After waking at 0510 Friday morning for an early start and then a busy day at work I got home packed the last of my gear, did a couple of jobs to keep the wife happy, loaded the pack and rifle into the ute and headed up the Rangitata to look for some meat.
Got to the carpark later than planned at 5pm and made my way up the creek then began climbing a ridge to get up to a spot where there should be some tahr hanging around.
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Gaining height I glassed carefully ahead to ensure I didn't scare anything off as I went. Around 8pm I was looking for a spot to make camp after seeing 4 tahr about 400m higher and thinking that they would be a plan for a morning stalk.
Moving along into the wind and watching ahead I spot a big creamy hairy beast 150m ahead. I pause and slowly lower my profile, he puts his head down and continues feeding so I move forward into a slight glut in the landscape. Through the binos he looks to have a big body but it's hard to assess his horns. Honestly after the climb I had just done with an overnight pack on my back and being only the second mature bull I have ever been in shooting range of, I quickly decided with the fading light the shot was on.
As I moved to the end of the depression I was in to prepare for the shot an unseen magpie flew up and squawked as it went. Without hesitation the bull lifted his head and started trotting through the scrub towards the ridge. Gaining distance between us and me not wanting to guess, I grabbed the rangefinder, set up the rifle over my pack and as he paused broadside, checked the range, 265 metres.
He still hadn't seen, heard or smelt me so keeping a low profile I slowly lined up the rifle, cranked up magnification to 9 and lowered the bolt, calming myself I went quickly through the basics, Hold the fore end, Control breathing, Aim small, Squeeze gently.
With the crack of the suppressed .270 I heard the distinctive thwack of a hit as the 130g power shok hit its target. He's not happy and launches himself uphill for about 40 metres and stops in the scrub looking a bit poorly. Already reloaded I line up again as he is quartering towards me. Adding a bit of height to allow for drop I let the next shot fly and again hear a good hit and he drops out of view.
Watching carefully for a couple of minutes and taking great detail of the surrounding terrain I come to decision time, set up camp or head to the bull 300m up from my position. I decide that while there is a bit of remaining light I'd set camp then head up to the bull.
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Halfway up the hill I had to flick on the headlamp in the fading light. Now is where the landscape study paid off, picking out rocky outcrops from my memory I weaved up through the scrub and easily found the bull right where I last saw him. A couple of photos and a quick look at where the shots hit, both being exactly where I was aiming, and then into the butchery.
With a load of back leg, back steaks and the head I arrived back at camp, hung the meat and got dinner on. The feed went down fast with a nice raro on the side, followed by a cuppa tea. Feeling the exertion of the day it was finally into bed at 11.20pm, 18 hours after getting up.
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The morning was beautiful and calm with a thick bank of fog blocking the sun. A leisurely breakfast of porridge and coffee was had followed by skinning and boning out the meat, packing camp and slowly trudging my way off the hill in the thick mist that had now surrounded the landscape. He's not a record breaker but to me he's my first bull and always will be.
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