Thread: First Public Land Hunt.

1st Public Land Trip. (Also my first attempt at a story)

Timaru Creek, 27 Feb - 1 March 2020

It took a long time, years, for this trip to finally come together. It started in mid-2018, with the agreement between myself and 3 of my mates, that we all needed a trip to get us away from the daily grind. We decided we would team up and enter as many of the ballots as we could organize, in the hope that success would commit us to something we couldn’t pull out of. We had all found it was far to easy to bail on a trip when there weren’t concrete immovable dates it needed to happen. We would end up putting it off repeatedly until nothing happened at all. When all our entries were returned “unsuccessful”, we found we were not very good at making alternative plans. The hard part, as many of you will already know, was the constant struggle to align the schedules of three people with young families and small businesses. No group of dates seemed to match all of us, and most only worked for 1 or 2.
So the Roar of 2019 rolled around, and the best we had come up with was a weekend at my farm looking for Reds, and a weekend at Grant’s chasing Fallow. Both of these weekends were a success in their way, we had a good catch up, and saw and shot plenty of animals for the freezer, but we all were really yearning for a bit more of an adventure.
Through the rest of 2019, we reentered all the roar ballots we had tried the year before, and a couple of extras, once again with no luck come to draw time. The difference when 2020 rolled around was we were determined not to end up “farm hunting” again. After much discussion, we came up with a short period in late February where we could fit in a reasonable backpack hunt. Reasonable for our level of fitness I should add, which would be described as acceptable at best! Hamish, Grant, and Tom, after looking over some topo maps, decided the Lower Timaru Creek block looked like a good bet for accessibility and being pretty handy to all our homes.
About 6 weeks out from the trip, Hamish and I were both struggling with lower back problems, with pain referring down the sciatic nerve of our left legs. I was determined not to pull out of this trip, and in a fit of desperation, started doing yoga tutorials from youtube. With 2 weeks to go, Hamish told us he wouldn’t be joining us. Fortunately for me, the 4 weeks of flexibility work had improved my pain levels to the point where I was confident I could pull it off.
So on the 27th of February, after some final confusion (created by Tom, who had convinced himself and subsequently me that the trip started a day later than we had actually agreed!) we all set off for the Timaru Creek car park.
The plan was to hit out up the river with the aim of reaching the Moonlight and Roses hut in time for an evening hunt. Being February, it was still light till quite late so this seemed achievable, even if it was 3.30 pm by the time we all left the car park.
It’s hard to describe the feeling that came over me as we, packs on headed away up the track away from the cars. At 32 years old, it had taken a long time for me to get around to this kind of trip. If you have read my introduction you will know why it was so poignant to me. There was a sense of elation, of freedom and of anticipation and possibility. There was a bounce in all of our steps and I felt like I could have walked forever.
3 hours later, reality and fitness had well and truly caught up with me. We were still in the river bed, in a cloud of sandflies, we were huddled over the map trying to decide whether we had missed the spot where we were supposed to climb up through the bush and start to sidle up the hill face into the gully that led to the hut. We were pretty sure that we had but decided our best bet was to just carry on to the bottom of the said gully and climb straight up. Another 2 hours of sweating, cursing and a nasty shingle climb and the hut was in sight. Grant had been leading the way all the way from the car park and was setting the standard, always in front, and coping better for it than I felt I was.
We had a couple of hundred meters to go and the light was beginning to fade. My head was down, lungs heaving and legs shattered when somewhere in the back of my mind I registered the sound of a rifle bolt being worked. I whipped my head up to see Grant swinging the M77 uphill to the edge of a copse of beech we had just cut under. Boom! He let rip and the scrubby little stag we had spooked abandoned his attempt at climbing away with a 243 sized hole in his shoulder. He resorted to limping down in front of us to the bush line 40 meters away instead. I worked the bolt on my 308 and rushed a shot to try and drop him before he disappeared, but with the way I was sucking air, I couldn’t have hit the side of a barn, let alone a running deer! Grant thankfully took the opportunity to finish the job when the stag stopped for a split second and he fell dead right on the treeline.
