less time than it takes to tell, Sandy had the gaff into him, and was struggling to the shore. Safely landed, the fish was speedily given his coup de grâce. He was a very red male fish, weighing rather over 10¼ lb., and I had hooked him in the hard part of his upper jaw, which accounted partly for the fact that I had so little power over him, and also for the fact that the hook had kept its hold so well. “Now then, Sandy,” I said, as I got out my flask, “if any man ever deserved a drop of good whisky, you do.” “Shlàinte” (Gaelic for “Your good health”), said Sandy. “It was a grand fight, sir; I’ve never seen a better.” “How long do you think you were playing him?” said my brother. “Somewhere about an hour, I should think,” I replied. “Four hours and six minutes,” he said. “I looked at my watch when you hooked him, and it was then just a minute or two before half-past one; and I looked at my watch when Sandy gaffed him--it was then twenty-five minutes to six. I counted the number of times the fish jumped, and it was seventeen. I don’t suppose you noticed it,” he added, “but there was a cart going off with peats, near the loch, soon after you began to play the fish, and it came back again not long ago.” We heard afterwards that the men in the cart thought I was playing another fish when they passed us on their return journey.

The light was going as we pushed the boat out again. I handed the salmon rod to my brother, and he began to fish from the stern of the boat, while I fished again from the bow with the trout rod. Sandy allowed the boat to drift slowly along the edge of some weeds. I do not think that I had more than three or four casts when, just as I was nearing the end of my cast, a salmon, which looked as bright as silver, and about the same size as the one we had just killed, rose at my tail fly, with a head and tail rise as if it meant business; and, as it turned to go down, I felt the hook go home. The fish did not run, but worked about near the surface of the water, close to the weeds, as if it did not realise that it was hooked at all. “Back the boat quickly, sir,” said Sandy, handing the oars to my brother, and seizing the gaff. My brother took the oars and backed the boat quickly in the direction of the fish. I reeled up my line; there was a momentary vision of about three-quarters of Sandy leaning out of the boat, a tremendously quick lightning-like movement of the gaff, and the salmon, gaffed with extraordinary skill behind the shoulder, was in the boat.

I do not think that more than four minutes could possibly have elapsed from the time that I hooked the fish to the time it was in the boat. It was a beautiful, clean-run female fish, with a small head, and in perfect condition. It was very lightly hooked, and if it had run or jumped at all it would almost certainly have got off. It weighed within a few ounces of the weight of the fish which had given me such a tremendous battle, and yet, owing to the extraordinary skill of Sandy with the gaff, and the speed with which my brother had acted, this fish occupied us only as many minutes as the other one had hours!

We continued to fish for a short time, but it became dark so rapidly that very soon we had to stop, and without a further rise of any kind.

THE HOMING INSTINCTS OF WOUNDED DEER

In these days one hears so much of the homing instincts of animals and birds that the two following authentic instances of deer, whose habits are not so generally known as those of some other animals, may be of interest.

Stalkers, and those who know the habits of the red-deer, know well that a stag when wounded will seek what he knows from experience to be a haven of safety. Thus, if he has come in the rutting season from his native forest and is wounded on other ground, he will assuredly make for the sanctuary in that forest. So, too, if he has been born and reared in a particular part of the forest and has come to regard that place as his home, he will struggle to reach it if wounded. One interesting illustration of this has come within my own experience, and another was related to me by the stalker who was with me on the occasion referred to.

I was stalking in a forest upon part of which unusual conditions prevailed. That part which was nearest to the lodge was enclosed by a deer fence, but, owing to careful management, and the introduction from time to time of fresh stock, there are some very good heads in this part of the forest. I always prefer, however, when I have the chance, to stalk on the open ground outside the fence, although it means harder work, as it is the far beat and part of it is on very high and precipitous ground. It has, however, this great fascination--that one never knows what sort of stag one may find there. The forest itself is an exceptionally good one, and marches with several of the finest forests in the Highlands.

By FINLAY MACKINNON.]

