Man, Woman and Dog

When Robbie sent a text to say that there were a few available days where the logging contractors were taking a break for the holidays, we were really excited. We had never hunted his block in the summer before and James and I were both feeling like some child-free time in the outdoors would do us nicely! James had been putting in some hard yards practising with his bow nearly every day, and his attempts at excitedly telling me about fiddly minute adjustments, tiny increments and technical details of arrow flight were thwarted by my brain’s firewall. Anyway, we decided on a late afternoon / evening hunt and were both absolutely buzzing with anticipation. It was Boxing day and also the sixth anniversary of our engagement so the perfect way to spend time together.

It was lovely to catch up with Robbie for the first time in a few months and hear about what had been happening on the farm, as well as compare notes on raising wild piglets. We asked if he minded if we shot goats as they had not been discussed in previous conversations and some farmers prefer to round them up for sale. He looked at us like we were bonkers and asked why we would want to shoot those stinking things! We had a chuckle thinking about how low our standards must seem and I said to James that one day I would get a pig that would impress Robbie and carry the damn thing out on my back.

The track was rather different to last time we visited, after the logging crews had been at work. Hard crusted mud undulated into sharp points, intermingled with shattered tree pieces and surprisingly deep water-filled cavities. I had to abandon searching the slopes and bush margins for a bit to watch my feet instead after a couple of minor blunders. A huge orange digger and pile of denuded pine trunks lay ahead of us and I indicated that beyond that we were in hunting mode. James was ahead with the bow and his goal was to get some kind of large animal, not fussy on what. Me, I was just happy to be outside hunting, but having a crack at a pig would always make me happier! My dog was keen to be up front where he could see the action was going to be, but I kept him at heel next to me so he didn’t distract James.

James suddenly signalled that there were goats on the track just beyond the digger, and I could see two black ones at the crest of the corner. Slithering out of his pack, James crept up the bank above the mob to try to get a shot from behind a tree, but no ethical shots were presented. As the mob moved on he went back onto the track after them, and as I rounded the corner I laughed inwardly at the scene before me. All different sized goats bounced in and out of the mob from the surrounding scrub and James trundled along behind like a shepherd. They were not particularly bothered by him but were moving away. I picked up his pack, suddenly noticing the heat beating down on us and caught up to him just as he started to turn toward me. He was explaining why he didn’t shoot when I thought I heard a snort above us and mentioned it. We both heard the second one and James spotted a goat watching us from a close distance above the track. The wind was all over the place as he measured the distance and waited for the goat to turn. The arrow was sent flying and hit true, and we watched as the goat ran a few steps, staggered and fell. We saw where it fell but I got my dog to find it anyway, and praised him heavily when he did. James was absolutely over the moon with getting goat and having everything go to plan. Our hunt was off to a great start!

Picking our way down the craggy track, smelling a bit goatier and seeing the scattered black pellets as evidence of the animals ahead of us, we found the heat very intense. Eli was panting loudly and lapping at muddy puddles filled with twitching mosquito larvae. At the big clearing the mob of goats could be seen on the bush fringe. Billies were chasing nannies and half-heartedly fighting so James’s pack was once again shimmied from his shoulders and abandoned. I thought he was a bit highlighted in the sun out in the open, but he dipped below the level of the track and sidled behind some gorse bushes to line up on a couple of animals. I saw him send off three arrows and wave me up, so I grabbed his pack and headed over. He wanted my rifle to finish one off so I handed it to him, explaining that there was a bullet chambered and safety on. He shot the goat at a distance of about ten metres, unloaded the rifle and set it down. Inspecting the young billy we found him dead; the arrow had gone right through the vitals and he would have died very quickly anyway. James explained that he had shot another, and that the third arrow had been to speed things up for one he had already hit, but it had gone right over his back. James said that he was unsure where the other goat had gone and we went back to look at the blood splatters on the grass. Eli slowly wandered into the bush so I followed him, and soon heard him licking. He found the goat very quickly and very dead, in a patch of blackberry and grass. He had not gone far at all. For James and I, used to hunting with rifles, the way an arrow kills takes a bit of getting used to. They don’t produce the massive hydrostatic shock of a bullet and so slip right through quite cleanly. This does result in animals that are able to move away a bit more before succumbing.

I was feeling pretty hungry by then and suggested we sit and have a meal and a drink. It was about 4pm and still very hot. I sent Robbie a text saying that James had got three goats and received the reply that we needed to lift our standards and we laughed. We were chatting about the hunt and how stoked James was to get good accurate and well-placed shots on 3 animals, when another mob of goats was spotted coming down the track towards us. They were all black except for a pretty black and white one, so James sneaked off to try to get it. It was a bit hard to see what was happening but my dog was very interested in the action! However there was not much to be excited about in the end; the white goat did not present an ethical shot. James had been about two metres from a big black nanny goat though and he said they had very young kids in the mob.

It was my turn to lead, finally! We hitched on our packs and carried on over the hill, swishing long grass. The ground soon turned soft and revealed a range of hoof marks; goat, deer and pigs of various sizes. It was really exciting to see the wallowing areas surrounded by muddy grass trails left by the low bellies of pigs as they left the open areas. Eli worked in front of me, slowly and very quietly with ears, nose and eyes working. He gave a solid indicate but as there was a hare crouching, eyes bulging, just three metres from us, I ignored it. A few more steps and we heard the unmistakable sound of deer crashing away, spooked. Nothing was out in this heat and the glare from the sun made seeing into the shadows pretty challenging. Should have listened to the dog! James decided to take a look in the bush with his bow and when he came back he said there was a tiny spotted fawn on the ground and it ambled away on awkward legs like a miniature giraffe.

Along the track there were sow and piglet prints, wallows, game trails and a lot of Californian quail. We came to the gorse that we thought was a dead end last time and pushed through. The spines raked my bare arms and scraped across my hat as I pushed through the branches. We soon emerged on the other side and continued on along the track. We were looking for a big clearing and after pushing through another gorse wall we found ourselves standing in the sunlight. I said to James that we should mark this with flagging tape so we knew where to get back in as from the outside it just looked like a wall of gorse. The grass was over a metre high and the wind was strong, swirling. We decided we would just take a careful walk through and get the lay of the land for future hunts, and I had only just started to walk when Eli went on full point. I showed James his indicate as it was a definite but we couldn’t see any animals. And then I saw the creamy coloured spotty back of a fallow in the grass, and a dark head quickly popped up, and three deer trotted off. They must have got a puff of our scent and woken from a good nap!

After a bit more exploring and getting our bearings, we headed back down the track. Approaching the gorse patch with Eli in the lead only a metre ahead of me, we came face to face with a mob of deer. Unfortunately, for the first time in about five or six years, my darling hound decided to chase them. A quick finger on the remote control brought him back very quickly and taught him that was a definite NO. I have felt the collar was unnecessary for a long time but when he wears it he knows that we are hunting, and so goes into a very good working mode. He is so understanding of what the role entails that he will even stop himself from shaking his head as it makes noise which carries in the bush. His obedience has been so near perfect for so long it would have been easy to leave the collar at home, but it is also great reassurance to have the GPS capability “just in case.” I was glad to be able to correct him and not spend the evening trying to get an over-excited dog back from a naughty adventure!

After that little blip, we came across a black doe standing in the open but as I tried to get James up ahead of me she dissolved into the bush. My dog did not move. He was great at picking up our trail from before and leading the way back. Sometimes he would take a wrong turn, sniff and then get back on the scent. Years ago I had shot two deer in the Northern Ruahines just on dark, and it clagged in. The track was swept over with tussock and impossible to see. Eli lead me the whole way back to the hut just like what he was doing now.

It was getting late in the evening now and the deer were definitely on the move. Eli indicated strongly and another black doe was spotted against some scrub but moved off before James was in range. Another solid point from my dog as we crossed the clearing and in the direction he was staring were some peacocks sliding into the bush in the distance. Yet another definite indicate and this time it was James that spotted the doe on the slope where the goats had been earlier. He went off to see if he could get a shot but at 46 metres she was poorly positioned relative to him, and off she went.

I was getting a bit impatient to examine the lower slopes where i thought pigs were most likely to be seen and it was getting dark. As we passed beneath where the fallow doe had been Eli wheeled around, indicated and started climbing the bank. He certainly knew what we were after!

Around a corner with Eli just a little in front there were pigs on the track. I never saw them because they saw my dog, woofed and bolted. The sound pigs make in the bush is so much different to deer that are running, and there is no mistaking that huffing woofing sound- my two not so little piglets still woof at me many times a day before barrelling into the grass and running at me to get their food.

It was too dark to shoot now so we put on head torches and saw the eye shine of quite a few fallow as we picked our way along the track. The wind had gone and so had the heat of the day, although warm air currents were rising from the concrete-like mud crust on the track and bringing with them a stagnant piney scent. The sky was perfectly clear and the moon was a thin sliver above the golden lights of Robbie’s house. My little dog lead us back to the truck, man and woman, tired, hungry and amused at the latest message from Robbie:

“Did you get anything better than a goat?”

A Birthday Bow Hunt and a Real Surprise!

Paul, James and I weren’t letting the crappy forecast dampen our excitement to hunt Robbie’s place again, and we all piled into the truck. It had been a while since we had hunted with James’s dad, and after celebrating James’s birthday over lunch, we hit the road. James was keen to get out with his bow after fly fishing opening weekend plans didn’t eventuate.

Robbie wasn’t home but since I had hunted there last time I knew where to go. The rain was light and it was a windless, fairly warm day so actually a lot more pleasant than anticipated. After posing for a couple of photos and getting the guys to open the electric wires I suggested that we start stalking as soon as we got onto the track, since I had seen deer so close last time.

Within a few minutes we had spotted some melanistic fallow trotting away, and a mob of goats up in the pines on the neighbour’s block nearby. We were certainly off to a promising start! With James in the lead about 40m ahead, Paul and I very quietly took up the rear. As we approached an area of track with a fallen tree, I told James through a variety of hand signals to be on the lookout, as I had seen deer in that area last time. My senses were on full alert and I just had a feeling! We watched as he stalked then stopped, measured a distance, took aim and after a pause, let the arrow fly. He stood there a while and we could see him breathing hard before he ushered us to come to him. I felt sure he would have got something but we arrived in time to see a really good fallow buck pronking along the flats. It looked very healthy as it disappeared.

James explained that the buck had been bedded down 38 yards away just off the track, and it had seen him. At the very moment he released the arrow it sprung to its feet and the arrow passed beneath it. Very bad luck! We thought that it was the universe telling him he needed to do more work to earn a buck like that. None the less I could tell he was very disappointed.

As we stalked slowly along the track, more of the bottom flats became apparent.

“Hey! Pigs!”

I spotted a little black one and some gray ones zipping around between the reeds and small shrubs. James suggested that Paul and I go down with our rifles and try to get a couple of them for pest control. Thinking about it, I said that I really was not the right person to shoot in that situation, so taking his bow I sent him off with my rifle and found a nice elevated area to watch the hunt. I could see three little pigs and I immediately recognised that they were the remainder of the litter from the last hunt (the two I had to release and the runt). After a bit of time, two shots rang out and two pigs dropped and kicked on the ground. The black one escaped. Being such a terrible pest on this farm, getting two was a good result.

When the guys emerged up at the track again they were a bit warmer than they had been, and they had the piglets with them. The ones I took home last time were in much better condition than these, owing to being fed good piglet pellets and having all their parasites removed. Still, it was interesting to see that these ones had been doing fairly ok without their mum which confirmed my belief that they had been at about weaning age, and also eased some of my guilt.

After the guys had caught their breath and we had all had a drink, we continued our stalk along the track. There were some fresh footprints and droppings along the clay banks and I remarked to Paul that it smelled like a buck had been there. James tried to stalk a few “disco chickens” for fun along the way. Soon we were at the big basin where I had shot the pig last time and we reconvened to make a plan. I felt we were a bit exposed being out in the open and that we should be taking things very quietly still, when we caught a glimpse of animals watching us from a clearing in the scrubby hill face above. There were four goats, and the big white one was looking straight at us. Paul and I stayed put to keep their focus, and James entered the bush to try to get one. We knew it would be thick and awful and we weren’t sure if he would be able to see them from amongst all the creepers, gorse and scrub. Sure enough, about half an hour later he emerged, having done an arc along the bottom and missing seeing the goats entirely. They were still in place looking at us. He had a big grin on his face though as he had spooked a few fallow in there.

