Chasing the MacNab: Scotland’s Toughest Hunt
I’d heard about the McNab Challenge for years. You have to catch a salmon, shoot two grouse, and take a red stag within 24 hours. It sounded tough, maybe even impossible. But as a sportsman who loves a challenge, these are exactly the kinds of hunting opportunities I live for.
That’s why, in the fall of 2024, International Sportsman organized a group of five experienced hunters to take on this challenge: Larry, Cody, Brad, Erik, and myself. We were hopeful. We knew what lay ahead would be difficult, but we believed we had a genuine chance to achieve the McNab.
As we landed in Edinburgh, we were unaware of what Scotland’s rugged terrain and unpredictable weather would have in store for us.
Day One: Preparing for the MacNab
The morning greeted us in the most Scottish way: gray skies, drizzle, and a chill that even good outdoor gear couldn’t totally fend off. The plan was to prepare our equipment at the rifle range and then receive some training on the Spey fishing rods at a nearby loch.
For the hunt, I brought two guns: the impressive Beretta BRX1 308 for the stag and the Beretta Silver Pigeon 12 gauge shotgun for the grouse. The BRX has a reputation for superior durability and precision, which made it ideal for the challenging Scottish conditions we would face. It comes with a synthetic stock, adjustable cheek rest, and ambidextrous trigger. It also includes a cold hammer-forged barrel and a straight-pull bolt action that lets you cycle quickly, which is essential for taking quick shots on Scotland’s rain-slicked hills. The Silver Pigeon, meanwhile, is a classic over-under shotgun that’s lightweight, balanced, and reliable, perfect for upland game-like grouse. Its low-profile action and smooth swing make it ideal for quick target acquisition in thick cover. It shoulders naturally and consistently, which is exactly what you need when your one shot might be the only one you get all day.
Mounted on top of the BRX was a Stealth Vision SVL scope, which is adjustable up to 20 power, which would let me clearly identify targets even at long range in low light. It features a built-in leveling system to maintain accuracy on Scotland’s unpredictable terrain, as well as exceptional glass clarity, which is critical for lining up a shot on a moving stag across a distant ridge.
A week before we landed in Scotland, I visited Tailwaters Fly Fishing in Dallas for a crash course in casting. The team there was welcoming and incredibly knowledgeable. They set me up in the casting field behind the shop and worked with me on everything from grip and stance to line control and timing. It had been a while since I’d done any fly fishing, and the refresher was precisely what I needed. We focused on building consistency in my cast and tightening up my loops. The instruction was hands-on and practical, and they took the time to answer all my questions without ever making me feel rushed. I left that session feeling a lot more prepared for what was ahead. Tailwaters isn’t just a gear shop; they genuinely care about getting people ready for the water.
By the time we were waist-deep in a Scottish river, I was thankful for the foundation laid at Tailwaters. The casting basics I’d practiced—timing, line control, and presentation—translated well to Spey casting. It’s not a different skill, just a refined one. With its longer, two-handed rod and anchored, sweeping motions, Spey casting is ideal for tight riverbanks and covering wide stretches of water without disturbing the fish. That’s exactly why it’s used for salmon during the McNab: you need distance, quiet delivery, and enough efficiency to cast all day without burning out. Our guide, Sam, coached us through the technique, and thanks to the groundwork in Dallas, I picked it up faster than expected.
We quickly learned the salmon would be our toughest target, especially with low water levels. Scotland had seen an unusually dry autumn leading up to our trip, with weeks of minimal rainfall. This meant the rivers hadn’t risen enough to trigger the salmon to move upstream in large numbers, leaving many of them pooled 30-60 meters deep. Without that rise, the salmon stayed low and cautious, making the already difficult task of tempting one to the surface even more challenging. Every cast mattered, and our placement had to be delicate. As Sam put it, “If one of your casts is a big splashy thing, it could spook the fish.”
We set out for the loch to test out our Spey casting. Only one group caught anything: a few trout. The experience made us realize just how tough the McNab would be. So, we spent the evening talking about our strategy. Four of us decided that our best bet would be to start with salmon each morning—land one early, then pivot to the stag and, hopefully, the grouse.
Most estates across Scotland had closed grouse hunting that fall due to poor breeding conditions. The low rainfall levels earlier in the season meant fewer birds hatched and survived. We were lucky that the estate where we were hunting had a decent grouse population and still allowed a limited hunt. But we knew we’d be lucky just to see one, let alone take a shot.
Erik’s strategy was different. He was determined to go for the stag first, and then go for the grouse and salmon. So while the rest of us would head out for the water, he would be the one heading for the hills at first light.
We ended the day with a growing sense that this challenge would live up to its reputation.
Day Two: First Taste of Reality
The terrain was soaked and spongy, and any sudden movement or exposed silhouette could send the herd running. The guides made every decision with the wind and cover in mind. They closed the distance toward a herd of nearly 100 red stags and hinds bedded down along a distant ridgeline. But just as they were getting close enough to set up a shot, a pair of hikers wandered along a nearby trail, completely unaware of the careful stalk happening on the neighboring hill. In Scotland, the “right to roam” allows the public to walk through almost any private land, including hunting estates, as long as they do so responsibly. It’s part of Scottish law and culture, and every hunter has to work around it. Unfortunately for Erik, it meant the stags spooked and scattered before he could line up a shot.
