Well I hit the hills for the first time in over a year this morning. Alarm clock at 3am, at the carpark by 3.45 and at my chosen area a 2 hour slog later. It was a brutal wee walk. I couldn't work out if it was humid or not. It was certainly warmish, and I had sweat coming from every part. My timings had worked out well and I broke of the main track to head up my chosen stream in the increasing light.
In a strange mix of moonlight and daybreak I saw a head and neck up on a slip to my right, peering down with youthful curiosity. Must have been a bit slower than me getting out of bed though. I contemplated a neck shot but thought better of it and secured my position behind a large rock in the stream bed while the young fella craned his neck. A few seconds well spent on my part... less so on his. He got to his feet and presented himself broadside. Unfortunately I couldn't tell what my first shot did to him initially. I was sure I hit him but he barely registered it. I let him take a few steps and hit him again. This time he leapt and began to lose his footing as he tried to make with haste off his favourite slip. And so it began - a graceless tumble down into the stream. I was able to see that my first shot had hit a little too far to the rear. Upon opening him up, it was plain as day that this had ruined the opportunity for full use of his meat. The second shot was close enough to where it should have been and had sent him tumbling with the loss of his shoulder and blood-pumper.
All in all it was a good return to the bush and a satisfying start to chasing venison. On the way out I met another newbie on his second hunt. He went in the night before but was not as lucky. Regardless, we walked out together and shot the sh*t, vowing to get in touch and hook up for a few more hunts. He was a good dude and it was good having company and sharing our developing knowledge.
Cheers, Feral.
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