The goats are the little white specks up high on the hill

I had not ventured beyond this basin and so was unable to tell the guys what lay beyond. The first glimpse over the rise told me it was exciting country to stalk though! My senses were back on full alert as James went ahead and I just happened to peek in between some gorse bushes only 100m from where Paul and I had stood talking for half an hour, and spotted a fallow yearling looking at me. I signalled to James to come back, and be very quiet. There was a hind there too, and she stood quickly with her white rear contrasting against the gorse. I remained where I was with the deer looking at me, while James tried to get around to the side of them. They were 50m from me and James was not yet comfortable shooting that distance with the bow. Unfortunately they suddenly diverted their attention towards him and bolted.

Crappy picture but you can see the yearling

The rain continued to fall as we sneaked through new territory. It was scrubby hunting heaven with fresh pig rooting and all manner of nooks and crannies for game to be residing. Quail fluttered up into the air making twittering sounds as we crept past the bush margins. My little dog was a bit cold and wet as he tried to pad around the thick mud patches, sometimes going in deeper than he anticipated. We found the green water tank protruding from the ferns, and I recalled Robbie mentioning this as a landmark in his directions last time. I couldn’t remember if it was on his place or not, so we all stopped for a drink while awaiting his reply to my text. I found some very well used deer beds in the fern just beyond the little spur we were on, and noted that it would be very exciting to hunt in the croak.

Robbie confirmed that beyond the fence was indeed still his place, so we picked up our gear and proceeded to follow a little track that was more like a creek. James said he was a bit mentally tired now, and asked if I would like to lead. My little dog and I squeezed between the gorse and manuka, and used fallen branches to aid us in crossing deep mud patches. Every now and then I heard a loud slurp from behind me as someone prised their foot from the sodden clay. The bush was fairly open but there was not a lot of sign along the track. The rain started to really set in and it was 5:30 when I came across a pretty tight bit of gorse and made the decision that we should don rainwear and head back.

The plan was to just nip back down the track and through the basin, resuming stalking once we were on a bit further. No complaints from my cold little dog, who perked up rather a lot at the promise of heading home! I was in the lead and picked up a pretty swift pace. As I got towards the ledge on the right side of the track I saw a fallow disappear. I ushered James to go and look at the margins of bush in this little area and Paul and I stayed on the track. As James’s camouflage gear merged with the bush , I swung my eyes to the flats below. Suddenly I was on high alert.

“Is that a really big pig!!???” I asked Paul, thinking it could have been a yearling cattle beast.

“That is a VERY big pig!”

“I’m going to get it!”

And I was gone down that hill in a flash. Pretty sure I disappeared so rapidly that Paul was left talking to himself.

My heart rate was definitely up and my hands and legs felt a bit shaky as I slipped quietly but quickly down the hillside using gorse as cover. Before getting too far down there I made sure I had a round chambered and put my scope caps in my pocket. I checked the wind frequently and it was in my favour, but I could not see that pig anywhere! I was trying to be cautious – not revealing myself and blowing it by stumbling right on it, but also was having a lot of difficulty seeing where he had gone to. After looking for almost 20 minutes I looked at the guys 300m up the hill on the track waving a bunch of gestures at me. Through the mist and drizzle I saw James waving me back in and thought maybe the pig went back into the bush. Bugger! I started back up the hill.

As I got to a bit of a plateau I looked down behind me and there he was! A huge strikingly black shape against the mud flats and moving at a trot. I knew I had to act fast. He was at a distance of about 150m, which I was comfortable with so I quickly flipped out the bipod legs, flung myself onto my belly, lined him up in the scope, followed him along in the cross hairs and let a bullet fly. I had aimed for the centre of his shoulder but had never shot anything moving before. I felt the shot was a good one. He U-turned and bolted about 15 metres before hitting water hard, sending up huge waves on either side of him. He then vanished behind a big patch of blackberry and did not re-emerge. My dog came barrelling down the hill to me very excited and I had to rein him in. The last thing I needed was a potentially injured pig getting him! Peeking around the brambles I was absolutely rapt to see him laying on his side in the final throes of dying. A really big pig! I let out quite a few yells of excitement letting the guys know that I had got him. They didn’t see the pig or see me shoot it, but they had heard the solid thud of the bullet hitting.

The bullet had entered in the absolute perfect spot in the shoulder through the heart and he was dead very fast which is always a relief. James and Paul came down the hillside to me, congratulated me and took some photos . He was a big animal and even Paul didn’t think he could carry him out. He certainly weighed more than my 70kgs! The two guys had to work together to move him to a spot where I could get to work with the knife, taking the back legs, a front leg and the back steaks.

We got out of the farm in the dark; wet and muddy, but totally buzzing. The whole hunt had been really exciting from start to finish, and what an amazing bonus that pig was!

It was pretty dark by the time we left

A Surprising Spring Hunt

Robbie walked with me down the grassy farm track, as red-coated cattle scattered in front of us. He had given me permission to hunt his block at very short notice and also to bring my dog, despite it being lambing time. We had only met once before, when he allowed us to hunt the other side of his block. Unfortunately that day the neighbours decided to do an extended mustering session with hours of revving of motorbikes and swearing at dogs. At some points it was pretty comical:

“Wendy!! Get in Wendy!
“Fuck! Get the fuck out of it!! WENDY!!!!!!!!”

Followed by a whole pile of unintelligible expletive-laden stuff.

However towards the late afternoon a hunting party on their side positioned themselves just a few metres from the boundary of the basin we were watching, so we gave up and went home. Pretty sure Robbie thought we were either hopeless or very unlucky.

Today was a bit different; I was hunting solo, and exploring the bush tracks on the farm. It was much more my style and it was a gorgeous sunny day. We walked along and chatted, and Robbie was explaining where the boundaries are and various landmarks to look out for.

“Deer.” I said, freezing. A mob of fallow looked down on us from amongst mature pines, then jogged away. I hadn’t even loaded my rifle yet. Robbie laughed that his usual advice is that you never see deer along here, before farewelling me, advising me not to get lost, and departing. It was just the dog and I. I loaded my rifle and Eli and I walked quietly over the sodden ground, eyes following shadows and movements. We didn’t have to watch for long before I spotted some pale coloured fallow hinds about 50m away. Eli was indicating at them and I considered shooting one but we had literally only been walking 5 minutes, and I really wanted to explore this side of the farm. I watched them dissolve into the pines.

The bush was kanuka, gorse and whiteywood scrub mostly, with some fairly mature gum and pine plantations. Around us in a horseshoe shape were tall ridges covered in dense bush and scrub. Several times Eli went on point, indicating there were things ahead. They were always peacocks but it was some very good spotting from him! Steam curled upwards from beneath trees as the sun glowed down on us, enhancing the heady coconut smell of gorse flowers.

Eli indicates something below the track

Along the track I noticed some tiny little piglet footprints which were very fresh and lead in the direction we were walking. The breeze was tickling my right ear. We reached a large paddock dotted with gorse and scrub, and I crouched behind some reeds to watch. A few peahens in the distance saw us and flew. I didn’t have my binos or even a backpack today – just a knife on my belt and my phone in my pocket. I didn’t plan a big day. After watching for a few minutes I saw piglets zipping around on the top of a small scrubby hill. Those definitely aroused some interest! Robbie has had a terrible time with pigs – ripping up his paddocks and eating lambs. I had been told that if I saw any pigs I was to shoot them, regardless! I was pretty eager, having never hunted one before. I heard a couple of grunts and the piglets disappeared from view. I knew they weren’t spooked at 100m, and that they wouldn’t be far away. I crept forward a short distance, keeping Eli right in next to me. Kneeling where I had a clear view between reeds and gorse I waited.

And soon a big dark shape emerged from below the midline of the hill, and started ripping up yet more of the precious grass. I crammed an ear plug in one ear, lay on my belly on the swampy ground and lined up on her shoulder. Once the smoke cleared from my view and my dog came back (he ran towards the pig when I fired and was told off), I could see the bullet had knocked her right over and she was in her death throes. I would normally feel bad shooting a sow with piglets, but they are so terribly destructive it was warranted. I left my rifle, asked Eli to stay and went up to take a look. The piglets had come back to their mum and taken her rolling over as an invitation to suckle. I easily sneaked up behind them and grabbed four back legs. With me holding four piglets screaming and thrashing in the air, my dog sure did well not to come running! They were each the size of a big adult rabbit and quite heavy, so I think I also did well walking around with these four creatures fighting me as I tried to work out how I could contain them to take them home. Unfortunately with both hands completely full and a long walk ahead of me, I had to drop two so I could reach my phone and ask Robbie for a hand. I didn’t want the one I shot to spoil on this warm day. I could barely hear him above the screaming piglets, but understood that he was bringing a sack.

The piglets settled down after a while and about 20 minutes later Robbie appeared, the white sack catching the breeze like a flag. It was a relief to hand them over as my forearms were very tired! He very kindly took some photos for me before I got to work on the sow. She was pretty thin and both shoulders were ruined, so sadly I could only take the hind legs. Despite her condition, I couldn’t believe how heavy she was, dead weight! Pigs are very deceptive.

We will certainly be looking forward to having wild pork on the menu, and the piglets will be raised up for the freezer too. We still have the goat kids from our last hunting trip and they have become wonderful pets, although they are only attached to me. Now it was time to get the piglets, meat and one very muddy little dog home.

Two Goats, One Arrow

We were off to a gentlemen’s start on a cold, overcast July morning to check out a forestry block with the intention of a goat cull. It was surprisingly close to home and we arrived early, in time for me to scoff breakfast in the truck. I had just put the first rounds through my rifle since investing in a recoil pad, and the difference was incredible. All these years I had been told my rifle had no recoil etc etc, but actually the hard butt had bruised my bony shoulder each time, and also was fairly unpleasant against my cheek. I was feeling excited to take it out for a hunt with modifications on board.

The young couple who we were meeting I had only met once before, but they were instantly likeable and we had a whole lot in common. They had very kindly offered us an opportunity to hunt and we gratefully accepted. Getting away from the kids for a weekend is a pretty rare feat and as much as we love them, we also relish a break. We met up with Alex and Tui and they gave us a tour of the block, and some directions for good places to hunt. As we followed their ute some goats ran across the road, and we watched as Alex hopped out and shot a couple, and James went down to help him get it back up the hill. It was a nice young meat animal which was swiftly prepped and put in the back of his ute to take home. We drove further on, to the top of the block where we had a bit of a catch up before saying our farewells.

We decided to take a recommended route following the boundary fence where there were sunny grassy areas. The mature pine forest was pretty low in undergrowth and these areas looked very attractive to grazing animals. We parked the truck and were sorting out our gear when I spotted something in the distance.

“What are those? “

“It’s a fallow in the fence… oh! No it’s a pair of fallow grazing!”

Excitement levels rising, I set off down the track towards them, slowing and stalking the corners in case there were others, closer. I reached the band of manuka where I had seen them, but there was a big pile of slash between me and them. I could see them moving behind it, but definitely couldn’t shoot through it. I couldnt even be sure they were fallow i was seeing. Taking my pack off made a scraping noise despite me trying to take great care, and a dark one ran off to the right. I could still see one grazing so I took a rest on a large lump of clay and waited for one of them to move into a clearer position. A black goat moved out onto the track. I waited several minutes, but suddenly both fallow sprinted off. I am not sure what spooked them as the wind had been good and I was lying still, out of sight. Damn. James appeared behind me. I whispered that there were some goats there too and he wanted to have a go with his bow. James had been working for 10 months shooting targets with his bow and building his skills, and he had yet to make his first kill, so he was keen. He went off in front and I hung back to allow him to stalk in.

I saw James draw back on the bow and send the arrow, and the goat ran. Suddenly James was asking for the rifle so I ran up and handed it to him, as I saw a black goat moving away with an arrow protruding from its rump. I had no idea what had happened. James felled the goat quickly with a single shot and then explained that he had shot the goat he aimed for, which had been killed very swiftly and lay just off to the left. However there was a second black goat standing exactly behind the first one, and this was the unlucky billy that we had to shoot. The arrow had passed nearly right through the second goat too! Wounding him took some of the shine off the first kill for James I think, but it was lucky we were able to deal to him so fast.

