The plan for this year was relatively simple. Four of us would rendezvous on the West Coast, fly in, and follow some famous footsteps out over a week. This trip was a great success but the calibre of stags we were seeking eluded us.
I ended up back home with two days of leave up my sleeve, so I changed out gear and was back up the hill to spot closer to home. I did the usual walk, climb, and burn gravy thing and found myself on a knob watching some promising tussock and bushline below me. With a couple of hours remaining before dark I threw on a puffer and settled in behind the binoculars. This was one of those times that reminds me why I love the roar. Within seconds of lifting the binoculars up there was a deer in the sight picture. Even at a kilometre away I could see this was a stag with long heavy antlers. The spotting scope confirmed
