NZ Hunter – August 2019

Hugo suggested we head back up

the creek we had just visited. It was a

reasonable plan as the wind had been

favourable, ensuring nothing on the slip

and the bush above it had been spooked.

We could pack up after the hunt on our

way back to the quad. This plan would

give us the most time to stake out that

slip so we settled into our sleeping bags,

determined to get a deer in the morning.

At 5.30am, we were up and packing our

day bags whilst sipping our smoothies.

Ten minutes later, we began the walk

up to the lookout of the slip we had

visited the night before. On the way Dad

announced he had forgotten his knife but

after I reassured him that I had mine, we

continued up the stream. We reached the

lookout in good time and settled down

to glass and roar as dawn broke, hoping

desperately that a deer could be found.

Apart from a rogue cattle beast

nosing among the trees, there was

nothing to see. After 20 minutes and

a few roars, Dad suddenly stiffened and

whispering quietly, he guided us to where

two hinds had appeared 150 metres away

at the top of the slip above us. As we

watched, they turned and started feeding

slowly towards the bush line which was

not that far away.

As the hunt was almost over, Hugo and I

told Dad to shoot one even though it was

not the stag we were after. Dad got the

Tikka ready, flicked the bolt down and put

his eye to the scope. Bella froze as soon

as she saw Dad raise the gun. She gave

him the expectant look she always gives

him when he sights in the gun; she knew

what was happening.

The hinds had turned their tails to us and

were feeding away towards the bush

line. In desperation, Dad gave a low

moan, imitating a stag. Suddenly

the hind nearest us turned

ninety degrees on the edge

of the bush, giving Dad a

perfect target on her shoulder.

She turned her head and

stared quizzically at us.

We stayed stock still, watching

her through our binoculars as

Dad made a slight adjustment

to his aim and squeezed the

trigger. I saw the hind jump

and then dart into the bush.

Hugo and I immediately started

questioning Dad, asking him

whether he thought he’d felled

the deer. Dad calmed us, saying that he’d

seen her jump, indicating a hit.

Once we heard that,

we were off

Crossing the stream and heading up

the steep grassy slope in no time. We

found the hind lying ten metres inside

the bu¬¬sh edge and I was thankful I

had brought my knife. After taking some

photos, Dad and I sorted out the deer.

I removed the hind legs and Dad took

the back steaks. Before we came back

down the slip, we tried roaring again

and a stag started replying from the

head of the gully. We soon realised it

came from a very steep and dense hill

high above us that would mean a very

late night out if we went and chased it

so we contented ourselves with the hind

and left him for next year.

It was considerably harder making our

way back down the slip than it had been

to climb it, mostly due to the increased

weight in our rucksacks. We hurried back

to camp, eager to get on the road now

that our mission was accomplished. We

had lunch using the meagre supplies we

had left and finishing off the Cadbury

flakes. The tent was soon packed up,

along with the sleeping bags and like

their owners, they were ready for the trip

out.

Just as we set out, a helicopter roared

overhead and landed upstream, picking

up the hunters who were camped

above us. Watching the chopper fly over

our heads as we started a three-hour

trek down the river was tough to bear.

Eventually, after too many crossings to

count, including one in which Hugo got

soaked when he slipped in, we loaded the

heavy packs and our exhausted gun dog

onto the bike. Bella, who had run three

times the distance we had, was ready for

sleep.

Aboard the bike, we started the bumpy

trip back to the car. After stopping at our

first campsite to retrieve the pig and other

odds and ends we had left behind, we

high-tailed it to the car. Weary but happy,

we sipped on the ginger beers we had

stashed in the car to celebrate the end

of the trip and wound our way along the

gravel road towards civilization. We were

looking forward to the burgers and

chips we would get on the

way home.