Leaving the goats on the track, we carried on down the boundary. I was up ahead moving quietly and I suddenly detected movement. My eye was drawn to two fallow in a steep uphill slope of mature pines in front of me, so I lay on the ground to take aim. It was an awkward shot, but with the newly installed stock pack against my cheek I found it much easier than anticipated and quickly lined up a large melanistic doe. She was quartering towards me so I aimed for the front of the shoulder to intersect the heart and carefully squeezed the trigger. As the rifle went off (no recoil, yay!) I saw both of them move up the slope and disappear into the thick trees.

James appeared. “Did you hear that hit? I asked.

“Yup, what was it?” James had seen me go into stalk mode but assumed I had seen goats.

“Fallow, hopefully!”

We could hear the distinctive kicking of a felled animal so we headed up the slope where I had last seen them, and there she lay. She was a beautiful animal and I silently thanked her for her sacrifice as we took a photo, then went to work taking off the legs and back steaks to hang in the trees to cool.

There was a stock yard further on along the boundary, and we saw that a fairly nice buck had been hung up in the fence by a back leg, and perished – a horrible way to go. A black shape silently darted off under cover and I recognised it as a wild cat that had been feeding on the carcass. James tried to locate it in the darkness beneath the pines, but it was pretty well hidden in the humps and hollows, and everytime I directed him to it, the cat darted away.

Quietly moving on, we found very fresh pig rooting but unfortunately the creator of these areas was no longer around. I would love to get a pig one day! Down the track despite not hearing anything I had a feeling that something was around. I froze and suddenly realised a mob of goats was above me, and i was very close to them. Even though I could have got one with the rifle, I motioned for James to have a go with the bow and with a nod he crept forward. There was a tense stand off for several minutes between himself and a billy, as the billy stared at him and he dared not move. There was no clean shot available through the stand of manuka, so after an eternity james tried to move forward. This prompted the goats moved further down hill, and they gave us the slip by disappearing into the trees.

We decided to head back towards the truck and boned out our venison on the way, before taking the back legs off the goats further up the track as dog tucker. We were pretty happy to reach the truck as we were both feeling hungry and I was very caffeine deficient!

As the sun came out, so did the goats, and on the track ahead of us was a trio. I had planned to shoot all 3 and lined up on the biggest one from a stump, and she took a few steps and fell. I soon realised the others were smaller than i had thought as they stayed by her side. James drove the truck up and we chased the little creatures briefly in the slash before grabbing them. They screamed their little hearts out upon capture and we put them in the back of the truck. If they had disappeared over the steep bank I would have needed to shoot them so they didn’t starve to death instead. We had a brief discussion about whether we put them down, but in the end their floppity ears won us over.

We drove a bit further down the road, leaving another mother goat with two kids. There was a plantain and clover basin that we had been shown earlier and we wanted to see if anything had come out since we left. However, it was empty. Probably because the gravel road was impossible to walk quietly on!

We had a little more time before we had to leave and James said it would be a nice cherry on top to get a young nanny for the freezer. We decided we would drive back up to the top and check out a milled slope, but on the way there I spotted a back goat above us. James took the rifle and got two young nannies, as well as putting down a kid that looked about twice the size of the ones we already had. We took the meat from those animals and by then my knife needed attention and my caffeine levels were critical. Time to call it a day!

How To Be a Creeper

I’m a bush hunter, and I prefer to hunt alone. Stealthily sneaking through the bush awakens something primitive in me and I find close encounters more thrilling than shooting an animal.

When the wind is right it is surprising what you can get away with. I once climbed a very steep ridge to sneak in on some deer, it took me about 45 minutes to get up there on my hands and knees, pushing my rifle in front of me. I huffed and puffed and cursed occasionally, loosened rocks, and crawled through bushes. When I got there the deer had vanished. I was sure that I must have scared them off, so I forlornly descended back to the bottom. As soon as I did I could see that the deer had simply moved to the next valley over, so back up the hill I went, to have a successful hunt. Getting the wind right is critical. Sometimes you just cannot win, and it is swirling all over the place. You just have to hope for the best in this situation!

Some noises carry through the bush and ruin your chances. The key ones I think of is a heel strike against a tree root, walking on gravel and sounding like a biped, and snapping twigs. Of course if you fall down a hill or flat on your face that doesn’t help either… !

• Quiet fabrics. A surprising amount of hunting gear is useless in this regard. Run your nails over it in the shop to get an idea of how it will sound when scraped by twigs and branches. Compressed fleece or neoprene gaiters are good,  but the plastic or heavy canvas types are  noisy. Even the fabric on your daypack can be important. Emergency rainwear is about the only thing that is less of a worry because if it is bucketing down you are more likely to hunker down somewhere instead of hunting.
• The right boots. Some soles squeak every time the toe comes off the ground, or when the liner moves against the leather. If you walk and they make any other kind of noise (eg creaks / groans) it will really stand out in the bush. I once hunted with a friend with the noisiest boots I have every heard – from over 30m away it was incredibly obvious. He blamed it on the fact that he was taller and heavier than me,  but I was about to make him walk in his socks and leave the boots in the bush!! I have also had several pairs of boots develop squeaks and creaks and it makes stalking so difficult.  It is a matter of personal preference – but I like softer leathers with a bit of flex. My current boots are Lowas with fabric and suede leather. They are very light weight and easy to sneak in.  Rigid full grain leather can mean you have to place your foot straight up and down, and it is harder to walk quietly on some terrains like this despite the better support.  As a side note – if the laces keep undoing then replace them. Nothing more annoying than having to stop every half hour to fix them, especially when they sneak undone despite a double knot. If you stand on laces you will make a big squeak and probably land on your face.
•  For some types of ground I walk with a flat foot and lift it vertically. Others I walk on the balls of my feet. I try to ease my foot onto the ground and absorb the movement into my hips. I can be almost silent like this, as it also avoids the deep thump of heavy footfalls.  I used to watch my feet the whole time when I was hunting, but now I just trust my feet will find the right footing. I  try to avoid hitting roots and rocks with the heels of my boots, and try not to stand on sticks that will make a loud crack. In a mid-drought beech forest this is almost impossible but I also remember that moving animals make noise too. The TYPE of noise is the important thing.  The sambar below passed 8m in front of me. I had been carelessly wandering along on a possum hunt, shuffling through fallen poplar leaves and walking on crunchy gravel when I suddenly saw them – but with the wind in my favour and having avoided making any overly human sounds I was very lucky to have had this incredibly close encounter. He crossed slowly in front of me and wandered off without even noticing me, even though he seemed quite puzzled by the sudden illumination!

• I do a lot of stopping and listening.  Deer are quite noisy and you will hear them feeding, snapping twigs and moving about. This definitely gets me into full alert!  The bush is an opportunity like no other to use all of your senses. Smell the wind – when you suddenly get the scent of a deer close by it is very exciting, especially a stag!  Subtle movements, like flicking ears or legs passing behind bushes also catch my eye. If I think I see something I freeze and listen and it drives me bananas if I have someone behind me that keeps bumbling along at the same time!
• Goats are great to practice on, and they are pretty hard to scare off. My mate and I managed to get within a metre or two (not even joking) of a doe and her kid (below) before he did a terrible “mahhhh!” and made her jump a metre in the air and can it down the hill. Goats are often in mobs and they usually will snort loudly when they know something is up. There can be many eyes on you – but it is very fun to sneak in on them and excellent practice.

  

  We could have touched her! Completely oblivious to two humans a metre or so away.

• Crown fern will make you feel like a Stegosaurus but animals make noise walking through it too.

Go without your gun sometimes so that you can focus on the stalk, challenge yourself to see how close you can get. Sometimes you end up on a trip with someone who is disappointingly loud and they have every excuse under the sun for why. Other times someone you have less faith in will be so quiet you will have to check if they are still behind you!  I tried once to hunt with my ex-partner  and he would repeatedly fall down hills and think it was funny. It was not funny, especially when combined with my dehydration or hunger.  Sometimes you are stalking really quietly and there is sign and things look good, and your companion pipes up in full voice, leaving you stunned at why they thought that was a good idea to bring them!

A Nine out of Ten Adventure

A very rare evening with no children unexpectedly came to us after James returned a bit early from his fishing trip, so I suggested a quick low-key possum hunt. To my surprise and delight, he said yes!

I set off with the .22 and James had the .17HMR for any hares or cats. I thought if we did a little loop around the two of the neighbour’s farms we had a good chance of bagging a possum or two, as I had seen some sneaky ones earlier in the year. The neighbour bordering us had cattle in the block , so we had steered clear. Now, all but one small mob remained, so the passage seemed fairly clear to get to the bush edge.

First we headed down the road to Neil’s. He’s always keen for me to shoot things for him, and there had been a few sneaky coons on his block too. Not far from our home, James managed to ping a hare with a well-placed free standing shot. Another one less to ringbark the trees in the garden. As soon as we got to Neil’s I could see a sambar ahead. We spent some time watching her as she caught our wind and vanished. We turned and made our way to the next block.

At the end boundary we saw several possums but only one within range of the .22. The .17HMR would have reached nicely, but the neighbour’s house is just over the river on the other side of the trees, so it wasn’t a risk we would take. I managed to miss the possum, who was very high up in a poplar, and it decided to take a dive to escape.
“You’ll never get in there!” James said, as I crawled under the fence and started pinning blackberry with my boot. Ducking under a fallen tree, I could see the possum climbing back up and managed to get a headshot which dropped it nicely. It was unfortunately unrecoverable, but I could see at the bottom of a pile of brambles that it was dead.

As we walked though the thigh-high pasture something bit into the skin on my thigh. And again. I shone my torch down thinking they were thistles, but discovered a bunch of nettles! The whole paddock was nettles! James was wearing shorts, and they were getting me through my jeans, so you can imagine the level of complaining that was happening.
“Let’s cut through this edge. “
James was unsure.
“They aren’t going to charge us, if anything they would spook so we will have to be careful.”
Curious angus yearlings were milling around, approaching and wondering what we were. Of course, they then spooked. The bovine eye glows were replaced by the sound of stampeding hooves. I initially felt hopeful as they had lots of space, but the single wire portable fence we were standing in front of went slack as they broke through.
“Fuck.”
“Ok let’s go up the stream. It’s only a short distance and we can cut back around.”
James was extremely reluctant at this suggestion, and with good reason. Another neighbour illegally releases his cattle in the public land bordering the stream and they are a very aggressive mob with several bulls, calves at foot, and each adult adorned with a pair of long horns. I figured the likelihood of them being in this part of the stream was low, and was pretty concerned at the thundering hooves and distress moos I could still hear from the angus, so we popped into the stream.

We got about 40m in when suddenly: “BERRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!” An enraged bull was awakened and bellowing at us, as hooves thudded and branches broke. Several other bulls joined the challenge and the cows were trumpeting to alert their calves.
“We have to get out of here!!”

The adrenaline sure was up, as I somehow blundered into the midst of a fallen tree and pondered whether emptying a mag of .22 rounds into a bulls head would be enough to save our lives. James kept a calm head although he admitted he had the safety off and ready to shoot. We scrambled breathlessly through the fence.
“Yeah so you were right and I was wrong.”

Since all the cattle were at the far end of the paddock we easily skipped through their break and headed home.
“how was that for far too exciting?”
“I’d say a nine out of ten adventure!”
Hopefully the next one gives us a good rating for fun value, rather than thrill factor.

The hunting gods

2020 has been quite the year. For a start, I was organised and booked leave from work for a roar trip, only to have the whole country go into lockdown due to the pandemic a few days beforehand. Fast-forward to June and New Zealand is rejoicing in new -found freedom, allowed to mingle, allowed to hunt. Normality is returning.

So we decided to plan a hunting trip and get our freezer topped up. The only spanner in the works was that I was now in the final stages of brewing a baby, had 16kg of extra baggage to carry around, and quite frequently found that even walking from one end of our property to the other was a very tiring effort. But we got it booked in, and decided to make it happen. Of course, the Thursday before we were set to leave I started to feel like I was coming down with something, so a day in bed snacking on vitamin C tablets was implemented and seemed to knock it.

