If you have already read chapter 14 of The Ethical Carnivore, you will understand this is a little bit of a postscript…

A year ago I went stalking on Ben Damph Estate as part of my year only eating animals I killed myself. It ended up being my dinner for most of the winter – venison stew, sausages, burgers, pie – and also Chapter 14 of the book, as well as an article in The Daily Telegraph.

This year, to the day, I went up the hill again. But this time I was going with a camera. I had already eaten my fill of red deer stag and I did not want to kill another. It does not mean I don’t want to eat any more venison, but I would prefer to stalk a hind later in the year as the meat is a more mild flavour.  I have passed my Deer Stalking Certificate 1 and I have a little more experience to be able to try different types of stalking.

I was keen to go up the mountain again with my father as it is such a wonderful experience watching the red deer during the rut. For the month of October the hills echo with the sound of roaring as the males travel over the hills looking for groups of hinds. Once they find them, they must fight to become the dominant stag and keep their ‘harem’.

I published a piece in The Guardian on how it feels to be in the heart of the action. Below is an extended version:

Ben Damh means ‘hill of the stag’ in gaelic. You can see why. In the season of the rut the hill is alive with the sight, sounds and smell of stags. Even before we reach the ridge we can hear roaring, like the sound of a distant lawnmower.

Dad and I start the stalk on the eastern side of Ben Damph where we know there will surely be stags. Toll Ban, meaning the bowl in Gaelic, usually holds at least one stag and a herd of hinds. Earlier in the week 40 hinds were spotted in the area, a huge number for such poor ground.

But today there is nothing. The bowl is empty.

We continue over the ridge and suddenly the hill is alive with the sight, sound and smell of stags. Roaring echoes down the strath,  like the sound of a distant lawnmower. As we pass down on the west side of the hill, and into the centre of the action, we pass wallows sweet with the musky scent of rutting stags. The atmosphere is charged, It feels like we are at the centre of an unfolding drama.

There is enough sex and death to to rival Outlander or even Game of Thrones. Each stag is ready to fight to the death for his chance to mate – and he only has only a short window to take his opportunity.

On such poor ground as this the hinds are in oestrus for just four short weeks around the beginning of October, so that the calves can be born at the same time in early June. They gather on the high greens to graze while the feeding is good, and the stags soon follow.

The first stag we come across is a ‘traveller’ moving over the hill looking for a chance to take over a group of hinds. He has been rolling in peat to blacken his fur and accentuate his barrel chest and shaggy mane. He has a fine set of wide antlers with 11 points. Standing on a ledge against the blue hills beyond, he looks like the true Monarch of the Glen.

Further around the hill we spy a group of eight hinds, with a dominant stag. While the hinds graze he barely eats, preferring to keep an eye out for competition. Sure enough a younger stag with just eight points trots over the brow of the hill. It takes only a few minutes for him to clock his rival and beat a hasty retreat.

Further down the hill a younger stag is lying down in the faded heather. A so-called satellite stag, he is playing the long game, circling the group of hinds until he can see an opportunity.

We can hear another young stag grunting and bawling further around. He is not even trying to look noble anymore. He roots in the grass with his his antlers and paws the ground.

I inch forward closer and closer until I can see why he is so frustrated. Below, there is the royal stag with 12 points keeping a close eye on his hinds.

The younger stag is a pretender, roaring and gurning but for now, not daring to make an offence. The bigger stag is fed up of this uninvited guest, bawling and grunting, as I suspect, are the hinds. They move around the corner taking their protector, for now, with them.  The desperate young pretender follows, his tongue lolling out. Out of sight, the drama continues.

Do let me know about your own experiences watching red deer on the hill.