Hugo with the pig

Hugo looking happy

with the hind

Dad removing the

hind's backsteaks

August / September 2019 ~ NZ HUNTER MAGAZINE 49

Hugo suggested we head back up

the creek we had just visited. It was a

reasonable plan as the wind had been

favourable, ensuring nothing on the slip

and the bush above it had been spooked.

We could pack up after the hunt on our

way back to the quad. This plan would

give us the most time to stake out that

slip so we settled into our sleeping bags,

determined to get a deer in the morning.

At 5.30am, we were up and packing our

day bags whilst sipping our smoothies.

Ten minutes later, we began the walk

up to the lookout of the slip we had

visited the night before. On the way Dad

announced he had forgotten his knife but

after I reassured him that I had mine, we

continued up the stream. We reached the

lookout in good time and settled down

to glass and roar as dawn broke, hoping

desperately that a deer could be found.

Apart from a rogue cattle beast

nosing among the trees, there was

nothing to see. After 20 minutes and

a few roars, Dad suddenly stiffened and

whispering quietly, he guided us to where

two hinds had appeared 150 metres away

at the top of the slip above us. As we

watched, they turned and started feeding

slowly towards the bush line which was

not that far away.

As the hunt was almost over, Hugo and I

told Dad to shoot one even though it was

not the stag we were after. Dad got the

Tikka ready, flicked the bolt down and put

his eye to the scope. Bella froze as soon

as she saw Dad raise the gun. She gave

him the expectant look she always gives

him when he sights in the gun; she knew

what was happening.

The hinds had turned their tails to us and

were feeding away towards the bush

line. In desperation, Dad gave a low

moan, imitating a stag. Suddenly

the hind nearest us turned

ninety degrees on the edge

of the bush, giving Dad a

perfect target on her shoulder.

She turned her head and

stared quizzically at us.

We stayed stock still, watching

her through our binoculars as

Dad made a slight adjustment

to his aim and squeezed the

trigger. I saw the hind jump

and then dart into the bush.

Hugo and I immediately started

questioning Dad, asking him

whether he thought he’d felled

the deer. Dad calmed us, saying that he’d

seen her jump, indicating a hit.

Once we heard that,

we were off

Crossing the stream and heading up

the steep grassy slope in no time. We

found the hind lying ten metres inside

the bu¬¬sh edge and I was thankful I

had brought my knife. After taking some

photos, Dad and I sorted out the deer.

I removed the hind legs and Dad took

the back steaks. Before we came back

down the slip, we tried roaring again

and a stag started replying from the

head of the gully. We soon realised it

came from a very steep and dense hill

high above us that would mean a very

late night out if we went and chased it

so we contented ourselves with the hind

and left him for next year.

It was considerably harder making our

way back down the slip than it had been

to climb it, mostly due to the increased

weight in our rucksacks. We hurried back

to camp, eager to get on the road now

that our mission was accomplished. We

had lunch using the meagre supplies we

had left and finishing off the Cadbury

flakes. The tent was soon packed up,

along with the sleeping bags and like

their owners, they were ready for the trip

out.

Just as we set out, a helicopter roared

overhead and landed upstream, picking

up the hunters who were camped

above us. Watching the chopper fly over

our heads as we started a three-hour

trek down the river was tough to bear.

Eventually, after too many crossings to

count, including one in which Hugo got

soaked when he slipped in, we loaded the

heavy packs and our exhausted gun dog

onto the bike. Bella, who had run three

times the distance we had, was ready for

sleep.

Aboard the bike, we started the bumpy

trip back to the car. After stopping at our

first campsite to retrieve the pig and other

odds and ends we had left behind, we

high-tailed it to the car. Weary but happy,

we sipped on the ginger beers we had

stashed in the car to celebrate the end

of the trip and wound our way along the

gravel road towards civilization. We were

looking forward to the burgers and

chips we would get on the

way home.

Hugo with the pig

Hugo looking happy

with the hind

Dad removing the
hind's backsteaks

August / September 2019 ~ NZ HUNTER MAGAZINE 49