On Friday we took my rifle out to the neighbour’s farm to sight in. I realised that I hadn’t shot it in three years, since before I had our son. That was a shock, however in that time I had done a lot of small game hunting with both the .22 and .17HMR, and was a lot more comfortable behind a scope. The recoil of the first couple of shots took me by surprise, but I shot well with no hesitation, so felt very happy.

The next morning we packed up and headed off for our hunt on a block that was predominantly forestry and bush/scrub. I was wearing a pregnancy support belt, scrounged up some hunting-ish clothes that fit, and packed enough antacids to stave off the worst of the indigestion. Of course, the little brown dog came too. He had smelled the rifle and become pretty excited, but it had been three years since he, too, had been on a deer hunt.

The first hill just about killed me. I admit that when I looked at it I felt a level of despair. My calves were screaming after only a few minutes and I was gasping for breath. My abdomen seized in Braxton Hicks contractions every 10 minutes or so which reduced my steps to a shuffle. And my boots developed an annoying creaking noise.

“I’d start to take it pretty quietly up over this hill now.” Paul said.

“Yeah, just trying to stay alive at the moment.” Was my stroppy reply.

Somehow we made it up the hill, and I slowly regained my breath and my senses. I started to creep forwards slowly when Eli indicated very strongly. I looked and could just make out the tip of an antler moving beyond a nearby brow. I signaled the guys behind me to stop and got down on my belly to move forwards. Well that didn’t work so well because it was like perching on a basket ball. So I had to low crawl on all fours, shuffling my rifle in front of me and hoping my dog would contain himself. Palms emerged over the brow and I could see I was facing a big buck. I could see his topline and most of his antlers, and had to be patient as he fed forward. I was terrified that he would lift his head and see me only 20 metres away. As he moved forward I lined up on his shoulder as low as I could go as I could not yet see his brisket. I wanted a heart shot. I squeezed off a round and the rifle spoke. Deer exploded from every direction and galloped away. But I’d bloody well hit the ground on the rise with the bullet, and missed him! Exhaustive searching with the dog and the absence of a blood trail confirmed it. It was much better than a wounded animal, but I was pretty bitter to be honest. Obviously the hunting gods thought I needed to put in more effort to earn a trophy buck!

The next five hours was spent eating antacids, gasping for breath, and hauling my protesting muscles up and down hills while we checked out areas of bush and pine plantation. I’m definitely a lone hunter, and after convincing Paul and James to hang back a bit further I felt I was better able to take my time and use my ears / eyes and work my dog. I must be such a pain in the arse to hunt with. We saw quite a lot of hinds and young animals, which was exciting, but after seeing the big guy and missing him I wanted to try for a trophy. It was great practice for Eli, who indicated strongly at various areas of mingimingi and dense manuka, only to have a deer bolt out of it a few minutes later. He was very good at staying rock steady when that happened too, and not giving chase.

After lunch we decided to check out a grassy area. We split up and I went off alone, and the two guys went to look at an area of bush. For safety we made a plan of where they would meet me and they departed. I faffed around on a hillside behind a stand of kanuka trees, trying to find a comfortable position from which to overlook the bush edge. I was really glad to be alone just because it took so much fiddling! A downward slope gave me instant severe heartburn and lying on my belly was impossible. I found a spot where I could lie on my side, rest the bipod and still see out the scope.

After what seemed an eternity, a stick cracking had me forgetting my discomfort and focusing hard. I could hear movement in the bush ahead. I flattened myself to the ground the best I could and waited, heart hammering. Leading a herd of hinds and young fallow was a big melanistic buck. He was incredible to see out in the open, but it was apparent too that he was in poor shape. All of his ribs were visible with the sun on him. The herd tracked downhill and stopped. I was nervous that they had caught my wind as ears and eyes trained on the area I was hiding. The big buck had paused behind a rise in the hill and for a moment I thought a shot wasn’t going to be possible. I looked through the scope and saw that his shoulder was clear, and squeezed the trigger. The sound echoed off the hillside and I saw that him take a couple of steps before going down. I knew the shot was good and true. I waited a couple of minutes before unloading the chamber of my rifle, and making my way down the hill. Very carefully.

My bullet had hit perfectly and he had died very quickly. Examining him I could see that he was terribly thin, and his teeth were worn to the gums. I apologised to the old patriarch for taking his life, but was also thinking that it was a good swift end right before winter set in. The guys soon joined me and there was a lot of excitement before we got to work taking the meat. The shoulders were just bone, and had been mostly destroyed by my shot, so we took the two back legs and back steaks. The back steaks were half the size of normal, which was quite shocking, and one of the legs had a big abscess on it. We all agreed that he had been the perfect animal to cull.

After five hours of solid effort, the hunting gods decided that I deserved to be rewarded, and I felt very pleased with how it all played out. We went on to get an animal each and came home with plenty of meat for the freezer, a very tired dog and a completely exhausted pregnant woman!

A New Tradition

The weekend after opening weekend (delayed this year due to the pandemic) was scheduled to be my duck hunt for the season, as working night shifts doesn’t really work too well with the early starts required for the official opening weekend plans. Additionally, this year there was an extra dog in the maimai, and let’s face it, Teeva would have eaten him.

Our drive-by check of the local spot had us feeling excited and we raced home to eat a hasty lunch, pack some supplies and give Paul a hurry up due to the change in plans. I threw a few pregnancy necessities into the pack: antacids, pain relief and a back support belt; in addition to the head torch, extra layer of clothing and snacks. I noted that my fairly new hunting pants were not able to be done up and went for the second, more elasticated option. We bid farewell to Suzie, who was very kindly babysitting for us, grabbed a rather excited Teeva and headed off to set up.

Our first plan was to jump shoot a little backwater in a drain. Trying to stop the dog from losing her mind so the guys could get in close to get a shot was nearly impossible, and several times she got underfoot and yelped loudly. However, as soon as the shots were fired, I released her and she took off towards the action. Her first retrieve was a duck through the fence, and she knew to swim beneath the wires before finding it in the long grass and weeds and gently returning it to us.

With two in the bag already we proceeded to make a start on setting up a hide. With the site chosen, the decoys were placed and the hide constructed. James went to return the ute home and so Paul thought he would jump shoot the willows along from us. That netted us a nice mallard and a pukeko. Once back at the maimai it wasn’t long before a couple of mallards came in and were added to the bag. It also wasn’t long before our makeshift seat (a rubbish bin) was tested out by Paul, who promptly went right through it.

The block next door is one I have hunted quite a lot, and the farmer had often lamented the pukeko population as they destroyed the young crops. I went next door and saw them all perched in the willow trees. The numbers were astounding! The guys reported not being able to pull the trigger fast enough as the birds flew in, and said it was like being on a driven pheasant shoot. One fell fairly close to me so I walked over with the intention of bringing it back – however it was still alive. After failing to reach it I called Teeva over. She swam towards me, and after some initial excitement, followed the instructions to go underneath the netting fence and around, which flushed it to me for capture and humane dispatch.

She and I were walking up the road to get back to our spot when some shots rang out – off she went, back through the netting, drains and blackberry to go and be part of the action. No loyalty, that dog.

There was a bit of a quiet patch towards the middle of the afternoon, so we headed back down the paddock to the backwater, noting with amusement a paradise duck pair running towards our decoys as we left. I held Teeva back while James and Paul sneaked in close, then up came the barrels and down came a couple more mallards. We couldn’t find either bird. One went down out in the barley crop and one under the willows. Teeva searched hard for the bird under the willows, but to no avail. I had James call her over to where he was standing by the crop, and she honed in on the scent of the duck very quickly. It was wounded and had been hiding in the long grass in the fenceline, but flushed through to the other side when Teeva found it. She quickly went through the fence and caught it, gently returning it to James for finishing off. The second duck was found as well, stone dead and floating in the water. The initial search had been in the wrong area and we were pleased to have found it.

Back at the maimai a few more mallards decoyed in and were taken. Two mallards came in beautifully and were both dropped quickly next to each other. Teeva tried to pick up both birds at once but couldn’t quite manage! A water rat was spotted traversing the water in the fading light and was gifted some pellets from Paul’s shotgun. We initially couldn’t work out what he was shooting at, just noticed him slyly lift his barrel. We laughed when he said what it was.

We headed on home, weary and muddy, to find the most delicious smells wafting from the kitchen door. After dinner James and I went to another couple of blocks we had permission to hunt, but this time he had the 7mm Rem Mag and I had the .17HMR. You know, just in case. We spotted a sambar on the first block but it was already on the move, and further searching was disappointingly fruitless.

A bit discouraged, we headed off to the next block and the spotlight suddenly illuminated pairs of green eyes amongst the trees. James took the prone position and had a look through the scope. There were three animals there but the spotlight was just letting us down, and he couldn’t say with certainty that they were deer. It was frustrating.

“Arghhh, I could shoot them a hundred times over….!!!”

We turned off the lights for a bit and waited. We could hear snapping twigs and I was sure the sound of antler hitting wood.

Looking at the clear starlit sky I whispered: “This could almost be romantic. If we weren’t lying in a muddy paddock.”

When we put the light back on, a pair of green eyes stared at us.

We had confirmation from the owners that the blocks were all empty, but weren’t going to break the golden rule, so no shots were fired. We made a plan to return with a stronger spotlight next time we had a babysitter.

I spotted a consolation rabbit in the crop and the .17 didn’t have the spotlight mount, so I handed the light to James and lined up on it. I promptly lost visibility due to the bright light reflecting in the scope.

“You need to be next to me with that light!!”

“Turn your headtorch off ya dick!”

Rookie.

The rabbit was running around and so was the beam of light, and my shot was a failure.

As we headed back towards home I wanted to look at another usual spot for rabbits but James had the light and I just couldn’t see well enough with all the shadows being cast. So three more rabbits got away which really annoyed me. Eventually I snatched the light him, found a rabbit and shot it through the shoulder, dropping it instantly. It was nice to have a little victory to cap off a fantastic day’s hunting and the first of what is planned to be a little annual tradition for us.

A small Game hunter

It’s been a while since I last posted, but the honest reason is that I have been busy. It’s not to say that I have been too busy to hunt, as over the past 8 months I have done more hunting than in my entire life combined! Only this time I have focused on small game for pest control.

It all began back in May when I started to notice a lot of possums being killed on the road near our house. With permission from the local farmers, I went out with a spotlight and shot the possums in the bush bordering the road. It was shocking how many were living in there! From there I expanded my territory to other farms, until I was covering around 11 different properties. In six months I had shot over 300 possums, quite a few rabbits and a bunch of feral cats. My shooting improved dramatically and I was able to consistently do good humane head shots, even through tiny gaps in the twigs and at distance. The .22 felt like an extension of my arm and uncannily natural to use.

However, all good things come to an end, and possums etc became increasingly difficult to find. Areas where I had seen 30 or 40 I might be lucky to get one or two. I was coming home empty handed more often than not and it was a mixture of satisfying (as I had achieved the long-term objective) but also a bit disappointing.

That is, until another local farmer got in touch and asked if I would like to shoot some rabbits. A tour of the very large property revealed numbers like I had never seen before, just running everywhere. We must have seen over 300 in that 20 minutes! So over the past few months I’ve got stuck into them.

Last night’s adventure was good fun. I didn’t take my rabbit retrieving dog as he has hurt his leg and needs surgery this week, however I did take along my new baby, the Savage .17 HMR. The beautiful thing about the .17 is that the rabbits do not go anywhere. If you hit them it is an instant kill, and that’s that. The other great thing is that even though there is a bit of a bang, the rabbits don’t notice it. So if you do miss, you get another shot. On the down side, it’s a bolt action, so you do have the noise of chambering another round. The worst thing about the .17 is putting the bolt in. It has to be lined up perfectly, and it often takes quite a few goes. You certainly cannot do it in a hurry!!! It shoots very nicely though, and it’s great to have a bit of distance. I had definitely been pushing the .22 subsonics a bit far (80m or so) and so having something with some punch is really refreshing.

The evening started pretty well. I traveled down to the river’s edge, parked up the quad and stalked through the lupins and reeds. The wind was up my arse a bit and really swirly so I wasn’t counting on much luck! As I honed in on a rabbit and looked for a rest to shoot from, a stealthy movement caught my eye. A young ginger cat slinking along through a ditch. I lay down and tried to predict where it might go to get a good shot. The cat had other ideas though, and came up towards me. So close that by the time I wound the scope down enough it was almost on me! It froze, flattened, then trotted away. I was gutted as if it had been there a second more I would have had it! I left a rabbit on the track hoping it would come back for it.

