Bigger and better…
Whenever I go to get a gun out of the cabinet at home, I pass the head of the first roebuck I ever shot. It wasn’t a particularly impressive beast but when I finally caught up with it, there was no doubt in my young sixteen-year-old mind that it was the greatest sporting feat anyone had ever achieved. It always saddens me slightly that salmon landed, duck flighted or deer stalked in later life are never quite as glorious as your first. Every once in a while when I pass that head, I remind myself that I keep saying I’m going to do a bit more stalking. After all, the stalking opportunities around me in south-west Scotland are far too good to only be getting out four or five times…