Mauser 98 – The mysterious fallow stag

It’s getting lively at the breeding grounds. Four rowdy fledgling fallow bucks stamp their forelegs on the ground and claim their rutting pits. Every so often, a sorrel buck will challenge one of them to a duel. Antlers collide, fallow bucks shove each other through the copse of oak trees. Groaning and belching noises rumble from every direction.

The old deer does not want to get involved in the action today. All the hustle and bustle is not going to disturb him. He is too mellow to wade into the fight for rutting pits and be part of the power games of the rowdy youths and middle-aged deer. He simply does not have to put up with it any longer. At the beginning of this rut, there are just a few oldies with him. The other members of his harem will join them in the next few days. And he knows he cannot leave this safe space. He has not been part of ten past ruts for nothing. Many deer the same age as him have paid for this brawling with their lives. He is waiting for darkness to descend. Only then will he go and check that everything is in order at the breeding grounds. Only then will the pair of two-legged beings who crossed his path a few hours ago no longer be able to spot him. Until then, he will stay where he is. Every now and then, a buck with smaller antlers attempts to challenge him. One short, quiet groan is all it takes for the challenger to retreat.

The two hunters have moved into the breeding grounds after a long afternoon of stalking. He needs to show up there – that’s the plan. But it becomes a game of patience. The old deer caught the scent of the humans long ago. The wind is his secret helper this evening. Another reason for him to not yet enter the breeding grounds and to remain as quiet as possible. The green coats need to make a decision: Come down from their hide in the trees or hope for the wind direction to change again? The young fallow bucks, at least, are not perturbed by the scent of the hunters and carry on with their mating ritual. So the hunters could end up culling an interesting, but not so desirable, red stag. But what they really want is a seasoned warrior. As such, the 7×57 exits backwards out of the MAUSER 98’s chamber this evening. The barrel remains cold.

The game is going to span two more evenings. During this time, the wind whips itself into a frenzy and the hunters try their luck elsewhere. In vain. The steady and mild easterly wind makes the hunters think of the breeding grounds again. But in the exact spot where there was lively action and great lighting conditions two days ago, it is now deathly silent. Here and there, a squirrel chases after a beechnut that has fallen from a tree. Instead of mating calls from the fallow deer, the cranes seeking warmer climes fill the evening sky with sound.

Suddenly, there is a crack of horns crashing together and a stag calls out. A second chimes in. Suddenly, four different deer are baying from four different directions. “They’re all just spring chickens,” comes the concise commentary from the person leading the stalk. But the brawlers still do not actually put in an appearance. It is only when darkness starts to fall that they emerge onto the breeding grounds. In just a few minutes, the action returns to the dense copse of oak trees. But the hunter was right: only spring chickens. Here two bucks with small antlers locking horns, a two-year-old red deer who tries again and again to muscle in on the older boys’ game but is either not taken seriously or is defeated and made to retreat by a middle-aged strong stag. In a few minutes, darkness descends. Curiosity seems to get the better of the old one. He slowly lifts himself out of his rutting pit, checking on all sides. He cautiously approaches the action in the youngsters’ arena. Masterfully making the most of all the coverage, he slowly moves up the small hill until he can see what is going on.

The light is almost gone, so the hunters decide to retreat. Just one more look through the binoculars – and there it is! Just as the hunters wanted to give up, they spot a strong stag on the furthermost edge of the breeding grounds. Tall, powerful antlers and a strong body are the only features that they are able to make out at this point. He stands there like a statue. Every now and then, he quietly grumbles to shoo away one of the young troublemakers who comes perilously close to him. As the alpha of the group, he does not need to compete with the other antlered animals. Even though this passive behaviour singles him out as coveted prey. Now all the hunters can do is hope the old guy is still standing on the edge of the breeding grounds in the early morning.

„Is that the mature stag half-hidden behind an oak tree?“

In the dead of the night, they carefully place one foot in front of the other as they move into their high seat. Two steps forwards. Stop. Listen. Another two steps forwards. That is the beat they march to. They climb into the high seat in slow motion, and a bullet slowly glides into the chamber of the 98. When closing the chamber, the shooter’s left hand lightly presses on the extractor while the right presses the bullets down into the magazine. Quietly loaded, safety on, ready.

It is suspiciously quiet. The stags are not baying, there are no signs of a fight. But as the night slowly lifts its shroud, the contours of a strong stag are identified. But is it actually an old one? Is it “the” old one? So far, all that can be identified is the rear and an antler. The rest is concealed by an oak tree. Nevertheless, this does look very promising. Hopefully he sticks around for a while. All of a sudden, there is movement down below. On the left, two middle-aged fallow bucks appear. They are fully focused on demonstrating their strength to each other. Minutes pass. It is getting uncomfortably bright for the alleged old fallow stag. He turns so that the oak tree protects him and he moves to the right. Looking through the rifle scope confirms a short, powerfully strong frame, a low larynx and a short skull and high withers. The puzzle consisting of behavioural patterns and physical features is pieced together in next to no time and reveals: he’s the one. Nevertheless, the close branches of the oak and hornbeam trees are still standing in the way. Just one single gap provides an opportunity to take the shot – as long as the buck keeps going in the same direction. And he does. The shooter’s thumb pushes the safety catch forwards, a call puts an abrupt stop to the fallow stag’s movements. Curiosity gets the better of him, and he lifts his head. The 7×57 projectile embeds itself into the fallow deer’s shoulder blade and he dies after just a few metres.

The bang of the shot resounds far and wide across the North Palatine Uplands. Then deathly silence. No calls, no horns crashing. A single two-year old deer emerges into the emptied arena and fearfully yet inexpertly and carelessly checks the adults’ rutting pits. But today, this lack of attention does not seal his fate.