Continuing on I noticed how few rabbits were left in the areas I had hit hard over the last months. It was really satisfying to see. The wind was the opposite direction to the usual, which meant I had to change tactics, so I decided to drive to the end of the farm and hunt my way back.

There are large chicory crops which had been nailed by the rabbits but there was not a rabbit seen on the way through. I decided to duck down behind the crops and take a look along the river margins. Parking up, I peered over the terrace edge to the open bush below. I could see several rabbits, which I quickly dispatched.

I accessed a gate and climbed down a stock trail that wound its way down. I was now in open kanuka bush, black berry and also areas of dry grass dotted with rushes and thistles. It was perfect rabbit country. Several were seen ahead and easily shot. I walked slowly and quietly with the wind on my face, stalking and musing to myself how seriously I take rabbit hunting. There was a sudden flash of dark brown to my right as a sambar bolted in the blackberry. They’re always a thrill to see.

The hunting was more difficult as there was so much cover. You had to be careful to make sure to look close by, as well further afield. I was caught out a few times when I was looking at a rabbit 50m away but there was one almost underfoot! The open areas were very fruitful too and it seemed that I was refilling my magazine very frequently. I was doing free-standing shots as all the vegetation make the prone position quite hopeless, but finding them successful.

In one area of bush I shot a rabbit that was nestled behind a low log and it went down, only to pop its head up again a metre away. I shot at it again but again it sprung up.
“Third time’s the charm you bugger!” I muttered and lined up on it again. This time it leapt in the air as the bullet hit and I knew I had got it. I went to retrieve it and found three dead rabbits!

As the sun went down, a freezing wind picked up, and I decided to hunt my way back. It was weird to be wearing a thick jacket in January, but it was very necessary. There is a stand of giant poplars near the river which I’ve hunted several times before. It used to be crawling with rabbits. I spotted two in the distance and waded through the thistles to get to them. Using a tree trunk I lined up, and as I did, one rabbit superimposed itself nicely on it’s mate. The bullet did a perfect headshot on one and also instantly killed its mate which was very satisfying. Flicking the spotlight around I caught the unmistakable flash of cat eyes. A tabby cat was stalking something and staring intently at it. Right in front of me sat a rabbit, who saw me, bolted straight towards the cat, saw the cat and did a massive leap in the air, and returned and smashed straight into my gumboot. The cat became a bit suspicious with all the commotion and ducked behind some vegetation.

I checked on the rabbit I had left for the ginger cat – and it had been well devoured. A big hissing hedgehog was feasting on what was left of it. I shone the spotlight around but could not see any sign of the cat. By this time I was getting low on bullets. I had missed four shots and given one rabbit two bullets, so that made a tally of around 70 rabbits for the night. I was happy with that, and I knew the farmer would be as well.

Sky Rats and Shriek-Ducks

Caleb and Isaac arrived on time and we started the pilgrimage to the neighbour’s property we had been given permission to shoot for closing weekend. The morning was still and warm and the shrieks and honks of paradise ducks echoed off the landscape. I had nick-named them shriek-ducks recently as large mobs flew over the house while I was sleeping off night shifts – so I was pretty keen to reduce the numbers! We set up in two hides against a stand of tall poplars, surrounded by a flock of decoys, and absolutely in awe as dawn revealed the numbers of ducks coming in. Teeva the dog was looking skyward and whining, and things looked promising. My job today was to train and handle her and quickly dispatch any wounded birds.

“I’m kind of amazed that Cathy let us shoot in her paddock of bulls, actually.” I commented, as Friesian bulls milled around us. We were positioned in a harvested maize crop and the fallen grain had been attracting large flocks of birds. It was amazing to finally work Teeva on a substrate where she actually was an appropriate colour to blend in!

“Into it boys!” The shotguns came up and the first pari ducks hit the deck. Most of the ducks flew high over head on the clear morning and didn’t afford a shot. James and I kept giggling as Caleb used the mallard call to attract parries. Many flew over but settled in the paddock further away, so Caleb and Isaac decided to take a walk to stir them up a bit. As they disappeared behind some distant pines we heard a series of shots and some cheering. James and I were surprised when they returned with hares, not ducks, but they were the biggest hares I had ever seen!

Our initial set-up – in the wrong person’s paddock!

After a few of hours of intermittent shooting, the other neighbours pulled up over the fence to shift their dry cows.

“Don’t shoot! She called, and we reassured her. “Sorry to interrupt your morning!”

We went over to speak with them, as over 100 paradise ducks suddenly came in low and swirled around the hides. We cursed inwardly, unable to shoot with the farmers nearby, but soon became more focused on the conversation…. as it dawned on us that we were in completely the wrong area. We were actually on THEIR property, in the middle of THEIR bulls, with a dog and three shotguns. It was a pretty awkward situation, and they gave us directions to the maize crop we were supposed to be in – as well as telling us we were welcome to stay where we were. We were very lucky they didn’t mind as they were well within their rights to tell us to piss off, and worse! We offered profuse apologies and it sounds like it will be made up for over some pints at the local tavern.

We decided that perhaps we should move to where we had actually planned to be, so packed up and set up against a stand of swampy willow saplings. It was a great spot with good traffic, and the hides were much better camouflaged. Only the dog wasn’t! Fortunately though, she was calm. Last year was her first opening morning and she whined continuously, remained hyper alert and was actually rather exhausting. She did perform very well though, and had very little practice since then. This time she curled up or lay down until the shotguns were lifted – a drastic improvement. The only thing she messed up on was when James took a walk to stir things up down the paddock, and she watched intently as he disappeared behind the pine trees. Some parries decoyed in and one was brought down – but as I let her go she took off after James instead of retrieving the duck! She was not letting that shotgun out of her sight! Not a major issue though as she found James and lead him safely back to the hides to shoot more ducks for her.

James and Teeva have reached an understanding

Through out the afternoon we had small groups of parries coming in – some escaped and some did not. At times we even had pigeons coming in to join our decoy flock! I had the .22 on hand so any birds that were still alive when Teeva delivered them to me were quickly and humanely dispatched with a bullet to the head at point blank. I honestly think this should be a mandatory part of duck shooting. Teeva did an outstanding job, retrieving all day with enthusiasm – bringing in parries, pigeons and even the 3 unlucky pukekos the guys hunted. On breasting them out only three breasts had damage from the dog.

The homemade backpack came in very handy as we gave Teeva a few kg of ammo to carry

The end of the day brought a surprise – very few parries coming in but plenty of mallards. We were not sited near a body of water for them to land on, so the likelihood of getting one was slim. Right on dark however, a duck flew in low and a very well delivered shot brought it cleanly down. The guys felt it was the icing on the cake after a really good day, also netting 26 pari ducks, 3 pukeko, 3 hares, and 8 pigeons.

The team with some of their birds

Ruahine Rumble

The alarm going off at 2am didn’t thrill me, but to be honest I was already awake. That’s what night shifts do to you. Adding an extra tablespoon of espresso grind to my plunger had me off to a faux-alert and shaky start.

The gravel road wound through the bush, illuminating the occasional possum and briefly, a mob of three deer. That was a good sign. James and I were heading to a hut in the Ruahines with Eli the hound, in the hope of getting close to a roaring stag. It was still very early in the roar, as my non-hunting colleague booked the prime dates up well in advance, so we weren’t sure how much luck we would have. It was great to be getting out in the fresh air anyway. Great that is, until we got out of the car in the rain, at 4am. Fighting off the desire to sleep, we trudged in the dark through shin-deep mud, down hill. Eli had his pack on too – loaded up with his food and gear, then a bunch of our food too. Admittedly I packed his bag with 3.5 kg of the more dense and heavy items to try to slow the perky little bugger down!  I had made the pack the day before from his harness and some Hunting and Fishing toiletries bags so it was a bit of a risk trying it out on a trip. He coped very well once he lost the hangdog look, and it sat very nicely on his back. Within half an hour the battery for my head torch gave up and I made a mental note to pack spares next time.

Eli wearing his blaze blue “scarf” and backpack I made the day before

A particularly steep bit of hill was challenging due to the rifle scabbard protruding below my pack and occasionally propelling me forward. Nothing wakes you up faster than nearly flying face first down a mud-covered near-vertical slope in the dark!  After several near-misses involving said scabbard and a few muttered swear words, we reached an area overlooking a gigantic slip in perfect time, first light. After several minutes of glassing a spiker, hind and fawn, and a separate hind were seen. The novelty of seeing deer in the wild never wears thin, and we considered taking a meat animal.

A hind feeding on the slip

A few minutes on I was very glad we decided not to – we reached the stream and the level was up. The water was the colour of black tea but we could still see the bottom and although the flow was a bit faster than I was comfortable with, James lead a discussion on a plan of attack that gave me confidence.

It certainly was challenging. And I was more scared than I let on, initially. However as we went on my confidence increased too and I began to lead the way. That was until I fell in after an awkward “dance” on slippery rocks and cursed the fact that i hadn’t (for the first time ever) remembered a waterproof dry-bag for my clothes and sleeping bag…. I made a mental note to add it to my list of must-haves for each trip.

There were a couple of crossings over swift but deep water where I was worried about Eli, and we put a leash around his neck for safety and obviously took his backpack off. He is not a very strong swimmer – the same dog that was put on a rock 10m from shore in lake Taupo and screamed like a hyena until all the sunbathers on the beach left… true story. But today he listened perfectly despite his fear, and when told to get in the water he trusted us as we hauled him through the current.

The worst bits were actually where we skirted through the riverflats through the trees rather than the river bed. Every time my pack hit a branch, a tree-load of water was deposited down my back. Branches would hit my face. Crap would get stuck between my pack and the back of my neck. Sticks would get in my hair. My pack would be stuck between trees… it was very frustrating and a lot of branches were broken in order to vent a building rage, under the guise of ‘trail maintenance for the return trip.’ We were very pleased to see the hut after a slow trek, and set up camp. Happily, all my kit was miraculously dry despite my dunking. From the deck we could hear a few stags moaning in the distance, but nothing was really getting going yet. It is tradition to have a “gourmet” dinner on the first night, and beef burgers were exactly the right fit.

Later that night we were about to sleep when there was a loud scrape then a bump on the deck. As we wondered what on Earth it was, the door flew open, scaring some un-lady-like words out of me. It was 9.30 at night and we were literally about to sleep, but this guy obviously came to the bush to talk about himself, a lot. In the middle of one of his stories about how awesome he was I realised he was cooking with his gas cooker with all the windows shut and decided he was trying to kill us all. He was so busy talking that he didn’t notice me scampering around in my undies letting in some air. After shutting down another one of his stories with a rather pointed “goodnight” and then hand signals to Jimmy to stop replying, he got the hint, started snoring, and then thrashed around in his bunk like a dying fish on land the whole night. I’m really glad he had a good sleep.

Early the next morning we extracted ourselves from the never-ending stories of our rather irritating companion and hit the hills. We were excited to be getting out and exploring. It sounds all magical and wonderful, the idea of walking through the bush and looking for deer. Imagine the mossy forest floor, birds singing gaily in the trees and sparkling spiderwebs well away from face-level, glittering with jewels of dew in the still morning sun. In reality the bit we got stuck in was hell. Being free of a pack I was able to  slither on my belly between supplejack and crawl under branches pushing my rifle in front of me, but for James  it was a frustrating experience. The supplejack snagged his pack like a snare, and I had to free him multiple times while he counted under his breath. He was getting rightly pissed off with the whole situation. I wasn’t having a great time finding all the spiderwebs with my face and feeling them stretch tight across my lips and eyelids. It seemed my cheeks were taking the brunt of the branches and my face felt like it had been slapped several times. I was grateful to have been wearing gardening gloves to protect the sparkly thing adorning my finger, as they made it much easier to rip the bushlawyer off my clothes and out of my skin without sacrificing the integrity of my  seal skin gloves. The added benefits were that my fingers didn’t end up like velcro, no nails were broken, and I maintained sensory ability while not having over-heated hands in the warm weather.  James was whacked several times with Ongaonga and complained as the bush lawyer bit into his skin and then tore its way out.

Finally we found a marked track and the going was so much better. It was amazing to be able to walk upright and it was incredible how an orange triangle lifted our spirits so considerably. The track took us up near the tops until the bush opened up, so we left it and began hunting. Eli put us onto some fresh sign and things were looking good, but as we got higher the wind picked up and swirled strongly in all directions. With the increase in altitude and an abrupt change in the weather, it was suddenly very cold. We had a bite to eat and considered the wind, before deciding it was pretty pointless to carry on. Following the track down sure did make things a whole lot easier, and we reached the bottom in record time, happily finding the hut vacated.

We had no sooner entered the hut when there was a rumble outside.

“What was that?”

“Ummm, a rock rolling in the river?”

It came again, this time unmistakable. The sky boiled as gray clouds tumbled and darkened the sky and thunder pounded the heavens from all directions. An absolute downpour started while thunder rumbled and crashed continuously; interrupted only by lightning. It was the most impressive storm I had ever seen/heard, and totally unexpected. Hoping the hut had some kind of earthing system, I made a mental note to check more than one weather forecast next time.  Within a very short time the stream across from the hut (our only source of water) turned brown, and I put the clean metal bucket from by the fireplace out to catch rain water for drinking.

Eli didn’t mind the prolonged stay

After a solid night of rain, the bucket was full, and the stream was a raging chocolate torrent. There was no way we were getting out through that.  Eli didn’t mind and snuggled into the nearest sleeping bag. He kept overheating my legs and being shaken out of the bottom of my bag. We were stuck in the hut, unable to even hunt behind the hut because we were basically sandwiched between the flooded river and an ongaonga thicket. That stuff will kill basically anything that gets stung enough times – even horses have died after blundering into it. I embarked on reading the biggest book in the hut (which some nasty person tore the middle pages out of – who does that??) and James attacked the substantial pile of hunting magazines. To make it worse the book was about absolutely nothing. We somehow managed to pass most of the day until it was time to make a call on what to do. At 2.30pm the river check left only one option – stay an extra (unplanned) night. This lead to an emotional rollercoaster for me between optimism, despair, worry for my animals at home, and boredom combined with tiredness. So mostly negative. Contact with friends via a wavering one-bar of cell phone reception, a hot meal, taking stock of our remaining food, as well as a hug or two brought me round, and I managed a good sleep. The rain had stopped around 2pm and we were hopeful for a fine night to get the river down. 

The next morning was fine, and as soon as it was light I checked the river, to find it well down and pretty clear. Better than when we had first come in!! We packed our stuff, tidied the hut and headed upstream. The going was much easier this time (possibly due to the trail maintenance from a few days earlier!) and we made great time. When we reached the track i learned that it is not ok to tickle someone’s naked bum as they are hopping on one foot on the side of the river trying to get into dry pants….

The water levels dropped right down

We’d heard a few moans on our way in but from the tops we could hear some pretty good roars starting up. It was hard to know if you were hearing a stag or a person at times though. Being a Friday now we knew there would be a fair few people heading in, so the rifle was packed away and we had high vis on us on the trail. Last year James had been in an area very close to where a young man was shot on a track, so that was always in the back of our minds. Eli at one point winded and indicated very seriously. There must have been something there because he started a very quiet whine to signal the urgency. I took a peek but couldn’t see anything; I’ve learned from experience though that the dog is far more likely to be right than I am! We saw a few people as we were heading out, two lots heading in and a single guy without a pack who motored past us after giving Eli a rough pat on the head.

A four hour slog up hill to reach the car seemed to take forever as I tripped over hidden stumps, went to my knees in mud and was battered by the leatherwoods. Still, there’s nothing quite like the sight of the vehicle after a trip like that, and sometimes I wonder if that joy is what keeps me going back into the bush. That and the wonderful feeling of a hot shower!

A Pitbull Retriever

There’s nothing quite like having a dog at your side, and as I drove home I spied an opportunity to do some training with mine. The rabbit that played chicken with me every day on the road was on the side of the stream with its buddy, and although I had a .22 in the car, I didn’t have my number one hunting dog.
Returning on foot, we crept quietly up the road, as the rabbits frolicked on the other side of the stream. Eli the dog was a bit fresh and so I asked him to stay while I sneaked in closer. Using the bridge pillar to steady the rifle I followed one rabbit as it hopped along, however it ran out of sight. Its companion wasn’t so lucky, and a shot to the chest knocked it down. My dog had surprisingly stayed put, and he was sent over to find the rabbit and retrieve it. The funny thing is he had never retrieved a rabbit before, but the commands “pick it up” and “bring it here” are used frequently for all manner of items so I figured he would get it. He took a little while to find it, probably because there was a lot of scent in the area, then sniffed it for a few seconds, and after several attempts to get it “just right” he lay it at my feet. He was very keen on licking it and was rewarded for the retrieve but was told “leave it now” so that he didn’t get the idea to start munching.

Bringing the first bunny from the stream bed

Following the boundary between the paddock and trees / scrub, we came across another bunny sitting in the open. They hadn’t had a lot of hunting pressure so there were good numbers and they didn’t tend to run away when they saw me. A standing shot hit the mark, but the rabbit bolted for cover. I thought that one was a lost cause really, as I told Eli to “go take a look”  in the blackberry and waist high grass under the trees. I was absolutely thrilled when he returned very quickly with a rabbit in his mouth, still alive. The shot had hit a little far back. A karate chop to the back of the head killed the rabbit quickly and a very good little dog had some praise.

Keeping Eli at heel as we sneaked down the gravel track, a hare was spied in the distance in the new barley crop. Being about 80m away, it was too far with subsonic .22 ammo, and it meant crossing the paddocks in the open. I told Eli to stay and crouched low for the stalk. Once the gap was closed to around 50m I tried sitting to eye up the shot. It was still a bit far so I very slowly crept another 10m before attempting a prone shot. It wasn’t a good shot, but the wounded hare was not able to go anywhere, so I sent Eli in to get it which he duly did. It was quickly finished off and with four in the bag we resumed our walk.

Further down the paddock was a rabbit in the open. It was a fairly long way off, and so Eli was asked to stay while I proceeded to try to get within shooting range. I set off, moving slowly and keeping to the blackberry and scrub on the perimeter of the paddock. The rabbit saw me and crouched down, but I was still 60m away; again too far for subsonic .22 rounds! Slowly inching closer, aware of every sound I made and moving only my feet and eyes, the dog stayed on a solid stay 70m or so behind me. Finally at around 40m there was a convenient gap in the blackberry for me to take a seat with a post against my back. The rabbit was crouched but I had a good view of the vital areas and hit cleanly. Eli was sent in and raced to the retrieve, picking the rabbit up firstly by a back leg and then around its middle before bringing it to me.

This rabbit was retrieved four times by this dog (as practice) and then skinned, Two small indents are the only damage, showing how gentle his mouth is. 

I’ve got permission to hunt and exercise my dogs on a neighbour’s property, so I thought I’d take a quick wander up there since there seemed to be ample daylight left. A couple of sneaky bunnies darted away, but I was pleased that I didn’t have to correct Eli as he didn’t attempt to chase them. A hare ran ahead of us on the track, and I hoped for a shot. We came to the paddock at the top and the hare bolted in front of us, disappearing over a rise. I wasn’t worried, with four down I had already been very successful! Suddenly there was an explosive eruption two metres from us out of the long grass as a cock pheasant clucked with fright before flying out of sight. It really startles you when they do that!! I decided to head home, so we turned back down the track. The long grass made a loud swishing noise to walk through, and so being stealthy wasn’t really an option up there!

Suddenly Eli froze in point, and ahead of us I could see a hare. It wasn’t positioned well for a clean shot, so I left it to run ahead of us. It was good practice for my terrier not to chase tempting prey and I didn’t have to correct him at all.

Pitbull on full point

All in all I was completely stoked with the performance of my little pitbull on this hunt. He did everything I asked of him, and nothing I didn’t. No rabbit was mauled or shaken, and he even retrieved one I thought was lost. It goes to show that any breed can be taught how to be useful on a hunt, with a foundation of good basic training and a willingness to learn.

He always has a long face for photos!

Sunday Sika Sneak

“Always remember your balaclava.” The mantra I repeat in my head, usually when I have forgotten it and my face is freezing while I’m on a hillside somewhere. Today was no different; face buried in the collar of my jacket to avoid the playful pokes of my nose-drips in the freezing wind.

Two men, a woman and a pitbull arrived after a sweaty climb at our look-out spot at 5:15am, perfect timing to get first light. Eli the dog was catching some interesting scents from the block over the fence and was feeling energetic but well-behaved. We were hoping to get Isaac a crack at a deer to add to his tally of one so far, and initially it seemed promising as the sun came up and lit up the faces on the hillsides we were watching. By 6am a tide of freezing fog flowed over our hill top and hid animals from view, as well as chilling the sweat on our bodies. It wasn’t fun, but I had to strip down despite being very cold, to replace the damp merino layers with Underarmour. We were all feeling very cold despite our best efforts at hunkering down out of the wind and dressing appropriately. I sacrificed one of my layers for the dog, who was feeling it too and shivering.

A rare moment of sun, so dog and I try to warm up!

We spotted a few large-bodied animals on a far face, but only for a brief amount of time, before they picked spots to bed down out of sight. Patient glassing for a couple of hours afterwards yielded no further results so a discussion was held about possible actions. The idea was put forward about heading out, and I suggested stalking in on the animals that we knew were likely to be contained in a relatively small area of bush. The guys suggested that I go, and take the dog. There is no way that three people can realistically hope to get that close to an animal, and it was a great opportunity to work Eli.

Armed with my rifle, a radio, a day pack with the essentials and the trusty brown hound, we set off sidling around the hillside. From the distance it seemed fine – just simply walk around the side of the hill, come down a spur towards a big tree and look over to my left. The reality was of course a bit different: walk for 20 mins with difficulty through wet vegetation, trip over hidden branches and uneven ground, and lose visibility because the trees are a lot bigger when you’re in them instead of having a bird’s eye view. The radio suddenly bleated at me, and the guys told me they had spotted an animal bedded down at the base of a tree where I was heading. Some helpful directions had me dropping down onto a track 20m below me too, and made the going a lot easier for the remainder of the walk.

The deer-pitbull was doing his job beautifully, using his nose, covering the ground, but only going a few metres from me. He usually behaves perfectly – but I still keep a shock collar on him for insurance. My reasoning is that IF he did decide to chase something (as is his instinct, being a terrier), and I had no collar on him, then I would have a very hard job of retraining him. It’s best to let him think it is not an option. The collar was never used on this trip as is normal.

I finally reached the spur I was heading for – time to be very quiet. Thankfully I had ditched my creaking Hunter’s Element boots and upgraded to some Lowas – both comfortable and silent! Sneaking carefully and slowly, parting branches and slipping through the gaps silently, I spotted the deer -70m from me, beneath a tree, happily chewing his cud in the sun. The wind was terrible, on my back with occasional random sideways blasts. I had been pessimistic that he would even be there still! Raising my scope I immediately saw he was a velvet stag with the beginnings of some very wide pedicles and I thought “I shouldn’t shoot this.” I have a velvet head on my mantelpiece and the beam width is nowhere near what I was seeing on this guy. I assessed the shot. He had his back to me so I mainly had rump and head, with a small triangle of neck exposed. Risky. And I had been very naughty and failed to put in the work at the range… Putting my pack on a tree stump as a rest didn’t help too much – a small movement to either side and I would hit his hip or jaw and it would be a disaster. I knew the guys would be able to see me and would be wondering what I was doing so I called on the radio to explain. I had two options: make a noise and get him to stand up and take a shot hopefully broadside, or sneak further downhill and get more parallel with him.

Sneaking….

Despite feeling that shooting this stag at the very early stages of some very promising-looking antler growth went against my standards, I decided to sneak downhill a bit none-the-less, and see what kind of a shot I could consider. The problem was that the wind was swirling everywhere, and strongly too. At any moment he would smell me and it would be all over. The other problem was that to get down hill I had to cross a clearing – in full view of a deer less than 70m away. This I managed, moving very slowly and carefully, and a perfectly timed distraction meant I crossed the gap while he focused on something straight ahead of him. Eli perfectly obeyed hand signals telling him to sit, and stay, and then to come, but not run. He could smell the deer had been in the area and was indicating well. Unfortunately, I stepped from behind a shrub to see the stag get up quickly and trot into the trees. He was surprisingly large! I had got a bit closer than I should have at 30m or so, and he caught my wind. To be honest I was surprised he stayed as long as he did, and I was still stoked with the encounter. I radioed in to share the news, which had also been caught on camera. As I was speaking I saw him again – he’d sneaked back down the hill and was peeking at me from beneath the trees.

