Static.

I often thought when i first started out on my non-profit hunting career, that when you have a stag cranking off at you, its best to remain static.
However, over the years i have bowled more while i've been on the move than static.

Two quick "tails" spring to mind.

"Tail" 1 :1982 or 3 near the beginning of my NPHC (non-profit hunting career) i found myself in the Ureweras...i'd walked into a hut and was in time to see 4 jokers leaving the place with only a miserable fawn to their credit for 5 days....fuck i thought....must be fuck all deer in here.
I'd spent a very wet 4 days in the same place the previous December and had encountered 3 or 4 deer without spilling any blood.
Anyways, i stashed my shit and had a feed, gathered up a few possessions and bolted outdoors for a look.
Crossed the creek and nipped up a spur and as i broke out of water noise i heard a stag bellow above me. I scooted up and got about level. Not a puff of breeze and FYM there goes another stag...top shit, i'm in between the cunts and they're going to town....righto, i'll sneak in after that fucker...so off i go.
nek minute (well, that hadn't even been invented yet but i don't give a fat rats arse cos thats all it took...a minute)...and i hear the roars getting closer. So i give a little bit of a warble...and fuck me if all hell broke loose.
Crashing and bellowing from about a hundred yards away, so i sit down, check my gun is all set to go...(Ruger .308 in those days, now in the safe hands of me ol mate Bambislammer).
My back to a tree and i could see about 30 yards in the direction the stag was coming .
So i wait and give a grizzle...he roars and the hairs on my nuts were tingling...i can hear the cunt coming in, can't see him tho...crash smash wallop....splash, he's in this tiny little creek and about 15 yards...still can't see the cunt.
Then, two pearl white tips come into view....fuck me, my ticker is pounding as hard as when i'd shagged this little hornbag named Carol the week previous...dirty little tart she was, perky ti....er, where the fuck was i???...oh yes, hunting...anyway,,,,he's now into 5 yards away, can't see anything over or through the crown fern, 3 yards.....2 yards....(i'd heard about this shit, stags rocking right on in so close....), then an an almighty grunt, crashing, water, dirt ferns flying all over the place and the stag bolts for his fucken life.
You cunt !!!!!...a tiny poofter puff of breeze up my sphincter and the fucker copped a nose of tainted arse and was off like the soiled panties on a syphilus infected South Auckland street whore !
Fuck fuck fuckity fuck....!
I didn't see him at all...fucken crown ferns and trees...who invented that shit?
He gave a big bark and was gone.
Upon recceing the trail he came in on, had i moved about 10 yards further up the hill, i'd have seen the bugger come over the spur and down his trail into the creek and had a clear view of him right the way in, and could have taken an easyish shot any old time....but i chose a static position and FAILED !
Then, in the evening when i got back to the hut i found 9 jokers in there...fuck that, i hunted the next morning and buggered off elsewhere that arvo.

"Tail 2: Bambislammer and i, 2000, Ureweras.
Flew into a hut and had the place to ourselves after a meat hunter had bailed a day after our arrival. He got fuck all, so didn't bode well for us useless cunts. Hunted for 4 days and hardly heard a roar, til day 5 and we got onto a couple that gave us the slip for one reason or another, and then FYM we clambered around a basin of ferns and good looking country and onto a spur leading down to a side creek.
Nice grass in amongst manukas, and the place just screamed deer.
I was roaring constantly and after 30-40 minutes we were half way down the spur without a reply, when i had leaned my rifle on a tree, had a roar and was reaching for me raisins when a fucken beaut 8 point red came trotting out of the ferns to our right and stood stock still 15 yards away.
Fuck me, my shooter is a yard away.
I whisper to Slammer..."shoot the cunt"
"Ya fucking heads in the way you cunt"
"Fuck that, shoot the cunt"
With that, staggy sees the plot and fucks off fast, i grab my gun , swing on the cunt slamming the bolt home, giving the cunt half a yard and let strip !
Big bang, big silence, and big fucken nothing....fuck !
"Did you see that cunt FYM?" (actually, FYM wasn't invented then either but i started it so i can slot it into my story).
"Fucken awesome mate, did you get the cunt?"
"Nah just gave the fat fuck a fucken fright the fucker"....
With that, a bit of a crashing in the forest, and a rustling in the trees, sounds like something kicking its last to me, i said to me mate of a gazzilion years and multi-gazzilion good times. Fucken beauty, fuckers on the deck....nice !
"Think i'll have me fucken raisins now, and a fucken sandwhich and a drink"
"Sounds good to me", was the reply.
Gave it a few minutes, all was silent Bob in the shrubbery, so after picking up our litter and gathering our shit together we spaced ourselves a few yards apart and began our search for Sammy redskin.
We went no more than 30 or so yards and me mate says, "Oi, cunt stain, over here"....
I trundled a few yards to my left and there was our fella, conked out on the ground, looking every part a dead fucker.
I gave the bugger a prod in the arse with the barrel and pronounced the cunt, DOA !
Dropped me day bag on the deck, propped the gun on a tree and the fucking stag staggered to his feet and tried to fuck right off !
Cunt !!!!!
He staggered a very wobbly "Philipo is pissed and trying to swan dive into the mud off my front steps " 5 yards and fell down gasping his last.
Fuck me thats weird. Coulda sworn the cunt was dead !
Dragged the big bastard down to the creek to find its a different creek and we were slightly geographically challenged....shit.
Map out, compass out, GPS out....ah, the spur had forked about halfway down and we took the left fork instead of the right...no matter we had a deer, so we chopped it up, hung the bits and smashed a track out to the main drag and headed for home as it was now darker than the inside of a gypsies panty liner.

Got up at sparrows the following day after a top snooze and a hearty breakfast of Bambislammers porridge...
Actually, it was kinda like Goldihornbag and the 3 stud dwarfs......"er, whats for breakfast Goldi?..."Porridge"...yeah but whats it made of?....porridge....Tastes like shit you fucking dago wop shithead....stop your moaning and fucking eat it you snivelling goat sack.....fuck you, you're a cunt, ......yar yar yar, fuckstain fucking starve....and on and on it went.....so after nearly choking to death on fuckheads turn at breakfast we buggered off to get our meat, machete in hand and empty packs. Cut a track to the stag bits, slung his bits aboard and headed off for a well earned DOFRMOC....(day of fucking rest me old china).
Think we got fuck all else that trip...pissed down for 2 or 3 days but we were ok...nice dry hut, bit of meat to munch our way thru, a book or two and good cheery conversation with that cunt i call my best mate !:P