Sorry for the late reply guys. Been a hectic week with hunters in camp, so have a day off to finish this up.
After the discussions around the camp fire that evening, it became clear what I needed to do. My original plan, was to only shoot a stag bigger than the one that I got the previous year. I needed to get the rut out of my system, so ultimately, that plan went out of the window.
I knew where I had left an old stag the previous evening.
Early the next morning, we start walking in the direction of the scrape where I had seen the old boy the previous evening. The stags were not croaking as aggressively as the previous day. Something that I noticed was that they seemed to get more vocal, as the sun came out.
The early morning was a bit overcast, but it would not be long for the sun to break through.
On the way there, we walked past a Porcupine hole. Easy to identify, since Porcupines are hoarders.
Never mind the obvious signs of the quills, the collection of an old Baboon skull and some bones is what gave it away. We have also in the past found various other items collected by these mysterious creatures, such as Bushbuck skulls and tractor steering wheels.
We proceeded in the direction of the scrape, as the sun broke through the clouds. Within minutes, the stags started croaking. I think my theory might just hold water.
I checked out a couple of stags on the way there, but they were all young. If I was to shoot a smaller stag than last year, he will need to be old.
I proceeded further up the slope, when we heard the unmistakable, deep voice of an older male. He was rutting hard, chasing females, spikes and anyone that would come close to him. We could see the movement in front of us, but tried to stay hidden as best we can. We inched forward. He wasn't taking notice. Maybe we should have been, since we missed the females lying under some overgrowth. I guess the rut not only affects the prey but the hunter as well.
The females exploded, and made their get away. He simply chased them, still croaking, not having a hint of clue of the danger he left behind.
We walked in their direction, and planned to check in on other stags giving away their position. Nothing really excited me. I could see the old boy had quite a bit broken off his palms, but this did not bother me. I had seen him twice now in the same place, and we almost had a history. It had almost become personal. Almost like the high school girl that was off limits....
We walked a loop that took us almost an hour, making our way back to our original position, close to the scrape of the Stag where the females busted us. We were barely 100 yards or so away, when he started croaking in the same position. The croaking was very spaced out, so it was difficult to poi point his exact location. As I came over a crest, he caught my eye lying under the trees, exactly where he was in the morning. This time, we had am embankment in front of us. Perfect cover. My first range to him was 38 yards. I moved more to my right, which closed the angle and the distance. Now, it was a waiting game. As I peeked over the embankment, there was a chocolate coloured doe looking straight at the movement.
The Ghillie suit was doing its job of breaking up my silhouette, as I slowly retreated, and decided to give her enough time to relax. As long as it was quiet, I knew he was there. Once he got up, he would make a noise.
We sat there for about 25 minutes, when he let us know that he had, had enough break, and was going at it full steam again. I peaked over the ridge slowly, to see him walking closer to us. I picked up my binoculars and pinned him at 25 yards on the rangefinder. I swiftly adjusted my single pin site to the required yardage, hooked in my release and watched him walking over to the chocolate coloured doe, lying about 15 yards from us. She was not in the mood, so he turned and walked away, croaking his lungs out. As he got to the edge of the trees he had been laying under, I drew my bow below the ridge of the embankment, and slowly came up until my flight path was clear. He stopped. I settled the pin low, in the crease of his shoulder, as he was slightly quartering away....
Bucks does and fawns Marius even the aussies got it right 