The moment he flicked smelled me – flicking his tongue out

My only regret about this hunt was not having a camera with me. It was a good feeling not to shoot this stag, and we will hopefully get an opportunity to see him in full velvet later in the Summer, and hopefully catch up with him in the roar. The guys were pleased too, something to aim for and some great footage caught from their bird’s-eye-view almost a kilometer away!

New Season – New Adventures

With the arrival of the first of March came an instant drop in temperature, and an instant rise in excitement. Exactly a year ago today I was feeling very sorry for myself in a bright green cast from my wrist to my shoulder, and as a consequence I missed out on the roar.

There have been many changes in my life over the past few months, with the end of my relationship, the loss of my hunting buddy due to a misunderstanding, and the acquisition of a new partner in crime, this time one who is firmly embedded in the hunting world. My initial partner had been very supportive of my hunting hobbies, however pretty disinterested in participating, and our separate lives became part of our undoing. A week or so after the breakup, my number one hunting buddy announced some longstanding feelings that I had been oblivious to, wrote a bunch of soppy stuff on Facebook and then deleted me. The new man in my life is a very keen hunter and fisherman, and slotted into my life perfectly.  We have a lot to teach each other, and I can now look forward to trout fishing, duck shooting and of course, my first roar.

With a longstanding family tradition of duck shooting, the new man put the idea in my head of training up one of my dogs as a duck retriever. After all, I have a pitbull who is an awesome deer hound, why not have an unconventional duck dog too?

We started off with a freshly dead road-kill pheasant and a rope on her collar to teach her to bring it in when she got carried away. She retrieved it about 40 times before it fell apart, and although we didn’t have a 100% retrieve rate, she showed good enthusiasm and a gentle mouth. Her second attempt was in a swimming pool with a rubber training duck. She had the idea this time, and brought it back much more consistently. She was so good that she and I were invited to come to opening morning, which in this family is a huge honor. We’ve since been practicing at the river with a training duck, and she has performed very well indeed, and no rope is necessary on her collar now. She is an extremely strong swimmer and very enthusiastic; the only weird thing about this dog is that she is an Am Staff x shepherd / sharpei / rottweiler mix, so my “dingo” will look quite distinct amongst the labradors in the water on open day! Soon we will introduce the shotgun before throwing the duck, and she should almost be ready!

We’ve got two four day hunts planned for the roar, so needless to say I am staying away from any “wheeled recreation devices” this year! The aim is to get a nice red stag as a starting point, and possibly to move onto fallow or sika if successful there. There should be many more interesting stories to come – watch this space!

Back in the saddle…. and straight into the nettles

The Ruahine range on a good day is a wonderful place to be

My mate and I had been planning a trip for an eternity, but combined we seem to be the busiest two people on the planet. As a consequence a lot of time had gone by with no action. However plans were made to hit the Ruahines for a weekend, and they finally eventuated.

Someone’s been sleeping here

Climbing the first ridge was rough.  This was my first proper hunt since my accident and my body was so out of condition that my legs were complaining and my heart pounding in my ears. Early on I blundered into a tree nettle which quickly  alerted me to its presence.  My companion did short, fast bursts up the hill, meaning that by the time I caught up he had already rested! It was more comfortable when we stalked more slowly through promising areas, although I felt about as stealthy as a steam train teetering on the shale and loose rock in the bush. There was a ton of sign, some of it fresh, but no cover or feed in sight. We wondered if deer frequented this area as they moved between feeding areas. Sometimes the smell of them was so strong, the heart rate would go up and it seemed it would be a matter of seconds before the crash of a spooked animal. But not today.

Going bush is such a great way to see what a person is really made of.  You can see the best of a person – the super-fit, smiling as they spring easily from rocks or glide down a slippery slope, leaving you on your arse with twigs in your hair – and you can see the worst of a person – swearing at the supplejack  when the blood sugar drops too low (me), bedraggled and sore after a rough night in a tent (me), or too bone-tired to smile (me again).  The one thing that made me really laugh out loud was when I was following my mate down the hill and he slipped, somehow making a hole in a ponga tree trunk. It then shot a continuous stream of orange liquid spurting horizontally and wetting his head, face and neck.  It was the first time I had seen a ponga piss on someone and I regret not taking a photo or video.

It looks sunny but you can’t see the freezing wind in the photo!

After a mammoth trek upriver, a grueling up -hill slog where I pulled a number of unhappy faces at the amount of supplejack, camp was sorted and we climbed up another ridge to check out sunny faces and grassy guts from the tops.
As the day wore on the temperature dropped steadily. There was a very strong sou’wester which managed to push us around a bit, and was quite discouraging for hunting in. We decided to fill in the early afternoon with napping in the grass, but with the biting cold getting through 5 layers (including a puffer jacket)  time moved very slowly. Lying back-to-back was the only way to reclaim some warmth, before we retreated and found a spot where the sun actually reached our skin. Thawing out frozen hands whilst having a “Jeremy Kyle” session, I learned a whole lot of new things about my hunting companion.  The slips were empty that evening and fair enough, if I were a deer I wouldn’t be hanging about in that kind of wind either. Back to camp with me leading the way, high fives when I managed to find our tent. I have a terrible sense of direction and kept looking to my mate for guidance. He just looked away each time and so it was a fair achievement for me that we didn’t end up falling off a cliff.
The appreciation for your gear is reinforced at camp – your cooker which will still provide a hot meal or drink in howling wind, and the shelter of your tent. Even basic food tastes amazing when you have climbed steep slippery hills, crossed slips and bush-bashed with a rifle in-hand for hours.  One Christmas Jase and I walked 10 hours and I swear that even my bones were exhausted. A foil pack of hot tortellini and half a bottle of port was to this day still the best thing I’ve ever eaten.  I think that is the beauty of the outdoors. When you get home you really appreciate everything, especially a hot shower.  It is good to get back to basics.

Being afraid of heights doesn’t help at a time like this!

The night was rough with frequent awakenings. Temperature regulation was difficult at both extremes, and all the while the wind hissed through the trees. The ground was surprisingly hard beneath my inflatable mat (upgrade needed I think) and I experienced painful cramps in my legs several times during the night. As a result we slept in rather longer than we had anticipated, but after a coffee we once again felt alive. The climb to the tops wasn’t nearly as bad on day two; the sun was warmer and the wind was less. Still the slips were empty of deer (they were probably bedded down by then) so we explored the surrounding bush.
A few promising wallows were discovered, as well as some stag sign, a deer bed, and the smaller prints of a yearling. This time when I lead us back to camp there was far less uncertainty, and my companion said he had trouble keeping up. I only needed guidance once as I was tempted by a spur after losing the main ridge, so I was very pleased with myself when we made it back to the tent. Too tired for high fives though.

The trek out down the river was beautiful, and made me
feel very grateful to have the opportunity to explore such amazing country. The river banks were lined with tall grasses and Buddleia on the flats, and overhanging gorgy cliff faces bearing the jungle-like kiekie in others. The water was clear and lazy pools looked promising for trout. Still, it was good to reach the car, strip off sticky hunting gear and finally sit down! I realised too that carrying the rifle around had managed to straighten out my busted elbow, and it was the first time since February that it had felt normal.  We didn’t manage to get a deer this trip, but part of the thrill of proper hunting is that your quarry is never guaranteed. I gained a lot, including valuable experience, much respect for my companion, some decent exercise and a number of bruises. A trip into the bush is never wasted.

An Accidental Orphan

There are certain times of the year when this can happen, Spring if you are hunting goats and Summer if you are after deer. In the case of the latter, it is generally accepted that you don’t take hinds in the Summer unless it is a cull situation. Deer tend to hide their young and visit them twice a day – so if a hind has a fawn you may not know until you find she has an udder with milk in it. If you do find the baby you have two options – kill it or take it with you and find someone to raise it.

A couple of weeks ago we shot a few goats. The farmer is lambing and there is little grass this year after flooding ravaged the region. Once we had cleaned up the dead ones, my brother stumbled upon a young kid in the grass. We hadn’t seen any little kids at foot, although one of the dead ones was clearly nursing. The kid was a doe, about four days old.

You can tell the age of a kid approximately by the umbilical cord – if it is nice and dry then it is at least four days old. If you can’t catch it then it is older than this! The four-day mark is pretty critical in deciding if it is worth taking the kid out or not. Goats produce colostrum for around four days, and this is very important for the survival of the kid, passing on vital antibodies to diseases they are susceptible to. If you are intent on keeping a kid despite its wet umbilical cord, then try to get some colostrum replacer or good cow colostrum for the first few days.

Our kid is thriving on full cream cow’s milk four times a day. Next week she will get bigger feeds, less often. She is contained in a dog kennel and run with access to lawn and hay.

She is full of character, bucking and cavorting as she performs caprine parkour on the lounge furniture. It is possible to respect pest animals that have to be culled, it isn’t their fault they are thriving where they are. When she is a bit bigger she can go to a nice home – if I can bear to part with her that is!

You, Tarzan… Me, Tarzan…??

Today at lunchtime I visited a bookshop in the hope of procuring a hunting magazine. The smartly dressed businessman in his 50’s next to me reached for the magazine at the same time, and we laughed. He asked me, “are you heading out in the roar?” And I replied that I really hoped to.

This is a pretty rare kind of encounter. For example, I recently needed another item of clothing. Entering the store, I made a beeline for the section I required and spent a considerable amount of time perusing the racks for a suitable item. After quite some time, a staff member approached and asked if he could help. Explaining what I was looking for, he asked if the clothing was going to be a gift. When I said it wasn’t, he asked if my partner hunted. Even the hefty discount he gave didn’t quell my feeling of irritation, as it was clear that he was astonished that the item was for me, and even more so that I didn’t have a partner who had dragged me into hunting.

My mate thought that I should write a post about the hardships of female hunting. He’s a very good mate, and we’ve had some great hunts together, and many trips. Describing himself as “ruggedly handsome,” with access to a regular hunting block, he is wondering where all these ladies with guns are and why he isn’t meeting them.  He is looking to replace me for a more available model, but I suggest that in order to meet ladies he would have to spend less time in the bush, something that is probably not going to happen.

You want to be sure you can depend on your buddies in remote places like this.

Hunting is a male-dominated sport, but there is nothing to stop the ladies getting in and having a go. I find a lot of the women’s hunting stories are a bit too focussed on how they are “different” to the normal female, and some are a bit too self-promotional (I am thinking of one gag-worthy piece that my mates will recognise).  Many men are very supportive of women getting into the sport, and will volunteer to take them out. This doesn’t always work out however, as before I found some reliable hunters to take me under their wings, I had to make my way through the ones who had other ideas. You have to be able to trust the people you go with, as you can end up in survival situations and remote places, and you don’t want to be stuck in either with a creeper.

Last year I came across a lone male hunter at a hut I was happily occupying alone. We got talking, and he was instantly likeable. We ended up hunting together that day (so we didn’t shoot each other) and established a friendship. He was there to see me shoot my first red deer, and I was very grateful for his company, especially after a fall busted the nerves in one arm and rendered it useless. The thing I liked most about this guy was that he never once said anything about “you don’t see many ladies in the bush,” and he didn’t try to TEACH me. Nothing gets my back up more than a guy who needs to teach this poor defensive female a thing or two about deer….! He simply asked: “do you know how to gut a deer?” And when I said that I did, he lay down on the ground and watched quietly, using his pack as a pillow.

I’ve joined the local deerstalkers club and I find it pretty good. I think the HUNTS course is great for new people starting out, teaching essential skills and the very important ethics. It did take me quite a long time to feel comfortable at club meetings however. The members had been friends a long time, and it was surprisingly hard to crack into a group. Perhaps they thought I would just go away eventually…. but persistence paid off and the members for the most part are very friendly now.

