Hunting Stories

It all started at 4am when I was woken by the beeping of my trusty watch-alarm. The forecast was for rain but the sky was full of stars so I was hoping that they got it wrong. I could easily see the red planet Mars too. Apparently it's a mere 65 million kms from Earth right now. Anyway Waine Dick, My hunting companion, arrived at 4.45. Waine’s little GWP bitch eagerly joined my three Irish Setters waiting in the back of the Hilux and we began the two and half hour trip to the Kaingaroa forest in the central Nth Island arriving at dawn and at the same time as the rain!

We started at a place where we have encountered a lot of brown Quail on the last couple of weekends. A hen pheasant flushed nearby as we were putting on our wet weather gear so it looked encouraging. An hours walking in the rain and we met back at the Hilux. Neither of us had got a shot at anything although I had seen a covey of Californian Quail that had obviously been shot at a few times as they wouldn't let me or a dog get within 100 metres! And Waine had had a couple of unproductive points and saw pheasants flush a considerable distance away, but no Brown Quail. We had been shooting in this general area most weekends so far this season and the birds are becoming very jumpy so maybe it is time to look for a new area. We start driving, what we are looking for is an area where the pine trees are younger than about five years and therefore less than about two metres tall so you can see any birds that fly and hopefully get a shot at them. We approach a stand of mature gum trees, I've had a lot of success near gum trees, pheasants seem to like them and it is easier to shoot in gums as it is more open than under pines. I spot a small notice nailed to a tree, "1080 poison laid in this area 29/5/01!" Darn!, dogs are more susceptible to 1080 than anything else so we got out of there. I'm glad it's a huge forest and they only poison a few compartments at a time.

We drove to the eastern side of the forest before we found what we considered likely grounds. On the way I caught a glimpse of what I thought was a cock pheasant about 40 metres up a side road as we drove past, I stopped, told Waine to get out, grab his gun and dog and get back to that road pronto. I followed in hot pursuit with my dogs at heel. Naturally the bird was nowhere to be seen so Waine worked his dog up the road.

The little bitch got birdy and went into the scrub and young pines on the left; I was expecting the explosive flush of a cock pheasant any second, nothing happened.

The dog came out of the scrub went about another twenty metres forward and back into the young pines, Waine says, "she's on point" We are parallel with her when I hear the wing beats, I look to the sound and as I instinctively lifted the shotgun to my shoulder I thought "hell that’s a long shot" a little bit of lead…BLAM!; lo and behold the bird plummets to earth! The expletives that came from Waine’s mouth made me think that he had copped some muzzle blast even though I was sure he was slightly behind me.

I looked at him and inquired "you all right?" he just looked at me with his mouth open and said, "Shit, I can't believe you hit that bird!" In an attempt to hide my own surprise I just gave him that puzzled look that might suggest it was a normal piece of shooting for me and said that we had better get to the bird because it might only be wounded and I would hate to waste such marksmanship on a bird that was going to run away.

His dog quickly got to the place where the pheasant had come down and continued up the ridge through the pines, patches of gorse and bracken fern eventually going over the ridge and out of sight. I knew then that we had a "runner" and this is the very reason why we expect our pointers and setters in NZ to retrieve. No, we don’t expect, we insist! Waine fought his way to near the top of the ridge, his dog still out of sight. He called out to me asking if I should let my more experienced dog "Fraser" go after the bird, I told him to give his dog another couple of minutes, as it appeared to be hot on the trail. Also with two dogs after the one bird it often turns into a fiasco, something a young dog and handler could well do without.

I had seen this little GWP bitch do some outstanding work but if she could nail this cock pheasant and retrieve it she would firmly cement herself near the top of my rankings. Waine screams out "she's got it, I can see her, and she’s got it!" The bird had run over the ridge into the next gully and down into an old logging skid before the dog caught up with it, a distance of close to 300 metres in very heavy cover. The bird was retrieved to hand, and it was still alive!

At the end of the day we had another pheasant, two Californian Quail and one Brown Quail all shot by Waine although the only decent point he got was on the Brownie. I had good finds and points on two hen pheasants, which of course, we are not allowed to shoot, a covey of Californians and one Brownie which were too fast for me, (but don't tell Waine that). Came home with a smile and a limp and looking forward to 4am next Saturday!

Dave.

Quarter to five and no sign of Waine, he’s usually so reliable especially when we are going hunting, better give him a ring. Waine? Where are ya!? “That you Dave, What’s the time?” “Quarter to five!” “Bull*#*#! its quarter to four!” Then I realised, “Hell I must have set the clock for three instead of four”. Waine replied “Never mind I’m awake now, put the jug on I’ll be there in ten minutes”.

