Shooting Times & Country Magazine
A gold-standard muntjac marathon
Freddie Braithwaite-exley assists in reducing an unsustainable muntjac population in Norfolk over a weekend of sporting endurance
Watching the London Marathon had me thinking back to my own action-packed weekend in early September, perhaps the last before proper autumnal weather descended. My understanding of marathon running is that to break four hours is good, but to break three hours is the gold standard. So let me break this weekend down into marathon-sized chunks.
Norfolk is the destination and reducing an overpopulation of muntjac is the objective. More specifically, on a farm that was once arable, but is now mostly grass leys, fruit canes and large rewilded swathes. It has become a wildlife oasis. The rewilding ideology has much good in it; however, I don’t believe we can truly leave flora and fauna to their own ways. There are just too many outside influences. On this farm, the deer population is causing an imbalance.
George Macewan was my host and guided me alongside ‘Q’ Batterbury and his labrador Sable. Two great mates and one great tracker, but also experienced stalkers and men with enough gizmos, gadgets and zeal to see us well through.
I arrived on Friday night wearing a gillie suit, so the team knew I was serious — sort of. Like any top-level athlete, plans were drawn up the night before over a good feed and a few drinks. At 5am the next morning, my alarm went off. Upstairs, I could hear the creaking floorboards as George and Q stirred. No matter how quiet they tried to be, there wasn’t a soul in the house that wouldn’t have woken as they emptied the gun cabinet, found their binos and scampered down the stairs like children on Christmas morning.
The first glassing point was a gateway overlooking a field of fruit canes, and the second, once arable land, was a medley of grass, wildflowers and weeds. The sun wasn’t yet up, but the air was warm. The morning hue provided enough light for us to spot a roe doe in the foreground, but not enough clarity to identify the four animals grazing at the bottom of the farther field. With a thermal imager, George confirmed there were no more deer to watch for, so we moved on.
Usually, my pace for such stalking is slow. Really slow. Muntjac are not big and, at 100 yards, it only takes a branch or tuft of grass to conceal them entirely. It’s amazing what moving a pace or two at a time will reveal. But thermal imagery reduces the need for too much caution and enables you to cover more ground in a session. So, we were moving relatively quickly, which was good because so too was the sun.
At the edge of the first wood, we spotted our first muntjac. It was grazing down a field margin, 1,000
“I followed the muntjac in the crosshairs, and as soon as it stopped, down it went”
yards off. It had relatively little cover around it, making it a tricky stalk, and one that would take us well off our intended course. However, like magic, another appeared 150 yards away, along the side of the wood we were standing at. Q neatly unfolded the shooting sticks and up came the rifle. There are few things that will get your blood pumping more than looking down the scope, measuring up and squeezing off a .243 round. My Garmin watch showed my heart-rate spike from 60bpm to 100bpm. Strava doesn’t appear to have a ‘stalking’ designation in its list of sports yet.
Closing the distance
One muntjac in the bag and it was my first. I was pleased as punch. So were George and Q. Having checked over the animal and put it to one side, we upped binos and ogled over the Norfolk plains again. The muntjac from earlier was still there, grazing away unaware. We decided it was worth a go.
To get there we had a few hundred yards of open grassland to cover.
Everyone knows deer don’t bat an eyelid when you’re walking the dog without a gun, so nonchalantly we closed the distance as though out for a Sunday stroll. Did it work? Dropping to a crawl, George and I stalked the next 300 yards as a pair, leaving Q and Sable to keep watch from a distance.
In approaching, we spotted a second deer grazing some 200 yards off to our right. We crawled in closer, opened out the sticks and slowly rose above the grass. The roe to our right was an out of season doe, but the muntjac was still there. It worked left to right and at a bit of a pace. I followed it in the crosshairs and as soon as it stopped and stood broadside, down it went. Number two neatly in the bag. Was there time for a third before breakfast, we wondered. The blood was pumping and, like a runner finding their groove, I was feeling confident behind the rifle.
A simple plan
We started over a new piece of land, and in scanning the fruit canes we found a deer grazing up a ride. The plan was simple. While it grazed up, we would stalk down the ride adjacent. The wind was in our favour, and by all accounts this was a good chance. But like an athlete getting head of themselves, we were hasty and paid for it. The deer executed a Houdini act and was gone without even a clattering of undergrowth to let us know.
We had one more area to work before the sun would be up fully, and we had to make amends for our early morning disturbances. Learning from our mistakes, we slowed the pace again. It paid dividends. A muntjac was working uphill towards us. It was less than 100 yards and I had a straightforward shot. In lining it up, Q pointed out the farmhouse beyond. It doesn’t take much for a bullet to deflect, and even if there is the tiniest chance it could reach the buildings, another angle has to be worked out. Even when your blood is up, you must stay aware of what is around you and keep safety at the front of your mind.
In the end we decided it wasn’t safe and we called it a morning, gathered up the two kills and headed home. Into the fridge they went, and a glorious Norfolk day ensued.
As the evening drew in, we were out again. This time, we were
working an area of mixed woodland. In most places, the line of sight was less than 100 yards. This is where the thermal imager comes into its own. Despite working at snails’ pace, we bumped the first two deer. The third moved out of shot but wasn’t gone. I took up position on the sticks and a few minutes later, the muntjac entered the open ground and presented a shot.
Adding to the tally
I reloaded. The thermal suggested there was another. We dropped to the ground and crawled forward to a small ridge, which gave us a safe shooting angle. Q was on my left giving me ranges. George was on my right to provide updates through the thermal scope. I was in the middle, calming myself for the next shot. Patience is a virtue. As a fisherman, I have spent days on end waiting for that tug. But 20 minutes lying behind a rifle felt like an eternity. Eventually, the muntjac entered stage left and made our tally a round four.
We worked over one more opening in the wood and bumped another muntjac and a trio of roe. Perhaps we
“Sunday’s goal was to have five deer butchered and bagged by lunchtime”
were tired, perhaps we felt we had done our job or perhaps the smell of the BBQ on the wind was encouraging us to return home. In adding the two muntjac to the two already hanging alongside a fifth roebuck shot elsewhere, we were reminded there is one more marathon to run.
Sunday’s goal was to have five deer butchered and bagged by lunchtime. Q and I started by skinning, and George got to work on separating the first carcass. Skinning done, I joined George and started tidying up the joints, removing the sinew, ligaments, and boning a few of the larger joints. Going the extra mile makes the final product even more delicious. Q started up the mincer, and the offcuts and extras were turned into mincemeat and sausages.
Between us we achieved the gold standard of marathon running. In under three hours we had all five carcasses vacuum-packed. Haunches, backstraps, mince and more were divvied between three happy sportsmen, and one joyful farmer had a few less deer living off the fruit on his canes and undermining his rewilding efforts.