Thread: Epic Article - Dougie's Canterbury and Kaweka Trip

At 6am I got a text from Abe – “What’s your address again? I found some more bits!” I excitedly sent him a reply and then nodded back off into my hunting filled dreams. It seemed like not long after I had dreamt of knocking over two Sika stags in the same clearing that I heard a van come up our long, steep driveway. This was it! I jumped up and rushed down the stairs in my pyjamas only to see the yellow truck quickly scuttling away. The courier was here!! But…it was only the pack I had bought online a few days ago. I slumped into my slippers and put the kettle on while I trudged out the back to let the dog out. It’s not like me to leave packages unopened for very long, but you’ll soon understand why.

It wasn’t the pack I was waiting for. At that moment, I couldn’t care less about the dog getting his breakfast on time. I was waiting for my rifle. My rifle. The first rifle ever to be in my home that was mine. For me to inspect, clean, to carry it up every hill that New Zealand could throw at me, and of course to shoot with it. To bring home stories with it and hopefully meat! I think every person can remember a Christmas where nothing else mattered but that one gift, and for you it may have been a rifle as well. Well this was my Christmas of a lifetime and Santa was late!

472 hours (it seemed it!) and a restless sleep later, she arrived. Black Beauty. Or as she was named before conception – The Mongrel. This was no off the shelf rifle, far from it. She was put together by a group of friends, acquaintances and complete strangers. All of whom shared one goal – to start off a new, keen hunter into her world of discovery. This rifle was a gift to me from the members and creators of NZ Hunting and Shooting (NZHS) forum, a place where likeminded men and women can come together and learn from each other, share stories and swap items. I had joined the forum after leaving the New Zealand Army following a shoulder injury. The decision was a shock and came suddenly and I found myself living in an unfamiliar island with unfamiliar people. Luckily I had my partner, faithful dog and new friends of NZHS forum to keep me grounded and remind me of the things I love doing – exploring the bush that is so unique to our country. Over my 13 years living in New Zealand I had already developed sound bushcraft skills and an enjoyment of knocking over rabbits. But after leaving the Army with honed marksman skills and an even sharper eye, it was time for the real deal. I needed to step it up. Securing my first big game kills in Nelson in 2012 (alongside two faithful forum members!) I was completely hooked. It was time for me to do this on my own and do it as much as I could. Purchasing a worthy rifle companion was well out of reach with a now much lower income, so the members of NZHS stepped up and built me Black Beauty.


My dog Jet and the package.


Jet and Black Beauty on the lounge floor.

I tried to act cool when my flatmates found me inspecting the new piece of machinery on the lounge floor, when really on the inside I was bursting for it to be Thursday night when I would head to the airport and start another great adventure.

Check in was a breeze and I was glad I had borrowed a hard case from a forum member. Even the slight framed Air NZ woman at the counter didn’t quite meet my standards of delicate handling. The strong plastic and foam inner of the donated case would ensure my rifle and scope would arrive in Christchurch in pristine condition. After a day of formalities, it was time to get onto the hill. As the sweat poured off my face I realised, this was the first time I had ever gone for a walk with my brother, let alone armed on a hunt! For one reason or another, this was our first outing together and we’d chosen Bealey Spur to have a look for chamois – also another first for us both. I had Black Beauty slung over my good shoulder. This walk seemed much more challenging than the first time I had visited the spur in 2010. We reached the top just after 3pm and it was still a blistering 30 degrees. No animal in their right mind would be out in that heat and I pondered the sanity of myself and the twenty odd trampers we had spotted on our travels up. After taking in the stunning views of Arthurs Pass, we decided to head back down to the borrowed truck.


Bealey Spur in 2010


Three years and a few pies later...the same spot - same hat!




Bealey Spur views

I have walked with a rifle slung before on public tracks so am well versed with the typical reaction of your average tramper. My brother however giggled at the scorning looks we received and commented a few times “Did you see the look on that lady’s face!” as we encountered more outdoors people. One couple stopped us. “May I ask what you are shooting and can we have a look at your rifle?” I happily obliged and opened the bolt to prove an empty chamber and magazine. The two 60-somethings were on a holiday to NZ from the United States and were familiar with Chamois; they’d seen them in person in the Pyrenees mountains many years ago. They also quizzed us on the ‘graffiti’ they had seen along their travels. 1080 is killing NZ. I tried to remain impartial while explaining to the Americans how and where the poison is being used. They seemed baffled but interested to hear more. I encouraged them to make up their own minds and continue research if they were truly curious!

