fin003
AH elite
Colin’s clean Oxford English spoke of stalking, not hunting. “I’m just sat in a field looking at a roebuck that I think your Dad would be very pleased with” came across the telephone.
Fast forward one day; my parents and I are on a train gliding through the English countryside, just outside of the educationally famous Oxford. It was déjà vu.
Over the Easter break, my boyfriend’s German family and mine were meeting halfway in the UK for a few days of deer stalking. Accommodation based in Charlbury allowed both parties quick access to their respective grounds. Philipp with his father, and I with mine, we had booked with different estates, both of the free range nature. Bucks here grow large and boast a significant trophy weight due to good management, genetics, and nutrient rich foliage growing on belts of yellow Jurassic limestone.
A seasoned gamekeeper with an affable smile, Colin picked us up at our B&B that evening and introduced us to the landscapes we would cover together. Uniformly yellow fields of rapeseed, lush meadows of green, and dark tangled forests of bramble and vines set the scene. Unfathomable numbers of cock and hen pheasants added exotic colours to the terrain and made stalking difficult.
A spinous hedge divided a green and a brown field, which we glassed in anticipation of a big buck Colin had seen a few days prior. Not a single deer came out to sample the new growing greens. For the remainder of the evening, the edge of a rape field was our post, from which we spied on roe.
5:15 came early and so did the sunrise. We crept along cover until we could peer onto last night’s tilled field. Some time later, a grey-brown figure appeared three hundred metres away. Silhouetted against a dark forest, the two skyscrapers between his ears stood out. Keeping to the opposite side of the hedgerow, we snuck down the field and clawed through a gap in the thorns, just to see his head disappearing over the horizon. Back on the other side of the hedge, two black fallow bucks joined their white compadre in the field. I will forever remember the larger buck as “the one that got away.”
The meadows in the middle of the estate were cloaked by a thick fog due to their low lying relief. Leaving the soup to disappear with the rising temperatures, we continued to a higher field. Coincidentally, two bucks were just traversing it, and one had a significant limp. Colin judged the deer, and instructed Dad to set up. The one was a fine representative trophy, the injured youngster would be culled. Dew knocked off of the crop marked the animals’ obvious flightpaths and made for an easy tracking job.
Over lunch we soaked up the unaccustomed English sunshine, with temperatures soaring over 23°C. On this trip, despite the dew, the soil was parched, with large fissures forming on tracks where mud puddles usually lay.
The next two outings we tried our best to connect with the giant ‘silhouette buck’. Though we saw what we assumed to be him twice more, we never succeeded. Good company and charming terrain kept our spirits high. Meanwhile, Team Zerfass was having an extremely productive hunt. April 9th was a day for celebration, as Georg shot a heavy 2×3 buck on his birthday.
That evening my mom Brigitte joined the hunting party. While I was positioned in a high seat with a second game keeper, Jake, my parents and Colin headed out for an eventful evening. Though I was not along to witness the spectacle, the story was re-told often around the supper table. First, Dad made a 330 yard shot on a large buck.
Things were split-second, and only after the buck dropped on the spot, was the Rangemaster used to calculate the far distance. Next, they returned to find a large roe in the green field adjacent to where the monster had been spotted. Though not the same, this was also a mature buck, and my father chose to take advantage of the situation, rather than waiting for a ghost.
With low pedicles and A-frame rosettes, this buck had reached his prime some time ago, and was already deteriorating. Many people only dream of such a trophy; we were ‘chuffed’ as the British say. My father had concluded the hunt with another exemplary brace of bucks.
Imagine creeping along a dirt track enclosed by gnarly vines, varicoloured blossoms, and tall grasses. Now behold our surprise at coming across the relics of a beautiful residence growing wild. “I once spotted deer right through one of the door frames” whispered Colin. Windows no longer provided a barrier to the outside world, their empty rectangles merging with nature.
Our stalk continued to a stunning little valley in the shape of an amphitheater. Stood on the upper rim of the bowl amongst gorse shrubs, soaking up as much sunshine as possible, was a young muntjac buck, unaware of our presence. Unfolding the bipod and laying down prone, I steadied myself and waited for a shot. The opportunity arose, and the bullet crossed the 146 yards, dropping the buck on the spot.
Our parents departed and that left us with two remaining outings to enjoy the Cotswolds. Standing on top of a crumbling stone wall like a mountain goat on a ledge, a muntjac doe and buck caught our attention. That final evening revealed twelve muntjac in total, including one ancient male. Armed only with a camera, we snapped what we could and took delight in the sunset.
The abundance of small game was refreshing and made for outings that were never boring, no matter the success. Hunting in the UK is highly recommendable for hunters of all game sorts, big and small. Muntjac could possibly classify as both, but the roe are most definitely big.
Author:
Savanna Koebisch
The German-Canadian Savanna Koebisch was only 12 weeks old when her parents took her hunting for the first time. Her childhood and youth were marked by outdoor and hunting adventures around the world, and hunting has become an integral part of her daily life. She recently moved from her home in Alberta to Bournemouth, UK to study chiropractic.
