The final instalment for this trip, as sadly we pulled out a week early in advance of the incoming weather forecast, which was utterly shite and not going to get any better soon (and it was correct). The tracks turn to puss, the ford becomes impassable, walking on the steep gradients is downright dangerous and who likes chaffed crotch from constantly wet undies? Hunting in the rain can be very productive, but when its hot and humid too, it’s nasty. Simply put, when it rains like this you’re stuck in the cabin for at least a week. If we were 30 years younger that might be quite an attractive proposition, but, well, anyway moving on…
As I type this at the home farm, we are currently in our 50th hour of persistent rain, everything low is flooding, roads are closed, slips everywhere and a million bedraggled holiday makers are wondering what to do for the rest of their “summer” holiday. To add to all that, a local shallow fault in the ranges 8km south of us has ruptured for the first time in 47 years, and we are having regular earthquakes. The biggest was 5.1 at 5.30am and believe me that gets you out of bed sharpish. This is the first time we’ve had quake epicentres so close to home, and it is not nice. Not nice at all.
BANG! SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE ROLL WOBBLE SHAKE BANG!
You should hear the pheasants! I swear they go off a second or two before the earthquake actually hits. Pheasants, pukekos, peacocks, Californian quails, mallards, Paradise shelducks and Canada geese all going off at once makes for a monumental racket.
Anyway, where were we… So another hot lazy day resulted in not much happening at all until mid-afternoon Ethiopian coffee time, whereupon we sprang into action. The plan was to stalk up into the small valley behind the cabin, which is always good for a deer in the evening. The challenge here is wind. Depending on wind direction, you have to find the elevation where any mischievous wind gusts will blow your scent above the elevation at which the deer will detect it. Sometimes you can stay low on the spurs, other times you have to climb quite high. Today felt like a “low” day, but we were prepared to climb quickly if needs be. If that sounds a bit complicated, I’m pretty sure that in a previous write-up I even drew a diagram to show how awkward the gully wind effects can make stalking into guts like this. So use your imagination, no helpful diagrams this time sorry.
We slowly plodded up the hill, glassing periodically into the gullies to our left on the other side of the creek, running down from the north. Lots of goats, but very few reds. Last year’s Roar was very late, and weak, an indication that climate is changing (no sh1t!) and that we have too many hinds (which we already know). But you won’t see hinds now, they’re hiding in cover with their fawns. We saw just two hinds with fawns in one week, both at last orders. Plus a couple of old dry hinds and one that looked likely to still be pregnant. Everything is happening a month late. Even shearing has been delayed 4 weeks.
As we approached our hunting spots, we bumped a fallow doe and her fawn and they ran helter skelter right into the area we wanted to hunt, which in turn startled some goats we hadn’t seen in the long grass. No panic, just hang back to let everything settle down… After a thorough wind check with the powder puffer we selected a small basin with a large round tree in the middle, with several well known deer access points that we could watch. Because its hard to see all prospective areas from one overwatch position, we split up slightly - not far - close enough for us to be able to communicate with a hoarse whisper.
Spot the dodgy looking fella hiding in the grass…
Both of us knew the rules - if you see a deer, shoot it. No cocking around. We were concerned that if we waited too long for an optimal shot, or for two or more deer to appear so both shooters had a chance to take one, we’d be winded and game over. So we patiently glassed the bushline, quietly and regularly shifting position as our middle-aged decrepitude showed up in the form of pins & needles, dead legs and sore coccyx.
After a while, a couple of fallow bucks turned up, one at a time. We weren’t after fallow - reds only. Fallow are very useful currency for us as they are easier to find and we can take a dozen or more in one day for a significant feast, such as a wedding. What was encouraging was that neither of the fallow winded us. I was busy glassing one of the bucks when I heard that all too familiar whisper-yelp from my left… As I turned to look at my wife, she fired her .308 Winchester.
BANG!
To say it frightened the living farkin’ bejeezus outta me wouldn’t do the shock justice. Because I was (stupidly) level with the muzzle albeit 8-9m to the right, the muzzle blast was LOUD and best of all, the suppressor spat flame! Not quite loud enough to make my ears ring though, and I was mighty glad of the DPT for sure. I was sufficiently kerfuffuled to not really know where to look so I raised my binos in the hope I would be able to see what she had just fired at, when she damn well went and did it again!
