The horns of Eld’s deer are very difficult to measure in the ordinary way, owing to the extreme smallness of the burr, the back of the beam in good specimens touching the skull, and because the brow antler does not form an angle with the beam, but is simply a prolongation of the curve of the horn.
XXVII. THE CASHMERE STAG (Cervus cashmirianus)—Sterndale, Kinloch. (Cervus Wallichii)—Jerdon, Ward
Cashmere: Hangal, Barasingh
This is the stag par excellence of India. A sambur has a fine head and so has a swamp deer, but neither approaches in beauty to a barasingh. A good stag’s head is one of the trophies of the Himalayas, but unfortunately it is getting scarcer year by year. Sheep and cattle affect this deer but little, as they keep more or less to the open downs and glades; but the yearly increasing herds of buffaloes that come up from the plains to graze in Cashmere during the summer, at the very time that the stags are growing their horns, are the real mischief-makers. Buffaloes delight in plunging through dense forest, and they and their attendants will clear the deer out of any valley. Unfortunately for the sportsman, buffaloes pay for their feeding in taxes and produce, while deer do not. The best step as regards preservation that the Cashmere authorities have taken as yet is the creation of a Royal Preserve between the Sindh and Liddur rivers, and if they would only exclude buffaloes from this tract entirely it would form a real sanctuary, which would immensely improve the shooting all round. At present, by allowing buffaloes to graze on it, they are depriving it of half its value.
In spite of all drawbacks stags are still to be got, but in no quantity. Two good heads in a month’s shooting are as many as any sportsman can reasonably hope to get, and if one of those measures 40 ins., whether with ten or twelve tines, he is to be congratulated.
The general impression about barasingh seems to be that a full-grown stag always has twelve points, but this the writer believes to be entirely erroneous. I have hunted over some of the best ground in Cashmere on different occasions, and am of opinion that the number of points usually found in full-grown heads depends entirely upon the locality. The stags which do not leave the Cashmere Valley, i.e. harbour on the hills overlooking it, and those that live to the south-east, often run to twelve and sometimes more points; while the stags which harbour across the Kishengunga rarely run to more than ten points. These stags appear to develop ten points very early; the poorest head the writer ever shot was a 10-pointer. I shot a young stag with only six points once, under circumstances that gave no opportunity of previously judging its head, and it had far longer and better horns than the above-mentioned 10-pointer. Crummle and antelope heads are also rare. I once shot a very heavy old stag with a most curious antelope head, the horns having not a tine on them, and being twisted more like a markhor’s than a stag’s. The old fellow was absolute king of the valley, too, and not another stag dared answer his challenge. It was very puzzling at the time. While stalking another stag which had called once among some thick bushes but would not show, the old antelope head appeared far up the hill, sauntering leisurely down, and challenging as he came. Every deer within hearing seemed to hide from him at once. There was a small 6-point stag with a hind cowering behind some bushes about two hundred yards to my right, while the deer that he had originally started after were keeping hidden somewhere to his left, and the old chieftain was coming straight towards him, singing his war-song. Over and over again were the glasses laid on him, but nothing could be made out. The body was that of a royal, but the horns were short, with no antlers visible. Apparently he was a bad three-year-old. What did it mean? If he were a big royal the respect shown him by the other stags was intelligible enough; but why should they be afraid of a beast like that? Fairly puzzled, I crept back to look for the stag I had originally come down after, which there was every reason to believe was a 10-pointer. Not a sign of him could be seen, but while pottering about in some long grass a pair of straight horns suddenly appeared within forty yards of me. Confound this brocket! he has walked on top of me; perhaps he may just miss me! No! he comes straight on and looks me in the face. Now the brute will drive everything away, so here goes—and he drops in his tracks. A brocket? Not a bit of it; twenty years old if he’s a day, and his quaint old head is the pick of the bag.
The general colour of barasingh is much the same as that of red deer, but is rather greyer, and the white patch on the rump appears a little larger. Sterndale says it has a white circle round the eyes, but the writer has never seen anything more distinct of this kind than a ring slightly paler than the rest of the head.
The horns resemble those of the red deer, with the notable exception that with barasingh the bez antler appears to be the fighting one, and is always longer and bigger than the brow antler, while with red deer the reverse is the case. Sir Victor Brooke says its call is just like that of a wapiti, and quite different from that of a red stag. ‘In the former it is a loud squeal, ending in a more guttural tone; in the latter it is a distinct roar, resembling that of a panther.’ According to the writer’s experience, the full call is seldom heard till the rutting season is at its height. When the stags first begin roaring the call is comparatively short. Ward’s remarks on the subject are well worth quoting: ‘The noise a stag can make when “roaring” is much louder than would be imagined, and can be heard at a great distance; but very often, when the animal is lying down, he only utters a prolonged moaning sound, which is very deceptive, and unless frequently repeated, it is difficult to find out the exact direction to follow.’
In the winter nearly all the barasingh are congregated in the Cashmere Valley, but though the smaller stags come down and are pretty easily found, the big ones will not leave the high ground, where it is impossible to follow them (unless they are driven down by an early fall of snow), until the young grass begins to grow in March, which is the best month to get heads, though of course the deer are then in poor condition. Ward writes about winter shooting: