Old writers talk of stags calling all day long. This may have been so years ago; now-a-days they rarely call after 9 A.M., and do not begin again before 3 P.M. at the earliest. I once heard a grand chorus in the early morning. Five different stags were calling at the same time, but as they seemed to be more or less afraid of one another and kept perpetually on the move, I never got a chance at one of them.
To be successful with stags during the calling season, the sportsman should be on his ground as soon as it is light. The stags are moving about all night, and soon after sunrise they retire into the forest, where, unless they keep on calling, it is almost impossible to find them. This, of course, refers to the open ground at the top of the hills. Ward prefers the lower ground in the pine forest, from 8,000 to 9,000 ft. above the sea level, as he says the stags there seem to settle down into certain spots and remain there for days together. The writer’s own experience is that the upper ground is best when the stags first begin calling, as they all seem to collect there, and that later on, about October 1, when there has often been a slight snowfall on the top of the hills, and the frost at night is beginning to tell, the stags should be followed down into the forest. But as different valleys vary so much, according to whether the deer remain in them during the winter or are merely passing through, no general rule applies to all. Hunting the upper ground as long as the stags are on it is undoubtedly far pleasanter than creeping about in the forest down below, and in the gloom of the pines the chances are very much against the stalker. Stags may occasionally be shot by waiting for them at some favourite soiling or drinking pool, and it is by no means a bad thing to try if the pool is in thick forest and some distance from other water. The most likely time to see anything is about 4 P.M., when the deer begin to draw out. Waiting over salt-licks and water at night is an abomination, like all other night shooting. As a rule, you do more harm than good by disturbing the ground, and if you do get a shot and hit (no certain matter even in the brightest moonlight), unless the stag is dropped on the spot you run a very great risk of losing him. Barasingh are very tough beasts, and an ill-placed bullet is not much use. It is very difficult to know what to do when (as often happens) the stags will not call till just before dark. If this happens among the pine forests, any attempt at night shooting is almost sure to end in failure; and even on the high open ground the chances are so much against the sportsman that it should only be tried if every other plan fails. Patient tracking and watching over likely glades for a stag to draw out on are far more effective in bringing eventual success. The two main points to be remembered during a stalk are, first, to try and get a clear chance at about sixty yards, and not creep up too close to the stag before firing; secondly, to avoid going straight downhill on to a stag. A stone dislodged, a pheasant or musk deer disturbed, will be sure to start him off. On the other hand, if the stalker is moving down sixty or seventy yards to one side, any slight contretemps does not necessarily spoil his chance of a shot. Every native shikari, if conducting a stalk, will try to land his master between the beast’s horns if possible. As soon as he sees a stag, he will begin to try to point him out, with the result that before his master can get his wind and take any aim to speak of, the beast is at full gallop down the hill. The second point never enters into a native’s calculations at all. Ward says that natives can imitate the call, and draw stags, but systematic calling as practised in the Tyrol is practically unknown in Cashmere, and a proficient in the art would undoubtedly have success. The point to aim at in calling is to pitch your note a little weaker than the answering stag, so as to give him confidence in accepting the challenge.