Your favourite photos and a tale to go with it

Fellas, I’m a bit grumpy today. I haven’t got anything to complain about at all, it’s family news I think, the knowledge that others in Blighty and elsewhere are struggling terribly with the fall-out from lockdown, as are a whole bunch of you guys.

I really like the write-ups we see here, the triumphs, trials and tribulations. So to cheer myself up I put it to my wife and kids, what are your favourite hunting memories? Cue heated debates and arguments... but we got there in the end. Here are some of our favourite recent hunting photos and their short stories, and I encourage you to do the same! Have a think about a photo or three that put a smile on yer boat-race, and post them up.

Iain’s favourite: I told you being quiet would work!

My boys were 9 and 11 when this photo was taken. We’d been hunting all day, unsuccessfully, and the boys were completely over it. I was getting seriously cheesed off with their noisy walking... heavy foot falls, the sound of gaiters rubbing together - swish swish swish - and the complete inability to hold in noisy farts and the subsequent giggling. It was Deer O’Clock and I was determined not to go home empty handed, so I said to them, Right, I’ll head up here and you wait and slowly count to 60, then start walking up the track behind me. Slowly. OK?

They got to 45 when there was an almighty BANG! followed by the sound of a very dead red hind rolling down through the bush. As I stood there getting over the ringing in my ears and sudden burst of adrenaline, two small boys arrived breathlessly squawking DIDYAGEDDIT DIDYAGEDDIT DIDYAGEDDIT??? It was a seminal moment in their stalking education. Be quiet. Works every time.



Stuart’s favourite: My first pig hunt

We keep Staffordshire Bull Terriers of course, and they are addicted to chasing pigs. Unfortunately, pigs here have a habit of chasing them back, and the mortality rate for pig dogs is high. So hunting pigs with our pet Staffys was banned by Mum. Like “don’t you dare” type banned.

One afternoon, a mob of small “eating pigs” unwisely turned up at the cabin, and with no boar or sow in sight I decided to break the rules. Not normally a good idea... Armed with a 12ga pump action shotgun and slugs - just in case mummy pig turned up - our two muppet dogs were unleashed. With massive excitement and noise, they simultaneously caught one each, with me and Stuart in close pursuit, and Stuart dispatched the second one himself with his own heirloom knife. That was a proper big boy moment for the young lad. He’ll never forget it.



Mum’s favourite: Peacock pie and Maori korowai

I was really surprised by Mum’s choice, because she has heaps of deer and bok to choose from, but instead she’s selected some small game hunting that had an unexpected but highly fulfilling outcome. Peacocks are a pest here, and we hunt them for the pot and their plumage, using rimfire and sneaky sneaky catchee birdie tactics. They are incredibly difficult birds to hunt, far more difficult than pheasants. They have incredible eyesight and will spot an intruder from hundreds of metres away, seeking cover immediately. On this occasion we had to walk around the back of the birds’ bush cover to get the high ground, then move in commando style (which I am crap at), so we could get a decent shot from about 60m.

The Wife whacked three birds including a prime cock with her 10/22 before they even knew she was there. I polished off two runners with a couple of fluke shots with the CZ 455, including the second cock, also with a full train. The unexpected outcome was the The Wife took the train feathers to a friend, who then invited her to participate in the making of a traditional Maori feather cloak (korowai or Kahu Huruhuru) at our local marae. This resulted in a whole new network of relationships with local Maori women that has generated some very positive outcomes. Funny, because on the day she didn’t really wanna go because it was too hot!



My favourite: The Eastern Cape possum trapper

Impossible really to pick a favourite, but when I thought about the last several years in New Zealand, the one that really stands out is what happened after this completely crap “selfie” was taken. I’d hiked for two days up into the Raukumara Range in the Eastern Cape of the North Island, using the braided rivers as the track. It was hard going, with multiple river crossings and wet feet all day. There was so much deer sign it felt like I would walk into deer at any moment, but I had this infernal constant breeze up my rear end, which no matter what direction I was heading, was blowing my scent in front of me. So on the second evening I decided to change tactics, and picked a fresh and deer whiffy game trail coming down from the mountains to the river, and staked it out from downwind. A red hind and her yearling duly trotted out of the impenetrable bush right on the last of the light, and both bought a .308 pill right where it counts.

About 30 seconds after this photo was taken I was hailed by a hearty male voice from about 30 yards away. I absolutely crapped myself, he gave me such a fright. Middle of nowhere, not seen a soul, full of adrenaline... turns out this guy had been watching me from his camp for the last hour or more, he knew I was in the right place and didn’t want to spoil it. His name was Simon and he is a professional possum trapper, with camps right through the Raukumara Range that he keeps stocked with regular trips upriver in his little jetboat.

After I got over the surprise and shock that I had been under observation all along by this enormous hairy bushman, and overwhelming glad that I hadn’t missed or screwed up the shots, Simon invited me to overnight at his camp. “Camp” was more like a “Glamp”, it was fantastically comfortable and well stocked, beating my planned very modest bivvy hand over fist. We gutted the two deer and hung them up, then scrambled 70-80m up the slipface on the other side of the river into a flat glade, you’d have no idea it was there from river level, totally secure and safe. What a good bloke he was too, we drank some beers (cold beer!) and then had some “other stuff” that was locally cultivated, and some fresh bush dinner. I slept like a corpse in a hammock. The next day, Simon took me on a mission checking his trap lines, and I learnt more about life in the bush that day and the next, than I would in ten years of books. I’m still in touch with Simon and he calls in here from time-to-time, but I am yet to get him to make the trip down to our hunting block. One day mate...

 

[Gsd99]

Second trip to RSA in May 18, managed to drag the old man along for some cull hunting.

Nothing spectacular about the pigs, clearly cull animals but the memory is as good as any. We were on our last evening of the trip and had taken plenty of animals of varying species.

The old man had struggled abit with the 3006 recoil for some strange reason, think a combination of pressure, excitement and it not being his usual 22-250 played a part.

We decided to take a drive out towards the far end of the farm (around 50k acres) and then take a final walk to embrace the Kalahari sunset with the PH, ranch manager and 2 of his more seasoned jackal dogs.

