Post by dreamrider on Apr 2, 2020 16:16:20 GMT -5
The Privilege to Hunt.
Twenty miles from my home there is a herd of Fallow deer situated on a long peninsular surrounded by the Tasman Sea to the west, and the huge Kiapara harbor to the East. The Fallow herds range over coastal sand dunes, Pine forestry, cattle and dairy farms and down to the mangrove swamps bordering the harbor. It was a herd with very little hunting pressure, jealously guarded by those few hunters that did have permission to be there, and even more jealously guarded by the land owners themselves. Gaining permission to hunt anywhere on that Peninsular has been next to impossible to achieve, imagine my stunned disbelief when, while I was attending a birthday party one day, out of the blue I was offered a chance to hunt one of the top farm holdings. This it turned out was one of the prime areas for Fallow on the Peninsular. I believe the owner “Reg” only offered me hunting rights because he had been told I only hunted with a bow, and the crusty old gentleman thought that I would be of little, to no threat to the deer.
This took place 25years ago and I have had the privilege of hunting there ever since with wonderful success. But back then I was ecstatic and couldn’t get out there fast enough. A week after the offer I was out scouting the area, it was mid-summer, hot and very quiet and I was feeling a little disappointed. I had seen a few does, but bucks -----nothing, not even a track or two. I had been out there all day with nothing to show for the effort, when I bumped into old Reg,s son, Ross who was engaged in cattle fence maintenance. We exchanged a few pleasantries then I bought up the subject that was upper most in my mind. Bucks! Where were they? Ross laughed and said. “It’s still too early in the season; the bucks will be hiding in the cool swamps in their bachelor groups”. “They won’t come out until late March early April”. “In the mean time you are welcome to take out a plump doe for the freezer”. For the next couple of months I hunted there several times, familiarizing myself with the lay of the land, plus filling the freezer with nice young doe venison, but Bucks! Not a dickey bird.
Time passed and it was the first of April when I received a phone call from Ross to say that he had spotted a nice young buck showing some interest in the does, and that in his opinion more will be showing up soon. Two days later and hyped up with anticipation, I arrived at dawn and thirty minutes later found me sneaking down a likely looking scrub covered ridge; I had not gone very far when I caught a flicker of movement. It turned out to be a small herd of does quietly ambling along a farm track. They were angling towards me but still 70 yards away, but what really caught my attention was a magnificent buck bringing up the rear. Wow where had he sprung from, a squirt of adrenaline shot through my body and I was shaking like a leaf. Forcing myself to calm down I quickly assessed the situation and realised I was not going to be in a position to get a shot when they came past. I would have to quickly make a positional change which would not only give me a clear shot but would also place me within 30 yards of where they would pass. Easing my way quietly through the scrub I thought I was going to make it, but the lead doe caught me with one foot in the air and froze. Immediately the rest of the does locked onto me. I tried waiting them out but after a couple of minutes with the foot in the air, I knew this was one waiting game I wasn’t going to win. I could feel myself starting to sway and had no option but to place my foot down to steady myself. This proved too much for the lead doe, she about faced and headed off down the valley. At that stage in my hunting life I had not yet learnt that once the lead doe has you spotted, it’s all over and in my naivety raced off to try to intercept them. This caused them to become thoroughly alarmed and plunged off across a swamp well out of range. Coming to a stop I sucked air into my starving lungs and suddenly thought “where is the buck’ he wasn’t with the does and seemed to have vanished. I stood there looking around in puzzlement, when way off I spotted him sneaking through the scrub. He had laid his antlers down along his back so that he could slip through the scrub without drawing attention to himself, and was practically tip toeing along. I watched and marveled at his cunning. He made it through the scrub and hit the open ground at a flat hard run disappearing into the forest. Even though he had not seen me, He had read the body language of the lead doe, and had turned off at a ninety degree angle and sneaked off on his own. If I had not seen it with my own eyes I would not have believed it. It was then that I knew this wonderful buck was going to be a worthy adversary.
