On a mid-October afternoon, with temperatures reaching a record high that even prompted a late emergence of flying ants, I was in Richmond Park deer watching.

Standing at the top of a gentle slope I held prime position from which to observe two large herds of fallow and red deer congregating in the valley below.

With the rutting season at its peak, activity had reached fever pitch and three magnificent mature red stags, true monarchs of the glen, had each gathered together harems of about 15 hinds around whom they ceaselessly strutted, heads held high, issuing echoing, belching bellows to challenge rivals.

Pretenders there certainly were young stags trying their best to nip in and prize any stray hind, but without success as the monarchs were in prime condition.

Their coats drenched in clinging, scent-enhancing slimy mud gathered from nearby sheltered wet wallows, they chased the upstarts away. Those who stood their ground were met head on, resulting in a hollow metallic clash of antlers.

I suddenly became aware that I was not alone. Groups of people sat watching, enthralled by the splendid age-old courting ritual being enacted on the grassy arena by Britain's noblest members of the animal kingdom.

Fallow deer were also contributing to the display but in a quieter, more subtle way. Bucks with broad-bladed palmate antlers grunted as they herded does into tight units.

Never before had I witnessed such a scene, with so many animals involved, but perhaps the unseasonably hot sunny weather had contributed something extra to the excitement of the deer.

Both red and fallow deer are native to Britain, although the latter species died out during the ice age and was re-introduced by either the Normans or Romans.

The bloodlines of those living in Richmond Park extend way back in time.

November 19, 2001 16:00