The the dogs scented some pigs up ahead and were let loose. I was able to take a shot at 30 yards with a 223 to good effect. Not even 10 minutes later we saw some pigs crossing one of the tracks some distance away... PH told my dad to set up on the sticks and luckily another pig (i guess not so lucky for the pig) followed the group that had crossed. Pig down, PH says '300 yards', not quite sure how you go from missing a pig at 90 yards earlier in the afternoon to then hitting them at 300 without being given a range beforehand but i guess thats part of the game.

We got a similiar photo after a good lamping session on the jackals.

I have lots of other pictures that I consider to be up there with my favourites including catching my first rainbow and the pig i stuck in NZ. I also have 2 photos of my friends that I have got into deer stalking with their first roe on my wall, one of the lads has come on to take all 6 UK deer species and came to the eastern cape with me last year.

Regards
Josh

 

[spannulman]

More great stories. And they do help lift the spirits.

i felt like I was there on your buff hunt. Westley Richards have a cape buff shoulder mount in their shop ( which is worth a visit if in brum) and they are much larger and scarier than I thought close up, but nothing like being in their territory and having to rely on your skills to avoid being pummelled into the dirt.

i read a terrific but awful article in ‘the field’ a few years ago by an Italian count of some such who was friends with a PH. They got rushed by a bull and the PH was gored and trampled and he couldn’t shoot the buff for fear of hitting his friend until he ran over and held the muzzles against it. It was incredibly exciting to read but being injured that badly with no plane to hand meant a day or more by land rover to medical aid and the poor chap didn’t make it.

it read like an Allan Quartermain Story but was true, and happened in recent years, not 100yrs ago.

 

[User00033]

The old man is asleep at my feet now and im in danger of getting melancholy, especially after 4 weeks inside. But my point in Rambling on like this is that our hunting and stalking is greatly enhanced by having a four legged companion. It gives me great pleasure to continue something that man and hound have practised for millennia.

You can be as melancholy as you like mate, there’s nothing to compare to the relationship between man and dog.

I’ve ended up in an ill-conceived situation, whereby I have highly driven terriers as house dogs, that likely won’t accept a proper deer dog in the home. Yet I have a very strong desire to own a proper deer dog... one that is a constant companion, not a dog that I keep on another property kennelled with working dogs and pig dogs.

Ultimate rock and a hard place, the Staffys rule the roost and we love them dearly. Hmmm...

 

[sikamalc]

Carrying on from my initial post on this thread.
By the time three days had passed, all three of us had managed to secure a good Cape Buff each, and I was busy planning with the PH our next leg of the journey. This was to meet up with my two American friends families. They had been spending time in and around Vic Falls, and the plan now was to meet back at Johburg, before traveling up to the Botswana border and meeting up with another good PH friend of mine.

Back in the camp we had decided to take up some fishing and dove shooting to supplement some of the food in camp. Dove shooting was undertaken in the late afternoon down on the flood plains as the birds came into drink for the evening. The camp chef made good use of the bag. Although extracting any fallen birds from the nearby streams that fed Kariba was interesting, as I found out one evening. A usual head shot bird helicoptered down on to the surface and as I was reaching for it with a small branch of a fallen tree and medium sized Croc decided it would take it off the surface!! Not the sort of place one would need a dog to retrieve anything.

At night we had regular visits by Hippos walking through the camp as it sat on a small peninsular. My nightly exercise before dinner, tuck the mosquito net under the mattress and shower, spay the room with insect killer and hope on my return that any bugs would be dead, that's if the resident Ghekos didn't catch them first. The chalet was a well built but rustic affair, with a door that didn't quite close enough, therefore my defence to stop anything entering the room during the night was to place a large rock against the door. I also made sure that my 375HH was loaded with the safety on and by the side of the bed. Of course making sure I unloaded it when daylight came.

Throughout the hunt, we saw thousands of Buffalo and Impala, plus plenty of sign of Elephant, and too many Crocs, but mostly as night from the camp. Using a mag light their eye shine is red. One didn't see many during the day, but I wouldn't recommend swimming or water skiing in Lake Kariba. It is about 180 miles long if I remember rightly, but at the time the Croc population was estimated at 1 Croc for every 10mtrs of shoreline.

On returning from a mornings fishing in the middle of the week I was approached by my PH friend and asked if I would cull a cow Elephant that had been reported nearby. One does not get many opportunities to take Elephant for almost free, and it was made clear that this was a cull hunt and that the ivory and skin would not be mine to keep, but that it would go back top the local community and the profits shared amongst the local people, including the meat.

Before leaving camp that afternoon my PH friend pulled me to one side and told me that it had been reported that this Elephant was possibly Injured. Elephant in this area had been poached on and off by poachers crossing the lake from Zambia and that the Elephants had become aggressive due to the pressure on them.

We left camp early the next morning before the light had come up. The sky was clear, and it was quite cold so I was wearing a light safari jacket. I had checked the rifle thoroughly before departing camp, making sure the scope, rings and mounts were secure and that the rifle bolt was slightly oiled and working ok. Going up against any dangerous game it pays to make sure your kit is in good working order. Our group consisted of 2 PH's, one of whom would carry my camcorder, one of my American friends (unarmed) and 3 black trackers and 2 landcruisers.

After about an hours drive we picked up fresh spoor crossing a track, so we quickly disembarked from the vehicles and, checked the wind and started to walk. After some 2 hours we decided that we were not too far behind the small herd, and we were hopeful that it contained the cow we were looking for. Going by the spoor the herd consisted of about 8 cow Elephant and it looked as though they were slowing down as the dung they had produced was pretty warm to the touch.

By about 9.45am, we had approached the foot of a small hill, which was heavily covered in thick Jess (Jess is a name given to a thicket, grey bush usually spiky). Both the PH and myself approached the top of the small hill behind the two trackers, who in an instant dropped to their knees and pointed whist whispering in hushed tones that Elephant were in front. The wind was not good and it didn't take long for the herd to pick up our scent, and I just caught a quick glimpse of an Elephant rushing off with its ears out. They disappeared into the thicket and as the bushes closed behind them they were gone.