Back at the truck we devoured the remaining water supplies. We returned to Rolleston just in time for a late summer dinner at our friend’s place. Before the hot sun disappeared, I spent some time outdoors with the kids showing them how to make rabbit snares. Their two fat Labradors panted in the last heat, lazily glancing at the rabbits who teased us in the paddock over who were hopping around with not a care in the world. These bunnies had long forgotten that I had shot their mothers and fathers during the previous summers before I had left for Waiouru. Now the area was far too built up for shooting so we put faith in the traps and headed inside for desert.


My brother's two dogs very interested in the truck we borrowed - it had two bloody hinds in it the night before

After a sleep in back in Christchurch, I met my best friend at 8am to head out to work with him. We packed his Tikka T3 lite 308 and my new 260 for a bit of range practice while out monitoring the wildlife near Lake Elsmere. I was giddy and nervous – would this new rifle send me home feeling sorry for myself as my shoulder throbbed with pain? Was I going to develop a flinch? Would she even shoot in a straight line? We set up a perfect mock-range amongst the sand dunes. All my worries were soon put to rest as I handed the rifle to Courts for the first shot. I watched and listened very carefully. Not too loud! And the recoil certainly looked minimal. I took my place on the ground and rested on my day pack. Crack! Snap! She sounded beautifully satisfying. The hand-made stock fitted effortlessly into my shoulder. The eye relief was just right with a quick turn of adjustment and I was happy with my one inch groups at 100m. What a joy! This was the right rifle for me.


My shots at 100m - under the 1" patch are my first two rounds

The second day at work with Courts was on private land that’s pest control had been ignored so we packed the 10/22 and left the Tikka at home. This day was going to be back to my ground roots – I remember at 13 years of age being worried about recoil of a 22! We headed off in the truck and knocked over many pest birds – magpie, starling, spur wing plover and pigeon. Unfortunately I had missed the only hares we saw, firing too low as they bolted off into the long grass at 100m. I enjoyed picking off many magpies and wish the day was longer but like many hunters, Courts had a family at home that he needed to see to. We left the paddocks behind us and motored back into town.


Starling at 100m with Ruger 10/22

Exhausted and sunburnt, I pilled myself into the shower in time to catch a few beers with some more forum members. We had planned a knees up but only managed a few quiet beverages with the three of us. Talking hunting and dogs with others much more experienced than myself was very enjoyable. The eldest of our party peeled off and the remaining two of us swapped a velvet antler for a feast fit for a king at the Chinese restaurant across the road.

Another night on my brother’s shitty two seater couch and it was time to pack the big gun up and head south with another forum member. I slept on and off during the long drive to Twizel. The familiar landscape from Army days soon brightened me up and it was time to get the boots on and saddle up. The heat slowed our party of three to near a grinding stop. We had plenty of time though and lingered in the river as we crossed it, feeling the crisp water off the mountains slowly seep into our boots and cool our sweaty toes. The feeling didn’t last long in the heat of the Canterbury summer sun. The flat soon disappeared from under us and the scramble up the rocky cliffs began. I chuckled at the sign we were seeing – Wallaby seem to have quite a similar poo to a small human! It was good news anyway as I was sure under the minimal shade of the scrubby bush there would be plenty of the Australian introduced animals, waiting to come out and meet Black Beauty when it started to get a bit cooler.
As my neck seemed to blister, I tucked myself up under the largest gorse bush I could find. My breathing finally settled and I was glad I had filled my camelback to its full three litre capacity. I inhaled the cooler air and watched a skink dart over my hot steel cap boot and briefly give me a glance before sharing the shade under the prickly bush. My companions finally found me and we squished up in the shade, half dozing off and sharing hunting stories until the sun began to lower. The plan was set – one hunter on each ridge, 45 degree arcs of fire from front and to make as much noise as we could to flush the roos out from their afternoon nap sites. I wished I had my dog. Not long into our decent, “There’s one! Coming your way!” Well goodness me, not ten meters in front of me stood a Wallaby near my own height! I quickly flicked my safety off and raised Black Beauty. The beast didn’t even come into my sight picture before he was off with purpose. I fired one round in his general direction but the roo lived to see another day. I lowered the rifle as the animal descended out of sight. But then, out the corner of my eye – far below us on the flats we had entered on was a manic deer, running for his life. With my crack of the 260 I had flushed a black Fallow from his cover in the thick gorse. He randomly jumped left and right, then finally came to his senses and penetrated the deep bush he had sprung from. What an absolute sight.





