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THE DEER VALLEY

The stooping figure of the man walking in front of me was as motionless as stone. The fallen autumn leaves and dry twigs treacherously kept punishing our carelessness, slowing down the progress. Anyway, we managed to move forward quite noiselessly. On two occasions we stalked a passing doe. When we had the chance, we used to stop for fear that the rest of the wood inhabitants would warn of our presence by their squeaking.
The path, we were following, was sheltered by a sparse grove of oak trees which formed something of a softly lit tunnel. This made it possible for us to remain unnoticed by the wild animals, at least for the time we were moving slowly forward.
The thin and wiry 65 year-old man, was my guide. His faded hunting outfit merged absolutely well with the environment. I, myself, was an excellent match for the surrounding trees. My 3-D real-tree camouflage cloak, which was knee-length, and my face mask were a perfect hide. Only some brisk motion or the wind could betray my effort to move on unnoticed. That explained why we were making such a slow progress. To our regret, the changing wind was out of control because of its unpredictable blasts.
That caused a herd of wild pigs to rise and fume away some twenty meters from us. I managed to lift my rifle and focus the cross of the Zeiss- scope on a bigger animal. I didn’t mean to shoot but a hunter shouldn’t miss the chance to train. I pulled the trigger twice before the animals disappeared. Then I imitated the shooting of the rifle with my mouth. The next thing I saw was my partner gazing at me, as if saying: “Stop being childish.”
We’d been lucky enough, at least for the time being, to encounter animals but our basic aim was to put under observation the red deer which had been roaring for a while. I had a strong desire to take pictures with my camera of some of their battles. I’d been going round hunting farms and grounds for some time but for some reason, either because of the weather or the great distance, I’d been unable to take full-size photographs.
We were nearing the location where my white-haired guide had come across, on several occasions during the past week, herds of doe with their calves and some young deer, probably 6-7 years old. I was expecting to admire the sight but, to my regret, when I came nearer the open clearing meant for wooing, there was not a single animal to be seen. I took a careful look of the area through my binoculars but, again, I didn’t notice any deer. One can see an animal with the naked eye from a distance of 200-300 meters. That particular spot was ideal for wooing. The place was hard to get an access to, surrounded by oak woods all around, with a crook running across the big clearing, far from any inhabited area. Everything was perfect for a deer venue. It was only the deer that were missing. The man beside me, a reliable fellow who belonged to the light-weight category judging by his build, started apologizing: “I’ve been here five or six times within a fortnight and the place has never been void. Something must have frightened them animals.”
“Are there any poachers around?” I asked.
“No, there are neither local nor stranger –poachers here about. We can’t complain. The place’s clean.” he rejected my suspicion.
“What about predators?” I went on searching for reasons. “Are there any wolves around?”
“There have been no wolves for years on. Neither I nor anyone here has seen a wolf in the last few years. Jackals only, plenty of them but they do no harm to the stag.” my guide kept on whispering.
While our conversation was going on in whisper I was looking through my binoculars, closely stuck to my eyes, investigating the huge clearing strewn with sparse vegetation.
My sight glided over a bush where I glimpsed some furry object. On second look, I thought I saw a deer leg moving. It seemed the animal was lying down making an effort to stand on its feet. Its movements seemed unnatural and stiff. My guide also directed his binoculars towards the object. The leg of the beast went on moving but I’d noticed already the reason: a jackal was biting bits of flesh which gave the illusion that the dead calf was moving.
I prepared my .243 caliber rifle as I was sitting, resting comfortably my elbows on my knees, and took an aim waiting for the jackal to reappear from behind the bush. I approximately measured the distance and took a decision to shoot immediately if chance would have it. My position was comfortable. The distance, which I later measured with my laser-telemeter, was 167 m. I could see part of the beast’s body through the sparse twigs but I preferred it to come out the way it had done some time before. The light “Federal”-HIGH-SHOCK 5.2 gram bullet, has a devastating effect on medium-size game but due to its high 1950 mps velocity and its light weight, it can easily divert at the slightest obstacle, as were the bushes in our case.
