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Thirty minutes later, we were 20 meters from where the stag should have been, but he had picked his resting place in a depression wo we still could not see any part of him. Ankhaa looked up for Sherif, but he was not showing himself so the stag must not have moved. We took one more step and I heard the bull crashing away and then I saw him at 60 meters as he emerged from the depression running straight away. At 70 meters my safety was off, at 90 meters my crosshairs found his left shoulder as he angled uphill, and at 100 meters I killed him with a spine shot. After pictures and before caring for the meat and trophy, Ankhaa and I ate our lunch of bread, water, cucumber, tomato, and ox tongue while Sherif climbed back down the grassy side of the mountain to bring the jeep closer. In the distance, a goar hearder moved his goats to that day's feeding area, a young girl milked a mare, and her borther captured a horse with a long pole and noose for his morning ride to water the camels and yaks. Except for my rifle, it could be have been the 12th century.
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