RED SKINS
Emma and I were sneaking through the wet scrub and tussock, trying hard to get eyes on a groaning stag across the gully. We paused in the relentless wind to wipe the moisture from our binoculars as the cold rain continued to pour down.
We moved forward to a clear spot in the scrub when he roared again, a low lazy moan rather than a full-on aggressive bellow. We both spotted him lying in some tussock, contently watching his group of hinds feeding about him, but letting the younger stags know to keep their distance. Big Dad is the boss!
Even lying down, we could tell this guy was mature by his sheer bulk ¬– he made the other animals look small. His long, wet black antlers stood out from our position about 400 metres away.
I set up my camera on the tripod, keeping the lens dry as best I could while zooming in for a closer look. ‘Bloody hell’ was all I could think as the camera focused on the
