A magical land as addictive as the sport itself

Mountains mesmerise us; they demand our gaze, they call to be climbed, to be the centre of conversations, to be photographed, to be named, filmed and written about. They are addictive, as is stalking. Stalking is an ancient pursuit and is equally fascinating; it rewards us in so many ways.

Much of my early stalking was in forestry, on fields and in the margins in between — but when I discovered deer that favoured the mountains, it changed my life. I became so fascinated with those open-mountain deer, with the rush of spotting and stalking, that it became the centre of who I was, where I lived and where I spent my time. Probably sounds a bit extreme — and