A quick plan of action was discussed between us and we decided to climb down and go round the other way in the hope of coming up on the herd again. This time both myself and the PH led. I made sure the rifle was loaded and also that I had the safety on and 2 extra bullets in my fingers under the forend.
On approaching the brow of the hill we came into a small glade, about 20yds across and with a small Baobab tree on our right. The wind was in our favour, and we could see the herd no more then 30 to 40 yards away milling about inside the thicket in front of us. They were very nervous and not settled at all. Beside us was a very thin Acacia tree about 10ft tall which both me and the PH stood behind whilst we glassed the herd. Within seconds the herd decided they had had enough and crashed off through the thicket and away from us......................except one mature cow.

This by shear luck was the cow we were after and she came on through the thicket straight out into the open area, ears spread out and looking pretty angry. I didnt need asking as I could see the animal had only half a trunk, and instantly placed the crosshairs between the ear and eye and pulled the trigger. The 300g solid did the job and the cow dropped on the spot to the shot, death was instant. However the job was not over as the remainder of the herd decided to come back, and were not pleased. The other PH was then covering us both and all three of us shouted and pursaueded the herd to leave.

We measured the distance and it was under 20yds! A quick handshake all round and one could see that this animal had been suffering. We think it had probably been caught in a poachers snare. Not specifically for Elephant, but for plains game, and that it had put its trunk through the snare whilst feeding and it had gorroted a good third of its trunk, which must have rotted off over time. It had no prehensile lip to the trunk at all.

A quick radio message to one of the land crusiers, and one was bought up to the bottom of the hill where we quenched our thirst and ate some food, before returning to the scene. On arrival I was amazed to see about 40 people, who were busily cutting up the carcase and building a fire. Mostly women and children. It was quite orderely, and the tusks and most of the skin had been taken carefully off and put to one side. These people were hungry, in fact some of them were eating cubes of meat half cooked after being quickly cooked over an open fire.

One of the most surprising moments was the elderly man appearing out of the bush with a pushbike with no tyres and rags for a saddle. He quickly spoke to the two PH's before coming over to me shaking my hand and joining the party of meat collectors. I asked my PH who this was "thats the village chief Malcolm and that bike is his status symbol".

Throughout this whole hunt I was not feeling any adrenaline, I dont know why, but I didnt. How ever once back in camp it kicked in, and I had to take one or two stiff drinks to take in what I had done.
I have often been asked would I do it again................ yes I would under those circumstances. Having shot a number of big game, but nothing compared to some others who hunt consistently in Africa, I have always been grateful for the opportunities afforded me over the years. My back ground is a humble one, I do not come from a wealthy family, my father was a self employed plumber.

I hope I havnt bored too many of you with the above.

 

[Kjf]

Great stories ,

Keep em coming gents

Kjf

 

[Home Loader]

Im in the ranks of I should have taken a picture of that!
But memory's wise.
My first deer was a sika stag with my father many years ago, I can still see dad's face looking at me when I was grinning like an IDIOT! That's one's etched forever.
My kids have grown up in the larder, so we have regular "operations" one of the favourites is brain surgery!
My son face was a picture when he came home with his first squirrel, he the proceed to gut skin and destroy on the cooker.
I took my daughter 5 or 6 at the time for an armed wander one day, but not the dog. So when we were luck, my six year old was down on her hands and knees being my trail dog, and a food job she did! Not only did she find the fallow pricket in the head of a fallen oak tree, she was adamant she was going to get it out, it was just like my terrier tugging and going, the tree is still there and I've shot many deer around it but none of them have resulted in so much laughter.

 

[dartmoordog]

Sorry no pics either, and only a short story.

Just a couple of years ago, my good mate and rough and driven game shooting partner, thought it was time to get a rifle. Got a good lot of Roe around the farm, and doing the keepering for our shoot, decided it would be more convenient for him to do the foxes. So he got himself a .243 and wanted to get the hang of it and do some zeroing, the rifle had been borescoped.

On the farm we have a natural field for some rifle work, so we set up a target, I went through all the safety aspects military style, I taught Skill at Arms in a previous life, and some dry firing. I settled in beside him for him to take his first ever shot with a rifle, my son sat behind us with the spotting scope.

Everything good to go, when my son, as calm as you like, said “Not sure if you might not want to shoot that fox, that’s coming across the field”. Before I could take a breath, BANG! The fox never moved, just lay down, about 4ft from the target.

My mate just said.......”Piece of **** this rifle malarkey”. Rifle needed just a micro adjustment and fair play to him, he really is a natural with a rifle. His first ever shot, a Fox, he has had a few since then.

 

[dartmoordog]

Back in 2017, I took my third trip to Africa, our second together to SA, we also did Mozambique, Lesotho and Swaziland.

We hired a nice Toyota 4x4 for a month and the adventure began. So to Kruger National Park, we did five days in all, traveling a good bit of the park, all unguided self drive. I prepared by getting a good detailed map of the park, so we could take some of the less well used tracks, as long as we were allowed I must add.

Day two saw us on a dirt track, had not seen a soul for some time, but plenty of Baboons, Warthog, Giraffes and Elephants etc. I remember saying to my wife that you never know what is around the next corner, and the next corner there they were, two magnificent Rhino, quite happily browsing.

We stopped the car, engine running, and I started taking photos, my wife said “The one at the back keeps looking at us” Being an “expert” on Rhino behaviour, I said “Nahh, he’s alright, he ain’t interested in us” Then he came at a canter, fixed on us!

Well, ass and dust come to mind, the bugger was charging us Anyway, at a safe distance I stopped and looked back to see the Rhino happily browsing as if nothing had happened.

I showed the photos and told the story to a former Ranger in Kruger and Mozambique, Gavin, he looked at me and said “Where the fcuk did you take these pictures” I showed him on the map and asked why he was so interested. “Mate, they are Black Rhino, do you know how lucky you are to see a pair of Black Rhino”. Hence the tags on their legs. A privilege indeed, I know a lot more about Rhino now, and I know that the Black Rhino are grumpier than the White Rhino! Their mouths are the biggest give away.

Two pic

 

[dartmoordog]

Grumpy Rhino!

