GOING THE DISTANCE

In his thick Scottish accent, Ronnie Hepburn asked me a simple question: “Can you shoot with all these midgies!?”

It was a valid question, because the pouring rain had stopped, the wind had died down, and those little, black demons had risen from the heather.

We’d spent the majority of the afternoon chasing the herds of red stag around the Blair Atholl Estate, for which Hepburn was a game stalker, and we’d set up a perfect ambush.

With the old stag, which had been rolling in the peat while tending his hinds, facing head on at 245 yards, I leaned the forend of the graceful Rigby Highland Stalker on Hepburn’s pack, let my breath halfway out, gave the stag 6 inches of elevation and squeezed the trigger.

The sound of the Hornady 165-grain InterLock from the .30-06 Springfield striking flesh was undeniable and, within 25 yards, the stag was down for good. Standing over a double-crowned, 11-point stag in such an idyllic setting—and with