Over the next week I worked out his movements and realized he was not going to be easy to get at. Each morning would find him high up at the extreme back boundary of the property in a small basin several hundred yards across, surrounded by a herd of does numbering between 12 and 18. This added up to be a formidable barrier of ever alert eyes. In the very center of the basin well out of bow range was his rutting pad where he spent much of the day laying in it. Every so often he would rise and check out his harem to see if they were receptive to his advances, or to chase off any young hopeful bucks, all the time emitting “bull frog” like grunts. This not only warned off the other young bucks but also advertised his presences to all the does in the area, he was the top dog. When all was to his satisfaction he would return to his pad pawing and raking it with his antlers and hooves, finally after urinating in it he would lay back down. Only for him to do it all over again a few minutes later.
He was too far out from any cover for me to get in close enough for a shot. After several days of watching I realized when he started to overheat he would head off down to the swamp to his wallow to cool off, re-appearing a few hours later. I tried anticipating his movements by setting up an ambush but he varied his movement every day and I never got close. Frustration was getting to me, but I loved every second I was out there. I spent many hours over several days laying in the long grass watching and studying him though the bino,s. I marveled at how the does always appeared to place themselves in a circle around him with their eyes watching outward. The big buck was oblivious to this, all he thought about was what was between his legs.
One particularly hot day he made his way down towards a small finger of swamp that covered only a couple of acres and slipped into the undergrowth out of sight. I figured he was going for a cooling wallow so decided to follow him, something I had been avoiding. I knew how tough it was to stalk that part of the swamp and as yet he was totally unaware he was being watched. I did not want to pressure him and run the risk of him leaving the area. Arriving at the spot where he had entered the swamp, I lay on my belly and slowly slid through the surrounding fringe of scrub until I could look out over the swamp, but no Buck!. Following his tracks I inched forward on hands and knees. Whenever I started to sink into the swamp I had to ease myself out without creating a sucking noise. An hour later I had covered a hundred yards and could see that I was nearing the end of the swamp. As I eased along I became aware of a vague shape 20 yards ahead. Staying perfectly still I could just make out some light coloured hair. Slowly moving forward a few more inches I realized it was a doe sound asleep. But where had the buck gone? He had clearly not stopped and I had just spent an hour putting together the best stalk of my life through the worst terrain possible. As I knelt there wondering where he had disappeared to, the doe opened her eyes, gave herself a luxurious stretch and slowly got to her feet, only to have an arrow zip through her chest. She lurched off deeper into the swamp and collapse without ever knowing what had happened. I figured a bird in the hand----.
Hauling her out of the swamp was no great problem as I could not have been filthier if I had tried. But carrying her all the way back to the car in the heat was another thing altogether. I almost flagged the rest of the day but that big buck was calling me, so I set off again making a bee line back to his rutting pad. Making my way carefully up onto a slight rise over looking his pad I was disappointed, he was nowhere to be seen. No does, nothing! As I sat there I noticed a small movement in the tall grass. The bino,s showed nothing until I saw a flicker of an ear. Several minutes of careful study slowly unveiled him lying down in the long grass 200 yards away. He was right on the boundary of the neighbor's property and resting up in an area I had not seen him in before. If I had not seen his ear flicker I would have blundered out in the open only to watch him race off.
After further study through the bino,s I worked out a plan of attack, which involved a one mile detour to get around behind him. I could then make my final approach through a stand of native bush bordering the neighbor's property. Thirty minutes later found me in position. I was situated 35 yards away from the buck with absolutely no chance of getting closer without him spotting me. He was still bedded down and all I could see was his antlers above the long grass. It was a stalemate; I just had to wait him out. An hour later all that had happened was an occasional movement of his head or the flicking of his ears as he chased away the flies. I however could not have that luxury and had to endure those pesky flies crawling over my mouth and eyes, Mosquitos were also having a rare feast at my expense. Another hour of torture passed and the sun was about to disappear over the horizon, my legs were numb and in extreme discomfort. Over the past two hours I had studied his wonderful set of antlers with their wide palpation and eighteen points. Each time I did, I suffered an acute attack of buck fever with all the shakes associated with that dreaded symptom. I realized that if I only kept an occasional glance without the in-depth studying I could settle into a quietened state of mind while I waited.