 

[Border]

My first deer, shot quite a few years ago at Jagares place.
After several trips over a few years, a scruffy young roe buck finally fed his way out of the forest.
Dropped with old faithful, Remington 700 in 308W, S&B 4x36 and homeloaded 165 SGK.
Was a happy boy

 

[takbok]

2015. My first Sika on a crisp October morning. I'd never seen one properly before and this one trotted across a ride soon after I'd sat down with my back to a spruce sapling to watch and wait. It paused at the edge of the ride just long enough for me to take a shot at about 50m. I lost sight picture upon firing and was left wondering if I'd shot a Sika or roe, I just knew it had small antlers. Luckily it had gone straight down, and I've happily used the same GS Custom bullets since. My favourite left handed T3 .270 also shown. I'd been looking at old worn out rifles to buy and thought it was Christmas when I found this one 2nd hand at an affordable price.

It seems like a lifetime ago, and Sika stags remain my most challenging, elusive quarry having only shot a couple of 7 pointers and a few young ones since then. There is nothing like the thrill of seeing a Sika stag for me.

 

[Klenchblaize]

I'll try and find the photo that along with all others appears to have gone AWOL and conveys the experience far better than my poor stab at telling the story:

Snow Day Fox

Please see the following wee story as no more than an incantation for the return of the first and often all too brief flurry of Lowland snow:- The distant throb of the snow plough woke me at 3AM. I glanced beyond a fold in the bedroom curtain and leapt from bed with the purpose of a child on...

www.thestalkingdirectory.co.uk

K

 

[Cootmeurer]

Both involve my son, now a grown man. When he was younger I was a "beyond passionate" wildfowler. It worked well with kids, because often I could hunt from a well constructed blind with a heater and keep them warm (or at least not miserable). Ive always been a better than average shotgun shot, and some of that seems to have passed down to my son. At age 8 he shot his first duck, and when he was 11 he managed to do something that I never accomplished until I was a grown man. During early season (we allow an early Sept season for teal and resident Canadas) he managed to triple on teal and double on geese. The teal were witnessed only by myself, but the Canadas had an entire cheering section.

The geese were using a well grazed and very large pasture. The only thing resembling cover was a spot of pigweed perhaps 2 feet tall. The rest of the pasture was closer to a golf course in appearance. We knew the geese were on the way (very predictable are resident canadas) but figured we had no chance. My son, begged to be given a crack at them. So, he and his cut down 20 ga went out and laid down behind the clump. In the meantime, myself, my hunting mate, the farmer, and a neighbor all stood on a hay wagon so that we could watch. We could see the geese coming from a distance and shouted out to the boy to get ready.

When the geese were within 20 yards with wings locked, he rose to his knees, and as calmly as could be shot one dead in the air, swung onto the next and shot that cleanly dead also. The hay wagon of adults erupted in cheers. He came out of the field dragging his bag with a giant grin - which i was luck to capture (old low resolution cell phone). He was so excited we needed to remind him to go back to the field for his gun.

 

[User00040]

Not a favourite photo (don't have many) but will share due to the lessons learned, first feral goat for me, around December last year.

A colleague was wondering if feral goat kids would be a bit more edible than mature ones, decided that I would get one to test their hypothesis.

Bright sunny afternoon with a calm breeze, came down the glen to spy the grassy plains above the shore where they usually feed. Due to the good weather a large herd of about a dozen nannys and some kids were milling about. Worked my way round to the flats only to find that I had picked a bad spot from which to emerge as I was directly in the line of sight of this herd. However, feral goats are not very concerned with self preservation and feeding resumed almost immediately.

I estimated them to be about 500 meters away from me at this point (schoolboy error, the nannys and kids are not very big, their shaggy coats can give a false impression) and decided to proceed for another 300 meters or so towards them before taking a shot off the bipod, this was with a work rifle, but not the one I usually shoot with (part of the lesson). Sat myself down and took aim, decided to aim centre mass on one of the kids that I had selected (pure white, hard to miss, or so I thought!). It looked a bit small but since the scope was a fixed power (6x) I put it down to the low magnification making it look further than it was (usually have mine set between 8-12x on the hill).

Made a good shot but I knew immediately from the result that 1. I had missed completely as I saw the round strike low on the grass, and 2. due to the delay and drop of the round they were much further away than 200m (it was more like 400m!) The herd stood, stunned, only to start running down a gully. Not all was lost as I knew that the gully hid a burn which they were unlikely to cross. Worked my way over to the edge of the gully and decided to approach from further up stream to put a little distance between myself and the herd to let them settle.

Meandered down the ways and found the remnants of an old dry stone wall which gave me some cover (or so I thought!), proceeded for a while only to find the herd around a small bend and they were on my side of the wall. Plan foiled!

They bolted along the edge of the wall, crossing over at a gap in the wall and heading up a path that lead out of the gully. Not wanting to chase goats anymore I decided to wait for the kid at the back of the herd (pictured below) to reach said gap and shoot it once it crossed onto the other side. I positioned myself on the other side of the wall, looking onto the point from which they were emerging. There was no time to reposition so I held the rifle unsupported in a kneeling position.

I watched as each goat passed the gap, and began to realise how difficult the shot could be but with the emergence of each goat I got an idea of how long it was taking them to cross the gap. By the time the selected goat had emerged I had decided to hold off by a small amount with the crosshair and fire once the head/neck area was visible, thus giving it a slight lead. This time my estimation worked, hitting the goat in the neck (entry wound is visible in the photo, by my right leg).

I would never encourage anyone to deliberately take a shot like this but the opportunity presented itself and I was confident in my plan. Reports came back that young goat is indeed edible in a curry.

 

[hedge hunter]

One of my favourite hunts Circa 1984.
Hunting being the word.

A sambar stag that I took one Saturday afternoon while hunting over hounds is in my mind as one of those forever memories.