So ladies wanting to get into this wonderful sport, please do! Most of the time you will be supported well, and you can laugh those other times. You will gain a lot from your successes and learn from your failures. You will be able to look after yourself in tough situations. You’ll get fit and have a lot of fun, as well as respect for the animals we hunt. Your local deerstalkers club is a good place to start looking for advice and like-minded people, alternatively there are woman’s hunting groups around (e.g. on Facebook) that could lead to new friendships. Women are out there doing it, and we are not the rare species that some like to portray us as!

“Was that pilot cute or have I been in the bush too long?”

It turns out I was in the bush too long, according to my female companion.  Perhaps it was just that we were so grateful to see the chopper, after dicey weather conditions threatened our timely  return home.

The arrival home is always greatly anticipated, but always quite a come-down after a trip. Don’t get me wrong – I love seeing my dearly beloved more than anything, and being in the bush is when I truly appreciate and miss him the most. It’s more that I will have gear to unpack, clothes to wash, a rifle to clean,  and a barrage of emails, texts and messages that stream defiantly in as soon as the internet allows them.  And there was the moment last time when I flung open the front door,  dropped my pack and called out: ” Hi baaaaayyyy…………………be. ” Only to see the carpet strewn with the remains of the dog’s bed, which had been savagely unstuffed down the hallway. This time I found it more overwhelming than other times, and I don’t know why. And this time I was actually quite desperate to get some perfume on, rip out straggling eyebrow hairs, paint my nails and deal to the crop of zits that I can still achieve in the face of dermal neglect, despite being over the 30 mark.

The trip this time was almost fruitless, despite being a productive expedition a mere seven weeks ago. Previously I took two spikers from the area, after seeing nine animals and leaving the hinds to rear their fawns. In the time from then until now, hunters have taken 17 animals from the area, leaving a wasteland of old deer sign and boot prints. Some parties took four or five animals between them, if the notes in the book are correct.  I guess all those hinds I left have been shot.

On the first day things looked promising, as we saw some hinds out with their fawns and watched them for around 20 minutes. Our luck ended there as the weather declined and every nook and cranny we explored showed recent evidence of human exploration. The meat safe at the back of the hut bore a smelly pool of green-tinged congealed blood that the previous occupants had failed to clean up. I say the trip was almost fruitless, as there were some successes. A few good photos were taken, and I had the privilege of showing a beginner hunter some deer sign, the hinds and fawn, and the art of stalking quietly which she did very well.

We had cabin fever due to the abyssmal weather that we encountered – I am not sure if that is typical of the Ruahines in Summer – but we sure were grateful when we heard the chopper coming. There are only so many days that one can venture out in gale force winds and see no animals (not too surprising, I would have been sheltering too if I was a deer) before feeling defeated. When the weather is consistently bad you just have to get out sometimes to stave off the boredom,  and for that chance that you will actually see something against the odds. On one such walk, we were delighted to see a pair of falcons at very close proximity. At first I thought we were about to be attacked as they flew in fast, with rapid wing beats, and headed straight for us. Passing two or three metres over our heads they cackled excitedly “kek kek kek kek kek!!!” before swirling over the valley together. Another wonderful thing we saw were some slightly weathered hoof prints – a hind and her miniature fawn, whose toes measured just over an inch. I hope they made it to safety. 

Other ways to stave off boredom came about as nasty weather dragged on. A hunt through the magazine box in the hut revealed few publications harbouring a crossword. One magazine kept us entertained for a considerable amount of time with a full-page edition with some challenging clues. I mused about the kinds of magazines that people bring into huts. There were the standard hunting mags, but additionally there was NZ Gardener, That’s Life, North and South, and The Investor. The latter served as an effective draft-stopper when folded correctly.

A secondary hunting sport was developed in the evening of our final night, as a mouse entered the hut, climbed my rifle in the gun rack, and proceeded to nibble on food on the bench. The last straw was reached when the visitor gained access to the table and used this to vault into my hair as I lay in bed. This set off a bit of a chase, in which the dog was sent under the beds to flush out the vermin. He obliged with vigour, sniffing enthusiastically but completely failing to see the rodent.  Useless as a mouser, he was, however, an effective firewood vehicle when equipped with a back pack.

After all card games, crosswords, word puzzles and attempts at amusing stories were exhausted, the compulsive cleaning kicked in. The hut was given a bit of a scrub up with some warm water and dish soap for just over an hour. The result was clear to see for us, however newcomers will fail to appreciate it without the benefit of comparison.

The heli ride home was rather too eventful for my liking. Strong winds made for a bumpy journey, and our pilot flew high possibly to counteract this. He was a bit of a smart arse too, leading me to believe the microphone wasn’t functioning and mocking me with faux sympathetic pouts when I thought I couldn’t contribute to the conversation. I learned later that what I said was apparently heard by everyone except me. Oh well. There was nothing more welcome today than  safe delivery to solid ground by our non-cute pilot.

The pitbull that points

In April of 2014 I got myself a dog – a 7 month old pitbull mix that was rescued from a shelter that had shut down. I didn’t intend for him to be a hunting dog, but I was heading out and I thought I should bring him along.

It was the afternoon on a private block, and Eli the dog caught some exciting scents from the hut. We headed out along the ridge, spotting some fallow grazing on a clearing a over 500m away. My friend’s son was bowhunting in that area and we wondered if he had seen the deer. My mate ducked over the ridge to take a look, leaving Eli and myself to examine the trees on the other side. After only a few minutes, a dark shape moved beneath a whiteywood. I hadn’t yet shot a deer, but this one was about to be my first. I had time before the animal moved so that I could take a good shot, so I tied Eli to my leg. Taking a rest on a very convenient horizontal branch, I aimed as the spiker moved into view, and took a shot between the shoulder blades. As I rechecked the view through the scope, I saw a leg flash past as the animal rolled down the hill and into the cover of trees. Looking next to me, I saw that the rope attached to the dog was slack and lying at my side. I thought I lost him with the shot until I realised he had switched sides and was keenly sniffing the wind.

My mate soon showed up and I said that I thought I had just shot my first deer. A moment of doubt – but I had seen it tumble. We let Eli lead the way. There was a valley to cross, through bush with a steep-sided creek at the bottom. It was quite a challenge to navigate. Eli lead us to a point where we could see the deer, and then we let him go to it. That was the point when we discovered that he has a horrible high-pitched yodel when he gets excited…..

He was a real nuisance on the carry, yodelling and shrieking with excitement, as well as chomping his jaws, but we got there unscathed.

My first red deer, taken from the Ruahines

Two weeks later we went into the Ruahines and he proved very useful. The weirdest thing was that he was able to point! Another peculiar trait he exhibited was putting his hackles up when the unmistakable smell of a rutting stag wafted past us, followed by a low rumble. He tracked well, and leading us to areas with fresh sign and negotiating obstacles well. We came across a mob of deer in an open part of the bush, and a young hind was taken. This was my first red deer and much more of an achievement than taking the fallow.

The one problem we have encountered is that once he knew what we were there for, he decided to try to get a deer for himself. A young animal was spotted on the bush edge just on dark, and he took off after it. He was never going to catch it, just follow the scent around and around in the bush, but it was the one time he would not come back. After that I had to take him on a string in the bush which was a complete pain in the arse.

Faithful companion making sure he is not forgotten!

Recently I got a remote controlled shock collar to curb this habit, and it seems we have made progress. I’ve only had to shock him once when he took off after a hare, thank goodness it wasn’t a deer.

Training a hunting dog is not something I actually know how to do. The point of this story is to say that you don’t have to get yourself a Visla or a pointer, because sometimes a rescued mutt with poor conformation will be perfect for the job. He has been on many hunts now and has tamed down the yodelling. I wouldn’t say that he does all the work, but he is helpful, as well as being a great little buddy.

Making use of the doggy backpack. It was too noisy to be used on the hunt

There, I fixed it! A first attempt at preserving velvet

On Christmas day I was fortunate enough to shoot my first stag, and my first sika deer all in one go. He was a 6 pointer, shot at 220m. When we reached him, it was obvious that he had suffered a nasty injury to his eye – he was blind and the eye was about to rupture, so I was satisfied that he was a very good animal to cull. I wanted to preserve the velvet and read varying reviews on how to go about this.

The head was cleaned of flesh, and stayed in the meat safe with all the meat for 4 days before we flew out which is not ideal. Once at home it went into the garage fridge, cranked down as low as it would go. Many people reckon that you should take chemicals in to the bush with you so that the velvet can begin preservation immediately, however I have reservations about this given their dangerous nature – also it is probably going to jinx you so you don’t get that stag anyhow!

I had actually intended to turn this head in to a taxidermist for professional treatment (quoted at $250) – it wasn’t the most amazing head in the world but there can only ever be one first, right? With Christmas and New Years etc the taxidermist was likely enjoying having his feet up at a beach somewhere and told me to stick it in the freezer. Explaining that we had no freezer space (it was frozen in the fridge but there is a freeze – thaw cycle) brought no reply so I thought I would give it a whirl on my own before I lost the velvet for good.

Here is a run-down of the procedure I went through to get the skull and antlers mounted:

Initially, I placed the skull with antlers attached, into a pot of boiling water. I soon realised the steam was going to ruin the velvet, and came to the conclusion that the best thing to do was to remove the antlers and boil away to my heart’s content. I soon came to the conclusion that doing this on the gas stove inside the house was a silly idea, given the surprisingly bad smell that filled the house. The remaining tissue attached to the skull was not rotten either! Next time I would do it on the BBQ – but this time I opened all the windows and hoped for the best.

It took about an hour of boiling before the flesh loosened and could be peeled off. The back of the skull was still quite difficult to get clean. I tried a couple of experiments here.

– I located a bunch of hungry looking ants and plonked the skull in their path hoping that they would eat the fragments of flesh remaining. However they must have consulted their union after an hour’s work and gone on strike, never to be seen again. After the dog found the skull sitting on the ant trail and sat down to chew on it, breathing formic acid from the ingested ants, I decided this method was sub-optimal.

–  I tried soaking the skull in a bucked of Oxy Magic and cold water. This resulted in a white skull, but also a nasty fishy smell. The flesh fragments on the back did not loosen. I only tried for a day before I couldn’t stand the smell anymore.

– Finally, I used the dremmel to burr off stubborn bits after drying in the sun. This worked well, until a surprise visitor arrived to find me in my dressing gown, burring away at a skull. The dremmel was great for getting into little nooks and crannies, although the burr appeared to be just right for flinging bone dust and crumbs of dried flesh into my eyes. Protective eyewear is essential.

With the skull clean, I turned my attention to the antlers, which I had soaking in formalin.

All of the videos and forum posts online say to put a small cut in the tips of the antlers and inject formalin into the veins. The result will be blood running out the antler tips and being replaced with preservative solution. Perhaps it was because the antlers were no longer attached to the skull, but this didn’t work for me, and the blood consistently came out the bottom. I had an 18G needle attached to a 5 ml syringe, and found the velvet surprisingly easy to inject. There are huge vascular channels and in no time I had blood running from the cut surface of the antler. If you are going to do this, eye protection is ESSENTIAL. This is a really nasty chemical and it releases horrible fumes that make your eyes and nose run. I wore thick rubber kitchen gloves, overalls and a pair of safety goggles, and I looked like something from a freaky laboratory. However I was grateful when inevitably, the plunger met resistance, the needle came off and formalin sprayed all over my goggles. As I was outside next to the hose this was easily dealt with.

After losing patience with a 5ml syringe, I re-submerged the antlers in formalin for another day. I had managed to get most of the blood out of them, but a 20ml syringe would have made the job easier! They were then hung up to dry for a day in a cool and breezy spot.

Reattaching the antlers was a challenge. The best way of doing it I found, was to drill down into the pedicle of the skull, and drill into the bone of the antler also, carefully matching the angle so they would sit in a natural way. I used dowelling pegs and “Tough as Nails” glue to affix the two together. The head then had to be left carefully for a full 24 hours so that the antlers would not rotate on the head and give a weird appearance.

I am happy with the result. They have been on my wall now for 3 weeks. The soft tops of velvet have had some shrinkage which was not unexpected. There is no smell at all, and the seams where the antlers were reattached are not very visible unless being looked for. These seams were the biggest disadvantage of removing the antlers from the skull, but I believe they could be filled with something at a later date.

Update: 2022 this velvet still looks good 🙂