Time dragged “He must get up soon” I thought, when” BOOM” a rifle shot somewhere over in the neighbor's property. The bucks head came up, looked in that direction for a few seconds and slowly stood up. He was side on at 35yards. Just as I settled the pin on his shoulder he must have seen me move or sensed my presences. His head spun around towards me and his body was just starting to tense ready for flight but too late. The Muzzy tipped 2216 Easton arrow appeared embedded in his chest; its arrival came as a total shock to me as I could not remember releasing it. He raced across the basin directly over the top of his pad and a few yards short of the ridge his legs went out from under him. That magnificent buck was mine. Words could never adequately describe the euphoria I was experiencing, my legs turned to rubber and I could barely stand. Then the adrenaline hit me and I suddenly became a leaping, screaming idiot.
Over the ensuing years I have claimed bigger trophies but he will always stay in my mind as my first real trophy. He was so huge I couldn’t even lift him off the ground so I gutted him and left him open to the cold night air, returning before daylight the next morning with my son Bruce and his 4X4. As we lifted my prize into the wagon we marveled at the cacophony of noise coming out of the early mist from at least six other bucks in the area. Where had they all come from? This was indeed a hunting paradise; I had taken two deer in one day including a great buck. Yes this is a paradise which I have respected and selfishly guarded over the past 25 years. Old Reg has since passed away and now Ross allows me unlimited access whenever I want.
Over the years we have seen increased pressure on the deer population. Farms are slowly being cut up into smaller blocks to make way for urban sprawl and to help with death duty taxes. Plus as its only 40 miles away from Auckland (the largest city in New Zealand) poaching is rife. But for all this it’s still my favorite place to hunt. Even after all these years I often go up to where that buck had his rutting pad and think of him.
As the years roll by I find that I am hunting less, but its memories like this which allow me to re-live and continue to enjoy my past experiences, and by writing about them I feel it is my way of paying homage to those magnificent animals whose life’s I have taken in the name of hunting.
Written by Dream Rider.
Foot note
A couple of years ago i had the privilege of guiding a very good friend, Lanny on this property. Where he shot a rare white buck.
Twenty miles from my home there is a herd of Fallow deer situated on a long peninsular surrounded by the Tasman Sea to the west, and the huge Kiapara harbor to the East. The Fallow herds range over coastal sand dunes, Pine forestry, cattle and dairy farms and down to the mangrove swamps bordering the harbor. It was a herd with very little hunting pressure, jealously guarded by those few hunters that did have permission to be there, and even more jealously guarded by the land owners themselves. Gaining permission to hunt anywhere on that Peninsular has been next to impossible to achieve, imagine my stunned disbelief when, while I was attending a birthday party one day, out of the blue I was offered a chance to hunt one of the top farm holdings. This it turned out was one of the prime areas for Fallow on the Peninsular. I believe the owner “Reg” only offered me hunting rights because he had been told I only hunted with a bow, and the crusty old gentleman thought that I would be of little, to no threat to the deer.
This took place 25years ago and I have had the privilege of hunting there ever since with wonderful success. But back then I was ecstatic and couldn’t get out there fast enough. A week after the offer I was out scouting the area, it was mid-summer, hot and very quiet and I was feeling a little disappointed. I had seen a few does, but bucks -----nothing, not even a track or two. I had been out there all day with nothing to show for the effort, when I bumped into old Reg,s son, Ross who was engaged in cattle fence maintenance. We exchanged a few pleasantries then I bought up the subject that was upper most in my mind. Bucks! Where were they? Ross laughed and said. “It’s still too early in the season; the bucks will be hiding in the cool swamps in their bachelor groups”. “They won’t come out until late March early April”. “In the mean time you are welcome to take out a plump doe for the freezer”. For the next couple of months I hunted there several times, familiarizing myself with the lay of the land, plus filling the freezer with nice young doe venison, but Bucks! Not a dickey bird.