There were four of us and we had taken the hounds on leads up a steep spur to a saddle where we had previously found a stags marks in the wet ground earlier that morning. It had rained during the night and was steadily drizzling while we climbed back up to the marks.
The hounds had a little trouble with the rain washed slots but were soon on the job and voicing steadily until we lost them totally.
I stayed back in the saddle where i thought the stag may double back to evade his pursuers but after a miserable wait of four hours I broke radio silence and spoke to George the team leader.
On telling him i had heard no hounds since slipping them and that i was coming out of the bush as i was wringing wet,cold and hungry he asked me to stay a little longer.
Well ok I will but I wasnt hanging about there and i said to myself that i should climb higher to maybe hear where the hounds were or even if they were in that creek system. So off up the spur i headed which became steeper and steeper and at one stage shouldering my 7 mm mag and climbing with two hands until i was really buggered and pulled up among some jagged rocks on the spur.
After a brief rest and no hound voicing to be heard i started to continue up the spur in the steady drizzle while wondering what the bloody hell i was doing up so high--at the same time telling myself that you shoot big stags up high so keep going.
I then could hear a steady faint noise behind me which after being so tired from the climb and not bothering to turn around i told myself it sounded like it was the drizzling rain forming on a long gum leaf and dripping off and falling into a piece of rolled up bark with water in it,dit dit dit dit .
Being fairly jaded it took some time to realise that the noise was moving so i slowly turned around while silently shouldering my rifle in the one movement,i was about ten-twelve metres above the rock bar i had climbed through and with the spur being very steep the rock bar was very jagged and looked like the spine of a stegosaurus and bugger me crossing the spur just below the rock bar was a thumping big bodied sambar stag with his head laid right back with his nose up showing what looked like a mass of too many white points which stood out in the dull gloom.
It is amazing what you can see when you are switched on and by this time my whole body was buzzing,i could even see the white and his huge brown eye in the rear corner of his eye socket watching me for a reaction.This stag was right on the point of leaving in a stretched elastic bound and i had to steady myself mentally in only the few milliseconds left to take a shot,

I could only see the top 12 inches of his shoulder momentarily between the rocks as he crossed the spur and getting a bead on him through the rock gaps was quite difficult and he only had a few metres to the edge and certain freedom when after all this time i was mentally talking and calming myself to not hit a rock i squeezed off with the immediate reaction of the stag launching himself four feet straight up and then gone .....straight over the very very steep edge and into a deep gully.
I turned my radio on " who fired that ****ing shot?" I then informed George that it was me that had fired the shot and it was a big stag and if not dead he was heading down to the river.
During all of this time i still hadn't heard a hound as the stag was well in front of them.
I had an imaginary smoke and then started on his marks going down the very steep mountain side marveling at the signs from his great weight and how his huge feet had cut into the soft ground when i came upon long streaks of snotty lung blood which cheered me no end and then following the marks a little further I found him dead against a tree about 140 metres from the shot.Breathing a huge sigh of relief on turning his head over and seeing that all six tines were intact i calmed down...a little only as believe me the whole episode was exciting and the thought was in my mind that he may make it to the river and one of the other boys might nail him.
Being down inside the gully and not having radio contact i started the climb back to the spur when I saw a hind sneaking through the bush and not having too many in our tally that year i took her as well for another one shot kill. The hounds finally came through and I tied them up and waited for the crew to find me,they had no idea i was so bloody high and kept radioing to find me,eventually they got up to me with the help of a few cooee`s and we took our pic`s and cut the two deer up and had a very tough carry out from the cloudy top of Mount Thorn. All of the hounds were fed on the spot also and they gorged that much that there was even a spew on the march back down.
I had taken other sambar stags before this hunt both stalking and over hounds but this stag meant a lot to me, his stealthy sneaking behind me and right over the top of my fresh scent filled boot marks knowing that i was right there and he had to get past me. Having this big stag up so close and on the tips of his toes ready to explode into escape mode was an extremely invigorating experience.
We had found the stags marks at about daybreak and started the hounds on them at around 8 am and I shot him at about 2 pm and we all finally got off the side of the mount after 4 or 5 pm a very wet, cold, tired and happy bunch of hound hunters.
Make no bones about it if you think that taking sambar stags over hounds is an easy way to get them,well its not and to the dedicated dog man doing it legally it can be a very tough way of obtaining a trophy deer and for my years stalking and dogging I have taken more stags by the stalk method which I do only now but i still have a soft spot for a pack of hounds up high in the Vic Alpine country voicing on a sambar stag.
Note the scars on his shoulder where he had battled with another big fella.

As he fell


View attachment 155308


A good lump.

View attachment 155307

That's a belter of a stag John

 

[John Gryphon]

Thank you Steve,he is actually only an example...but he is a belter with the hunt how it started and ended.
He is the third biggest stag (body ) that I have seen,a real thumper.
I have taken other deer but that hard hunt is a real memory.

 

[John Gryphon]

Another little hunt that came to fruition.

It all began with a call from my mate Woody a skilled bow hunter with a couple of sambar,lots of boars and even Asiatic buff to his credit.

We had the Queens Birthday long weekend coming up and had then decided to travel to "spot x" an area that I had hunted many times previously.

On driving in after an hours slog in low 4 wd we were a little peeved to see a hunter just above the road in the place where we were going to hunt and on stopping and asking "much about mate?" and getting a standard reply " nah bugger all" we decided to press on for a camp site. Much to my dismay every bloody camp site i had used before was occupied, some from as early as the previous Thursday on asking later on, so we cut ourselves into a new camp and decide to have a yarn to the neighboring camp several hundred metres up the road and hatch some sort of accommodating plan so we hopefully wouldn't cross each others hunting paths in the bush.

The main creek system i wanted to hunt I was assured had been well hunted by this particular party over the last three days so i decided for myself at least to announce that i would be taking the left spur and climb right into the back of the system as i couldnt quite believe that the fellas had actually been way back there even though they said they had. I could tell that they were definitely not the "back gully types" However I did want to alert them to where i was going to be for an obvious safety issue for both hunting parties.

We set off the next morning with Woody deciding to hunt into the thick blackberry creeks surrounding the south side of the camp. Myself I stuck to my original plan.
After climbing slowly for about two hours plus and surveying the system below and above me i decided to drop into the head of the furthest feeder gully from camp and being very steep and still a little dry i took my time keeping a wary eye open for any likely sign. As i dropped in elevation towards the creek below without finding anything to excite me i started to enter an extremely thick stand of trees with plenty of under story, shrubbery and tree ferns, then Eureka! a red hot fresh green rub on a wattle on the bottom side of the thicket probably around 100 yards above the creek.