Wallaby Country

An hour later we arrived at the bottom where I’d seen the fallow. Sunburnt knees and scratched legs were the order of the day and as the sweat behind my knees irritated the thousands of pricks by nature’s hypodermic needles I decided that the deer would live to see another day. Our youngest party member coming in at just 16 years old looked to have had enough so we regrouped and headed back to the truck. We crossed a rabbit highway and I figured it might be fun to over-kill a bunnykins with the 260. Again, lucky for those creatures, my rounds whizzed over their ears and into the bank behind as I had under-estimated how high I would be shooting at such a short range. Slightly disheartened but happy with the effort of the day, we loaded up the truck and headed for home.



Twizel Sunset

Only a few hours of sleep and I found myself at the airport once again. I jetted home to greet the boyfriend and dog, caught a few more hours of rest and then headed to work for the evening. It seemed a little ironic that I was patching up domestic cats and cuddling sick puppies all while dreaming about the thrill of putting to rest a deer the next day. My shift seemed to pass quickly and I made a run back to the airport to collect a friend who would join me on the last days of my adventure. We enjoyed a few beers and headed to bed early, eager to hit the road the next morning.
Nearly at our destination we came across a small fire on the railway tracks near the Hawkes Bay. With such dry conditions, I quickly pulled to the side of the road and called the fire service. Within the three minute phone conversation, the fire had quadrupled and was growing fast. The fire was controlled and extinguished eventually with the help of countless trucks and three helicopters with buckets. It was an exciting and sobering event to start our north island adventure with.


I love German Shepherds so had to take a photo of this bizzare sign in Woodville

By mid-afternoon we were following Andrew’s white ute through the windy back roads heading towards the Kawekas. As we pulled up to our campsite for the night, we encountered two young hunters and their dogs that would possibly be joining us on the ridge that night. We informed them of our plans and they followed us out onto the ridge. They passed their turn off, obviously deciding that our plans were better! Our party stopped on a ridge and glassed some clearings 750-1200m away. Sure enough, there was a beautiful hind nibbling the grass, warming her orange coat in the last of the day’s sun. We smiled and laughed as we watched her negotiate the oddly shaped bush around her. This Sika was past the capability of my rifle and my friend’s, but we could use the long range rifle that came slung on Andrew’s shoulder. My young mate hummed and hawed. I was much greedier than him. “Let’s shoot it! We’ll go across and get it in the morning.” And as if I had a telephone line straight to this pretty little deer’s ear, she lifted her head and jumped right back into the thick bush.



Dave and the Kawekas

We glanced out to the north of us where the boys and their dogs had gone. They were tediously climbing the ridge and had seen something of interest down the western flank. With no time to loose, they shot down the hill and secured their first deer for the weekend. We heard the victorious barks of their young chocolate lab puppy as we headed back to the campsite to pitch our tent. Our guide drew us a map of some other potential spots and we started to cook our evening feed. I copped the flack I was given about my only-just-bright-enough-to-read head torch but used the light from Andrew’s bright torch while I could. By midnight we were tucked up and snoring, our guide was long gone and the alarm was set.

Not ten minutes later (or so it seemed!) I woke to the sound of large drops of rain sploging on the tight fly of my mate’s army issue hoochie. We had slept through my alarm but the sun had yet to peek out from behind the clouds. Within twenty minutes we were out on the ridge again, getting pelted with fog from the west. We shivered and watched what we could but decided we better get a move on. As the fog lifted, we tried to remain quiet as we traversed the spur. A few ‘wrong’ turns (I tried to convince my mate that I was following game trails, not just people trails) dampened Dave’s spirits but I enjoyed the bush bashing tiki tour. It gave me a chance to show him some of the things I have learned in my short hunting career – intense tree-rubbing from a stag’s antlers, bedding down areas and some old deer poo. We back tracked through the tight knit broom and decided to sleep off the morning’s ill-success and return in the late afternoon to where the other boys had shot their first Sika of the weekend.
By 3pm we were near the end of our mountain range and walking over deer prints as if they were farmed there! We glassed with our scopes and picked out potential areas to watch as the sun went down.