What is it about going hunting that makes you get up too early? I’ve never got up an hour too early for work!

It was still dark when we hit Rotorua stopping at the BP service station for the traditional half a dozen pies, a packet of chocolate macaroons and to refuel the vehicle.

It seemed that every hunter in the district had the same idea as there were utes filled with dogs parked all through the forecourt. Judging by the type of dogs most would be chasing pigs I thought. There was a Labrador in the vehicle next to us so I casually asked the driver if he was going out for a shot, thinking that he would be after a pheasant like us. “Yeah, I’ve got a pond to sit on out at Horahora.” He replied as I jumped into Waine's car. “I thought Duck shooting finished last weekend” said Waine as we drove off, and I had to agree but did that guy say he was going to shoot ducks?…. He was going to sit on a pond.... With his shotgun …and his Labrador. Anything wrong with that?

Thirty minutes later we were on a gravel road in Kaingaroa forest. In the headlights the flickering wings of the early blackbirds and thrushes scurrying to get out of our way signaled the arrival of dawn. A few rabbits and then a covey of Californian Quail all fleeing as we approached. It looked like a pretty good frost out there too, not that we would know with the heater on full bore!

We finally got to a place where we could do some proper hunting, you know……. where you do some walking and the dogs hunt for and find the birds. The young pines where about a metre tall and a gravel road wound right through the valley that we intended to hunt. Great!

With backpacks and warm clothing on Waine and I proceeded together. There certainly was a decent frost making the gravel road sound like we were walking on corn flakes.

My Irish setter dog “Fraser” was first up to hunt, my other two at heel and Waine’s GWP bitch “Cola” on a lead. Being first up and fresh Fraser was working in his usual busy manner and was covering lots of country very quickly. Cola showed her disgust at being made to stay on a lead by continually pulling and gasping so I suggested to Waine that he release her and I would bring Fraser in. Cola had only been running for a couple of minutes when she disappeared down in a little hollow beside the track. Waine walked towards the hollow and stood on tip-toes to peer over a mound and into the hollow. He spun towards me and gestured by holding his hand high and pointing frantically in front of him. I knew that this could only mean that his dog was on point. Drat! I thought to myself that should be Fraser’s bird. By now Waine was approaching his dog, a cock Pheasant flushed and flew straight away, Blam! Down it went and immediately another cock bird flushed, I couldn’t believe it, how lucky could he get? A double rise within ten minutes of the car! But can Waine shoot both of them? Of course he could. There’s something about witnessing a nice bit of dog work and it doesn’t get much better than that. Had I walked all day and not seen another bird I would have still gone home happy and as for Waine, I don’t think the smile left his face all day. He kept rubbing it in too, “Double rise aye!”……. “Oh shut up Waine”.

Dave.

Sunday the twenty ninth of August 2004, the last day of the shooting season.

The last day of the season seems to carry a special significance, quite different from “opening day” where things can get quite frenetic; the last day is more symbolic. It says more about hunting, about the relationship between human and dog. Normally the “bag” is much smaller than on the first day, so maybe that is not the reason that you are there.

As usual it was an early start and I could see the glistening of ice crystals on the side of the road indicating there was a pretty good frost as I travelled towards Kaingaroa. Normally Waine Dick would accompany me with his GWP bitch “Cola,” but he was training for his Helicopter pilot’s licence and couldn’t make it this weekend.

I met up with Tony and Francis Connors and their son Craig at a predetermined place in the forest. They had travelled up from Sanson near Palmerston North, early on Saturday and had already spent a day hunting with their Pointer dog “Nelson”. In this relationship it is Francis who trains and handles the dog and Tony who has the supporting role. This supporting role requires he and Craig to carry the guns and shoot anything that Nelson points so it’s a pretty good set up if you ask me. .

Lots of quail around, we chased a few coveys along the side of the road. The mornings shoot, produced a few birds going from the sides of the road into heavy cover. We were working the dogs in tandem, first my two, “BJ” and “Fraser” then Nelson. My guys got on to a couple of pheasants right beside the road, just before we got back to the cars for lunch. They were both hens, Craig didn't hear the 'HEN' call early enough and promptly removed the tail feathers from one, but it seemed to fly off OK. After lunch we split up, with me going up a rather steep ridge and over into the next valley and the Connors staying in the valley that we started in.

