The King of Bánov: red stag hunting during the rut in Slovakia

I had been looking forward to red stag hunting during the rut in Slovakia for months. Five days in the mountains, good friends and a trip with HEMING awaited us. I had no idea that I would encounter the stag of a lifetime on our very first morning.

It was one of those February days when it feels as though spring will never come. Grey skies, rain and cold. Then my phone rang.

“Roman from Heming. What are you up to?” came the voice at the other end. “What hunting trip shall we plan this year? How about going after stags together during the rut?”

I did not need a second to think.

There is something about hunting stags during the rut that is hard to explain to anyone who has never stood in the mountains at daybreak, listening to the deep roars from the surrounding slopes. Add the company of good friends, and the decision makes itself.

We still had months to wait. I started looking forward to it straight away.

Into the Slovak mountains for the rut

Spring gave way to summer, and our WhatsApp group gradually came to life. We arranged the details, exchanged observations and jokes, and reminded one another that our trip was getting closer. Five days among people who shared my love of hunting and the outdoors.

On Friday, 18 September, we finally set off after lunch. Our hopes of an easy drive soon met the reality of Friday traffic. The motorways were congested, and it was already dark when we reached the mountains.

The moment I stepped out of the car, my tiredness vanished.

A stag roared in the darkness. Then another. Their calls carried through the night valley and echoed off the opposite slopes. For a while, I simply stood and listened. This was exactly what we had come for.

Then came the welcome from Roman, Ivan and our guides. A toast, introductions, the first stories and plans for the days ahead. We talked late into the night. Everyone knew we would be up early, but no one wanted to go to bed.

A dawn stalk with Maťo

The alarm rings at half past four. This time, I get up immediately. Get dressed, take the essentials and my rifle, and head outside the lodge.

My guide is Maťo, a cheerful fellow about my age. From the start, we have plenty to talk about. The drive through the mountains takes around forty-five minutes, but the conversation makes it fly by.

Maťo tells me about the stags he has been watching. He knows their movements and what has been happening in the hunting grounds over the past few days. Then he mentions one exceptionally powerful stag. It appeared here last season, then vanished, and for a long time no one knew where it had gone. Only at the beginning of this year's rut did Maťo spot it again.

“Perhaps we'll be lucky,” he says with a smile.

We step out of the car and immediately hear a stag roaring. It is not far away. The sound seems to strike straight through my chest. At that moment, everything else falls away. There are only the mountains, the dim morning light and that voice.

Dawn is slowly breaking. We stalk towards a stag calling somewhere near a ski slope. We are moving carefully when we suddenly see her.

A hind. Perhaps twenty metres ahead.

She watches us warily. We stand perfectly still and wait. After a while, she slowly turns and walks uphill. Only then do we move on.

The stag is still roaring.

An encounter I could hardly believe

Maťo peers over a rise in the ground.

“Stag.”

I look where he is pointing. Between the branches, I catch a glimpse of a silhouette. Just for an instant.

“My God, that's him.”

Three more steps, and suddenly I can see him. The stag Maťo was telling me about only moments earlier. He stands on the hillside, powerful and majestic. A hind is beside him. Both are looking our way.

“Are you comfortable taking the shot?” Maťo asks, leaning towards me.

I ask about the distance. Roughly two hundred and fifty metres. I look at the stag and the steep slope.

“No. Not at that distance.”

We try to work closer along the edge. We move slowly, taking a few steps and then standing still. A single alder gives us cover. Metre by metre, we draw nearer.

When I look out again, the stag stands like a statue in the middle of the slope. The hind is still beside him. Both are watching us.

I bring the rifle to my shoulder, and everything seems to slow down. Vapour rises from the stag's muzzle. His breath dissolves into the cold morning air. I can still see that image today.

I look at Maťo.

“May I?”

“Boha jeho, strieľaj.” For heaven's sake, shoot.

I try to steady my breathing and concentrate. Then the shot rings out. The report echoes off the opposite hillside and rolls back towards us.

The stag goes down. After a brief movement, he lies still.

Silence settles.

Maťo embraces me and offers his congratulations. I cannot quite find anything to say. Some emotions are difficult to put into words.

Another stag calls from the opposite slope. One deep roar. Perhaps it is only my imagination, but at that moment it feels as though he is bidding farewell to the king who has just fallen.

The King of Bánov and 225.13 CIC points

We wait for around a quarter of an hour. Then we climb the steep slope towards the stag.

When we reach him, we stand in silence for several minutes. I look at him, still unable to believe what has just happened.

Maťo looks at me.

“This is your gold-medal stag.”

He pauses, then adds:

“The King of Bánov.”

An irregular eighteen-pointer. An extraordinarily powerful stag I knew nothing about that morning, and one I will never forget.

We sit beside him for a long time, going over the entire hunt again. Where the hind stood. Where we first caught sight of the stag. How we moved closer, and how the vapour rose from his muzzle. I want to hold on to every one of those moments.

Back at the hunting lodge, another wave of emotion followed. Friends gathered around the trophy, congratulating me and hardly believing their eyes. The story began again each time.

Later, when I learned the trophy's score, I had to ask to hear it again.

225.13 CIC points.

A number that confirmed just how exceptional this stag was. Yet whenever I hear it, what comes back first is that morning: the steep hillside, the cold air and Maťo beside me.

Five days among friends

Our trip was far from over. Over the following days, all my friends also managed to take a stag. Each of us left the mountains with a story of his own and his own share of hunting luck.

For me, it is those shared moments that give a trip like this its lasting value. Early starts, journeys through the mountains, the waiting, evening stories at the lodge and the roaring of stags that stays in your thoughts long after you return home.

My heartfelt thanks go to Roman and the entire HEMING team for organising the trip and for all their care and attention. Above all, I am grateful for the people who accompanied us in the mountains. Their knowledge, experience and patience were part of every hunting day. The atmosphere they created made us feel like a group of friends on a shared adventure.

Special thanks go to Maťo. He was the one who led me up that mountainside on the morning I found the stag of a lifetime.

When I think back to that September morning, I always see the same image. The dim light of dawn, a steep slope and a stag standing like a statue. Vapour rising from his muzzle. I hear the echo on the opposite hillside, and then silence.

The silence in which the King of Bánov lay before us.

A stag the mountains gave me. A memory I will carry for the rest of my life.

Martin H.

You can experience the red deer rut in the Slovak mountains too. Explore red stag hunting in Slovakia with HEMING and talk to our team about the hunting trip you have in mind.