Learning to Hunt, the Hard Way.
Stuck at home sick for a few days I thought I'd finish off this autobiographical story. It's not in the style of what I normally read on here so welcome the feedback. I hope its serves as some small inspiration to anyone who is going through a similar learning process.
------
Learning to Hunt, the Hard Way.
My father isn’t a hunter, my mother isn’t, none of my family are. My grandfather used to hunt small game in a post-WWII England, where meat was scarce and as a veterinary university student, he was allowed to shoot rabbits on the training farm. He fondly recalls how sometimes he would ‘miss’ and shoot a few ducks when eating rabbits started wearing thin.
What my family did instil in me though, is a love of the outdoors and nature. My childhood is filled with memories of days spent camping and working in orchards and vegetable gardens.
Alongside that love for the natural world, I was fortunate enough to be half decent with a rifle in the Army and joined the Army Shooting Team, through that I engrained the principles of marksmanship. Granted, competition shooting is not the same as the hunter’s environment, but the principles hold true.
Through all those years in the outdoors and military I wanted to be a hunter. To pursue, find, kill and harvest big game. Problem was: I didn’t know a damn thing about hunting. Over the next few years, I non-commitally went on day hunts and even the odd overnight hike with a rifle but I never did any better than spooking a deer or find sign that “must be only five minutes old.” I gradually accepted the fact that I was just another Aucklander with a rifle licence who was better off focusing on Snapper and Kahawai. It wasn’t until I went through three lockdowns in Auckland, during the first of which my son was born that I realised the big smoke was no longer good for my family and that I wanted to move somewhere where mountains grew tall, rivers flowed clear, and people were kinder to each other. The search commenced, and almost a year later I moved the family to Otautahi.
When people asked us why we moved I would jokingly say something like “I wanted to be a hunter, and if I don’t shoot a deer within two years we’re packing up and going back.” While we laughed a part of me knew there was some truth in that joke. We often joke about what we don’t want to admit to openly. I still wanted to identify as a hunter. I still wanted to face the challenge which I didn’t fully understand, tackle it, and emerge victorious. Somehow more of a successful person, in life, or maybe as a man.
I have learnt through experience that nothing good comes quickly, and that you don’t become competent at anything without hard work. So, I applied that same approach to finding and killing that first deer I’d staked our move to Otautahi on.
Over my first nine months in Otautahi I borrowed or bought the gear I needed to hunt. I spent hours gathering tips and idea’s, watching YouTube videos, whilst building an admiration for those hunters who were filming videos of herds of deer, selecting only the best to take. I called DOC stations, I joined the NZDA, I talked to experienced people I knew. I spent 17 days on six hunts.
Through it all, I silently lamented not having that family member who could mentor me. I grew frustrated at the lack of information out of DOC and the NZDA, I realised that the people I knew had their own hunting groups and adventures planned. I spooked multiple deer, I missed deer, I lazily slept in, I succumbed to the cold and retreated before the golden hour to my tent. As time ticked on, and my hours away from home added up my confidence faltered. Yes, I knew nothing comes easy that’s worth getting. Yes, I knew that I should chalk it all up the experience. But I was embarrassed, here I was spending days away from family, crawling over hills, missing opportunities and I felt the brand of failure burning deeper. But I kept trying. I was in too deep to quit, I needed to achieve my goal.
After nine months of trying, trying hard, I shot my first deer. A young fellow spiker in Mackenzie country.
Two years after starting that journey I’m now even more aware of how little I know about big game hunting. I can consistently find deer, kill them, and harvest them. I could claim to be a hunter, but now I think hunting is so much about the getting the animal. I think it might be more about the mindset. A critically thinking, focused, determined, and patient mindset. To me that is what hunting has become.
I crave the next opportunity to push up a ridgeline, gaining altitude while anticipating the ‘perfect’ basin I’ll be able to see from my planned glassing spot. I get restless waiting for the next chance to test my physical strength and my mental fortitude.
More importantly, I need those days where I’m able to focus my world on a single goal. To make every decision with a single objective in mind. To forget about a world full of distractions. To adopt the mindset of a hunter. I learn more about myself in those days hunting than I do in months in the office, and I learn things that everyday life can’t teach me. I learn the lesson’s whether I pull the trigger on an animal or not.
Now, at the end of a long road, and the start of another; I am glad I learnt to hunt the hard way.