Picture this; five minutes after leaving the vehicle I am climbing a very steep ridge covered in rows of young pine trees mixed with a splattering of gorse bushes and bracken fern, not pointer and setter country by any stretch of the imagination but it's where the birds are so it's where we hunt. Anyway, here I am gasping for air, clinging to the branch of the nearest tree, thinking to myself, that I'm getting too old for this caper. A good excuse for a rest, I wonder where the dogs are as I hadn't seen them for a couple of minutes. Then, almost by mistake I see the crouched pose of "Fraser" (Kilsheelan Jet) on point fifty yards out to my left. Very difficult to see a dog at that distance in these conditions, I must have been in the right place. But by the time I fought my way through the gorse and pruned pine branches to get within range the bird flushed, I did get a glimpse of it and was relieved to see that it was a hen so I couldn’t have shot it anyway.

A couple of hours later, no more birds and nearly getting lost I was relieved to get back to the vehicles. The Connors had had an interesting walk. This is Tony’s version;

“Nelson put up a cock just after leaving the cars, but we never got to see it as the trees were too tall. We climbed to the top of the ridge and disturbed some quail which flew over into the next valley. Again couldn't get a shot as the cover was too tall.

We climbed to the head of the valley were the quail went and fortunately the wind was in our favour. Frances set Nelson off and he quartered beautifully down the small valley. We lost sight of him after a short while, but relocated him on solid point behind a large gorse bush. Craig & I took up positions both sides and Frances roaded Nelson in. Quail came bursting out all over the place, we missed the lot. Fortunately I reloaded, just in time

to get a shot at the next rise. I was pretty sure I had knocked maybe a couple down, so Frances sent him in and sure enough he returned and presented her with a lovely Californian Quail. What’s more, I even have the photo to prove it.”

After swapping stories for a few minutes they left me to finish the day on my own I was still birdless and it was beautiful afternoon. Although both dogs had performed real well so far they weren’t showing any tiredness and were keen to keep on going so I decided to poke around the edges of some of the roads and tracks as I had had enough of bashing my way through scrub. Apart from a covey of Californian Quail that flushed from eighty meters away the hunt was fruitless. That is until we got almost back to the vehicle.

You know how that Murphy guy says that you will hunt all day and the moment you get back to the truck......; anyway BJ looked real certain about his find so I put a couple of cartridges into the gun and followed him along the road. He quickly led me into some tigerish scrubby country that had been thinned to waste and then I heard the unmistakable sound of pheasant wings.

The shot was one of those impulsive ones. I knew there was going to be a bird flushed any second, there's the sound now I just needed the sight, a split second to confirm that it is a cock bird, it's flying out between those two trees and then it will disappear, a very small window.....a bit of lead….. Blam! And down it goes. Perfect.

The dog(s) get there quickly, steady to flush and shot???? Not very likely after walking all day and not firing a shot! Personally I didn't care as I really wanted this bird, I reckon I'd deserved it and I wasn't going to let some sloppy canine manners ruin my day.

Well as luck (or lack of it) would have it, we spent about ten minutes searching that scrub but to no avail. The dogs did venture much further out and I presumed that they were tracking a running bird but both came back empty. Not the finish I would have liked but that's hunting sometimes.

Now for the simulated game trials, (homing pigeons). First trial(s) are scheduled for the next weekend, not much time to shift emphasis from Pheasants to pigeons but I think the only thing that needs tidying up is that steadiness to shot.

September the 4th:

Ever heard of “lumbar sacral instability”? Nor had I until when BJ had difficulty walking on the first day of the Gordonton trials and I took him to the vet.

It is caused when one of the discs between the spinal vertebrae moves and puts pressure on the nerves to the hind legs. Maybe the result of a particularly long and hard shooting season, who knows? Initial diagnosis was difficult but in a couple of days the symptoms got much worse. This meant lots of pain and near paralysis for BJ and lots of anguish for both dog and owners.

I was faced with three options; caged rest for three to four months, a very expensive operation with no 100% guarantee of success, the third option wasn’t an option, at least in the beginning. I took the caged rest one. Three months later and lots of stressful days and nights he is getting better but the jury is still out.