After a minute of excited chatter, it dawned on us that we now had a deer to deal with before we could head to the hut for a rest. Grant dropped his pack, looked down the hill, and said: “I kinda wish I hadn’t shot that now.” It was all forgotten an hour later when we were sat in the hut, having a warm Backcountry, fresh venison fillet, and one of the speights each we had packed 5 hours up the valley. We were on the board and despite our less than impressive pace, had still managed a successful evening hunt!
We all slept like the dead that night and woke to rain on the hut roof. There was a thick mist on the hill out the hut window, so after a coffee and breakfast, we rested a little more. About mid-morning we got bored and pulled on our wet boots (creek crossings from the day before had soaked them) and heading out into the drizzle. About half an hour’s gentle climb from the hut was a good spot where we could glass a large basin chocka full of tucker. It only took us a couple of minutes to begin picking up animals. There was a group of 4 spikers near the valley floor in the last small patch of trees as the creek climbed the basin and we spied a group of Nanny Chamois on a bluff behind us. With it still being pretty miserable none was keen on launching a stalk so we decided to head back to the hut to warm up. Tom decided to walk a little further out on the ridge we were stood on, only moving about 15 meters, and in doing so spooked another group of 4 spikers from a hollow about 50m from where we had been sat for 2 hours! We watched them trot off then headed for a cuppa with a plan to come back in the evening after a nap and hopefully a bit of a change in the weather.
The weather improved a little and we worked a little further around the face in the evening, picking up a few more animals and all the same ones from the morning. A fresh front came through about 7 pm and we decided to call it early. By the time we were halfway home though the front had passed and we stopped to have another quick glass, particularly at the rocky bluffs behind where we had sat so far that evening, where we had seen Chamois that morning. Tom and I were fruitlessly scanning this face when Grant, about 30m downhill gave a quiet whistle. We turned around to see him grinning and pointing across the valley to a scree slope about 1000m from where we stood. In the middle, standing out like the dogs proverbials was a great, big, black, Bull Tahr. He was ambling across the scree cool as a cucumber and a couple of minutes later was followed by what looked like a nanny. The excitement was high and we watched and tried to evaluate him until we ran out of light. Carefully noting his last position, we set off back to the hut chatting about how we would find and approach him the next day.
We had planned to fly camp at least one night away from the hut, but with the weather a bit dodgy and such easy access to a number of animals from the hut, we decided to can that idea and spend the next day trying to track down our last light Bull Tahr again. We figured if we couldn’t find him, there were plenty of spikers about and we could easily choose the animal with the least potential to fill our packs for the walkout. Tom was also dead keen to knock over a Nanny Cahmios.
We were up and in our glassing spot by just after sunrise scouring the face for the last light Bull Tahr. He wasn’t making it easy for us and after several hours of checking and rechecking the area we last saw him over and over again we had come up empty. By this stage, the sun had made its first appearance for a couple of days and we promptly all had our wet boots, socks, and feet out in the breeze drying out. I was just readjusting my socks on the scrub bush they were hung on when Tom very calmly exclaimed: “I’ve got’em” from behind his binos.
I fished out the spotting scope and after Tom had made sure he would be able to find the right patch again himself he directed me onto the animal to evaluate his size. Grant had the first right of refusal as he had been the one to spy him first the night before, but as both he and Tom had good examples of Bull Tahr already, and I had never shot one, he had decided that unless it was the “trophy of a lifetime” he would let me be the one to go on the stalk. After several hours of trying to figure how good he was with my average spotter and Toms SX40, we decided that in the absence of better optics, I was going to have to get closer and make the call once in shooting range.
So at 3 in the afternoon, I set off on the route we had decided was best. This involved dropping about 200m straight down and then climbing about the same straight back up. It was the hottest part of the hottest day we had had so far and it was nice to break out in a sweat, for a change from being wet and cold. Getting into position took about an hour. Once in place I ranged where I thought he was camped at 350 yards, but where was he? I should be able to see him from where I was but I couldn’t pick him out. I got on the radio to Grant to ask if he had moved but he confirmed he was still in place. Just then he stepped out from behind some cover and ambled a few steps sideways on the bluff. I ranged again to confirm and dialed the scope. He took another couple of steps and was beginning to look like he might wander out of sight around the head of the bluff. This had me worried and, having decided with my limited Tahr evaluation skills that he would be a pretty solid first effort, I lined up low on the front shoulder with a reasonable uphill angled shot.