BANG!
FARKIN’ HELL! The second one was even more of a shock than the first. So much for communication.
After the second shot I could no longer control myself. WTF are you shooting at??? I demanded to know. Those two deer over there, she calmly replied, in that even, matter of fact tone that is her immune system response to me starting to flap. Can’t you see them? They’re both down by the way.
Ah, yes, er, good, well done. Can I stand up now? Are you going to shoot again?
Yes, David. No, David.
So I stood and moved slightly to my left. Lo and behold there are two young reds lying stone dead at the top of the basin on the bushline, masked from my view by a small shrub. Well done, Corporal Boshoff, squad Designated Marksman. We packed up and walked up and around on a well worn sheep / deer track and rolled the animals down to a convenient flatter piece of ground. Fat as yearlings, young and tender meat that's just bloody perfect for the table. Top job wife!
We butchered the animals on the hill. The one was close to a 100% recovery as she’d calmly shot it in the head, she’s a deadeye shot this one. We packed the meat into two bags so we didn’t overdo the weight in one bag as we had a longer walk home this evening, no bike. Downhill too, which is a killer on the dodgy knees if too heavy. In keeping with the previous posts, you get to see my wife’s behind with a bag full of meat on her back.
Back at the cabin, we unpacked and sorted out the fridge. We had enough room for some goat meat, so agreed that the remaining time would be spent culling goats and recovering what we can. Due to the rather industrial nature of this business I shan’t post any pictures as everything was head shot with the .223 Rem and the Speer 70gr semi-point, which literally decapitates them and leaves nothing more than a flap of skin and maybe a lower jaw and some teeth. But we got plenty of goat “bouds”, which is rump in Afrikaans, all destined for delicious slow cooked goat roast recipes. We also got stuck into the magpies and rabbits, relaid the rat trap line and spent a late night shooting possums out of trees.
All in all an excellent trip for the two us, productive, fun and worthwhile in every sense. Disappointed somewhat that the weather has wrecked the second week but the first was as good as we could have hoped for so no great loss.
Finally, meet Chloe, our pet yearling red hind that was cut from the slip when her mother was shot in December 2021. Raised by hand literally from the womb to present, this little deer is a delight. Hardy, confident and a lot of fun to have around. Unless anything untoward happens to her, I wouldn’t mind betting she’ll be around for many years to come.
Thanks for reading and happy New Year to you all.
As I type this at the home farm, we are currently in our 50th hour of persistent rain, everything low is flooding, roads are closed, slips everywhere and a million bedraggled holiday makers are wondering what to do for the rest of their “summer” holiday. To add to all that, a local shallow fault in the ranges 8km south of us has ruptured for the first time in 47 years, and we are having regular earthquakes. The biggest was 5.1 at 5.30am and believe me that gets you out of bed sharpish. This is the first time we’ve had quake epicentres so close to home, and it is not nice. Not nice at all.
BANG! SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE ROLL WOBBLE SHAKE BANG!
You should hear the pheasants! I swear they go off a second or two before the earthquake actually hits. Pheasants, pukekos, peacocks, Californian quails, mallards, Paradise shelducks and Canada geese all going off at once makes for a monumental racket.
Anyway, where were we… So another hot lazy day resulted in not much happening at all until mid-afternoon Ethiopian coffee time, whereupon we sprang into action. The plan was to stalk up into the small valley behind the cabin, which is always good for a deer in the evening. The challenge here is wind. Depending on wind direction, you have to find the elevation where any mischievous wind gusts will blow your scent above the elevation at which the deer will detect it. Sometimes you can stay low on the spurs, other times you have to climb quite high. Today felt like a “low” day, but we were prepared to climb quickly if needs be. If that sounds a bit complicated, I’m pretty sure that in a previous write-up I even drew a diagram to show how awkward the gully wind effects can make stalking into guts like this. So use your imagination, no helpful diagrams this time sorry.
We slowly plodded up the hill, glassing periodically into the gullies to our left on the other side of the creek, running down from the north. Lots of goats, but very few reds. Last year’s Roar was very late, and weak, an indication that climate is changing (no sh1t!) and that we have too many hinds (which we already know). But you won’t see hinds now, they’re hiding in cover with their fawns. We saw just two hinds with fawns in one week, both at last orders. Plus a couple of old dry hinds and one that looked likely to still be pregnant. Everything is happening a month late. Even shearing has been delayed 4 weeks.
