Post by dreamrider on Apr 4, 2020 15:14:21 GMT -5
The Majestic Red Stags of New Zealand
It was one of those glorious mornings that make you feel good to be alive. Bow hunter and guide sitting in companionable silence, watching the sun slowly coming up over the horizon, sending out fingers of light that danced off the fresh snow cap that crowned Mt Ruapehu. We watched as the new born light gradually pushed the dark shadows down the face of the mountain, seeking out the last remnants of darkness until the mountain was standing proud in all its colorful glory,
Gerald and I sat in quiet wonder with our breath forming puffs of white vapor in the crisp morning air, doing little to obscure the panoramic splendor that was laid before us.
I was hunting the mighty Red Stag with Gerald Fluerty, one of the top hunting guides in New Zealand. The vista that we were sitting there enjoying, is situated in the central North Island, in one of the countries national parks. While basking in the wonderful feeling of well being, and the camaraderie of Gerald’s company, I quietly reflected back on how this all came about.
I have always wanted to hunt a top trophy Red Stag, but for some reason or another it had never come together for me. Over my many years of bow hunting I had shot hinds and smaller stags, also a long line of great trophy Fallow bucks, but the big Red stags had always eluded me.
One day while visiting my friend Kevin Watson of Advanced Archery in Auckland, we got onto the subject of hunting the mighty Reds. He excitedly told me about a top New Zealand hunting guide, Gerald Fluerty, who had just recently visited his premises with the desire to take up bow hunting.
Kevin set him up in the hunting gear that Gerald required, which ultimately lead to an invitation for Kevin to go on a hunt with him.
Several weeks later Kevin returned home from a highly successful trip. He was enthusiastic about what he had seen, and Gerald’s ability to put him onto good trophy Reds. His enthusiasm rubbed off and I knew I would not be happy unless I had a crack at getting a top Red for myself. I contacted Gerald one evening, and after a wonderful hour talking about all things hunting, I found myself booking him for a six day hunt in late March. This is early roar (rut) over here.
The next few months found me giving the target a heavy pounding with my Hoyt Vectrix, set on 65lb with a 27inch draw. I was using Beamon 400 carbon arrows with a 125 grn Striker BH. This was the rig I intended to hunt with, and I am a great believer in practicing with the gear that I am going to use.
Eventually after what seemed an interminable wait, I found myself in the company of Gerald, as we drove to the area that we intended to hunt. The excitement quickly mounted when I got my first look at the terrain that we were to hunt. It consisted of large rolling hills covered in heavy native bush, with lots of good clearings. This is ideal Red Deer habitat, and it wasn’t long before we were huffing up one of these huge hills with the intension of glassing for any activity during the late afternoon and early evening. (Let me clarify that statement, I was the one that was doing the huffing and puffing). Gerald, 30years younger, as fit as a buck Rat, was striding out like he was immune to gravity.
Although we saw plenty of animals, with hinds and young stags in good numbers, we only spotted one good stag. After a long look with the binos I decided that he was not quite what I was after. We also noted that due to it being unseasonably hot, the stags were not yet roaring and were still holed up in the tight bush, making it almost impossible to find them.
A wonderful Stag pre roar
After three wonderful days covering many miles, we had still not sighted a top trophy (they were there but just not showing themselves in the unseasonably warm weather). That evening Gerald put in a phone call to another hunting concession and was told that the reds were starting to roar there. This was followed by feverish activity breaking camp, and hitting the road, arriving at the new area a few hours later,
I instantly fell in love with the new hunting area, which consisted of gentle rolling hills covered in mature Beech forest. It bordered onto the central North Island National park, with the majestic Mt Ruapehu in the background. We were so close to the mountain that we could see through the binos the chairlifts on the ski fields.
We spent the remaining three days hunting from daylight to dark, and although we saw some great trophies my luck was out. It was just not going to happen.
On one occasion we saw three huge stags having a punch up in a large clearing. After a few minutes of discussion, we came to the conclusion that it would be incredibly difficult to get in close as there was no cover. However nothing ventured, nothing gained, so we decided to take the direct approach through the knee height grass relying on their preoccupation with their brawl to keep them distracted. We quickly crawled and wriggled to within 50 yards; our objective was a small bush that was 30 yards from them which would enable me to get into a shooting position. But 10 yards short, while still out in the open, one of the stags suddenly lifted his head and stared at the two mounds lying on the ground that had not been there before. Concern quickly transmitted through the stags, and in a few seconds we were surrounded by three extremely tense stags at approx 50yards. We felt very vulnerable lying out there like fly’s stuck to sticky paper. It was an impossible situation and after the slightest movement they were gone.
A quick picture before they fled
I had had a great time, and before leaving for home, I arranged a return date with Gerald for the following year, right in the middle of the roar.
The year quickly rolled around and in April, I was back hunting the same wonderful Beech forest, with the Stags roaring fit to bust. What a thrill stalking into a frenzied bellowing stag at the height of the roar. On one occasion after a long careful stalk, we got in real close to an absolute monster. He was huge with at least 21 points and was by far the biggest that I had ever seen. This is it I thought; at long last I was going to get a shot, and was just lifting my bow when I felt a hand on my shoulder. Glancing around Gerald nodded towards a young stag that was watching us from a small ridge. We had been so intent on the big boy we had not seen him. One grunt of alarm from him and it was all over.