Back on the water, the rest of us cast tirelessly. Our training with Tailwaters had paid off as we landed fish after fish. But only trout were biting—a disappointing consolation prize. Sam explained that we needed rain and wind to create waves on the water. The salmon would be more active in the troughs of the waves. And even though we ultimately found ourselves sitting in a steady drizzle, the salmon refused to surface.
As the sun dipped behind the hills, we trudged back to the lodge, tired and fishless but still optimistic. Our spirits were high, even if the scoreboard read zero.
Day Three: Testing Our Patience
The next morning, I was fishing on the loch, hoping to find better luck. I spent hours casting and caught occasional nibbles from the salmon, but none ever took the bait. Hour after frustrating hour passed. It wasn’t easy, but challenges worth tackling rarely are.
While I was on the loch, Larry and Brad took their turns stalking stags on the hills. They experienced the same punishing terrain as Erik had the day before: crawling through soaked heather and trying to outmaneuver the wind. Every step was slow and deliberate.
They spotted deer in the distance, but like Erik, they had no clean opportunity. The deer stayed too far off, and the wind wouldn’t cooperate. They returned to camp wet, tired, and without having fired a shot. The hills had humbled us again.
That evening, we wondered how long our luck—or lack of it—would hold. No one wanted to say it out loud, but we were all wondering: would any of us pull this off?
Day Four: A Breakthrough
We were more than halfway through our time in Scotland, and none of us had landed a salmon or shot a stag. With every passing day, the odds of completing the McNab grew slimmer. Each unsuccessful outing weighed on us. We weren’t just battling the landscape—we were running out of time.
Our day on the loch went as every other day had gone. We put our Tailwaters training to great use and cast our rods like experts by now. But though the salmon nibbled, they never bit. We caught trout like pros, but obviously, that didn’t count.
It was Cody who achieved our group’s first success. Cody’s day-long stalk tested every bit of grit he had. He and his guide moved slowly through long stretches of waterlogged heather. Several times, they stopped to glass a ridgeline, hoping for a glimpse of antlers.
After hours of slow-motion stalking, they spotted a stag worth pursuing. They took an hour to close the distance from 500 to 200 yards. Cody waited nearly 20 minutes for the right moment to take his shot. When the stag finally stood, Cody squeezed the trigger. The animal bolted, but the shot landed. It took the group 40 minutes of careful tracking through a low-lying quarry to find it. It was an elderly cull, missing most of its teeth, but with an impressive set of antlers.
“He was just hanging out here, minding his own business, being an old man,” Cody’s guide, Sam, said. “The perfect beast to shoot, which makes me really happy.”
Cody’s success reignited everyone’s determination.
Watching him return triumphant and exhausted reinforced why this challenge was so compelling. “This is a hunt, not just a shoot,” he said, grinning through mud and rain, clearly proud of the effort he’d put in.
Day Five: Last Chance
We got a late start in the morning due to thick fog covering the hills. Visibility was almost nonexistent, so the guides held us back until about 11 a.m., when conditions cleared up. My opportunity to stalk a red stag was finally at hand. I partnered up with Brad, who was taking his second turn on the hills.
Brad and I worked our way across the rocky hillsides, glassing the ridgelines and trying to stay out of view. The heather was thick and wet, and every step sank deep, soaking our pants. We picked our way carefully, often pausing to check the wind direction and look for movement in the distance.
I was looking forward to using the BRX. The rifle felt great in my hands and was easy to carry through the hills. It’s fast, accurate, and built for these conditions.
We eventually spotted a herd and did our best to maneuver into a shooting position. But as we lined up our sites, the wind shifted, and the hinds alerted to us. Brad got lucky: a stag broke from the group and offered him a clean broadside. He took the shot and got his stag.
I waited, hoping for another opportunity, but it never came. The herd drifted away, and my moment was gone.
As daylight faded, reality set in: my McNab quest was unsuccessful. We made our way back down to the lodge in silence, both of us soaked to the bone, the wind cutting sharp across the hillside as we packed up for the last time.
Back at the lodge, the mood was quieter. No one spoke much during dinner. We weren’t sulking—we were just spent, physically and emotionally. But even in the silence, there was a sense of shared resolve. We’d be back.
What the McNab Taught Me
By the end of our trip, we’d achieved only part of what we’d set out for: two stags, no salmon, and no grouse. But it hardly felt like a failure. The Scottish hills had taught us about patience, skill, and respect for the wild.
The challenge, far from being a simple trophy to claim, became something deeper. I left with even greater respect for the land, its wildlife, and the intricate balance of skill, perseverance, and luck that defines hunting at its best.
For me, the McNab isn’t something to cross off a list; it’s become something I’ll keep chasing. I’ll be back, again and again, until I’m too old to climb those hills or cast a fly. After all, some challenges are worth chasing forever.
Jeremy Mallette is co-founder of International Sportsman. An avid hunter and outdoorsman, he has spent more than a decade in the outdoor industry, from hiking and camping to silencers and hunting. His father taught him to shoot at age six, and he received his first firearm at age eight — a 1942 Colt Commando .38 special revolver. He enjoys yearly trips to Kansas for pheasant hunting, spending time with his children at the deer lease, and collecting unique firearms.