After examining the rub to ascertain any evidence that might point to what size the stag was i picked up his marks and proceeded to follow them towards the creek below me and as i had never been in this gully previously i was operating "cold" without prior knowledge of where the animals actual bed may be.
Although after a years of jumping sambar from their beds one has a rough idea where they "should be". I followed the stags marks downhill with a very small faintly trickling creek on my left almost hidden by the dreaded blackberries surrounding it, then mentally deciding whatever the outcome i would stick to the stags marks and after hunting him win, lose or draw i would hunt alongside the feeder creek down to the main creek and then back out to camp, a walk of three to four hours.

With this in mind I continued following the marks in the slightly damper ground of the lower elevation and not being too fussed as i had made a mental note that he wasn`t a monster stag or at least his slots posed that idea to me i continually lost and re-found his ambling marks among the smaller blackberry clumps and increasingly thicker vegetation until coming to the mouth of a feeder gully on my right where the stag had turned into i took it a little slower and stealthily made my way in among heavy green undercover when a short "HONK" caused me to slowly shoulder my rifle without any panic and look for the noisy one. Seeing a deer`s rump disappear above and too my right i then was alerted to another rump straight in front and above me,this time with antlers showing and laid back, the stag was going away from me at speed and i lost sight of him immediately and not knowing from the very brief glimpse of him as to what sort of antler head or size he was when he suddenly turned hard left about seventy metres above me and stopped behind a tree to stand almost on his toes in a manner that suggested he was only at that actual point for a few milliseconds to ID the noise source and to gather his appropriate escape route. With my rifle already shouldered i took in his heavy dark walnut coloured antlers and with a very quick "all over" bearing in mind he certainly wasnt going to hang around i knew he wasn't a monster but still a handy stag,besides one doesnt know for absolute sure until the deer is down as to what he actually carries on his head in the mere milliseconds that i had at my disposal.

As soon as the cross hairs centered on his left shoulder i squeezed the trigger of my rifle and watched the stag drop immediately onto a berry bush with his antlers and spine facing back to me.Hastily reloading without taking my eyes from the stag that had not even twitched one bristle of his body i stood guard over him from my shooting position while endeavouring to spot the other animal to no avail.
The 7mm had literally knocked him clean off his feet and i have never seen a sambar stag die instantaneously as this one had just done...not even so much as bloody twitch!
After a few minutes and knowing the deer was positively dead i noticed a preaching tree in front of me and to my right with a bed next to it and after walking over to them seeing both of which of course were surrounded by fresh marks,i decided that the stag was either bedded or actually preaching when i arrived in his gully and his senses alerted him to me, most probably by noise as if he had of scented me he would have been be long gone without a chance of a shot or at least not taking the few milliseconds stand that led to his death.
I was feeling very pleased with myself and i had placed great faith in the fact that i was wearing a face mask which i thought had stopped the stag seeing my shiny reflective skin whilst he was balanced on his toes looking down towards the noisy intruder during his stop behind the tree.
Arriving at his death bed I stood above him where he lay looking from his viewpoint and could see that where i had taken the shot from he would not have been able to make any of my person out at all,this once again reinforced my face mask theory to me. The value being something that made up for the problems they cause in heavy cover and blackberries continually getting hooked up and they can also be quite hot to wear even though this one is of a mesh construction.

My appraisal of him where he lay i saw that he wasnt a "mind bender" but was a heavy fully mature circa 24" stag with one poor top. I was still jingling with the excitement of the chase as it is not every time that the hunter can walk one up from his marks to his bed and take a stag.
The whole hunt continually played over in my mind as to how magnificent he looked standing there above me ears strained and eyes searching and body poised for the get away. Knowing i had a big job ahead of me i took a couple of photographs and rolled him down hill to some blackberry free ground in a small clear glade and commenced to cape him out. Not necessarily for a mount of him but simply for the cape not to rot in the bush.I knifed his cape off and took the eye fillets and scotch fillets to carry back to camp and then broke him in half below his last rib then picked out a ten foot sapling and tied his complete rear end to the sapling pole with a spare bootlace and then stood the pole up and tied it against a blackwood tree with another lace,this was to stop any wild dogs taking their share.
Sweating heavily by this stage due to effort and high humidity in the gully and after having a drink i loaded up and commenced the climb straight up hill knowing that at about 7 or 8 hundred metres to the top it was still the shortest route back to camp via the relatively clear travelling once on top of the long spur.
Mind you it was a tough sweaty old climb too with heavy daypack, rifle and head/cape/antlers all getting in the way but after the effort i got back up on to the top of the dividing spur for the relatively easy way back downhill to a coldie and a welcome chair.
Woody met me back at camp that afternoon as i was head skinning him and we had a couple of celebratory beers and discussed the trip back in the morning for his rear end, and after a feed and a couple more beers and a recount of the hunt and Woody`s tale of his own day without seeing a deer we hit the swags.

"Bloody hell" the next morning greeted us with a dismal heavily fogged outlook above us and i immediately thought that "****" i didnt place some toilet paper on the dividing spur where i had climbed out of the stags gully the previous day knowing all too well the lack of the marker would make it very tough to find the appropriate drop in point down to the stag in the fog.
The welcome smell of thick straps of bacon being grilled on a stainless wire mesh over the coals and a strong coffee by the fire quickly stopped us thinking about the soon to present itself fog problem though.