We were into the last day and I was starting to think that I must have done something very bad to have upset the hunting gods. We had seen a good number of great stags but for one reason or another it just did not happen. Late morning found us on a small mound, glassing a roaring stag about 1000yards away. While we were discussing his merits and whether a stalk was possible, out stepped the same huge stag that I had attempted to get a shot at the previous day. Only thirty yards from us he proceeded to strut around the base of the mound emitting ground shaking bellows, challenging the stag that we had just been glassing. I hardly had time to take in this primeval scenario that has been acted out in its spine tingling glory for countless eons, when Gerald whispered “take him now while he is fully occupied”. I ranged him at 30yards and quickly got into position for a shot. I had just placed the pin on his shoulder, when from behind me I heard a soft “no”. Confused I let down and looked back at an equally confused Gerald. “What’s wrong” I whispered “why did you say no”? “I didn’t”, he whispered back “I just said aim “low” because you are shooting down hill”!!!!. Owing to the fact that I have done a lot of competitive small bore shooting in my younger years, I am slightly deaf, and I had thought that he had said “no”. Although we laughed about it later, we were both extremely frustrated with each other at the time.
Fortunately the stag had been so preoccupied; he had not noticed a thing. In fact he had moved to within 25yards, and was slightly quartering away. I needed to take a little time to settle my nerves. After all how often does one let down on a sitter of a shot on a huge stag? The experience had left me with a serious case of the shakes. Amazingly the stag continued to just stand there bellowing his challenges. Taking several deep breaths I drew the bow back, settling the pin on the crease behind the shoulder. Nothing in the world would have stopped me from letting that shot go, slowly letting the air out of my lungs, I touched off the trigger. With immense pleasure I watched the arrow hit dead center. He exploded into a hard run for 20 – 30 yards, slowed to a walk then simply fell over, it was unbelievably quick.
I have to fess up and say that there were tears in my eyes as we walked up to this most noble of all stags. Seeing this, Gerald respectfully left me for a couple of minutes to show this magnificent animal the respect that he deserved. He was huge and beyond my wildest dreams. Its moments like this that makes all the hours of planning and preparation worth while. As I sat with him for those precious few minutes, I did not feel foolish in the least, for thanking the hunting gods for smiling on me that day.
He now holds place of honor on my trophy wall. As I sit and write this, memories of that day still chokes me up.
By Ray Scott (Dream Rider)
It was one of those glorious mornings that make you feel good to be alive. Bow hunter and guide sitting in companionable silence, watching the sun slowly coming up over the horizon, sending out fingers of light that danced off the fresh snow cap that crowned Mt Ruapehu. We watched as the new born light gradually pushed the dark shadows down the face of the mountain, seeking out the last remnants of darkness until the mountain was standing proud in all its colorful glory,
Gerald and I sat in quiet wonder with our breath forming puffs of white vapor in the crisp morning air, doing little to obscure the panoramic splendor that was laid before us.
I was hunting the mighty Red Stag with Gerald Fluerty, one of the top hunting guides in New Zealand. The vista that we were sitting there enjoying, is situated in the central North Island, in one of the countries national parks. While basking in the wonderful feeling of well being, and the camaraderie of Gerald’s company, I quietly reflected back on how this all came about.
I have always wanted to hunt a top trophy Red Stag, but for some reason or another it had never come together for me. Over my many years of bow hunting I had shot hinds and smaller stags, also a long line of great trophy Fallow bucks, but the big Red stags had always eluded me.
One day while visiting my friend Kevin Watson of Advanced Archery in Auckland, we got onto the subject of hunting the mighty Reds. He excitedly told me about a top New Zealand hunting guide, Gerald Fluerty, who had just recently visited his premises with the desire to take up bow hunting.
Kevin set him up in the hunting gear that Gerald required, which ultimately lead to an invitation for Kevin to go on a hunt with him.
Several weeks later Kevin returned home from a highly successful trip. He was enthusiastic about what he had seen, and Gerald’s ability to put him onto good trophy Reds. His enthusiasm rubbed off and I knew I would not be happy unless I had a crack at getting a top Red for myself. I contacted Gerald one evening, and after a wonderful hour talking about all things hunting, I found myself booking him for a six day hunt in late March. This is early roar (rut) over here.
The next few months found me giving the target a heavy pounding with my Hoyt Vectrix, set on 65lb with a 27inch draw. I was using Beamon 400 carbon arrows with a 125 grn Striker BH. This was the rig I intended to hunt with, and I am a great believer in practicing with the gear that I am going to use.
Eventually after what seemed an interminable wait, I found myself in the company of Gerald, as we drove to the area that we intended to hunt. The excitement quickly mounted when I got my first look at the terrain that we were to hunt. It consisted of large rolling hills covered in heavy native bush, with lots of good clearings. This is ideal Red Deer habitat, and it wasn’t long before we were huffing up one of these huge hills with the intension of glassing for any activity during the late afternoon and early evening. (Let me clarify that statement, I was the one that was doing the huffing and puffing). Gerald, 30years younger, as fit as a buck Rat, was striding out like he was immune to gravity.