If that wasn’t bad enough Fraser began displaying similar symptoms and was obviously in lots of pain too. More x-rays, scans and blood tests. Nothing conclusive in the way of a diagnosis but the symptoms got gradually worse over the next couple of weeks. The thought of losing one dog was bad enough but here I was facing the very real possibility of losing both of my dogs in the prime of their lives. Then came the news that I didn’t want to here. I didn’t know it at the time but August 29th really was the last hunt with Fraser as he was diagnosed with a cancerous tumour of the throat just six weeks later. As well as my hunting mates lots of P&S club members have seen Fraser in action and the impression that he left most people was the way he put his back into his work. A powerful swimmer, he was a more than useful duck dog too. You know that you have a good dog when one of your mates invites you to go hunting with him and finishes the conversation with “can you bring Fraser?” and you know it wasn’t a question. The lesson for me was to treat every hunt as special because you don’t know when the last one will be!

You’ve all read the little verse about time bestowing the gift and then in the process taking it away, but it’s this taking away thing that is hard to understand. Fraser was a tough dog; tremendously hard working, he was immortal, at least in my eyes.

Dave

Yes I remember the day at Kaingaroa very well. 

Last day of the 2004 hunting season, bloody hot and fine. Lots of quail around, you remember we chased a few coveys along the side of the road. The mornings shoot, produced a few birds going from the sides of the road into heavy cover.

I just realised today, that would have been your last outing with your two guys. It was a magic day for us; we love that place and now looking back count it as a real privilege to have been there with you and your boys. There are some hunting days which stick in your mind and I can remember that day in absolute detail, right down to the part where you nearly got lost!

We were talking about BJ and Frazer on the way back home, of how they were completely different to Nelson in the way they hunted and also our inability to 'read' them when they were onto something. It is a great pleasure to see good; well trained dogs doing what they have been breed for. It was pretty obvious that you three were a super team and it was great to see the dogs working together.

Tony Connors

Sunday, rained overnight but looks like it’ll be good weather for the day. Pig hunting or fishing? What a dilemma, luckily the decision was made for us when Jeremy had to work in the afternoon and couldn’t accompany Nick and I pig hunting on his farm. Only one decision left to make, east coast or west. The westerly wind should favour the east coast so off to Kaiaua in the firth of Thames we went.

Nick Brown is the sort of guy that sees the funny side to every situation. There is never a dull moment when Nick is around and today was shaping up to be one of those hilariously momentous days that will stay with me for a long time. According to the paper, high tide was due at around 7pm. It was already three in the afternoon so we got a bit of a wriggle on.

“Easy Daisy”! Nick screamed out, mimicking a TV add as I hit some road works a bit fast causing the boat trailer to bounce a bit. “Might have rename the boat ‘Cliff’ cause that’s where we’re going to find it if you keep driving like that”! Nick retorted. We arrived at Kaiaua beach at 4.30 and promptly got Nick’s little aluminium double hulled boat into the water. “Haven’t been out Here for a while” said Nick as he checked the GPS for local waypoints, “wonder what this one is? Only three and a half miles out, must have caught some fish there one day, could be worth a look”. With that he gunned the outboard to full throttle almost throwing me overboard as we went from standing still to twenty five knots per hour in about three seconds. “She’s a bit bumpy aye?” says Nick as he glances my way, “Where’s that blood coming from”? He asked, and for once he seemed to be concerned about something. “I bashed my elbow on the side as you took off I replied”. “Yeah, she’s a bit bumpy aye”? He repeated, loosing more concern than boat speed.

“Looks like some rocks down there” says Nick looking at the depth finder as he zeros in on the waypoint, “chuck the anchor over”.

A few nibbles was all we got for half an hour or so and each time I brought my line up there was no bait left. A more substantial tug on my line had me thinking that this is the big one and to make sure it got hooked I gave the rod a violent pull upwards. “What the hell are you doing?” says Nick, “You’ll pull his bloody head off! Mind you, you might stretch one of those little bait thieves out to legal length.” I wound the line in and found that I had hooked a baby shark, only about 50cm, which we threw back into the water. Another half hour a couple more small sharks and some undersize snapper, and all we had to show was a couple of snapper that only just made the required 30cm. Then it looked like we were going to get some action as my rod took a big dip and the brake started screaming. “Take it easy”, cautioned Nick as I quickly started to wind it in. I knew that it was something substantial so heeded Nick’s advice and played it for a couple of minutes as I slowly brought it to the surface. “It’s another bloody shark!” screamed Nick, “bring it to the side of the boat and I’ll gaff it”. Well have you ever tried to gaff a one and a half meter shark and get it into a boat? Nor had I and I think that if Nick had he wouldn’t have volunteered to do it again! I managed to get the shark to the right side of the boat and Nick reached over slammed the gaff into it and started to lift it into the boat. As you can probably imagine, the shark took exception to the gaff in his side and took evasive action in the way of spinning his body around the gaff handle a couple of times. The aluminium handle began to twist and distort and looked like it was going to break, Nick couldn’t let it go because he had tied the leather strap around his wrist. So here we had a really pissed off shark on one end of the gaff doing his best to remove himself and in the process destroying the gaff handle, and at the other end Nick was looking pretty concerned for the second time that night. The shark is thrashing around in the boat by this time, I’m standing on the transom trying to keep out of the way of its teeth, and Nick is standing on the front of the boat having untangled himself from the gaff handle. “Look at the mess he’s making of my fishing gear!” I yelled as I watched my nylon line turn into one huge birds nest. “Well why don’t you sort him out!” replies Nick with a smile. “After all, you caught the bloody thing!”

