Thread: Trip of 1st's

Ok guys full report.



The trip got off to an exciting start with fuel troubles right away.

Driving to Daniverke on under a quarter tank of gas in a thirsty car wasn’t an ideal start and I watched as the fuel gage dropped faster and faster, the more the kms were ticking over.

At least I had time on my side. Well so I thought. After stopping to fill up, road works and several tractors on the road I had some lost time to make up for. When the radar went off it was a nervous 20 seconds until the marked police car was safely passed.



I made it to the chopper on time. As Brads, Eli and I got loaded into the bird, the blood was already pumping, it was our first chopper ride into the bush and we were all excited. It was such a great ride and the view was amazing! You could really see how dry all the land is at the moment. Twenty minutes later we were at the command base on the Ruahine tops.



After spending the night before on Google earth I had my chosen spots sorted.

I was heading north with my 7-375r, Rangefinder, Binoculars and daypack, and most important I had a plan. I was trying my best to roar the place down, into every little nook and cranny that may have held bambi, down both sides of the ridge, into creek heads and catchments, and off side ridges and spurs. Each time I waited for a reply, but luck wasn’t on my side. There was one lone roarer way down a catchment, and I got excited as he roared again but I was dismayed to realise he sounded like he was heading away. I gave him some time, playing hide and seek with him for a while but I could only just faintly hear a reply in the end, and then nothing.



I had gone a fair distance further north when I spotted two hunters and a dog, (Interesting to note that the guy wearing blue blaze stuck out a lot more then the guy in the orange blaze). They were 1100 yards away and heading through my planned route, so I sat down and watched where they headed. I pulled out my map and had some lunch.

I decided I might as well roar my way back, and then head out for a quick look right on dusk.



I got back and was glad to see that the boys day had gone a lot better then mine, they had a very nice, even, 6pt head with them.



After listening to their story and all about the huge hill they had to climb I was rearing to go. Just as darkness was falling upon us, around 100 odd yards away feeding its way across the top of a shingle scree, was a lone bambi. I went to rest on a bush and quickly realised this wasn’t going to work as I fell through it, So half kneeling/sitting/falling, I found the front shoulder and boom. Down she went, tumbling down the hill face. Lucky for us she stopped on a tiny ledge about a fifth of the way down. As we headed down the shingle we found out that she was actually a he. He was a nice little 4pt spiker. We grabbed the meat and the head, and off we went back to camp. That night we feasted on the best venison we had ever had.



The next morning we got up at a relaxed 7:30am and headed along the ridge south. Not far from camp Brads spotted some movement on the skyline, about four or five deer out in the open, at 8am. He got some very shaky film as we watched the deer head across and down the ridge back into the bush. We continued along the ridge, roaring as we went, but the wind came up and it was blowing the wrong way, putting a stop to the hunting. We hunkered down out of the breeze and waited for the wind to change direction.



After waiting in the sun for a while the wind finally played ball, changing direction, and the hunt was on again.

We began roaring at a stag on the next ridge, about 1100 yards away. With every reply he sounded closer. We found the best spot we could to get a view of a few slips and the stream he would hopefully head up, but all of a sudden he was heading away. He gave one last roar that we barely heard and then he went quiet. The question of what went wrong was answered a few minutes later, as three hunters came over the next high point, with their scent heading straight into the stags domain. Damn it, but shit happens. It was time for a new plan. We sidled across our ridge into the next catchment.



One roar and we got a reply but where was he? He sounded a long way down, but then Brads spotted him, down in the valley, in a nice little basin.
The 1st stag I have seen and he was a ripper, with a huge shot of adrenalin pumping through me I dropped further down the ridge looking for a shooting spot.



I finally found one at the top of a slip and Brads re ranged the shot and I dial my scope. I held low for the angle and a couple of shots later he was down. What a rush! My first stag was on the ground and I couldn’t believe it. I could see his size through the scope. I was nervous he was going to get back up and I couldn’t wait to get down there.



About thirty minutes, most of it on a scree slip, we arrived at the spot where he was. I couldn’t believe his size, especially his head. He was very old and although huge, he was missing a lot of teeth and didn’t look in top condition.






We took some pictures, packed up, and started on our long, steep, hard slog back. We were buggered and we had only made it part way back up. Eli had decided that after walking out of the same basin the day before with his 6pointer, his legs were not up to the task at hand and he had packed up all our excess gear and stayed at the high point waiting for our return.



Back at camp many hours later we lined all the heads up against the hut, then sat back, relaxed, and admired them. Admittedly two of the heads got a lot more attention then the third.



The next morning we went for a short walk but apart from a few distant roars there wasn’t much to report. We packed up, tided up and waited for the taxi home.



Thanks to Brads and Eli for inviting me along