As soon as I pulled the trigger I knew I had made a mistake, there was a deep and hollow thump that told me what I already knew: I hadn’t allowed for the brisk wind. The Bull hopped off around the bluff and disappeared out of sight. I knew I had hit him but also had a horrible feeling that it was more than likely a gutshot. I had no idea how bad he was hit or whether I would be able to track him down to stop the suffering my idiocy had imposed on him. Grant and Tom were able to somewhat relieve my anxiety by radioing and telling me he had only run about 50m and sat down again, meaning I would at least be able to put right my error, as best I could. To do this though I had to climb another hundred meters straight up, and then traverse the 400 yards to where the Tahr now sat.
I pushed myself pretty hard trying to get to him fast, the guilt of an unclean kill weighing on every step. The relief when I was able to put a finishing shot through the top of the poor animal’s neck was immense, and I was finally able to take stock of what I had achieved. This was my first public land animal, my first Tahr, and my first taste of the life my late brother had adored and excelled in. As tempting as it is to leave this out, there were a few very salty, slightly dehydrated tears shed as I reflected on how great it would have been to have had him there with me for this moment as well.
The Tahr was fantastic, the first thing that struck me was how big he was in the body. I was expecting a sheep or goat sized animal, but this was massive! He had a beautiful black coat and I decided straight away that it was coming home with me. His horns were nicely broomed on the tips and I believe him to be either 6 or 7 years old. He eventually measured up at 11 ¾ inches, just shy of my ambition of 12 inches.
He was sat on a pretty sheer face at the very top of a scree chute and I didnt think I could skin him in place. So I removed the head so his horns wouldn’t get damaged and let him slip into the shute. Where he came to a stop was a much better spot to work and about a half-hour later, with an increasingly dull knife I finished up the job and whipped out the back steaks for dinner.
The walk back with the pelt, back steaks, and head was a fair old slog after the efforts of the rest of the day and the absence of the adrenalin from earlier was keenly felt. When I could finally see the hut I was shattered and couldn’t wait for my last can of speights and bite to eat. When I had told the boys on the radio I was taking the skin off Grant had remarked to Tom “What the hell is he doing that for?”, but when I unwrapped it to show them they conceded it was pretty cool. Unfortunately, I also discovered one of my backstraps had fallen out of the wrap and was now lost somewhere on the hill! Mind you, the one we had was pretty tough, I’d imagine partly on account of my shoddy marksmanship, although still very tasty. I look forward to the next time I get to put some in the pan with a cleaner kill!
Many times on the hike out I wondered whether I had made the wrong decision in choosing to carry out that hide, it nearly doubled the weight of my pack. The other lads took great pleasure in encouraging me to drop it as often as they could, right up to the point where we could almost see the cars. “Nope,” I said “my wife is going to love it”
It was an amazing few days and I am immensely grateful to Tom and Grant for their patience in dragging me around with them and helping guide me through my first public land trip. I was supposed to head back to the same block for the 3rd period and was really looking forward to having a bit more of a look around while the Stags were roaring. We all know how that worked out!
I cannot wait to get out there again.

Well done, tahr hides are bloody heavy alright.

Great story..
Thanks for that.

Well done mate, great result......t....

Great write-up, thanks mate

Great story thanks. I've found you have to set a date for a trip and everybody work around it or it'ill never happen.

Nice mate.

Nice one good yarn

Great stuff well done!

Awesome, thanks for sharing!
I can relate very well. My first tahr hunt started on the same day, only 2 hours earlier and a bit further north. Had the same nasty weather. Took me a little longer to be successful, though.

Had that Lower Timaru block a few years back, Moonlight and Roses hut brings back few good memories. Spotted a few tahr up in the bluffs but reds were few and far between.

Awesome write up, cheers for sharing

Awesome and well done, We had Lower Timaru creek in 2012 roar before they split it into the Mid and lower blocks, hunted what is now the Mid, low animal numbers due waro but we saw enough to keep us interested including chamois, it’s the sort of place that can throw up the odd ripper.

A well written report, you sure earned ya stripes on that trip. Good on you. I bet it will be easier to make trips happen now you have had a success like that.

Good write up for your first.I got buggard just reading yr climb up to the hut.Nice Tahr skin you got,well done.I use to fish the Timaru creek river mouth area yrs ago in the Lake in May.Sand flys were the killer of the day.