Dave.

This story started at the Oceania shooting championships in Sydney, Australia, during November 1999 when the rest of the world was looking at Australia prior to the Olympics of 2000. Because these championships were being held at the newly built Olympic shooting range there was considerable interest from countries outside the Oceania region. A quick look at the entry list caused a double take, as there were shooters from Germany, Finland, USA, Czech Republic, and Colombia as well as the usual entries from Oceania. My role at these champs was as manager/coach of the NZ running target team and I soon got to know the coaches from the other teams. Sydney was also hosting a world cup match in March 2000 and the Europeans were checking out the facilities in preparation for that and the Olympics. I thought to myself, wouldn’t it be great to get some of these guys to NZ. So I put the idea to the German coach, Reinhard Ruger that if they wanted to acclimatize in NZ from the next long trip down under, they could train at the Ardmore shooting range and we might even be able to fit in some hunting. Well, that did the trick! “Hunting”, I think was the only word he heard. Next thing I get a tap on the shoulder from the Czech coach and his interpreter asking if the Czechs can be included. The Americans and the Colombians asked that, if they came would they be able to do some fishing!

March the 20th 2000.Full moon, pretty lucky as I hadn’t even looked at the moon charts, the dates were what we wanted so we booked with HeliSika and into the Kaimanawas we went. The German coach Reinhard Ruger, Irkki Rintakoski from Finland, Bohurmir Pokorny and Miroslav Janos from the Czech Republic. Helping me guide them were Stephen Clarke from Nth Auckland branch NZDA and Gerry Newman who is a professional hunter for DOC. We had managed to book the “Golden Hills” hut and block for four days which was another stroke of luck or at least we thought. It turned out that DOC had put cullers in there a month earlier and they had shot around thirty deer.

Although I hardly knew any of these people I felt obligated to make sure that they secured a deer. After all it’s not every day that you get hunters and marksmen of this caliber (please excuse the pun) to our shores. Coaches, Reinhard and Irkki had left their athletes in Auckland to train at the Ardmore range for the Sydney world cup, whereas Miroslav accompanied his coach on the hunting trip.

Reckoning that it takes about six days to recover from the long flight from Europe, Miroslav said he would be better off hunting than training. He was grinning while telling me this but I actually agree with him. What better way to acclimatize than to spend a few days hunting in the Kaimanawas.

Well, the old Golden Hills hut with its corrugated iron walls and sagging bunks is hardly the Hilton but it had enough room and it was comfortable enough for a few days.

It soon became obvious that the Europeans weren’t used to stalking or bashing their way through heavy bush, especially when they had to follow Gerry with his M16 equipped with Zeiss scope and his game finding Labrador leading the way. Gerry became known as "Rambo". One of the most successful hunters for D.O.C., covering lots of country and letting his dog lead him to Deer was the only way he knew. This differed greatly from the European style where you sit in a stand and wait for the Deer to come to you.

As Gerry was the most likely person to find a deer he was allocated to Reinhard. Stephen guided Miroslav and I had Bohumir. Irkki was happy just to hunt on his own handy to the hut. The idea was that Reinhard would be able to bag a deer fairly quickly, hopefully within two days then Gerry could guide Bohumir if he hadn’t had any success with me. Well, you know what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men.

Poor Reinhard, at the end of the first day he looked like he had just climbed Mount Everest. Gerry had really tried to find him a shootable deer and this meant that Reinhard had followed Gerry through some pretty tough country, but to no avail. Miroslav and Stephen had seen a Sika hind and Miroslav had managed to get a hurried shot at her but missed. Bohumir and I could sympathize with Reinhard, lots of hard work but no deer!