Finally, our patience was rewarded. Turning around, without letting the calf leg go of its teeth, the jackal stood there before me, full size. Tight stretched, its front and hind legs stuck, it was shaking head in anticipation of the next portion of meat. My position was higher so the bullet struck precisely between the shoulder-blades and into the spine. The predator managed to open its mouth losing hold of the calf. Right then, I realized that the reason why it had been so greedy was probably because it was competing with some fellow-wolves.
I quickly reloaded, just in time to focus my scope on another jackal which had appeared from behind a bush. I fired but hit somewhat lower, in the belly. Even from a distance like this one/167 m/, its scream resounded quite powerfully. I reloaded once again in order to finish off the wounded predator. Then I hesitated. Two more jackals came out of the bush and darted away. They were running towards me shortening the distance with every second. My hide and shooting position, amidst a couple of rocks hidden behind some oak shoots, as well as my perfect disguise, helped me to remain unnoticed. The two predators were approaching now their own certain death, without even realizing it. I gave a little warning and fired again when the distance was about a hundred meters. The HI-SHOCK expanding bullet simply blew up the jackal’s hind buttock where the piece of lead came out. The screams of both beasts merged together in a sinister duo. I made up my mind to put a quick end to their suffering. No animal, even a predator, deserves to agonize when wounded.
The second jackal, the one wounded in the belly, kept spinning around, biting at the exit wound. I fired at it without focusing on a definite spot, which turned out wrong because I missed due to the long distance. I quickly took out three new bullets from the cartridge pouch hanging on my rifle butt. I quickly reloaded taking an aim at the same jackal which had now fled some two hundred meters away, limping slowly off as it did, in a straight line. I followed it patiently and fired about 20 cm above its head. The projectile spotted it in the center of the spine and after a few convulsions its suffering came to an end.
The third jackal, hit in the back, had already died of the shock. I glanced around looking for the last surviving one. There was it, leaving the place. It had changed direction looking for a hide-out amidst the high grass growing down the gulch. I fired from some 180 m and saw a small cloud of dust drifting up close above the animal. I put another bullet in the cartridge-chamber, then followed the aim, which was moving at an angle of 50 degrees related to my axis, gave a warning near two jackals(about a meter and thirty cm), then fired again. A second before it had disappeared among the weed, the jackal screamed and lifted its leg. It had been hit but not fatally. It vanished without a trace.
It was then that I looked at my partner. Gazing at me he asked:
”Is this rifle an automatic one man?” I explained to him that it wasn’t.
“You wasted too many bullets on them carcasses boy.”
I made a quick arithmetic: seven shots, five hits, three dead and one wounded jackal. The entire cannonade, taking the reloading into consideration, had taken about 20-25 seconds. I’m saying this, because apart from counting my shots, being a musician has trained me to remember the intervals as well. In the end, I might even restore the picture and the music that goes with it, the borderline being so close.
I was excited and exalted by the incident. That probably, made me answer a bit harshly to the man:
“It was anyone’s job to finish that task. Let’s go and see what’s happening down there.”
We descended and looked for the wounded jackal first. There was some dark –red blood, which meant that the wound had been muscular. The rest of the animals were all there desperately dead.
The little calf’s corpse had been torn apart but the thing which was more worrying was its broken front leg, somewhat low, which had been the result of a rifle shot. It seemed that area was not as peaceful as the local hunters reckoned it was.
A week later, my partner gave me a phone call to say:
”You see, the deer started gathering on the big clearing again. We removed the carcasses and they’ve been roaring since yesterday. I’m calling to tell you in case you’d like to take pictures. I think it’s worth it…A male stag appeared too. It’s a pretty one, I reckon its trophy is about 11 kilos and is still growing.”
I thanked the man and replied I was glad the deer had come back. Shortly after that I heard the voice of my white-haired buddy:
“That job…the jackal one, I mean…was anyone’s job.”

ROBERT ATANASSOV