WINTER SOLSTICE
It was a cool night with a blue haze on the snowcapped mountains. Wind whistled above our sheltered camp and streaking clouds about the divide were tinged with a blush of pink
Our cups were brimming with port as we leaned back against the giant tussocks and yarned into the night, rugged up in about six layers of clothing. What better way to celebrate the winter solstice than chasing stags with mates?
Leading up to this evening we’d braved the howling nor’wester for a bit of glassing and soon spotted some tahr emerging from the scrub. Firstly some nannies appeared, followed by progressively more interesting bulls. The first was a whippersnapper, the second a distinctive young bull around three years old with a white patch on both flanks. The bull that brought up the rear as the sun sank lower was a far more interesting specimen. His horns curled back very quickly and lay low on the skull, handlebar-like to a degree. It made accurate assessment difficult as the horns were hidden in the bull’s luxurious winter mane most of the time. He was a long way off – nearly two kilometres – so he was simply marked as an animal of interest and we went back
