Monarch Or Menace?

Scotland’s largest land mammal is also one of its most contentious. The 'deer problem' divides conservationists, land managers and the public like no other.

- Peter Cairns

The wind is straight out of the north and bites at my face. Cresting the whaleback ridge, a breathtaking panorama emerges – a raw, wild moonscape stretching far beyond a horizon I can barely discern. This unforgiving landscape is quintessentially Scottish. It’s the signature landscape of the Highlands, dominated by hundreds of thousands of acres of bare moorland, rock and bog. In front of me lies Inverpolly Forest, undoubtedly spectacular, but barely a tree, or even a bush, to be seen. This is a traditional hunting forest or, more specifically, a deer hunting forest, which by definition contains few trees.

In 1851 when celebrated artist Sir Edwin Landseer depicted a royal stag against the majesty of the Highlands, he created an evocative and enduring image of Scotland’s hills and glens, thereby sealing a tradition in which wealthy Victorian industrialists came to the Highlands and paid handsomely to shoot deer – particularly big trophy stags. Approaching two centuries later, deer hunting, or stalking, remains at the cultural heart of the Scottish Highlands, contributing to land values, providing jobs and, for many people, binding rural communities together.

Since the advent of deer forests, the uniquely Scottish tradition of open hill stalking has changed little and the barren uplands that cover around 1.5 million hectares of Scotland’s wildest country remain emblematic of a period that many wish to retain. For those landowners, deerstalkers, game dealers and paying rifles, red deer and their treeless forests symbolise what Scotland looks like. Or rather, what Scotland should look like.