Amazing, shy, but not boring
Having some experience of stalking deer and trapping foxes and rabbits in England, I thought about the possibility of a hunting holiday. My wife also likes to shoot and she recently got her own deer rifle so we could consider a wide range of options.
Celtic myths and historical accounts instilled in me a desire to hunt wild boar and exposure to American hunting magazines introduced me to the idea of sheep as a desirable quarry.
We did some research on the internet and in the media and after considering various options, we booked a trip to the Czech Republic with ‘Shooting Enterprise Ltd’. Eva (the general manager) was very helpful and offered us several options. Claire’s .243 rifle was considered unsuitable for even mildly pesky piglets, but perfect for mouflons and my .308 was fine for whatever game it had to offer. In the end we booked for a wild boar and two mouflons. We had a choice of areas to photograph, but in the end we opted for Lany Estate, near Prague.
The Lany estate covers 3,000 hectares (about 7,500 acres) and is owned by the office of the Czech president. The President of the Czech Republic does not hunt himself, but allows 180 hunting guests a year. Imagine an area that size that is free of hikers, dog walkers, mountain bikers, competing landowners, poachers, and cars. Now imagine him holding well-managed and well-fed wild boar, deer and mouflon. This is what greeted us on vacation. Some people enjoy shooting in close quarters and want to hunt ‘in the wild’. Personally, I am much happier hunting on a well-managed estate than depleting nature reserves, particularly when the area hunted is so large.
Flying with firearms was a first for us and went smoothly. Upon arrival at the check-in counter we told them we were carrying ‘sporting firearms’; this was a good idea, as sports gear is free with BA and much less intimidating than announcing that you have a gun.
Arriving in Prague, the lovely Eva was waiting for us and took us to a typical Czech restaurant for lunch, then took care of our luggage as we toured the city. Later we were introduced to our guides and taken to the cabin in the woods that would be our home for the next few days. There we met Zlata, who provided us with food and accommodation. She was delighted when I told her that she wanted to try typical Czech food. Cultural pride came out and she made it her mission to uplift me with frequent large portions of Czech specialties cooked as only a grandmother can cook.
On the first day of our hunt we arranged breakfast for 06:15 and went downstairs to receive a variety of cold cuts and cheese, two varieties of bread, a boiled egg, cereal, yoghurt and two types of jam. I was about to start on my egg when Zlata came in with two plates of scrambled eggs and sausage garnished with tomato, cucumber, Chinese leaves, two mustards, ketchup, and parsley. This set the tone for the entire stay. Our guides arrived at 0700 and took us to hunt mouflon. Stepan was Claire’s guide and they both spoke a little German, Lubos was my guide and spoke ‘baby English’.
We went to the farm and began to stalk, the forest resounding with the bellows of the fallow deer and the unearthly whistles of Sika. At that moment, a magnificent mouflon ram came ‘shaking’ out of the trees, Lubos ducked and I sat up so I could rest my elbows on my knees for a steady shot. Lubos was clearly amazed at our luck as ‘mouflon can be a problem’ they have exceptional eyesight and are usually very cautious. Lubos whistled to stop the ram, ignored it, yelled and sped up for cover, finally making a ‘baah’ sound and stopping to stare at it in disbelief. I shot him right behind his shoulder. Lubos was delighted and arranged the ram with great dignity; a fresh twig was put into the mouth (the ‘last bite’) a second twig was dipped in the blood and presented to me to put in my hat, a third twig was placed in the bullet hole and then they were placed fresh branches around the ram. We solemnly shook hands and exchanged a small bow and a ritual greeting.
The midday meal is traditionally the main meal in the Czech Republic and therefore lunch was a big event. Claire had yet to see a mouflon. The wild boars were declared inaccessible due to a great abundance of natural food that kept them deep in the forest. I wasn’t sure of the exact explanation, but settled on “the wrong kind of acorns”. Therefore, I was offered the option of hunting deer. Having never hunted red deer before, I decided to go after a lesser trophy deer.
The afternoon was warm and sunny and Lubos is very fit. We bravely ignored the trails and went straight up and down the steepest slopes she could find; eventually we crawled over the top of a ridge to present ourselves with a view of a flat plateau populated by red deer and fallow deer. We hid in the trees while Lubos ‘watched the pack’ and I tried to calm my heart and control my breathing. It is tempting to think that the deer on a farm will be domesticated or domesticated. This is not the case, they are abundant and you can see many impressive creatures, but they are still wild, fickle and difficult to approach.
Three stems later, after several miles of perpendicular forest, we were hidden behind a small barn-like structure considering our options. Lubos had identified a suitable deer and was trying to communicate which one in mimicry; ‘baby lady (young fallow) links (left) three ‘hands with palms together at the sides of the head’ (sleeping? What does a sleeping deer look like? Do you mean lying down?) the ‘baby lady’ began to hopping around a herd of about 50 deer, Lubos did a ‘walking fingers’ and ‘looping hand’ motion (had my deer gone over the top of the hill?) I give up.
Later we went up to the barn loft. This time we start counting from a salt lick. ‘Okay, one nix, two nix, three gut, three gut.’ I stabilized the rifle on a bale of hay and shot a large deer. Lubos was pleased; I must have hit the right one. The deer had fallen a few paces away and was dead on arrival. Lubos and I shook hands; he complimented me on a ‘perfect 200m shot’ i thanked him for being such a patient guide.
He had never been near a woodland deer before, but it was huge, by Lany’s standards, the 12-pointed head modest but the body as big as a horse. Both of us couldn’t lift it and had to get the truck and lifting equipment to move it. It was getting dark, so the ceremony and photos were postponed to the next day.
Over dinner it became clear that Claire hadn’t killed a mouflon because she and Stepan couldn’t decide between two tempting rams. Were they deciding which one was the biggest or if one was bigger than mine? Time would tell.
The next day I was left alone on a high seat with instructions to shoot “any boar I saw, as long as it wasn’t a squeaky sow.” Claire and Stepan continued their hunt for mouflons. I saw more beautiful fallows and mouflons parading in front of me, but no wild boar appeared. Mid-morning I was picked up for photos and taken to meet a wife who seemed very happy. She Not only did she have a mouflon, but she was undeniably bigger than mine! 194.60 CIC points against 186.80 CIC for those who count such things. For me, the smile on her face was much more important.
Again, the game was treated with great dignity and ceremony, photos were taken and pleasantries were exchanged. I saw Lubos telling Eva the story of our hunt. Eva translated that Lubos said that I was good at crawling. I prefer to translate this as ‘good at stalking’. Lunch followed, and Claire and I stayed in a high seat on the off chance that a wild boar was lost in the afternoon. Now that the shot pressure was gone, we were able to appreciate the beauty of our surroundings and the wildlife around us. I saw my first red squirrel and Claire saw an osprey, both of which are common in the Czech Republic.
We haven’t seen any wild boar yet.
The next day we slept and then spent the day in Prague, the day after we flew home. The ever helpful Eva helped us at the airport and even persuaded the airline to send one of the mouflon trophies free of charge. Arriving at Heathrow she came back to reality. The M25 never looked less inviting and the road home was clogged with second home owners fleeing London. The memories of the roaring deer are still fresh and I already want to go back to the golden woods of Lany.