The pea-soup sunrise

Earlier in the day I had tried to explain to Dave the smell of deer. As we were walking back to camp for our siesta I had gotten a few whiffs on the breeze coming up from the valleys below. Again I had caught a smell and tried to explain it to my young friend. A gust of wind confirmed that it was not a deer I had smelled…well not a live one anyway. Further up the ridge and just a few meters off the track was a young hind that had been shot and not recovered. The event may have happened quite a few weeks ago judging by the smell. We headed back to our decided possie and tried to forget the stench.
Another hour had passed and the sun was still hot in the sky. The boys and their dogs were on their way home and stopped for a chat. Their efforts had been fruitful, heading back with three sets of meat and the head of a trophy stag. They quizzed me on Black Beauty and were impressed at the generosity of the forum members. With a few tips exchanged they were on their way and we moved to a new position. The temperature finally started to drop and the hillside was covered in the blanket of the low evening sun. I had a feeling about this spot. If I were a deer, I would have happily sunned myself and nibbled the fresh greenery along the edges of the dirt clearings. I scolded Dave a few times for his needless loud fumbling and I watched intently for over an hour. The wind picked up as the sun tucked itself behind a ridge. Not a deer was seen so with the wind in our faces, I lead us steaming up to the next ridge. I was determined to be successful and I tried hard to remember everything Andrew and all my other friends had taught me. Be calm. You can do this. Be quiet. Look hard. The light faded, it was now too dark to shoot. I kept my magazine full on an empty chamber just in case a stupid young spiker jumped into my rifle on the way back, but I knew the day was over. We made it back to camp in record time. Sweat poured down my back and I put myself to bed with only a drink of water and a Hawke’s Bay nectarine as dinner.


Smelly dead deer


My melon on sunset. I've swapped my blaze beanie for peacekeeper blue

The next morning I was awake before my alarm. I had slept in a way that I had learned on my Army basic training – pants down around my ankles inside my sleeping bag, shirt up around my neck. Watch still on, boots tucked under my legs and rifle at the ready to my side, touching my body the whole night so I knew where it was and could call on it at any darkness and get to the enemy before he could get to me. I was ready within a minute to head out and knock over a deer, prove that I could hunt with this fantastic donation of generosity. Dave rubbed his eyes. We were soon off to our decided spot.

We parked up well before dawn. I lay back and watched the horizon being stained from the approaching sun like the corners of a child’s mouth after drinking a raspberry fizzy. Over the next half an hour the stain turned to a deep blood red and I wondered if I would be looking at the same blood on my hands later that morning. The bush edges looked so inviting as the morning chorus began. I felt like descending to the flats we were glassing and exploring them myself! Through my scope, I studied the trails made by delicate hooves in the orange dust. This hill was so hot that I couldn’t tell what was from the night before or even weeks ago. I wondered if I would ever be expert enough to tell. I hoped that during my musings that a pretty young hind would walk into my view and bat her eyelashes at me.

Dawn came and went and the long shadows soon became short. It was hot so quickly and I suddenly missed my partner back in Wellington quite badly. We were used to time apart but this trip’s honeymoon period was quickly waning. Dave and I decided that we should pack up and go home. I wasn’t quite ready yet though – I hadn’t fired Black Beauty in a few days. I figured she and I both deserved some action after all the miles travelled together. I picked out a large rock on the face we’d glassed all morning. One single crack with the 260 and the brittle rock was in a million pieces. My mate quickly followed up with a few rounds from his hot little 243 and killed a few more rocks. I set him behind Black Beauty for a shot. After the boot and noise from his short 243, I think he quite preferred my new beast! I sure did as I plugged my ears while Dave fired a few more shots from his rifle.



Black Beauty in her element

With spirits lifted we trotted back to the hoochie. It amazed me how much just shooting targets had cheered me up and I made a mental note to visit the range back home on a regular basis. Hoochie down, we headed out along the gravel road. We were by no means quiet, laughing and talking, sliding and skidding down the hill. We rounded a bend and Dave’s jaw dropped – a big smelly billy goat stared at us and took off! We quickly grabbed the 243 and my young friend had his first go at a large animal. The billy ran at a good pace away from us but with a few cracks from the rifle, it took off with great speed. Better luck next time. I happily jumped back in the car and rolled up the windows – what a stench! At first I thought my friend’s silence following the ordeal was due to disappointment but quickly remembered that while shooting, he was unable to cover his ears unlike me! The poor thing had a mighty ringing in his melon for the majority of the drive that day.