As we approached our hunting spots, we bumped a fallow doe and her fawn and they ran helter skelter right into the area we wanted to hunt, which in turn startled some goats we hadn’t seen in the long grass. No panic, just hang back to let everything settle down… After a thorough wind check with the powder puffer we selected a small basin with a large round tree in the middle, with several well known deer access points that we could watch. Because its hard to see all prospective areas from one overwatch position, we split up slightly - not far - close enough for us to be able to communicate with a hoarse whisper.
Spot the dodgy looking fella hiding in the grass…
Both of us knew the rules - if you see a deer, shoot it. No cocking around. We were concerned that if we waited too long for an optimal shot, or for two or more deer to appear so both shooters had a chance to take one, we’d be winded and game over. So we patiently glassed the bushline, quietly and regularly shifting position as our middle-aged decrepitude showed up in the form of pins & needles, dead legs and sore coccyx.
After a while, a couple of fallow bucks turned up, one at a time. We weren’t after fallow - reds only. Fallow are very useful currency for us as they are easier to find and we can take a dozen or more in one day for a significant feast, such as a wedding. What was encouraging was that neither of the fallow winded us. I was busy glassing one of the bucks when I heard that all too familiar whisper-yelp from my left… As I turned to look at my wife, she fired her .308 Winchester.
BANG!
To say it frightened the living farkin’ bejeezus outta me wouldn’t do the shock justice. Because I was (stupidly) level with the muzzle albeit 8-9m to the right, the muzzle blast was LOUD and best of all, the suppressor spat flame! Not quite loud enough to make my ears ring though, and I was mighty glad of the DPT for sure. I was sufficiently kerfuffuled to not really know where to look so I raised my binos in the hope I would be able to see what she had just fired at, when she damn well went and did it again!
BANG!
FARKIN’ HELL! The second one was even more of a shock than the first. So much for communication.
After the second shot I could no longer control myself. WTF are you shooting at??? I demanded to know. Those two deer over there, she calmly replied, in that even, matter of fact tone that is her immune system response to me starting to flap. Can’t you see them? They’re both down by the way.
Ah, yes, er, good, well done. Can I stand up now? Are you going to shoot again?
Yes, David. No, David.
So I stood and moved slightly to my left. Lo and behold there are two young reds lying stone dead at the top of the basin on the bushline, masked from my view by a small shrub. Well done, Corporal Boshoff, squad Designated Marksman. We packed up and walked up and around on a well worn sheep / deer track and rolled the animals down to a convenient flatter piece of ground. Fat as yearlings, young and tender meat that's just bloody perfect for the table. Top job wife!
We butchered the animals on the hill. The one was close to a 100% recovery as she’d calmly shot it in the head, she’s a deadeye shot this one. We packed the meat into two bags so we didn’t overdo the weight in one bag as we had a longer walk home this evening, no bike. Downhill too, which is a killer on the dodgy knees if too heavy. In keeping with the previous posts, you get to see my wife’s behind with a bag full of meat on her back.
Back at the cabin, we unpacked and sorted out the fridge. We had enough room for some goat meat, so agreed that the remaining time would be spent culling goats and recovering what we can. Due to the rather industrial nature of this business I shan’t post any pictures as everything was head shot with the .223 Rem and the Speer 70gr semi-point, which literally decapitates them and leaves nothing more than a flap of skin and maybe a lower jaw and some teeth. But we got plenty of goat “bouds”, which is rump in Afrikaans, all destined for delicious slow cooked goat roast recipes. We also got stuck into the magpies and rabbits, relaid the rat trap line and spent a late night shooting possums out of trees.
All in all an excellent trip for the two us, productive, fun and worthwhile in every sense. Disappointed somewhat that the weather has wrecked the second week but the first was as good as we could have hoped for so no great loss.
Finally, meet Chloe, our pet yearling red hind that was cut from the slip when her mother was shot in December 2021. Raised by hand literally from the womb to present, this little deer is a delight. Hardy, confident and a lot of fun to have around. Unless anything untoward happens to her, I wouldn’t mind betting she’ll be around for many years to come.
Thanks for reading and happy New Year to you all.
