Post by dreamrider on Mar 31, 2020 2:34:52 GMT -5
I though i would post up this story i wrote some years ago To help pass the time from this virus lockdown. Some of you may have already read it
A short story about hunting Buffalo with a bow and arrow in Northern Australia
Snakes, Crocodiles and Buffalo’s
It was 1130pm and we had time to kill before our chartered flight to Melville Island was due to depart. Six hours in the Darwin international airport, Australia, would not be high up in my “must do” list, but we consoled ourselves in the knowledge that we were soon to be up to our eyeballs in hunting one of the largest land mammals in Australia, the Asiatic Buffalo (Water Buffalo).
After kicking our heels for the six brain numbing hours, dawn finally arrived and with it the charter plane that was to take us out to our hunting destination. With very little fuss we were soon loaded up and winging our way out to Melville Island approx 100 miles north of Darwin.
My son Bruce and I were to be the first paying clients to be taken out there by our very good Australian friend Bill Baker, owner of South Pacific Safaris. Bill was giving us a good rate as we were to be the Guinea Pigs in this new venture of his.
, A prearranged 4WD was waiting for us at the small airstrip; quickly loading our gear we set off on the one and a half hour journey to Bill’s hunting concession on the western tip of the island. Upon arrival we found a well-equipped camp consisting of three air-conditioned modified Ships containers, where we cooked, lounged and slept. During our stay there we enjoyed all the comforts of home.
As soon as we unpacked the 4wd I took the opportunity to check that my bow was still in one piece. I was using a Hoyt Deviator set at 72lbs with a 27inch draw. Gathering a couple of arrows, I went looking for a practice butt. However there did not appear to be anything available, Bill explained that being a newly established camp, in the rush to get things ready for his first clients, a target butt had been over looked. I settled for what I took to be a mound of soil that had been pushed to one side of the camp. Taking carful aim I let rip, only to see my arrow blast straight through the mound, and with out the slightest hint of slowing down, disappeared several hundred yards into the bush. This was my first introduction to the infamous Aussie bull dust. On further investigation I discovered that it had the consistence of talcum powder and was as light as a feather.
Great, one of my meticulously prepared arrows gone without even sighting game yet. I had especially made these for the thick skinned Buffalo by using a full length Easton 2020 aluminium shaft with a smaller aluminium shaft inside. These were tipped with a 160 grn Grizzly BH weighing in at 900grns
Bill had been watching as the arrow disappeared into the bush and had a good laugh at my expense; Aussies have a weird sense of humour and never fail to find humour in other people’s misfortune. But fair to say that the same applies if they find themselves in a similar situation. Oh well, as we were the first ones there, we knew that we were the guinea pigs and there was bound to be a few teething problems setting up a new camp.
I then thought “OK”, I would shoot down into the soil from the raised deck adjoining the dining area. Taking carful aim at a dead leaf I let rip only to see the arrow bury itself into the earth and become enveloped by a great fountain of water. After a lot of rushing to and fro and with more than the occasional profanity it was discovered that I had neatly cut in half the only underground pipe that runs the fresh water from the holding tank to the ablution block. By this time Bill had stopped laughing and was starting to look at me in a very bemused manner.
What were the chances? 30minutes in camp, one precious arrow lost, and the only buried pipe for a radius of a hundred miles cut in half with the loss of several hundred gallons of precious water. I hastily slunk off, making some excuse about needing to be some where else.
Later that evening over a cold beer, Bill talked about the Asiatic Buffalo or Water Buffalo; they had been introduced to Australia over150 years ago to capitalize on the buffalo hide business that was in decline in America. Over the years the hide business ceased, allowing the Buffalo herds to multiply out of control. Occasional Govt culling programmes have been implemented over the years to try and keep their numbers down. The majority of the herds are found mainly in the Northern Territory and on Melville Island
“Although they are not quite as dangerous as the famed Cape Buffalo of Africa, the Water Buffalo are bigger, standing 6ft at the shoulder and weighing in excess of 2500lb. They are considered dangerous game, and should be hunted with the utmost caution. All their senses are good and are not to be taken lightly”, Bill cautioned. “They can be totally unpredictable if they spot you, and don’t take kindly when you get in their space”. “Usually when they become aware of your presence, they will hurl themselves around so they are facing you front on, making any shot with a bow impossible, then will usually do one of three things”.
(1) They will lift their head and looking down their noses at you, proceeding to give you their evil beady eyed stare which will turn your legs to jelly. Once this happens they will never relax and your stalk is over.
(2) The most likely scenario will be that they will turn tail and vacate the area as fast as they can.
(3) Or they may start walking towards you tossing their heads in a very threatening manner, with their great hooves pawing the ground. That’s when your legs and bowels turn to unset jelly. “Make no mistake these things are huge and move like greased lightening” Bill said. “If caught out in the open, they could make a mess of you”.
Bill said the golden rule is to make sure there are at least two trees handy to climb just in case they charge. (Something I remembered later in the hunt). “Why two trees” I innocently asked.
“Well” came the laconic reply “if there is only one, what are you going to climb”.
