The only sound we hear as we make our way stealthily towards our stand is that of acorns tumbling through the autumn foliage and falling onto the surrounding ground. The air is cool, the wind merely a gentle draft, as we move slowly among the oaks, beech trees, limes and ash. I’m out with my guide and tracker, Arpi, for a third day in the Hungarian forest. So far, things have been quiet; our only sightings have been groups of mouflon, the occasional red deer hind and a stag that sported a fine set of budding horns but was too young to hunt. I can’t fail to notice my tracker’s growing unease over the fact that we haven’t yet found a suitable stag for me. No doubt he’s asking himself, ‘When will our luck change?’