Still stiff and sore from the previous days hunting I once again shouldered my rifle and pack and then setting out for the long climb, taking the spur above camp in the ever increasingly thicker fog and then climbing for several hours the decision was made to drop into the top of a similar looking gully as to the previous days one and after dropping down into the actual creek gully we came out above the main creek which looked nothing like the area from the day before
With visibility at only about forty metres i had a quicksolo reccie downhill along the creek looking for the mouth of the feeder gully and decided the mouth of the gully was still above us so we climbed slowly looking for any evidence to help us. And then i called out to Woody that i had found him "where,how did you"? By hearing hill ravens calling and cawing among themselves and sure enough walking ahead perhaps 100 yards and into a gully mouth i saw the birds take off from the skinned out front end. The birds hadn't touched the hide covered rear end up on its pole among the blackwood foliage which was a relief as the front end was covered in raven **** which made the meat not all that inviting to look at,maybe a Tassy devil or a wild dog might think so but not us.
We boned out the stag`s rear end and packed it away and then took the tough climb back out again. Woody was ****ed ha ha! All up it was a return journey of five hours plus to recover the best part of the deer and this was very well worth the effort as Woody had his retired pro butcher mate make up some fantastic smoked cabana/salami cross sausages that are simply scrumptious with a beer in hand and a deer hunting tale to tell. The weekends hunt culminating with a sambar stag was an indelible memory that i still think about of course today as it was a most exciting hunt with a good mate in some of Victoria`s finest high country,though not a big stag and not as trophy worthy as some of my other stags none the less a fantastic hunt which of course stays with me forever.

. Rifle used was my faithful old Winchester model 70 7mm Rem Mag using 150 grain Winchester factory PP`s

 

[Kjf]

Another little hunt that came to fruition.

It all began with a call from my mate Woody a skilled bow hunter with a couple of sambar,lots of boars and even Asiatic buff to his credit.

We had the Queens Birthday long weekend coming up and had then decided to travel to "spot x" an area that I had hunted many times previously.

On driving in after an hours slog in low 4 wd we were a little peeved to see a hunter just above the road in the place where we were going to hunt and on stopping and asking "much about mate?" and getting a standard reply " nah bugger all" we decided to press on for a camp site. Much to my dismay every bloody camp site i had used before was occupied, some from as early as the previous Thursday on asking later on, so we cut ourselves into a new camp and decide to have a yarn to the neighboring camp several hundred metres up the road and hatch some sort of accommodating plan so we hopefully wouldn't cross each others hunting paths in the bush.

The main creek system i wanted to hunt I was assured had been well hunted by this particular party over the last three days so i decided for myself at least to announce that i would be taking the left spur and climb right into the back of the system as i couldnt quite believe that the fellas had actually been way back there even though they said they had. I could tell that they were definitely not the "back gully types" However I did want to alert them to where i was going to be for an obvious safety issue for both hunting parties.

We set off the next morning with Woody deciding to hunt into the thick blackberry creeks surrounding the south side of the camp. Myself I stuck to my original plan.
After climbing slowly for about two hours plus and surveying the system below and above me i decided to drop into the head of the furthest feeder gully from camp and being very steep and still a little dry i took my time keeping a wary eye open for any likely sign. As i dropped in elevation towards the creek below without finding anything to excite me i started to enter an extremely thick stand of trees with plenty of under story, shrubbery and tree ferns, then Eureka! a red hot fresh green rub on a wattle on the bottom side of the thicket probably around 100 yards above the creek.

After examining the rub to ascertain any evidence that might point to what size the stag was i picked up his marks and proceeded to follow them towards the creek below me and as i had never been in this gully previously i was operating "cold" without prior knowledge of where the animals actual bed may be.
Although after a years of jumping sambar from their beds one has a rough idea where they "should be". I followed the stags marks downhill with a very small faintly trickling creek on my left almost hidden by the dreaded blackberries surrounding it, then mentally deciding whatever the outcome i would stick to the stags marks and after hunting him win, lose or draw i would hunt alongside the feeder creek down to the main creek and then back out to camp, a walk of three to four hours.

With this in mind I continued following the marks in the slightly damper ground of the lower elevation and not being too fussed as i had made a mental note that he wasn`t a monster stag or at least his slots posed that idea to me i continually lost and re-found his ambling marks among the smaller blackberry clumps and increasingly thicker vegetation until coming to the mouth of a feeder gully on my right where the stag had turned into i took it a little slower and stealthily made my way in among heavy green undercover when a short "HONK" caused me to slowly shoulder my rifle without any panic and look for the noisy one. Seeing a deer`s rump disappear above and too my right i then was alerted to another rump straight in front and above me,this time with antlers showing and laid back, the stag was going away from me at speed and i lost sight of him immediately and not knowing from the very brief glimpse of him as to what sort of antler head or size he was when he suddenly turned hard left about seventy metres above me and stopped behind a tree to stand almost on his toes in a manner that suggested he was only at that actual point for a few milliseconds to ID the noise source and to gather his appropriate escape route. With my rifle already shouldered i took in his heavy dark walnut coloured antlers and with a very quick "all over" bearing in mind he certainly wasnt going to hang around i knew he wasn't a monster but still a handy stag,besides one doesnt know for absolute sure until the deer is down as to what he actually carries on his head in the mere milliseconds that i had at my disposal.

As soon as the cross hairs centered on his left shoulder i squeezed the trigger of my rifle and watched the stag drop immediately onto a berry bush with his antlers and spine facing back to me.Hastily reloading without taking my eyes from the stag that had not even twitched one bristle of his body i stood guard over him from my shooting position while endeavouring to spot the other animal to no avail.
The 7mm had literally knocked him clean off his feet and i have never seen a sambar stag die instantaneously as this one had just done...not even so much as bloody twitch!
After a few minutes and knowing the deer was positively dead i noticed a preaching tree in front of me and to my right with a bed next to it and after walking over to them seeing both of which of course were surrounded by fresh marks,i decided that the stag was either bedded or actually preaching when i arrived in his gully and his senses alerted him to me, most probably by noise as if he had of scented me he would have been be long gone without a chance of a shot or at least not taking the few milliseconds stand that led to his death.
I was feeling very pleased with myself and i had placed great faith in the fact that i was wearing a face mask which i thought had stopped the stag seeing my shiny reflective skin whilst he was balanced on his toes looking down towards the noisy intruder during his stop behind the tree.
Arriving at his death bed I stood above him where he lay looking from his viewpoint and could see that where i had taken the shot from he would not have been able to make any of my person out at all,this once again reinforced my face mask theory to me. The value being something that made up for the problems they cause in heavy cover and blackberries continually getting hooked up and they can also be quite hot to wear even though this one is of a mesh construction.