Unfortunately we didn’t get the chance to meet up in person with our generous guide one more time before heading south back to the comforts of home. Instead I called Andrew and expressed our thanks and eagerness to return very soon. He’d been sleeping well into the morning as a successful and tricky hunt the night before saw him returning to his wife well past midnight. We promised we’d meet again soon and hit the road.


Kawekas - Kiwi Country!

Such an intense few days of learning (and walking in the heat!) had left me utterly exhausted. The few days following my epic trip had gotten me thinking about my hunting – I am learning fast. Despite the lack of animals, the big trip was a great one if only for the friendships made let alone the country traversed and animals seen. Through my days in the army I have learnt how to combat the negative emotions that comes with fatigue and hunger, but as I had discovered on this trip, not disappointment. I felt great embarrassment for my lack of trophy. Even though I am well practiced, it still stings when my answer to “did ‘ya get anything?!” is no. Perhaps I will teach my friends and family to ask, did you learn anything. Each and every time I strap my boots to my feet and walk the hills, the answer is yes. Yes I have learned something. Yes my hunting style has improved. Yes I have enjoyed myself, soaked to the bone, grumbly tummy, skinned knee and broken boot lace. I look forward to my trips into the bush and although keen for a shower at the end of the day, I am always a little sad when I come off the hill. I think that is what hunting should be all about.

The following list is of people who I would like to mention in my thanks. Without the help, support, encouragement and donations of others, this trip and all my other trips could not have happened. I am proud of my efforts and I am proud of my rifle. Mother Nature just decided that this trip wasn’t quite the one that Black Beauty would make her first kill. I am determined to get there though, so stay tuned. And thanks.


In no particular order, thanks to:

BaldBob and R93 – for the concept of the Mongrel

Tui_man2 – putting it all together

R93 – donating the suppressor

GadgetMan – donating the scope and sling; lending of the truck and binos; guiding the Wallaby hunt

Stug – creating the stock (which attracts so much attention!)

TimeRider – company on the Wallaby hunt

Munsey – the beers, food and company of a non-insane dog lover

RedBang – great stories and company at the pub

Tahr – lending of the hard case

Clint Ruin – donation of the soft case

Sneeze – donation of projectiles

CreepingDeath – donation of rings

Smiddy – donation of cases

Spanners – help with the trigger

Ebf – encouragement and tactful educating me of reloading and ballistics, also getting my lard ass up the hills every week without fail

7mmsaum – just for being all around awesome – mentoring me and teaching me SO much all while being a great friend and role model; guiding Dave and I in the Kawekas.

NZHS Forum Members – constant encouragement and educating me

All who donated their time, money, thoughts and know-how.

Hot barrels!

Wow!!! Cool pics I'll have a read later

Sweet write up, that would off taken me 2 days to type that much
Awesome photos

pants down around my ankles inside my sleeping bag, shirt up around my neck??? thats not an infantry tactic i can assure you nice read my farkin computer is maxd out so couldnt get all the photos but still a good read.

AWESOME stuff mate,

love seeing whippets getting a show too!

cant wait to see a story with you the gun and a big stag

Originally Posted by Bavarian_Hunter

AWESOME stuff mate,

love seeing whippets getting a show too!

cant wait to see a story with you the gun and a big stag

You've got one too eh?! We had five at once! Weird little things, like a cat/dog I reckon. Shit hunting companions these ones, they don't even enjoy a walk down to the dairy. Too far for them, lazy shits!

Epic read and pics
Take what you have learned and get into your local hills as much as possible

Great write up!

I look forward to many more as you have a great knack of writing, drawing the reader in!

John

A few beers later and I finished your book

"Feeling myself all night" now that cracked me up

Shooting rocks in the bush mmm not my cup of tea

A bloody great read Dougie fulled with humour and great descriptive words What an awsome trip

Originally Posted by BRADS

Sweet write up, that would off taken me 2 days to type that much
Awesome photos

It almost took me two days to read BRADS. Well done Dougie good story

Originally Posted by Neckshot

pants down around my ankles inside my sleeping bag, shirt up around my neck??? thats not an infantry tactic i can assure you:

So let me get this straight Neckshot. When you were in the infantry did you never convince a female soldier to put her pants around her ankles and her shirt up around her neck? Certainly was a tactic that I used

Totally awesome, out there doing it !!!

at night clubs not in the bush

Great write up Dougie. Brilliant way with words.

Well written Dougie. I look forward to reading the printed version too.