Reinhard volunteered to cook the night meal. He looked in my direction and said “I hope that you like garlic”, Irkki just smiled for if there is one thing that the Finns like in their food it is plenty of garlic! That night in the hut I began to develop a real appreciation for these guys as they told us about their own hunting and target shooting exploits. They just laughed when I said that the Golden Hills block was a private block yet anybody can hunt there for almost no cost. To the European hunter private means “exclusive” and you pay big money for the privilege. For instance Reinhard has exclusive use of seven hundred hectares of bush near his home in the East of Germany. He has around twenty stands or what he called “high seats” in strategic places around his hunting area. It costs him seven thousand Euros ($14,000) per year for the exclusive hunting rights.

Game animals he shoots include Roe Deer and what he calls “wild boar” but could be sow or boar. The European Wild pig is a true “wild pig” not the semi domestic variety that we hunt. Reinhard reckoned that a big one would go two hundred kilos! Wow that’s over four hundred pounds! Irkki is a member of a hunting club in Finland which has thousands of hectares of hunting grounds. They too hunt from stands and the quarry is mostly Moose. Irkki regularly travels to Germany to hunt with Reinhard, and visa-versa.. Neither Miroslav nor Bohumir could speak much English so it was difficult to communicate and appreciate just how much hunting they had done, but by the end of these few days I would learn that it was considerable. The various hunting magazines in the hut promoted some lively discussion about the Sika deer in this country. An eight point Sika is unheard of in Europe so the consensus of opinion was that there must be some cross breeding with reds to get such good heads in N.Z.

Who would win the gold medal for the running target event at the Sydney Olympic Games? The favourite was unanimous, the current World Champion and record holder, Manfred Kurzer from the German team. Second favourite was the Fin, Pasi Wedman. Reinhard nodded across the hut in Miroslav’s direction indicating that he considered Miroslav a real threat to his German marksmen. The Czech just shrugged his shoulders and said “maybe, but maybe the Chinese also”.

The next day Bohumir and I headed for a new piece of country to hunt but it started to look like we would end up with the same result as the day before. He couldn’t speak much English but he didn’t have to, his body language said it all. About midday he just looked at me with that look that said “this is bullshit”! We headed back to camp. Gerry and Reinhard were back too. Still no Deer! Reinhard had had enough. Gerry said to me that there was a nice looking face about forty minutes walk away. “Might be worth while sitting in the fern on this side of the gully and just watching it. That’s the type of shooting these guys are used to. Full moon tonight too” he concluded.

A late lunch followed by a short rest and we headed off to Gerry’s gully. Bohumir was in his element. He must have spent thirty minutes making a comfortable place to sit unnoticed in the fern; I’ve seen worse looking Mai-Mai’s! The moment he was happy with his creation he got out his ten power Zeiss binoculars and began glassing the clearings on the other side of the gully. The head of the gully was to our right and was covered in native bush.

It was a beautiful evening and I thought to myself, ‘this is the way to hunt’. Then I must have dozed off listening to the continuous chorus of dozens of Bellbirds.

The next thing Bohumir is talking to me; I sat up realizing that he had seen something. He paused, trying to put it into English for me. “One wimmen and one small like Bambi”. I figured that he was talking about a hind and fawn but I was blowed if I could see anything in the fading light. He handed me the Zeiss binoculars and pointed to the edge of the native bush, Wow! Everything is so clear it was like it was midday. I could easily see a hind standing up on her back legs to eat leaves from the lower branches of a tree and her fawn nibbling on grass nearby. They were around two hundred meters away. As I watched they began to move further out into the open. A very full moon began to rise; the last Bellbirds had finished their mournful melody. It was now the Morepork’s turn. Wow, what an evening. 

Bohumir again handed me the binoculars, this time he was pointing to the skyline in front of us. I could make out another hind about three hundred meters away. She seemed very nervous; her head was constantly looking around for any sign of danger. I looked down for the original hind and fawn. They were well out in to the open now, quite oblivious to the scrutiny that they were receiving. Ten minutes later I was again handed the binoculars and directed me to look toward the creek below us. Another hind, less than a hundred and fifty meters away. I was admiring this guy’s patience and ability to spot deer but here we had four deer in front of us, at least two were shootable. I was worried that a cloud might cover the moon for a while and we could lose the lot. I beckoned toward the closest hind and quietly said “you don’t want to take a shot”? Bohumir didn’t even stop glassing the clearings as he replied, “No, Only the Stag is the trophy”. 

We watched those hinds for another two hours, but there was no sign of a Stag. On our way back to the hut I thought to myself, “Hmmm, I think I learnt something today”.

Dave