A mountain to climb

Stalking

Fieldsports and tradition are inseparable. For some this is the observance of a particular mode of dress, an eagerly awaited seasonal meal or setting the alarm at 4am on 1 September for the inaugural wildfowling outing of the year, irrespective of the weather or chances of success. For others it can take the form of an annual pilgrimage to a particular place, where a stretch of chalkstream or patch of moor is saturated with years of personal sporting memories.

Here in County Kerry, the last week of September heralds not only the onset of the sika rut but also plays host to another important cross on the calendar — my birthday. Given the happy coincidence of these events, it has long been a tradition to indulge my passion for deerstalking on my big day and for many years this