On the day in question I was on the far beat and secured a good stag after an exciting stalk. After seeing the stag safely put on the pony in charge of the gillie, the stalker and I set off towards the farther end of the beat in the hope of getting a second stag. Not far from the march, on precipitous ground covered with rough boulders of rock, we spied a good stag with a large number of hinds. The deer were in an awkward position, and we found that it was impossible to get nearer to them than about 200 yards. The day was getting late, therefore this was probably our only chance. The stag was moving about and might very soon be over the march, so that there was no time to be lost. Getting quickly into the best position I could, I fired, and evidently hit the stag very hard. Directly I fired the deer disappeared as if by magic. The stalker said he was quite certain the stag could not go far. On reaching the spot on which the stag had been standing when I fired we found marks of blood, and had no difficulty in following these for some 50 yards, by which time we were close to the march, and in full view of a large corrie and other ground, all of which was in the neighbouring forest. We saw what were evidently some of the hinds making off across the march, but the stag and the rest of the hinds were nowhere to be seen. We moved a little farther on where we could get a view of other ground, when suddenly there was a tremendous clatter of loose stones, and we saw the stag and some twenty hinds about 120 yards from us. The deer stopped for a few seconds, the stag looking straight at us, and then away they went. We ran quickly to the point where they had disappeared, and saw the hinds we had last seen with the stag going in the direction which the other hinds had previously taken, but the stag was not with them. “He cannot go far,” said the stalker. The ground was very much broken up by large stones and boulders, and we both thought that the stag must be lying hidden not far from us. We were quite certain from the position we were in that we could not have failed to see him unless he had turned back below the hill and gone into the forest from which we had come. We noticed the hinds stopping every now and then and looking back, as they so often do when one of their number has been wounded and is behind them. By following the marks of blood on the stones we traced the course the stag had taken for about 200 yards, but after that we lost the tracks. We made the most careful search, and the stalker went some distance into the adjoining forest, but all in vain. The light was beginning to go, and at last we decided to give up the search, for that day at any rate. The stalker, who had had his glass on the stag when I had fired at him, said he was quite sure from what he saw then and from the way that the stag was bleeding that he had been mortally wounded and could not live long. I felt very much depressed, for if there is one thing that distresses me more than another it is to leave a wounded stag on the ground; and though I thought that the stalker with his experience was right in thinking that the stag could not live long, particularly as I knew my rifle and felt sure that I must have hit the stag somewhere not far from the heart, the fact remained that one could not be quite sure what had really happened. This was the last day of the season, and I was leaving on the following morning. The stalker promised me that he would search the ground on the following day, and that he would also tell the stalkers in the neighbouring forest, and that if he heard anything of the stag he would let me know. “I shall certainly know the head if it is ever found,” he said, “for when the stag looked straight at me I could see the space between his forks at the top. It was a ten-pointer, I think; the points were very regular, but as far as the head goes it is not much to grieve over, for it was on the narrow side.” “Still, it is a bad business,” I replied. “If we only had had a tracker we should certainly have got him without any trouble.” A really reliable tracker is indeed invaluable on an occasion of this kind, but it is only in a few forests that dogs are now used in following wounded stags. The noble deer-hounds which were the trusty allies of our fathers on the hill have during the last forty or fifty years been replaced in those forests where dogs are still used by the golden retriever, or more often by the collie, the two dogs last mentioned having been found more suitable for pursuing wounded deer. The deer-hound was so high-couraged that he would not bay the stag, but would pull him down or be killed by him. A further objection was that he would hunt by sight rather than by scent, it not being in his nature to put his nose to the ground, and it was therefore practically impossible to train him as a tracker.

From the Picture “After a Hard Day” by PHILIP STRETTON.

By permission of Messrs. Landeker & Brown, Ltd. London, E.C.2, Publishers of the large engraving.]

I heard no more of the wounded stag until the following season, when I once more found myself in the same forest. I asked the stalker whether he had any news of the stag. He said: “That is a question. The stalkers in the other forest never found any stag, but a very curious thing has happened. About 20 yards inside the fence, at the nearest point in that part of the forest which is fenced in from where you shot the stag, that would be about a distance of three miles, the skeleton of a stag was found last April. The head stalker on that part of the forest tells me he is quite sure it was not a stag that was shot inside the fence. I have got the head here, and will show it to you.” I examined it carefully. It was a good regular head of ten points, with remarkably long forks at the top, and I thought it looked a better head than that of the stag I had shot, and said so to the stalker. He replied: “It is the same shape, and I well remember noticing the space between the forks at the top. Not only that, but in April when we found him there were no stags on that part of the ground and had not been for some time; also by the bleached condition of the horns, I am quite sure he must have died in October or early in November, and he could not have died a natural death after the winter was over. And as to his getting through the fence, at that season of the year stags have a wonderful way of getting through a fence if they want to do so. If he was mortally wounded after he got outside he would be sure to go back to the place where he was born and knew he was safe, and depend upon it he would find his way back through the fence where he got out. One can never be sure, but on the whole I think he is the stag you shot. You see the only way he could have gone that day without our seeing him was out of sight round that hill in the direction of the fenced-in part of the forest. I am sure he was mortally wounded, he had seen us; and after seeing us, being wounded, he would go straight on, as you know, so long as his strength would carry him and he would go straight to his old home. They’re wonderful in that way, deer are: I shall never forget how I was taught that years ago when I was out with the young chief at X.”