Although we saw plenty of animals, with hinds and young stags in good numbers, we only spotted one good stag. After a long look with the binos I decided that he was not quite what I was after. We also noted that due to it being unseasonably hot, the stags were not yet roaring and were still holed up in the tight bush, making it almost impossible to find them.
A wonderful Stag pre roar
After three wonderful days covering many miles, we had still not sighted a top trophy (they were there but just not showing themselves in the unseasonably warm weather). That evening Gerald put in a phone call to another hunting concession and was told that the reds were starting to roar there. This was followed by feverish activity breaking camp, and hitting the road, arriving at the new area a few hours later,
I instantly fell in love with the new hunting area, which consisted of gentle rolling hills covered in mature Beech forest. It bordered onto the central North Island National park, with the majestic Mt Ruapehu in the background. We were so close to the mountain that we could see through the binos the chairlifts on the ski fields.
We spent the remaining three days hunting from daylight to dark, and although we saw some great trophies my luck was out. It was just not going to happen.
On one occasion we saw three huge stags having a punch up in a large clearing. After a few minutes of discussion, we came to the conclusion that it would be incredibly difficult to get in close as there was no cover. However nothing ventured, nothing gained, so we decided to take the direct approach through the knee height grass relying on their preoccupation with their brawl to keep them distracted. We quickly crawled and wriggled to within 50 yards; our objective was a small bush that was 30 yards from them which would enable me to get into a shooting position. But 10 yards short, while still out in the open, one of the stags suddenly lifted his head and stared at the two mounds lying on the ground that had not been there before. Concern quickly transmitted through the stags, and in a few seconds we were surrounded by three extremely tense stags at approx 50yards. We felt very vulnerable lying out there like fly’s stuck to sticky paper. It was an impossible situation and after the slightest movement they were gone.
A quick picture before they fled
I had had a great time, and before leaving for home, I arranged a return date with Gerald for the following year, right in the middle of the roar.
The year quickly rolled around and in April, I was back hunting the same wonderful Beech forest, with the Stags roaring fit to bust. What a thrill stalking into a frenzied bellowing stag at the height of the roar. On one occasion after a long careful stalk, we got in real close to an absolute monster. He was huge with at least 21 points and was by far the biggest that I had ever seen. This is it I thought; at long last I was going to get a shot, and was just lifting my bow when I felt a hand on my shoulder. Glancing around Gerald nodded towards a young stag that was watching us from a small ridge. We had been so intent on the big boy we had not seen him. One grunt of alarm from him and it was all over.
We were into the last day and I was starting to think that I must have done something very bad to have upset the hunting gods. We had seen a good number of great stags but for one reason or another it just did not happen. Late morning found us on a small mound, glassing a roaring stag about 1000yards away. While we were discussing his merits and whether a stalk was possible, out stepped the same huge stag that I had attempted to get a shot at the previous day. Only thirty yards from us he proceeded to strut around the base of the mound emitting ground shaking bellows, challenging the stag that we had just been glassing. I hardly had time to take in this primeval scenario that has been acted out in its spine tingling glory for countless eons, when Gerald whispered “take him now while he is fully occupied”. I ranged him at 30yards and quickly got into position for a shot. I had just placed the pin on his shoulder, when from behind me I heard a soft “no”. Confused I let down and looked back at an equally confused Gerald. “What’s wrong” I whispered “why did you say no”? “I didn’t”, he whispered back “I just said aim “low” because you are shooting down hill”!!!!. Owing to the fact that I have done a lot of competitive small bore shooting in my younger years, I am slightly deaf, and I had thought that he had said “no”. Although we laughed about it later, we were both extremely frustrated with each other at the time.
Fortunately the stag had been so preoccupied; he had not noticed a thing. In fact he had moved to within 25yards, and was slightly quartering away. I needed to take a little time to settle my nerves. After all how often does one let down on a sitter of a shot on a huge stag? The experience had left me with a serious case of the shakes. Amazingly the stag continued to just stand there bellowing his challenges. Taking several deep breaths I drew the bow back, settling the pin on the crease behind the shoulder. Nothing in the world would have stopped me from letting that shot go, slowly letting the air out of my lungs, I touched off the trigger. With immense pleasure I watched the arrow hit dead center. He exploded into a hard run for 20 – 30 yards, slowed to a walk then simply fell over, it was unbelievably quick.
I have to fess up and say that there were tears in my eyes as we walked up to this most noble of all stags. Seeing this, Gerald respectfully left me for a couple of minutes to show this magnificent animal the respect that he deserved. He was huge and beyond my wildest dreams. Its moments like this that makes all the hours of planning and preparation worth while. As I sat with him for those precious few minutes, I did not feel foolish in the least, for thanking the hunting gods for smiling on me that day.
He now holds place of honor on my trophy wall. As I sit and write this, memories of that day still chokes me up.
By Ray Scott (Dream Rider)