My appraisal of him where he lay i saw that he wasnt a "mind bender" but was a heavy fully mature circa 24" stag with one poor top. I was still jingling with the excitement of the chase as it is not every time that the hunter can walk one up from his marks to his bed and take a stag.
The whole hunt continually played over in my mind as to how magnificent he looked standing there above me ears strained and eyes searching and body poised for the get away. Knowing i had a big job ahead of me i took a couple of photographs and rolled him down hill to some blackberry free ground in a small clear glade and commenced to cape him out. Not necessarily for a mount of him but simply for the cape not to rot in the bush.I knifed his cape off and took the eye fillets and scotch fillets to carry back to camp and then broke him in half below his last rib then picked out a ten foot sapling and tied his complete rear end to the sapling pole with a spare bootlace and then stood the pole up and tied it against a blackwood tree with another lace,this was to stop any wild dogs taking their share.
Sweating heavily by this stage due to effort and high humidity in the gully and after having a drink i loaded up and commenced the climb straight up hill knowing that at about 7 or 8 hundred metres to the top it was still the shortest route back to camp via the relatively clear travelling once on top of the long spur.
Mind you it was a tough sweaty old climb too with heavy daypack, rifle and head/cape/antlers all getting in the way but after the effort i got back up on to the top of the dividing spur for the relatively easy way back downhill to a coldie and a welcome chair.
Woody met me back at camp that afternoon as i was head skinning him and we had a couple of celebratory beers and discussed the trip back in the morning for his rear end, and after a feed and a couple more beers and a recount of the hunt and Woody`s tale of his own day without seeing a deer we hit the swags.

"Bloody hell" the next morning greeted us with a dismal heavily fogged outlook above us and i immediately thought that "****" i didnt place some toilet paper on the dividing spur where i had climbed out of the stags gully the previous day knowing all too well the lack of the marker would make it very tough to find the appropriate drop in point down to the stag in the fog.
The welcome smell of thick straps of bacon being grilled on a stainless wire mesh over the coals and a strong coffee by the fire quickly stopped us thinking about the soon to present itself fog problem though.

Still stiff and sore from the previous days hunting I once again shouldered my rifle and pack and then setting out for the long climb, taking the spur above camp in the ever increasingly thicker fog and then climbing for several hours the decision was made to drop into the top of a similar looking gully as to the previous days one and after dropping down into the actual creek gully we came out above the main creek which looked nothing like the area from the day before
With visibility at only about forty metres i had a quicksolo reccie downhill along the creek looking for the mouth of the feeder gully and decided the mouth of the gully was still above us so we climbed slowly looking for any evidence to help us. And then i called out to Woody that i had found him "where,how did you"? By hearing hill ravens calling and cawing among themselves and sure enough walking ahead perhaps 100 yards and into a gully mouth i saw the birds take off from the skinned out front end. The birds hadn't touched the hide covered rear end up on its pole among the blackwood foliage which was a relief as the front end was covered in raven **** which made the meat not all that inviting to look at,maybe a Tassy devil or a wild dog might think so but not us.
We boned out the stag`s rear end and packed it away and then took the tough climb back out again. Woody was ****ed ha ha! All up it was a return journey of five hours plus to recover the best part of the deer and this was very well worth the effort as Woody had his retired pro butcher mate make up some fantastic smoked cabana/salami cross sausages that are simply scrumptious with a beer in hand and a deer hunting tale to tell. The weekends hunt culminating with a sambar stag was an indelible memory that i still think about of course today as it was a most exciting hunt with a good mate in some of Victoria`s finest high country,though not a big stag and not as trophy worthy as some of my other stags none the less a fantastic hunt which of course stays with me forever.

. Rifle used was my faithful old Winchester model 70 7mm Rem Mag using 150 grain Winchester factory PP`s

Epic write up and hunt by the sound of it John , there is NOTHING better than being with a few good mates , back at camp with a beer , cooking the bounty from a successful days hunt

KJF

 

[Rutland lad]

Stalking in Scotland last year with three mates.
We stalk as a pair with a ghillie and we share the ‘lead rifle’ slot through the day. Number 2 rifle trails along behind ready and scanning. We all carry rifles in case we come across an opportunity.
First stalk of the day was my turn as lead rifle.
After a nice long slog up through the trees through the darkness we eventually reached the tree line and sure enough our ghillie had got us into deer. As the light improved, the binos showed us at least one mature red hind, but we were fairly sure there’d be others nearby. To our right the ground sloped away towards a burn and we thought they’d be there out of the wind.
We watched and realised that there were four hinds in this group. They were moving from our R - L along a path about 150m away from us. As the day broke it was a fantastic Scottish day. Some light overnight snow had fallen and the sky was crystal clear bright blue with few clouds. It was a joy to be there.
Being in no hurry, and thinking this was an ideal scenario to take more than one, I got myself prone using the tussock grass lumps and bumps to both obscure my position and give me a stable platform for my bipod. Once I was happy I signalled for my number two to join me. We’d discussed our options for this situation the night before and outlined then to the ghillie too. My mate slid into a prone position to my R about 1m away and waited for the command.
An explanation here - both of us are professionally trained with firearms, he to a much higher level than me, but we both knew what was needed this particular morning. In order to maximise our chance of more than one successful shot we needed to do
‘co ordinated fire’ from both rifles. This should end up as the sound of only one BANG as they both go off together.
We waited patiently until the four deer were on the path going from R - L and we quietly confirmed with the ghillie which deer he wanted taken. The two in the middle were ours.
We still waited until my whispered question of ‘are you on’ was answered positively.
Once it was, my command was ‘standby - standby - FIRE’
Both triggers squeezed on the F for ‘fire’ and there was ONE bang.
Two red hinds took a 180 Grain BARNES TSX from each .300 Winmag. Both chest shot, and the ran for perhaps 20m before collapse.
As we both stood up and tidied ourselves and rifles etc, the ghillie said ‘I’ve had stalkers try that before but it’s never worked like that. There was one bang and it was spot on timing’
We both very very pleased with our efforts. You’d be able to see our beaming smiles but common sense dictates.
My mate has shot all over Africa, and he rated that morning as one of the most memorable he’d ever had. I must concur.

 

[Pingu]

Some great reading, cheers!