Time passed and it was the first of April when I received a phone call from Ross to say that he had spotted a nice young buck showing some interest in the does, and that in his opinion more will be showing up soon. Two days later and hyped up with anticipation, I arrived at dawn and thirty minutes later found me sneaking down a likely looking scrub covered ridge; I had not gone very far when I caught a flicker of movement. It turned out to be a small herd of does quietly ambling along a farm track. They were angling towards me but still 70 yards away, but what really caught my attention was a magnificent buck bringing up the rear. Wow where had he sprung from, a squirt of adrenaline shot through my body and I was shaking like a leaf. Forcing myself to calm down I quickly assessed the situation and realised I was not going to be in a position to get a shot when they came past. I would have to quickly make a positional change which would not only give me a clear shot but would also place me within 30 yards of where they would pass. Easing my way quietly through the scrub I thought I was going to make it, but the lead doe caught me with one foot in the air and froze. Immediately the rest of the does locked onto me. I tried waiting them out but after a couple of minutes with the foot in the air, I knew this was one waiting game I wasn’t going to win. I could feel myself starting to sway and had no option but to place my foot down to steady myself. This proved too much for the lead doe, she about faced and headed off down the valley. At that stage in my hunting life I had not yet learnt that once the lead doe has you spotted, it’s all over and in my naivety raced off to try to intercept them. This caused them to become thoroughly alarmed and plunged off across a swamp well out of range. Coming to a stop I sucked air into my starving lungs and suddenly thought “where is the buck’ he wasn’t with the does and seemed to have vanished. I stood there looking around in puzzlement, when way off I spotted him sneaking through the scrub. He had laid his antlers down along his back so that he could slip through the scrub without drawing attention to himself, and was practically tip toeing along. I watched and marveled at his cunning. He made it through the scrub and hit the open ground at a flat hard run disappearing into the forest. Even though he had not seen me, He had read the body language of the lead doe, and had turned off at a ninety degree angle and sneaked off on his own. If I had not seen it with my own eyes I would not have believed it. It was then that I knew this wonderful buck was going to be a worthy adversary.
Over the next week I worked out his movements and realized he was not going to be easy to get at. Each morning would find him high up at the extreme back boundary of the property in a small basin several hundred yards across, surrounded by a herd of does numbering between 12 and 18. This added up to be a formidable barrier of ever alert eyes. In the very center of the basin well out of bow range was his rutting pad where he spent much of the day laying in it. Every so often he would rise and check out his harem to see if they were receptive to his advances, or to chase off any young hopeful bucks, all the time emitting “bull frog” like grunts. This not only warned off the other young bucks but also advertised his presences to all the does in the area, he was the top dog. When all was to his satisfaction he would return to his pad pawing and raking it with his antlers and hooves, finally after urinating in it he would lay back down. Only for him to do it all over again a few minutes later.
He was too far out from any cover for me to get in close enough for a shot. After several days of watching I realized when he started to overheat he would head off down to the swamp to his wallow to cool off, re-appearing a few hours later. I tried anticipating his movements by setting up an ambush but he varied his movement every day and I never got close. Frustration was getting to me, but I loved every second I was out there. I spent many hours over several days laying in the long grass watching and studying him though the bino,s. I marveled at how the does always appeared to place themselves in a circle around him with their eyes watching outward. The big buck was oblivious to this, all he thought about was what was between his legs.
One particularly hot day he made his way down towards a small finger of swamp that covered only a couple of acres and slipped into the undergrowth out of sight. I figured he was going for a cooling wallow so decided to follow him, something I had been avoiding. I knew how tough it was to stalk that part of the swamp and as yet he was totally unaware he was being watched. I did not want to pressure him and run the risk of him leaving the area. Arriving at the spot where he had entered the swamp, I lay on my belly and slowly slid through the surrounding fringe of scrub until I could look out over the swamp, but no Buck!. Following his tracks I inched forward on hands and knees. Whenever I started to sink into the swamp I had to ease myself out without creating a sucking noise. An hour later I had covered a hundred yards and could see that I was nearing the end of the swamp. As I eased along I became aware of a vague shape 20 yards ahead. Staying perfectly still I could just make out some light coloured hair. Slowly moving forward a few more inches I realized it was a doe sound asleep. But where had the buck gone? He had clearly not stopped and I had just spent an hour putting together the best stalk of my life through the worst terrain possible. As I knelt there wondering where he had disappeared to, the doe opened her eyes, gave herself a luxurious stretch and slowly got to her feet, only to have an arrow zip through her chest. She lurched off deeper into the swamp and collapse without ever knowing what had happened. I figured a bird in the hand----.
