NATURE Lessons from a hardy buck

Lessons from a hardy buck


Country Sights and Sounds
John Shelley

I can hardly believe we are at the back end of the rutting season again. In fact, the red deer of north Mayo and Connemara already have the bulk of their business done, the big stags are all run out, and it’s left to the young bucks to fight over any of the ladies that are coming into breeding condition a bit late.
A good percentage of the better animals were taken out of it as they came down from the hilltops toward the end of September, either by legitimate hunters or by the poaching community, most of whom consider their own activities equally legitimate. I had wanted to take James up to Bellacorrick and show him those big red stags. We were both too busy. Besides, trudging over miles of empty bog looking for them when they simply are no longer there makes for a miserable day.
Now, as autumn fades into winter, if we want to find deer in action it is the fallow bucks that must be hunted down. I found them, or one in particular, a fine and fat, sleek-coated beast with speckled flanks and mere wisps of antlers. Despite his lack of hardware he still occupied one of the best rutting stands in the wood.
I couldn’t make up my mind about him. Either the better animals were not about – perhaps not yet, or maybe, like the red deer, not at all – or perhaps the strength that most male deer put into their antlers had been used to build muscle instead, as has been known to happen occasionally, to create an unusually powerful beast.
I listened to him calling; his deep-throated belly-croak echoed hollow and loud through the pines to resonate in my ears. I went to fetch James. A short while later the two of us crept silently upwind to where the animal was still calling and rattling at the hazels with antlers that shone golden yellow in the evening sun.
A trio of does came tripping over the mossy rocks, with the sun dappling their sides. Trotting and skipping, they homed in on those gravelly tones, and as they drew closer to the master of the wood I’m certain I saw one eyelid flutter as he gave a little wink.
James saw it too. ‘Would you look at that!’ he exclaimed. The deer heard him, wheeled on their feet and disappeared, out from the trees and across the rough ground beyond.
There is so much that can be learned from nature. I pondered this while driving home with the tail end of the day lighting up my rear view mirror. I was in something of a dilemma. There had been shopping to do, for necessities of course, and now the shops were shut. Why do they insist on closing so early? It’s the same the whole year round, during the mayfly and during the rut, in February, June and November, whether anything interesting is happening or not. I ran a few excuses through my mind. It was too dear. Not enough dough…
Perhaps I could learn from the fallow buck…
Before I walked in the front door I sent my best Barry White voice ahead, on a sort of scouting mission. ‘Hi honey, I’m home.’
My lovely long-suffering wife appeared in the doorway as if sprung out of a box, with a knife in one hand and, I was happy to see, a potato in the other. ‘You’re home, are you? At last! What time do you call this?’
‘Any time is the right time, Baby.’ This was in a deep, gravel-filled, resonate tone reminiscent of the master buck. I was quite impressed, and fully expected her to come trotting to my side as I walked into the kitchen. Instead, she glared at me from the far side of the breakfast bar.
‘Hello, missus,’ I crooned.
She put the potato down and took a step back. New tactics are needed, evidently.
I went off to look at Google maps on the computer and discovered, to my delight, a long stretch of woodland I have yet to explore. It will mean a hike and therefore an early start, and as the year is shortening fast I might just go tomorrow.
Supper arrived. ‘Thanks dear, fancy a walk tomorrow?’