I asked the stalker to tell me the story, which I give in his own words: “About twelve years ago, when I was a gillie at X, I was out one day with the chief’s son late on in the season, about the end of the first week in October. About 2 o’clock in the afternoon we saw a Royal stag and some hinds above the black shed, between the lodge and the second stalker’s house, and after a successful stalk, he fired but wounded the stag, just grazing him in the lower part of the body. The stag did not give the rifle another chance, but turned his head fair south, towards the top of the C----. We watched him crossing the top, then we made for where we saw him crossing, and we saw him about 300 yards away as he was going down the opposite side, and he was still going south, then getting out of view, into a hollow. The stalker did not lose his chance, but made a sprint to get up to him, which he managed to do, but the wily fellow was always keeping his back to his enemy, and making fast for some private corner, where he hoped he would be safe. The trigger was not pulled for him. Being in plain ground there, and the Royal stag fast on the move, we could do nothing but wait and watch where he would cross the next ridge, which was fully a mile away. Once the stalker saw him cross, we made at once for the spot he went out of our view, getting there as soon as our legs could carry us, and after spying that part of the ground very carefully, we failed to pick him up. That was in the centre of the Glashan, a piece of ground about 1½ miles square, very level, with shallow peat bags, and guarded on three sides with slightly rising ridges. The distance between where the stag was wounded and where we lost him was about seven miles. By this time the light was failing, so we had to make tracks for home. One evening, a few days later, when it was beginning to get dark, the head stalker was out about the larder, and noticing a stag with some hinds above the lodge, and putting his glass on him, at once knew the stag he had the run after a few days before. I was just after getting home from the hill, and he ordered me to go and shoot him. The rifle I never fired before, and the sight although marked for 100 yards I afterwards found to be a 70 yards sight. I got to about 100 yards from the stag, but having the evening light, and being among juniper bushes, I had to shoot off my hand, and missed him. There was no other chance that evening, as the light was getting bad. Two or three days after, about 10 o’clock in the morning, I was going along to the E---- Bothy, about a mile from the lodge, when I saw about twenty hinds and a stag amongst them, and after putting the glass on him, I knew it was the same stag. I at once went back to tell the head stalker, but finding him not at home, I took the rifle. I got to about 120 yards of the stag, but shooting too low, I grazed his foreleg below the heart; he did not give me another chance then, but left the hinds and turned to the south across the top. When I got to the top I noticed him about half a mile from me; keeping him in view he went for about two miles south, then turning south-west I kept him in view for three miles, then lost sight of him, but I could understand by the movements of some hinds the line he was taking. I made for the place where I lost sight of him, but having got there I could see nothing. I followed up the burn that rises at Cairn-an-S----, and after getting half-way up the burn, I came out to the open to spy. I was spying for some time, and was putting my glass in its case when I noticed a black object about half a mile away, about the size of a blackcock. I used my glass, and who was this but the Royal lying in the centre of the Glashan, on quite level ground. He was lying down licking the scratch where I wounded him earlier in the day. With great difficulty and after a long crawl I got to about 70 yards of him, and shot him through the neck. That was a lucky range, as the rifle was sighted for 70 yards. I was in an awful mess through crawling in burns and gutters after him, but I was very keen on getting him, and as an old chap once said to me, ‘When you have a difficult thing to do you must not be minding your clothes.’ Well, I was pleased I got him as I was sure he could not live very long. I considered what to do; my first idea was to put him in some safe place, and come for him next day, so I took him to a burnside into a hollow and hid him, but before doing so I put a small chack with my knife above his brow antler, to know him if ever I saw him again, as I did not know who might be looking at me. I was in doubt whether I would take his head off or leave it there all night. I at once changed my mind, as it was so good a head I did not like leaving him out there all night. I cut his head off, giving him a long neck for being stuffed. That finished, I shouldered the Royal head, took him back five miles to the E---- Bothy, left him there that night, and took it two miles further to the lodge the next day, and to-day it hangs in the chief’s mansion. The young chief was very glad to get it. The head was a very good Royal, thick horns, points equal and well-shaped. The distance between the place where I shot him through the neck and the place we lost him the day the young chief wounded him is hardly half a mile apart. That day the stag was first wounded, he went whatever a distance of six or seven miles to that quiet spot in the centre of the Glashan. The day I shot him through the neck I followed him for about eight miles from the place where I grazed his foreleg below the heart. He never saw me, he never stopped, always making for that private spot, the place in the centre of the Glashan. So this stag went two times to that same place, as he hoped he would be safe there, and possibly that stag might have been lying in the same bed both nights.” This shows the distance a stag will go for safety, and that he goes back to his old home, the spot where he thinks he is safe. And so I believe that my friend the stalker must have been right in thinking that the stag he had found in April was the stag I had shot in the early days of the preceding October.

From a Photograph by the Author.]