Hauling her out of the swamp was no great problem as I could not have been filthier if I had tried. But carrying her all the way back to the car in the heat was another thing altogether. I almost flagged the rest of the day but that big buck was calling me, so I set off again making a bee line back to his rutting pad. Making my way carefully up onto a slight rise over looking his pad I was disappointed, he was nowhere to be seen. No does, nothing! As I sat there I noticed a small movement in the tall grass. The bino,s showed nothing until I saw a flicker of an ear. Several minutes of careful study slowly unveiled him lying down in the long grass 200 yards away. He was right on the boundary of the neighbor's property and resting up in an area I had not seen him in before. If I had not seen his ear flicker I would have blundered out in the open only to watch him race off.
After further study through the bino,s I worked out a plan of attack, which involved a one mile detour to get around behind him. I could then make my final approach through a stand of native bush bordering the neighbor's property. Thirty minutes later found me in position. I was situated 35 yards away from the buck with absolutely no chance of getting closer without him spotting me. He was still bedded down and all I could see was his antlers above the long grass. It was a stalemate; I just had to wait him out. An hour later all that had happened was an occasional movement of his head or the flicking of his ears as he chased away the flies. I however could not have that luxury and had to endure those pesky flies crawling over my mouth and eyes, Mosquitos were also having a rare feast at my expense. Another hour of torture passed and the sun was about to disappear over the horizon, my legs were numb and in extreme discomfort. Over the past two hours I had studied his wonderful set of antlers with their wide palpation and eighteen points. Each time I did, I suffered an acute attack of buck fever with all the shakes associated with that dreaded symptom. I realized that if I only kept an occasional glance without the in-depth studying I could settle into a quietened state of mind while I waited.
Time dragged “He must get up soon” I thought, when” BOOM” a rifle shot somewhere over in the neighbor's property. The bucks head came up, looked in that direction for a few seconds and slowly stood up. He was side on at 35yards. Just as I settled the pin on his shoulder he must have seen me move or sensed my presences. His head spun around towards me and his body was just starting to tense ready for flight but too late. The Muzzy tipped 2216 Easton arrow appeared embedded in his chest; its arrival came as a total shock to me as I could not remember releasing it. He raced across the basin directly over the top of his pad and a few yards short of the ridge his legs went out from under him. That magnificent buck was mine. Words could never adequately describe the euphoria I was experiencing, my legs turned to rubber and I could barely stand. Then the adrenaline hit me and I suddenly became a leaping, screaming idiot.
Over the ensuing years I have claimed bigger trophies but he will always stay in my mind as my first real trophy. He was so huge I couldn’t even lift him off the ground so I gutted him and left him open to the cold night air, returning before daylight the next morning with my son Bruce and his 4X4. As we lifted my prize into the wagon we marveled at the cacophony of noise coming out of the early mist from at least six other bucks in the area. Where had they all come from? This was indeed a hunting paradise; I had taken two deer in one day including a great buck. Yes this is a paradise which I have respected and selfishly guarded over the past 25 years. Old Reg has since passed away and now Ross allows me unlimited access whenever I want.
Over the years we have seen increased pressure on the deer population. Farms are slowly being cut up into smaller blocks to make way for urban sprawl and to help with death duty taxes. Plus as its only 40 miles away from Auckland (the largest city in New Zealand) poaching is rife. But for all this it’s still my favorite place to hunt. Even after all these years I often go up to where that buck had his rutting pad and think of him.
As the years roll by I find that I am hunting less, but its memories like this which allow me to re-live and continue to enjoy my past experiences, and by writing about them I feel it is my way of paying homage to those magnificent animals whose life’s I have taken in the name of hunting.
Written by Dream Rider.
Foot note
A couple of years ago i had the privilege of guiding a very good friend, Lanny on this property. Where he shot a rare white buck.