Next day saw us up and about at dawn, I had hardly slept a wink I was so excited. Incredibly we had only gone ten minutes before we received our first sighting of the game that we had travelled so far to hunt. Two large bulls were having a major disagreement in a cloud of dust, these things were huge. It was right then that I had an urgent desire to be some where else. What the hell had I let myself in for? I could actually feel the ground shaking under my feet. We stood in awe watching these two monsters fight it out for dominance. Bill said “one of them would make a real nice trophy” so we, with a great deal of trepidation, decided to try for a stalk while they were occupied with their brawl. However, 30yards out, the wind did a sudden about face and we were left staring at a settling cloud of dust.
We were to learn that around 9am every morning the sea breeze would die out and the heating land breeze would suddenly start up, and blow from the opposite direction. This ruined a lot of stalks as we saw a number of big bulls out in the early mornings. How ever as soon as the wind changed, they disappeared into the bush to bed down, or to find a wallow through the heat of the day. Time and time again we were foiled due to that $$$$ wind. Plus, the open nature of the Aussie bush, flat terrain and dry noisy undergrowth, made stalking a real challenge, it was then that we realised that this was not going to be easy. We soon learnt that afternoon hunting was the best and enjoyed a lot of exciting stalks but for various reasons did not get a shot
The third day found us following the bank of a small river, while keeping a wary eye open for Crocodiles, (when we had first arrived on the Island, Bill had taken great pains to instil in us a healthy respect for the “Salties”, (Salt Water Crocks). “Never walk in, through, or near muddy water” he said. The crocks could grow up to twenty ft and were unrivalled for their vicious cunning. Claiming many unwary victims, Bill had confided in me earlier that there was a resident 12ft salty only 300 yards from our camp. Apparently, the cook had seen it only a couple of days earlier.
Walking along keeping a healthy distance from the water edge, Bill was in the lead, carrying (as he always did) his 375 H@H Magnum “back up” rifle. He suddenly stopped and pointed out a Bull Buffalo on the opposite side of the stream. The beast was ambling slowly towards the river and on his present course, would arrive right where we were crouching. He came closer and closer until he was on the river bank only 15yards away from us. Without a pause he waded straight into the stream and slowly sunk out of sight in a deep hole virtually at our feet. We watched in fascination as he repeatedly came up for air only to sink out of sight again. Each time his head went underwater a great cloud of small black flies took to the air and stayed there hovering about six inches above the water. As soon as he raised his head the cloud of flies descended on him again. This was repeated many times and he was obviously enjoying himself immensely. I would have found the whole scenario extremely funny if I wasn’t crapping myself. This 2000lb+ giant was only 4 yards away from us. We could smell his breath each time he came up. My eyes were glued to the huge set of black gnarly horns that curled out from the top of his head, ending in wickedly sharp points.
When he had so casually ambled up to the stream, we hadn’t dared move, he had looked at us several times, but had just looked straight through us with out seeing a thing. Our immediate concern was in not knowing which way he would exit the stream. If he came out on our side of the river we were in deep trouble. I noticed that Bill was sweating profusely and had the rifle at the ready.
Fortunately when he had finished his wallow he chose to exit the way he had entered. With immense relief, I nervously whispered to Bill that if I got the opportunity, I would take a shot. After heaving himself out onto the river bank He then without a care in the world, stopped side onto me at twenty yards presenting a perfect shot. I wish I could say that the shot was just as perfect. But alas the hunting gods intervened. Just as I released the arrow he took a step forward. By the time the heavy arrow arrived it entered mid height, but a little far back. “Shoot him with the rifle Bill” I said not wanting him to run away and suffer a gut shot. Bill said “no I think you may have clipped a lung or maybe the liver I’m sure he will go down’.
The Bull lumbered over a slight rise and disappeared. Well it was as if some one had opened a high pressure valve; we all started talking at the same time while trying to disguise the shakes that had gripped us. The adrenalin was coursing through our systems and it took several minutes for us to settle down. However we soon reverted back to the roll of the big white hunters we tried to portray, instead of the sweating, shaking wrecks that we really were.
Bill suggested we give him an hour and that we cross the stream and settle down for a bit of lunch. He suddenly launched himself across the stream landing lightly on a small log mid stream then one more lunge and he was on the other bank. Then turned and smiled a challenge to Bruce and me. Without hesitation Bruce landed beside him (oh to be young). They both then gave me that same smirking challenge. Oh crap what to do, I am not only considerably older than them but shorter in the legs. In actual fact I could be unkindly mistaken for bit of a runt. I looked up stream, no help there, looked down stream, no way across. Then the thought of crocodiles suddenly leaped into my mind, now that really got me in lather. If there was one lurking down there he would be well alert for any opportunity by this time.
Bruce and Bill sat down and proceeded to have their lunch ignoring my plaintiff pleas for assistance. When Bruce glanced around and inquired if my life insurance was up to date, I realised that I was obviously not going to get any help from that direction. Nothing for it ----- I took a flying leap for the log, landed badly, oh shiiiiit I started to slide off its slippery surface. Using my forward momentum I tried for another mighty leap, but only succeeded in a pathetic bunny hop and with arms and legs flailing around like a demented windmill, landed with a huge splash three ft short of the river bank.
I was out of that water so fast I hardly got wet, and with the momentum that can only be produced by sheer terror, I shot passed my startled so-called friends, sitting there with their mouths open, half eaten sandwiches frozen in the act of filling their faces. “What kept you” Bill said with a huge grin on his face. “@#$%$#@ You uncaring ba----d’s I could have been grabbed by a Crocodile”. Bill nearly ruptured himself laughing, “I knew there would not have been a crock there” he said “That Buffalo would not have gone into the water if there had been”. “@#$%^$$# you could have told me that before I got myself all worked up” I said. This only raised another round of hysterical laughter. Friends who needs them?
I was wound up like a clock spring and was desperate to find my buff. But Bruce and Bill unconcernedly finished their lunch and settled down for a little shut eye in the shade. Half an hour later Bruce casually opened one eye and asked Bill which snakes were dangerous, (We don’t have snakes in New Zealand) “Why” Bill asked in a cautious voice. Well Bruce said “a snake just slithered across my legs” “describe it” Bill asked his voice going up a few octaves. Bruce proceeded to do so, with the result that Bill leaped to his feet shouting that it was an Easton Brown one of the deadliest snakes in Australia. Quickly vacating the area, I asked Bill why he wasn’t laughing any more, which only received a withering look. No sense of humour I thought.
We followed a poor blood trail for 500yds when Bill stopped in mid stride. “There he is” he whispered. The Buff was standing 35yds away, his head was down and we knew he was in a bad way. He was in an open clearing, with no chance of getting closer. “How far are you confident shooting those fence posts of yours” he whispered. “I am zeroed in at 35yards” I said, “and I am not taking any chances of losing him, the sooner I can put him down the better”. Taking several deep breaths to try and calm my jangling nerves I drew the 72lb bow, placed the 35yard pin on his chest in line with his front leg and one third up from his brisket. Relaxing my fingers the arrow flew straight and true. (I was shooting fingers back then). With a satisfying thump the arrow buried itself to the fletches. The Buffalo was so far gone that he only turned one full circle and fell over with a ground shaking thump. Bill turned to shake my hand and said in an excited voice “congratulations you have your Buffalo and it’s my first as a guide”.
I was ecstatic, lying on the ground he look absolutely massive. Bill did an autopsy and found that the first bh had cut a small slice off his off side lung, and he had almost completely bled out.
The best cuts of meat were removed and later given to the Tewi people. These were the local Aborigines who allowed the hunting concession, with the understanding that any meat we did not want, went to them. Although he looked huge to me, Bill said that he was quite young (a teenager) but a nice trophy and in prime condition.
As there was a one only policy, that was my hunt over. It was time to concentrate on getting a Buff for Bruce.
(A short foot note to finish this days hunt). After the photo session, autopsy and removal of the meat and horns, it was getting very late and darkness had closed around us. We still had over a mile to walk down stream to the vehicle.
Stumbling along on the pathetic excuse of a trail was the most hair raising experience of my life. It appeared that the entire population of Buffalo had come out to play; it seemed that every few yards a huge black shape would go charging off into the bush making a hell of a noise and scaring the living daylights out of us. I swear that they would stand their ground until we were only a few yards away. Then give a spine tingling snort before thundering off. Most times we did not even see them until they moved. I cravenly reasoned that if one decided that he did not like us and charged. The Aborigine tracker being in the front would get wiped out first. The trouble was, he was only a small weed of a chap and would be hard put to stop a charging ant, Bill, next in line, would be able to take most of the impact, giving Bruce and me a chance to escape up a tree. Bruce was next in line with me bravely bringing up the rear. I say bravely, but I was only trying to get as far away from the action up front as possible. I think that my neck developed a serious crick that night as I spent most of the journey looking over my shoulder, afraid that they would double around and have a go at us from behind. I can tell you I was a shaking, quivering wreck by the time we reached the 4WD.
However my hunt was finished so I took on the camera duties and we spent the remaining three days looking for a Buff for Bruce. It must be remembered that this was Bills first Buffalo hunt with clients and was a huge learning curve for him. The week that we were there helped him to get an understanding of their movements and where they were mostly concentrated. We often found them miles out on the beaches looking for salt. Or out in the vast inaccessible swamplands that were swarming with Crocks.
Although we saw many Buffalo and that Bruce had several chances he had not yet connected. It was on the last day of our hunt when we stumbled on a large flat dried up swamp area with a small stream out in the middle. There were huge wallows the size of small back yard swimming pools every where, and numerous game trails coming out of the bush all heading for the wet area in the middle. We knew that we had found a honey hole. Glassing the area we could see a large number of buffalo out in the wallows enjoying themselves during the heat of the day.
Selecting a likely victim we planed the stalk, Bruce and Bill were to lead out with me backing up with the camera. When we were 50yards away it was agreed that I would hang back and continued to film as they attempted to get in close. I positioned myself by a small tree, using it for a steady rest while filming. Bill and Bruce got to within 25 yards of the wallow then inexplicably went to ground out of sight, and stayed there. What the hell are they doing I wondered. Time passed and I was getting pee’d off, when out of the wallow erupted a huge Buffalo cow with a small calf in tow. She charged in on Bruce and Bill, sliding to a stop within 12 yards of them. She stood there tossing her head that sported a set of very large horns in a very threatening manner, and proceeded to give them the evil eye. (Bill later told me that it was so unexpected that he could not have got his rifle ready to fire if she had kept coming). After what seemed an age she gave a snort, about faced and charged off.
Unfortunately, she chose to run in my direction. Oh crap of all the points of the compass she could have chosen to make her maddened run; it had to be straight in my direction. I looked at the useless camera that would do little to protect me from a pissed off cow and her calf. Bills warning about always having a tree handy flashed through my mind, what tree! The only one within thirty yards of me was the one that I had been using as a camera rest. That scrawny pathetic excuse for a tree was so spindly, that even if I had managed to climb 6ft off the ground, it would have bent over double leaving my bum still on the ground. I had no option. Trying to suck my gut in (no mean feat) I tried to make myself invisible behind the 4inch tree trunk. The cow had by this time build up a good head of steam and without a pause thundered past me 6 yards away. Christ that was close I thought.
Looking over to where Bill and Bruce were, I was expecting them to be looking my way with great concern, but I quickly realised that they had more than enough trouble of their own. In fact they had gone from the frying pan into the fire; a huge bull had emerged from another wallow nearby and was on full alert trying to figure out why his girl friend had suddenly shifted camp. He quickly closed in on the two hunters and at 8 yards proceeded to paw the earth and started tossing his head, man he was pissed off, even from my distance he made a terrifying spectacle. Bill had the rifle at the ready and it became a Mexican standoff. Finally after what seemed a lifetime. The huge bull spun around and without a back ward look, headed for safety.
Aw shiiiit here we go again, yeah you guessed it, he was heading straight for me. As he got closer I could feel the ground shaking, or was that me? I will never know.
It seemed that the closer he came, the larger he became until in my terrified state he became a great slathering beast with flashing red eyes. (No, my life didn’t flash in front of me, I was far to terrified for such mundane thoughts). Finally, a life time later, he thundered passed, missing me by only a matter of feet. As he drew level with me he must have got a glimpse of me, when he flicked his horns in my direction and kicked his hooves as he flashed past.
My legs were shaking so badly that I promptly sat down. Seeing this, Bill came running over to see if I was ok, apologising profusely. “I should never have left you out here in the open exposed like this, sorry mate”. “But mate you did the right thing freezing like that, it took guts to stay put and not run, well done” he said.
I felt that it was my manly duty not to inform him that I was so $$$$ scared that I could not have moved even if I had tried; I had been frozen to the spot out of shear terror. Bruce came running up and said “did you get it all on camera Dad, it will make great footage”? I looked at him, then down at the discarded camera lying in the dust at my feet. “No son, it all happened too fast for me to get it set up”. Well you don’t think I was going to admit to my own son that I was so $$$$ scared the last thing on my mind was that bloody camera? Well do you?
Moving 500yards further down the swamp plain we saw another Huge Bull wallowing in a deep hole that was surrounded by scrubby trees. It was quickly decided that Bruce and Bill would go in for a stalk while I stayed by a handy tree and watch the action. By this time I’d had a guts full of Buffalo, and was quite happy to leave them to it. “Stay out of trouble” was Bills parting shot. Fortunately he did not see the gesture, nor hear the well framed words that I muttered under my breath.
I scaled a nearby tree (purely so I could get a better view I hope you understand) and from my birds eye view, watched Bruce put in a great stalk. Using the cover of the small scrubby trees, he managed to get in real close to the unsuspecting Bull, then with his 75lb Ferguson custom long bow, placed the 960grn Grizzly stick arrow tipped with 190grn Grizzly Broad head into his vitals at 12yards. He only ran 100yards and piled up in a cloud of dust. Bruce was beside himself. The Buff was huge, making mine look minuscule.



After the congratulations and back thumping, and with the usual photo session plus the butchering accomplished, we set off for the Vehicle. On the way back I calculated that we must have seen another 15 bulls, plus numerous Cows. What a Buffalo hunting paradise.
Bill estimated that his concession alone held up to 2500 mature Bulls, ensuring that many happy clients would have great success in the future.
Now that the hunt had come to its conclusion Bill handed us a questioner and invited us to put down our thoughts and how the hunt could be improved. Bruce and I were unanimous in saying that the camp facilities could not be improved upon. But as this was one of the most remote places on earth, and with all the travelling involved to get there, we felt that there should be a choice of two Buffs per person. Oh yeah, and to also provide a practice butt!!!.
Bill told us later that this suggestion was accepted by the local Tewi people, with a small extra fee added for the second Buff.
Back in Darwin we had several hours to kill so we all decided to go to an up market restaurant for a bang up meal and a couple of beers, and to swap lies before leaving on our separate flights, The head waiter sat us at our table and with a flourish laid the napkins on our knees, asking us if we would like the specialty of the house. What’s that we asked, “Prime Buffalo steaks”, was the proud reply. The poor chap was sent off in a very confused state as we fell about laughing, we had seen enough Buffalo to last us a very long time.
This marked the end of a great hunt with wonderful memories that will last a life time.
Sadly eighteen months after this hunt Australia lost a great sportsman, Bow Hunter, Novelist and one of the real “good guys”. When Bill lost his fight with cancer, Bruce and I, plus our families lost a very dear friend.
R.I.P Mate
Written by Ray Scott (Dream Rider)
A short story about hunting Buffalo with a bow and arrow in Northern Australia
Snakes, Crocodiles and Buffalo’s
It was 1130pm and we had time to kill before our chartered flight to Melville Island was due to depart. Six hours in the Darwin international airport, Australia, would not be high up in my “must do” list, but we consoled ourselves in the knowledge that we were soon to be up to our eyeballs in hunting one of the largest land mammals in Australia, the Asiatic Buffalo (Water Buffalo).
After kicking our heels for the six brain numbing hours, dawn finally arrived and with it the charter plane that was to take us out to our hunting destination. With very little fuss we were soon loaded up and winging our way out to Melville Island approx 100 miles north of Darwin.
My son Bruce and I were to be the first paying clients to be taken out there by our very good Australian friend Bill Baker, owner of South Pacific Safaris. Bill was giving us a good rate as we were to be the Guinea Pigs in this new venture of his.
, A prearranged 4WD was waiting for us at the small airstrip; quickly loading our gear we set off on the one and a half hour journey to Bill’s hunting concession on the western tip of the island. Upon arrival we found a well-equipped camp consisting of three air-conditioned modified Ships containers, where we cooked, lounged and slept. During our stay there we enjoyed all the comforts of home.
As soon as we unpacked the 4wd I took the opportunity to check that my bow was still in one piece. I was using a Hoyt Deviator set at 72lbs with a 27inch draw. Gathering a couple of arrows, I went looking for a practice butt. However there did not appear to be anything available, Bill explained that being a newly established camp, in the rush to get things ready for his first clients, a target butt had been over looked. I settled for what I took to be a mound of soil that had been pushed to one side of the camp. Taking carful aim I let rip, only to see my arrow blast straight through the mound, and with out the slightest hint of slowing down, disappeared several hundred yards into the bush. This was my first introduction to the infamous Aussie bull dust. On further investigation I discovered that it had the consistence of talcum powder and was as light as a feather.
Great, one of my meticulously prepared arrows gone without even sighting game yet. I had especially made these for the thick skinned Buffalo by using a full length Easton 2020 aluminium shaft with a smaller aluminium shaft inside. These were tipped with a 160 grn Grizzly BH weighing in at 900grns
Bill had been watching as the arrow disappeared into the bush and had a good laugh at my expense; Aussies have a weird sense of humour and never fail to find humour in other people’s misfortune. But fair to say that the same applies if they find themselves in a similar situation. Oh well, as we were the first ones there, we knew that we were the guinea pigs and there was bound to be a few teething problems setting up a new camp.
I then thought “OK”, I would shoot down into the soil from the raised deck adjoining the dining area. Taking carful aim at a dead leaf I let rip only to see the arrow bury itself into the earth and become enveloped by a great fountain of water. After a lot of rushing to and fro and with more than the occasional profanity it was discovered that I had neatly cut in half the only underground pipe that runs the fresh water from the holding tank to the ablution block. By this time Bill had stopped laughing and was starting to look at me in a very bemused manner.
What were the chances? 30minutes in camp, one precious arrow lost, and the only buried pipe for a radius of a hundred miles cut in half with the loss of several hundred gallons of precious water. I hastily slunk off, making some excuse about needing to be some where else.
Later that evening over a cold beer, Bill talked about the Asiatic Buffalo or Water Buffalo; they had been introduced to Australia over150 years ago to capitalize on the buffalo hide business that was in decline in America. Over the years the hide business ceased, allowing the Buffalo herds to multiply out of control. Occasional Govt culling programmes have been implemented over the years to try and keep their numbers down. The majority of the herds are found mainly in the Northern Territory and on Melville Island
“Although they are not quite as dangerous as the famed Cape Buffalo of Africa, the Water Buffalo are bigger, standing 6ft at the shoulder and weighing in excess of 2500lb. They are considered dangerous game, and should be hunted with the utmost caution. All their senses are good and are not to be taken lightly”, Bill cautioned. “They can be totally unpredictable if they spot you, and don’t take kindly when you get in their space”. “Usually when they become aware of your presence, they will hurl themselves around so they are facing you front on, making any shot with a bow impossible, then will usually do one of three things”.
(1) They will lift their head and looking down their noses at you, proceeding to give you their evil beady eyed stare which will turn your legs to jelly. Once this happens they will never relax and your stalk is over.
(2) The most likely scenario will be that they will turn tail and vacate the area as fast as they can.
(3) Or they may start walking towards you tossing their heads in a very threatening manner, with their great hooves pawing the ground. That’s when your legs and bowels turn to unset jelly. “Make no mistake these things are huge and move like greased lightening” Bill said. “If caught out in the open, they could make a mess of you”.
Bill said the golden rule is to make sure there are at least two trees handy to climb just in case they charge. (Something I remembered later in the hunt). “Why two trees” I innocently asked.
“Well” came the laconic reply “if there is only one, what are you going to climb”.
Next day saw us up and about at dawn, I had hardly slept a wink I was so excited. Incredibly we had only gone ten minutes before we received our first sighting of the game that we had travelled so far to hunt. Two large bulls were having a major disagreement in a cloud of dust, these things were huge. It was right then that I had an urgent desire to be some where else. What the hell had I let myself in for? I could actually feel the ground shaking under my feet. We stood in awe watching these two monsters fight it out for dominance. Bill said “one of them would make a real nice trophy” so we, with a great deal of trepidation, decided to try for a stalk while they were occupied with their brawl. However, 30yards out, the wind did a sudden about face and we were left staring at a settling cloud of dust.
We were to learn that around 9am every morning the sea breeze would die out and the heating land breeze would suddenly start up, and blow from the opposite direction. This ruined a lot of stalks as we saw a number of big bulls out in the early mornings. How ever as soon as the wind changed, they disappeared into the bush to bed down, or to find a wallow through the heat of the day. Time and time again we were foiled due to that $$$$ wind. Plus, the open nature of the Aussie bush, flat terrain and dry noisy undergrowth, made stalking a real challenge, it was then that we realised that this was not going to be easy. We soon learnt that afternoon hunting was the best and enjoyed a lot of exciting stalks but for various reasons did not get a shot
The third day found us following the bank of a small river, while keeping a wary eye open for Crocodiles, (when we had first arrived on the Island, Bill had taken great pains to instil in us a healthy respect for the “Salties”, (Salt Water Crocks). “Never walk in, through, or near muddy water” he said. The crocks could grow up to twenty ft and were unrivalled for their vicious cunning. Claiming many unwary victims, Bill had confided in me earlier that there was a resident 12ft salty only 300 yards from our camp. Apparently, the cook had seen it only a couple of days earlier.
Walking along keeping a healthy distance from the water edge, Bill was in the lead, carrying (as he always did) his 375 H@H Magnum “back up” rifle. He suddenly stopped and pointed out a Bull Buffalo on the opposite side of the stream. The beast was ambling slowly towards the river and on his present course, would arrive right where we were crouching. He came closer and closer until he was on the river bank only 15yards away from us. Without a pause he waded straight into the stream and slowly sunk out of sight in a deep hole virtually at our feet. We watched in fascination as he repeatedly came up for air only to sink out of sight again. Each time his head went underwater a great cloud of small black flies took to the air and stayed there hovering about six inches above the water. As soon as he raised his head the cloud of flies descended on him again. This was repeated many times and he was obviously enjoying himself immensely. I would have found the whole scenario extremely funny if I wasn’t crapping myself. This 2000lb+ giant was only 4 yards away from us. We could smell his breath each time he came up. My eyes were glued to the huge set of black gnarly horns that curled out from the top of his head, ending in wickedly sharp points.
When he had so casually ambled up to the stream, we hadn’t dared move, he had looked at us several times, but had just looked straight through us with out seeing a thing. Our immediate concern was in not knowing which way he would exit the stream. If he came out on our side of the river we were in deep trouble. I noticed that Bill was sweating profusely and had the rifle at the ready.
Fortunately when he had finished his wallow he chose to exit the way he had entered. With immense relief, I nervously whispered to Bill that if I got the opportunity, I would take a shot. After heaving himself out onto the river bank He then without a care in the world, stopped side onto me at twenty yards presenting a perfect shot. I wish I could say that the shot was just as perfect. But alas the hunting gods intervened. Just as I released the arrow he took a step forward. By the time the heavy arrow arrived it entered mid height, but a little far back. “Shoot him with the rifle Bill” I said not wanting him to run away and suffer a gut shot. Bill said “no I think you may have clipped a lung or maybe the liver I’m sure he will go down’.
The Bull lumbered over a slight rise and disappeared. Well it was as if some one had opened a high pressure valve; we all started talking at the same time while trying to disguise the shakes that had gripped us. The adrenalin was coursing through our systems and it took several minutes for us to settle down. However we soon reverted back to the roll of the big white hunters we tried to portray, instead of the sweating, shaking wrecks that we really were.
Bill suggested we give him an hour and that we cross the stream and settle down for a bit of lunch. He suddenly launched himself across the stream landing lightly on a small log mid stream then one more lunge and he was on the other bank. Then turned and smiled a challenge to Bruce and me. Without hesitation Bruce landed beside him (oh to be young). They both then gave me that same smirking challenge. Oh crap what to do, I am not only considerably older than them but shorter in the legs. In actual fact I could be unkindly mistaken for bit of a runt. I looked up stream, no help there, looked down stream, no way across. Then the thought of crocodiles suddenly leaped into my mind, now that really got me in lather. If there was one lurking down there he would be well alert for any opportunity by this time.
Bruce and Bill sat down and proceeded to have their lunch ignoring my plaintiff pleas for assistance. When Bruce glanced around and inquired if my life insurance was up to date, I realised that I was obviously not going to get any help from that direction. Nothing for it ----- I took a flying leap for the log, landed badly, oh shiiiiit I started to slide off its slippery surface. Using my forward momentum I tried for another mighty leap, but only succeeded in a pathetic bunny hop and with arms and legs flailing around like a demented windmill, landed with a huge splash three ft short of the river bank.
I was out of that water so fast I hardly got wet, and with the momentum that can only be produced by sheer terror, I shot passed my startled so-called friends, sitting there with their mouths open, half eaten sandwiches frozen in the act of filling their faces. “What kept you” Bill said with a huge grin on his face. “@#$%$#@ You uncaring ba----d’s I could have been grabbed by a Crocodile”. Bill nearly ruptured himself laughing, “I knew there would not have been a crock there” he said “That Buffalo would not have gone into the water if there had been”. “@#$%^$$# you could have told me that before I got myself all worked up” I said. This only raised another round of hysterical laughter. Friends who needs them?
I was wound up like a clock spring and was desperate to find my buff. But Bruce and Bill unconcernedly finished their lunch and settled down for a little shut eye in the shade. Half an hour later Bruce casually opened one eye and asked Bill which snakes were dangerous, (We don’t have snakes in New Zealand) “Why” Bill asked in a cautious voice. Well Bruce said “a snake just slithered across my legs” “describe it” Bill asked his voice going up a few octaves. Bruce proceeded to do so, with the result that Bill leaped to his feet shouting that it was an Easton Brown one of the deadliest snakes in Australia. Quickly vacating the area, I asked Bill why he wasn’t laughing any more, which only received a withering look. No sense of humour I thought.
We followed a poor blood trail for 500yds when Bill stopped in mid stride. “There he is” he whispered. The Buff was standing 35yds away, his head was down and we knew he was in a bad way. He was in an open clearing, with no chance of getting closer. “How far are you confident shooting those fence posts of yours” he whispered. “I am zeroed in at 35yards” I said, “and I am not taking any chances of losing him, the sooner I can put him down the better”. Taking several deep breaths to try and calm my jangling nerves I drew the 72lb bow, placed the 35yard pin on his chest in line with his front leg and one third up from his brisket. Relaxing my fingers the arrow flew straight and true. (I was shooting fingers back then). With a satisfying thump the arrow buried itself to the fletches. The Buffalo was so far gone that he only turned one full circle and fell over with a ground shaking thump. Bill turned to shake my hand and said in an excited voice “congratulations you have your Buffalo and it’s my first as a guide”.
I was ecstatic, lying on the ground he look absolutely massive. Bill did an autopsy and found that the first bh had cut a small slice off his off side lung, and he had almost completely bled out.
The best cuts of meat were removed and later given to the Tewi people. These were the local Aborigines who allowed the hunting concession, with the understanding that any meat we did not want, went to them. Although he looked huge to me, Bill said that he was quite young (a teenager) but a nice trophy and in prime condition.
As there was a one only policy, that was my hunt over. It was time to concentrate on getting a Buff for Bruce.
(A short foot note to finish this days hunt). After the photo session, autopsy and removal of the meat and horns, it was getting very late and darkness had closed around us. We still had over a mile to walk down stream to the vehicle.
Stumbling along on the pathetic excuse of a trail was the most hair raising experience of my life. It appeared that the entire population of Buffalo had come out to play; it seemed that every few yards a huge black shape would go charging off into the bush making a hell of a noise and scaring the living daylights out of us. I swear that they would stand their ground until we were only a few yards away. Then give a spine tingling snort before thundering off. Most times we did not even see them until they moved. I cravenly reasoned that if one decided that he did not like us and charged. The Aborigine tracker being in the front would get wiped out first. The trouble was, he was only a small weed of a chap and would be hard put to stop a charging ant, Bill, next in line, would be able to take most of the impact, giving Bruce and me a chance to escape up a tree. Bruce was next in line with me bravely bringing up the rear. I say bravely, but I was only trying to get as far away from the action up front as possible. I think that my neck developed a serious crick that night as I spent most of the journey looking over my shoulder, afraid that they would double around and have a go at us from behind. I can tell you I was a shaking, quivering wreck by the time we reached the 4WD.
However my hunt was finished so I took on the camera duties and we spent the remaining three days looking for a Buff for Bruce. It must be remembered that this was Bills first Buffalo hunt with clients and was a huge learning curve for him. The week that we were there helped him to get an understanding of their movements and where they were mostly concentrated. We often found them miles out on the beaches looking for salt. Or out in the vast inaccessible swamplands that were swarming with Crocks.
Although we saw many Buffalo and that Bruce had several chances he had not yet connected. It was on the last day of our hunt when we stumbled on a large flat dried up swamp area with a small stream out in the middle. There were huge wallows the size of small back yard swimming pools every where, and numerous game trails coming out of the bush all heading for the wet area in the middle. We knew that we had found a honey hole. Glassing the area we could see a large number of buffalo out in the wallows enjoying themselves during the heat of the day.
Selecting a likely victim we planed the stalk, Bruce and Bill were to lead out with me backing up with the camera. When we were 50yards away it was agreed that I would hang back and continued to film as they attempted to get in close. I positioned myself by a small tree, using it for a steady rest while filming. Bill and Bruce got to within 25 yards of the wallow then inexplicably went to ground out of sight, and stayed there. What the hell are they doing I wondered. Time passed and I was getting pee’d off, when out of the wallow erupted a huge Buffalo cow with a small calf in tow. She charged in on Bruce and Bill, sliding to a stop within 12 yards of them. She stood there tossing her head that sported a set of very large horns in a very threatening manner, and proceeded to give them the evil eye. (Bill later told me that it was so unexpected that he could not have got his rifle ready to fire if she had kept coming). After what seemed an age she gave a snort, about faced and charged off.
Unfortunately, she chose to run in my direction. Oh crap of all the points of the compass she could have chosen to make her maddened run; it had to be straight in my direction. I looked at the useless camera that would do little to protect me from a pissed off cow and her calf. Bills warning about always having a tree handy flashed through my mind, what tree! The only one within thirty yards of me was the one that I had been using as a camera rest. That scrawny pathetic excuse for a tree was so spindly, that even if I had managed to climb 6ft off the ground, it would have bent over double leaving my bum still on the ground. I had no option. Trying to suck my gut in (no mean feat) I tried to make myself invisible behind the 4inch tree trunk. The cow had by this time build up a good head of steam and without a pause thundered past me 6 yards away. Christ that was close I thought.
Looking over to where Bill and Bruce were, I was expecting them to be looking my way with great concern, but I quickly realised that they had more than enough trouble of their own. In fact they had gone from the frying pan into the fire; a huge bull had emerged from another wallow nearby and was on full alert trying to figure out why his girl friend had suddenly shifted camp. He quickly closed in on the two hunters and at 8 yards proceeded to paw the earth and started tossing his head, man he was pissed off, even from my distance he made a terrifying spectacle. Bill had the rifle at the ready and it became a Mexican standoff. Finally after what seemed a lifetime. The huge bull spun around and without a back ward look, headed for safety.
Aw shiiiit here we go again, yeah you guessed it, he was heading straight for me. As he got closer I could feel the ground shaking, or was that me? I will never know.
It seemed that the closer he came, the larger he became until in my terrified state he became a great slathering beast with flashing red eyes. (No, my life didn’t flash in front of me, I was far to terrified for such mundane thoughts). Finally, a life time later, he thundered passed, missing me by only a matter of feet. As he drew level with me he must have got a glimpse of me, when he flicked his horns in my direction and kicked his hooves as he flashed past.
My legs were shaking so badly that I promptly sat down. Seeing this, Bill came running over to see if I was ok, apologising profusely. “I should never have left you out here in the open exposed like this, sorry mate”. “But mate you did the right thing freezing like that, it took guts to stay put and not run, well done” he said.
I felt that it was my manly duty not to inform him that I was so $$$$ scared that I could not have moved even if I had tried; I had been frozen to the spot out of shear terror. Bruce came running up and said “did you get it all on camera Dad, it will make great footage”? I looked at him, then down at the discarded camera lying in the dust at my feet. “No son, it all happened too fast for me to get it set up”. Well you don’t think I was going to admit to my own son that I was so $$$$ scared the last thing on my mind was that bloody camera? Well do you?
Moving 500yards further down the swamp plain we saw another Huge Bull wallowing in a deep hole that was surrounded by scrubby trees. It was quickly decided that Bruce and Bill would go in for a stalk while I stayed by a handy tree and watch the action. By this time I’d had a guts full of Buffalo, and was quite happy to leave them to it. “Stay out of trouble” was Bills parting shot. Fortunately he did not see the gesture, nor hear the well framed words that I muttered under my breath.
I scaled a nearby tree (purely so I could get a better view I hope you understand) and from my birds eye view, watched Bruce put in a great stalk. Using the cover of the small scrubby trees, he managed to get in real close to the unsuspecting Bull, then with his 75lb Ferguson custom long bow, placed the 960grn Grizzly stick arrow tipped with 190grn Grizzly Broad head into his vitals at 12yards. He only ran 100yards and piled up in a cloud of dust. Bruce was beside himself. The Buff was huge, making mine look minuscule.



After the congratulations and back thumping, and with the usual photo session plus the butchering accomplished, we set off for the Vehicle. On the way back I calculated that we must have seen another 15 bulls, plus numerous Cows. What a Buffalo hunting paradise.
Bill estimated that his concession alone held up to 2500 mature Bulls, ensuring that many happy clients would have great success in the future.
Now that the hunt had come to its conclusion Bill handed us a questioner and invited us to put down our thoughts and how the hunt could be improved. Bruce and I were unanimous in saying that the camp facilities could not be improved upon. But as this was one of the most remote places on earth, and with all the travelling involved to get there, we felt that there should be a choice of two Buffs per person. Oh yeah, and to also provide a practice butt!!!.
Bill told us later that this suggestion was accepted by the local Tewi people, with a small extra fee added for the second Buff.
Back in Darwin we had several hours to kill so we all decided to go to an up market restaurant for a bang up meal and a couple of beers, and to swap lies before leaving on our separate flights, The head waiter sat us at our table and with a flourish laid the napkins on our knees, asking us if we would like the specialty of the house. What’s that we asked, “Prime Buffalo steaks”, was the proud reply. The poor chap was sent off in a very confused state as we fell about laughing, we had seen enough Buffalo to last us a very long time.
This marked the end of a great hunt with wonderful memories that will last a life time.
Sadly eighteen months after this hunt Australia lost a great sportsman, Bow Hunter, Novelist and one of the real “good guys”. When Bill lost his fight with cancer, Bruce and I, plus our families lost a very dear friend.
R.I.P Mate
Written by Ray Scott (Dream Rider)
