A gory traffic jam at Balmoral

So Gail and I took advantage of the continued fine weather and headed off to the Queen's Balmoral Estate to climb Lochnagar today.


Near the summit we heard some stags roaring.


Then we heard a shot. Or was it two?

Later, as we descended we noticed fresh blood on the path.


And then in front we spotted a well camouflaged party leading two ponies.

Readers of a sensitive disposition may wish to stop here.

A member of the group came over to Gail and asked very politely if she could "hang back" as one of their ponies was apparently frightened of dogs. (Perhaps this pony had once had a run in with the Queen's corgis?)

So we stayed behind the deer stalking party even though they were descending the steep slope by the waterfalls very slowly indeed. The black pony seemed to be struggling with his burden.

 Gail took loads of photos.

Eventually a young man, who was casually swinging a dripping stag's head (which had very recently belonged to the animal on the back of the 'grey' pony) in his right hand, told us we could pass,


And we continued on down and back to the car without further bloody encounters.

The deer hunter of Aultguish

Oh it was all so exciting! 

As my friends might already be aware, I am an aspiring but to date unsuccessful deer hunter.

We have a lot of red deer in Scotland. Often times, on walks through the pine woods and over the heathered uplands, the prey instinct has kicked in at the glimpse in the distance of a fast-moving antler, but sadly so far all I have had to show for my efforts has been a series of severe tellings off from Gail.

Many large shooting estates operate in the north of Scotland and 'deer stalking', a traditional pursuit of the British upper classes, is big business.

Last Thursday evening, Gail and I found ourselves in a remote Highland hostelry, the Aultguish Inn (waiting for the A832 to Torridon to reopen following a crash involving a stolen police car several hours earlier).

Standing at the bar in this lonely spot were a cluster of  tweed clad humans  who would not have looked out of place at an Edwardian country  house party. 

Now Gail and I are both guilty, from time to time, of eavesdropping. On this occasion it was a bit of a challenge for me to make out what was being said as the conversation was being conducted in the distinctive 'born to rule' accents of those educated at certain English public (i.e. private) schools, a manner of speaking we rarely hear in Aberdeen but guaranteed to raise the hackles of any self-respecting Scottish Nationalist. 

So far so unremarkable, but my flappy little ears pricked up when it was mentioned, in congratulatory tones, that the chap on the left had "brought one down this afternoon", meaning that he had shot dead a stag.

Well when I heard this I was all for bouncing  over to shake paws, and to ask for hunting tips.

As you know, Gail can be quite the spoilsport. She told me firmly to calm down and concentrate on enjoying my chicken flavoured chew while she finished her haddock and chips and then we would be on our way.

For some reason, she seemed to think it unlikely that the successful marksman  would have any relevant knowledge to impart to an eager-to-learn wire haired fox terrier with an unsatisfied hunting urge.....

And so I had to content myself with gazing in awe upon my new hero.