THE METHOD BY WHICH EAGLES AND HAWKS SECURE THEIR PREY

As is well known, the eagle lives largely on carrion such as dead deer and carcases of sheep, differing in this respect from the peregrine falcon, which lives exclusively on what it kills. Generally speaking, the eagle secures its prey by pouncing on it on the ground and carrying it away in its talons. He swoops down at a great pace in a slanting direction, and in this way not only captures hares and rabbits, but also grouse and ptarmigan on the ground and young ducks on the loch. It is very interesting to watch the great bird searching slowly along the side of a hill, about 50, 100, or 150 yards above the ground; then he suddenly pounces, and in a moment is up again and away with his prey in his talons. So regularly does the eagle adopt this method of capturing his prey on the ground, that I have met stalkers who have told me that they do not believe that an eagle can overtake any swift-winged bird such as grouse or black game. This is certainly wrong, for the eagle does sometimes, though comparatively rarely, adopt the other method of securing his prey--the method which I have already described (see p. 64, supra)--that of pursuing and catching his prey in the air, and in this way without doubt captures blackcock, grouse, and ptarmigan. I have already stated (see pp. 57-70, supra) that in my opinion the eagle in his downward flight is faster than the peregrine. Even in his horizontal flight, once he gets going he can fly very fast if he chooses, but of course is not nearly so agile and cannot turn and twist with the rapidity of the peregrine, and the result is that when he overtakes his quarry he frequently misses him.

Nearly a hundred years ago one of the most acute observers amongst ornithologists wrote as follows: “In another part of the Western Highlands of Scotland we had an opportunity of witnessing the powers of flight of this bird in pursuit of its quarry. An old blackcock was sprung and was instantly pursued by the eagle (who must have been on a neighbouring rock unperceived) across the glen, the breadth of which was at least 2 miles.

“The eagle made several unsuccessful pounces, but as there was no cover and the bird large, it probably fell a victim in the end.”

Lastly, as I have already said in the pages just mentioned where I have fully discussed the matter, the eagle on rare occasions swoops down at a terrific pace on his prey in the air, striking it to the ground but not clutching it or, to use the falconer’s phrase, binding on it.

The eagle has a great partiality for hares, cats, young fox cubs, and young lambs. I remember James Macintosh, head stalker at Loch Rosque, telling me that on two occasions whilst waiting at a fox den he had shot an eagle. He added that, whilst the old foxes are away, the cubs, when they get hungry, sometimes make such a noise that they can be heard at a considerable distance, and that he believed this attracts the eagles, particularly if their eyrie in which they are rearing their young happens to be in the vicinity. He went on to say that he thought this accounted for his sometimes finding fox dens containing only one or two cubs instead of the usual number of three to seven. There is no doubt that eagles sometimes attack deer calves, fixing their talons in their victim’s neck or back and striking the calf with their wings. They frequently hunt in pairs, and have been seen to drive the calf over a precipice.

On rare occasions eagles have been known to attack a full-grown stag. In certain parts of the Highlands they have lately increased in numbers, and perhaps as a consequence, their ordinary food not being so plentiful, have become bolder.

Only last year I was stalking in a forest where a few days earlier a stalker had witnessed a most unusual incident. The following is his account of what he saw:

“A gentleman and I were out stalking on the 25th of September, and while the gentleman was having lunch, I went off about 200 yards to have a spy. I got a stag lying at the foot of a rock. While I had the glass on him, an eagle suddenly swooped down and attacked him. The stag went headlong into a bog, but managed to get up. I then ran back for the gentleman thinking we would have a shot, but by the time we got back the stag and eagle were over the sky-line and the eagle still following while going over the sky-line, but after that we don’t know what happened, as both eagle and stag went out of sight.”

Donald Matheson, who has had a lifelong experience in the forest and has only recently retired after having been for many years stalker at Glen Shieldaig to Mr. C. J. Murray of Loch Carron, told me that on one occasion, but on one occasion only, he saw an eagle attack an adult stag.

“It would be, as far as I remember,” he said, “between the 6th and 10th of October in the year 1888 when I was spying one morning at the forest stables. I picked up a stag on the top of Glen Shieldaig, quietly feeding on the Glaschnoc side, and while having my glass still on the stag an eagle swooped down on his head. The stag fell on his hind-quarters, but was soon on his feet again and ran for his life while the eagle was fixed on him. The stag made for a thick clump of birch-trees, and immediately the stag got under cover the eagle could not keep its hold, owing to the thick branches of the trees, and left the stag. The eagle kept hovering for some time above the wood where the stag was concealed, but at last flew away.”

Whilst stalking in the neighbouring forest of Applecross two years ago, Colonel the Hon. Claude Willoughby had a most interesting experience, a description of which he has kindly given me permission to reproduce here: