Bow Fishing in New Zealand

Wayne

I was first introduced to bow fishing quite late in my bow hunting career of 50years. When ten years ago my son Bruce and Wayne, a very close Moari hunting friend, asked me if I would I like to go on a bow fishing trip with them to the far north to shoot Mullet. I remember clearly saying “What the hell would I want to go BOW FISHING for. I have been a commercial fisherman all my life. I see enough of fish every day without wasting my time hunting them with a bow and arrow”. Suitably chastised Bruce and Wayne proceeded to go without me. Something I will always regret as when they returned I started to turn green with envy after hearing what a great time they had, and all the Mullet that had been shot. I vowed to go with them next time

A few months later found all three of us at a beautiful harbor in the far north, with its crystal clear water and brilliant white sand. As I was the green horn Wayne took me under his wing and helped set me up. Apparently once we got into a likely area, we were to find a large Mangrove tree each, then set up a shooting platform that was made up from any drift wood that we could scrounge in the vicinity. After we were set up to our individual satisfaction we would wait for the tide to come in bringing with it, we hoped, the Mullet.

These silvery grey fish are magicians at simply disappearing right in front of our eyes, then appearing again, usually out of range. It was of course their co louring. Although the water was crystal clear their ability to blend in was very challenging to say the least. They would come in with the tide to feed in the shallows amongst the Mangrove roots, initially traveling at a fairly smart pace making for some really fast shooting. As it got near high tide they would slow down and lazily swim around becoming easier targets. Did I just say easier targets?  Perish the thought, these things were so frustrating. Firstly we had to estimate the depth they were in, and then work out the refraction of the water. The deeper they were, the greater the refraction. Sometimes they would come chugging past just below the surface creating a slight bow wave. These were the easiest as I would place the pin approx 2-4 inches under and lead them by 2-3 inches depending on the speed that they were cruising at. The harder ones were those that run 2-3 feet deep I would aim about 6-8inches under them, and even then would often go over the top.

Ray

I remember on one occasion, I saw a large red Snapper mooching around on the bottom under my stand. He was a beauty and no one had ever shot a monster like that in New Zealand with a bow. I took careful aim telling myself to aim low about 12inches, then even lower again, only to see the arrow go harmlessly over the top. On reflection I had not realized how far the tide had risen making it a lot deeper than I had realized. To rub salt into a very sore wound, 30 minutes later Bruce shot him under his stand. We had to listen to his crowing for days after that.

On a good day we would have literally hundreds of Mullet coming past, making for some great sport, and we were often exhausted by the time the tide receded taking the remainder of the mullet with it. These things were so challenging that we regarded 1 hit in every 6-8 shots good shooting. This did not in any way reflect on our shooting ability, as Wayne and I had three national bow hunting titles to our names, and Bruce was the national Longbow champ for 5 consecutive years.  So we knew how to shoot. The sheer challenge of trying to outwit these wonderful creatures keep us going back year after year, plus they are great to eat.

Mullet wasn’t the only fish that was on offer. Stingrays were often cruising around the mangroves, some up to 4ft-6ft from wing tip to wing tip. Woe betide anyone stupid enough to take a pot shot at these monsters 

On one occasion while wading out to our stands Wayne crept up to a smaller one measuring three ft across. The temptation proved too much for him and could not resist a shot, the shot was true and then all hell broke loose, amidst a great eruption of foam and water, that stingray was out of there. The 200lb line screamed out of the Muzzy retriever and suddenly came to a stop. Unprepared Wayne found himself being unceremoniously towed towards deeper water at an alarmingly faster rate. His efforts to stop the stingray proved futile, and he started screaming at me to help. Even now I feel guilty when I say  that I was laughing way too much at the incredible sight of Wayne almost at the point of bare foot skiing, I was doubled up and gasping for air to be of any use. 

Just as Wayne got to the point of having to let his bow go or be towed out to deep water, the arrow pulled out with a suddenness that had him flat on his back in waist deep water. Wayne scrambled to his feet with water cascading off him and his bow, and proceeded to berate me with a form of language that my tender, innocent ears had not heard before. This only increased my laughter to the point that I was completely helpless, and fell over in the waist high water and came up looking like a drowned rat. That incident, still to this day has us helpless whenever we get together over a beer.

The Stingrays however had not finished with my Moari mate. One day I had found a great spot with mullet pouring past my stand. On the other hand Wayne, who had set his stand some distance away was having no luck at all, Now it must be understood that Wayne and I are probably the most competitive couple of mates that you would ever find, and it got too much for him listening to my nonstop action, and of course the very modest commentary that went with it. 

He finally couldn’t stand it any longer, and got out of his tree stand, with the water up around his armpits edged closer and closer, eventually finding a small Mangrove tree only 10yards away from me. Ignoring the jeering comments about his inability to find his own fish and needing to be wet nursed; Wayne wasted no time climbing into the pathetic excuse for a Mangrove, and promptly joined the fast action, claiming several in just a few minutes. However the tree that he had hastily chosen was so small and frail, that his bare feet were still deep in the water. After a few minutes of success he happened to glance down only to see a huge Stingray the size of an aircraft carrier, (Wayne’s description), had glided in from his blind side and was about to suck his bare toes into its cavernous mouth. Apparently it had been attracted by the dead mullet at the base of his tree. Wayne let out a scream and shot straight up the fragile Mangrove. I looked over just in time to witness him trying unsuccessfully to hold onto the top few twigs, and watched him with arms and legs flailing in the air, do a very ungraceful swan dive backwards into the water. The Stingray thoroughly alarmed took off at speed with a huge bow wave in front of it, and Wayne taking off in the opposite direction with an even greater bow wave. This has been the only time I have ever seen anyone try to walk on water. I don’t know who got the biggest fright, Wayne or the Stingray, anyway it’s the first time I have ever seen a pure white Moari. Whenever I maliciously remind him about it over a beer, he gives a sickly grin and promptly changes the subject

Ray with dinner!

By this time I was hooked on bow fishing, which eventually lead us to Carp shooting in the fresh water rivers that supplies the hydro dams. These Carp grow to huge proportions, and are a lot of fun to shoot. Their bright red coloring makes them easy prey and we shoot them in their hundreds, (they are classed as an introduced obnoxious species and there is no limit on them). We would hunt them either from a boat or when the flats were under water, would wade around in 18-24 inches of water. On one occasion Wayne and I came upon some flood plains with thigh deep water, and as far as we could see the water was full of spawning carp. We decided to get out of the boat and wade quietly through their midst. 

The shooting was at a frenetic pace until I shot a particularly big one which took off, then running out of line it circled around and shot between my legs. Before I could extricate myself from the line, it swam around my legs twice more. Upending me into the spawn filled water. This was Wayne’s turn to have a laugh my expense. Totally unnecessary I felt, after all my daddy had always told me it is rude to laugh at someone else’s misfortune. After giving him some well meaning advice about his dubious heritage, I stormed off looking for a quieter place to hunt. 

But Wayne got another laugh at my expense when we got back to the vehicle later in the day. I tried getting out of my wet sticky camo, but it had stuck to my underwear. After a frantic struggle, and doing some spectacular aerial acrobatics which had the unsympathetic Wayne in hysterics again,. I finally extricated myself from the offending garments. Those pants and jacket was so stiff from Carp spawn, they had to be put into the back of the car standing up as they would not bend. It was one of those memorable days that will stay with me forever.

There is nothing better than sharing a wonderful hunting experience with great friends, and bow fishing is right up there with the best. If you get the opportunity give it a go, I am sure that you will love it.

The equipment that I use is an old Hoyt bow with a long A-A. Wayne used an old Macpherson; both set on 55lb. Bruce used a 60lb long bow. We all shot bare fingered with a Muzzy retriever and 200lb line. This allowed us fast shooting and fast retrieval of the Muzzy fibre glass arrow. We always had a spare arrow taped to the riser and an 8ft length of cord with a sacking needle on one end to thread the fish onto, particularly while wading through the shallows.  I also use a cheap single pin sight, while Bruce and Wayne shot purely instinctive as they always did.

Ray Scott (Dream Rider)

New Zealand

Dark Continent - Part III

Namibia

Roger met me at the Windhoek airport. As soon as I started talking to him I knew I had met someone special. The long 6 hr drive from Windhoek to Vieranas was an enjoyable experience. We used the time getting to know each other, and spent hours talking about all things archery, interspersed with Roger pointing out many different animals that were seen on the side of the road. These included Warthog, Jackal and whole troops of Baboons.  There were many road signs warning about roaming Kudu, but we did not see any at that time. The country was mainly flat, to rolling, with many rocky hills and out crops called kopjes. As we headed further north these kopjes became more evident. The soil consisted of a type of sand and mostly made up of quartz. The Kopjes consisted of granite boulders, some the size of double decker buses. If I had thought South Africa was hot, it did not have a patch on Namibia, it was so dry.  What grass there was actually broke and crumbled to the touch Being in the Kalahari semi desert the day temps were uncomfortably hot, and the evening temps would sometimes drop to freezing. While I was there, the temp soared to 38 degrees in the shade with only 5% humidity, and this was only early spring. Not for me the 40+ degree temps experienced in summer.

We arrived at Vieranas early evening where Amelia had a delicious dinner ready for us. Later that evening having a good look around, I found that the main camp was very well appointed, with a two bedroom bungalow which I had all to myself. It was a wonderfully cool place where over the next ten days I thoroughly enjoyed staying. The rest of the camp, although not as palatial as Buchholz in South Africa was wonderfully relaxing, and reflected the smaller operation that Roger and Amelia preferred to run.

Talking with them both till late that night, I asked Roger about his operation. He confirmed what I already had suspected, that they were only in a small way, although he has huge hunting area’s he only likes to have one group at a time. Preferring the one or two hunter bookings, this means he can give a better personal service to his clients. Over the years they had been approached by some of the well known American out fitters to give them exclusive hunting rights for their own clients. This is a common practice in South Africa. But he and Amelia did not want to lose their “hands on” identity, so they declined the offer preferring to run it themselves. 

He then went on to talk about the types of game that is most commonly hunted here. With out doubt the Kudu is the most sought after animal, and to get a 50+ inch bull is the ultimate achievement. The next animal that runs a very close second is the Oryx or Gemsbok, these desert dwellers are a superbly attractive animal with their clown like faces, and their long swept back horns. They are a very difficult animal to hunt as they don’t have to come into water very often. The animal however that Roger rated as one of the most difficult to hunt, and his personal favourite is the Mountain Zebra. He told me that they are incredibly intelligent and one of the most wary. These animals are not to be confused with the Burchells Zebra found in the plains of South Africa, and further north. The mountain Zebra or Hartmann’s Zebra, is found mostly in the western regions of Namibia and Angola and is regarded as a much tougher customer than the Burchells. Rodger went on to talk about the Red Hartebeest, the Eland and Springbuck and many more. Finally I went to bed with my head full of exotic animals; I had difficulty sleeping that night. !!!

We had decided to take it easy the next morning, intending to go out for a late afternoon hunt. This gave me a chance to catch up on some much needed practice, and a bit of TLC to my gear. Roger also grabbed the chance, to show me some bush men cave paintings. No one knows how old these paintings are but, Roger and Amelia have a copy of some of those paintings as part of their Vieranas logo, and they are very proud of them.

After a nice lunch and a light snooze, we headed out to a blind that Roger had situated between a series of kopjes, and out side the fenced area. We only had about a ½ an hour of remaining light, when in ghosts the Kudu of my dreams. I had heard of them being referred to as the grey ghost of the desert, I can understand why. He never made a sound as he crept up to the water hole.  Roger took one look at him and calmly gave me the nod. This is it; this is what I had come to Africa for. All the dreams that I have had over the past few years was standing right there in front of me, he was magnificent, he was  huge, far bigger than I had ever imagined, and he was mine for the taking if I could control myself. My knees were knocking, my heart was pounding. I fought long and hard to try and bring myself under control. The shot was true a high lung, blood was evident immediately and I knew he was mine. After a lot of back slapping and allowing for the shock to wear off, I sat down and tried to get a grip of myself, such was the emotion that I was experiencing.

Kudu bull was so large, that the only way the three of us could get him on the truck was to winch him on.  His horns later measured 51 inches and his body weight was at least 700 lbs, a great trophy. What a way to start my Vieranas hunt.  Although we saw many more Kudu’s over the next 9 days, we never saw another one quite as majestic as him.

Over the next few days we saw an incredible number and variety of animals, there was hardly a time when we weren’t being entertained.  Wart Hogs, to me were the most entertaining. They would come into a water hole and immediately start a scrap with each other making a fearful noise. After  settling down and drinking their fill, they would then proceed to climb into the water hole, and have a great time wallowing and arguing over who had rightful ownership to it. Then with out warning, would trot off with their pathetically scrawny tails held high. They would remind me of a line of dune buggy’s tearing through the under growth with their flags up.

The stately Giraffe was another animal I could watch all day; they were there on Vieranas in large numbers. Roger asked me, over an evening meal if I would like to shoot one, as he needed to get the numbers down. I told him that Jan had given me strict instructions not to even think of shooting one. At that Amelia started to laugh, she then went on to tell me that almost all the American hunters that come to hunt on Vieranas, had been given the same instructions by their wives. Apparently women have a soft spot for those magnificent animals, and after spending many happy hours watching them, I can empathise with them.

One of the animals that are common to the area is the Baboon. I was soon to learn that both Roger and Amelia had an on going intense dislike for these very destructive animals. Underground pipes were often getting dug up, chewed through, and whole reservoirs getting drained of their precious contents. Resulting in days of labour to repair the damage, tank lids were often found many hundreds of yards away, chewed up and useless. Roger has recently been experimenting with camouflaged, still cameras, to assist with herd movements and numbers. When discovered these are an endless source of amusement for the Baboons, resulting in countless numbers of photographs of huge open mouths, and enormous teeth. Not to mention the damage they do to the camera’s outer casings. The blinds also had to be carefully closed up when we left, so they could not get inside to trash the place. I immediately thought of some of our more destructive youth elements in some of our larger towns and cities!!!, Maybe it’s the constant turning of the wheel of evolution.

It was on the third day at Vieranas, and during the heat of the day that we were in a blind half asleep, when an enormous WOOOF, had us both on our feet. What the hell was that I asked? Wondering at the same time If I would have to change my under wear. Roger said that was a large dominant male Baboon, and that he was probably coming in to drink. Sure enough the huge male came and promptly sat down at the water hole. Shoot the bugger Roger demanded, I looked at the Baboon, then looked at Roger, looked back at the Baboon and said, sorry Roger he looks too much like a little man, I can’t do it. Now as luck would have it Roger had bought his bow, so with out further ado he drew and fired. He had hurried the shot and the arrow just slipped harmlessly by. The Baboon let out a mighty roar, and scorched the ground in his haste to depart the immediate vicinity.

A few minutes later Roger went out to try and find the arrow. As soon as he emerged from the blind he was greeted by a wave of obscene verbal abuse. It appeared that the alarmed roar of the dominant male had attracted the attention of several troops of baboons that happened to be in the area at the same time. There were over thirty of the brutes, all cavorting around the tops of two adjoining kopjes, kicking up a fearful racket. It put me in mind of a Roman Amphitheatre, and the unfortunate Roger was the centre of attention. He prudently decided retreat was the beater part of valour, and dived back into the blind,  muttering something about installing an anti air craft gun. They really were a frightening spectacle. While we sat and watched them working them selves into a frenzy, the thought flashed through my mind, that the English football hooligans had nothing on this lot.

That put paid to the rest of the days hunting so it was back to the bar for a much needed soft drink. The Baboons had however not finished with us. The next day we were in another blind in a different area, when some how another male Baboon got wind of us, and proceeded to scream his discovery to the rest of the world for the next hour, ruining another morning’s hunt. It was about this time I was starting to have some sympathy towards Roger’s intense dislike for these aggravating animals. In fact I let it be known to Roger, if another one walks in front of me, I would shoot it with out hesitation. It was now taking on the appearance of a tyrant rather than a little man, but as luck would have it I never saw another one.

The Red Hartebeest was another animal that I wanted to get very badly. They are a medium –large animal with high shoulders and a sloping back. Both sexes have horns, but the bulls have the larger, the shape of their horns is very unusual with an S shape to them with plenty of mass at the base. They also have a long face with a high forehead. We had seen a few come in, but Roger and I both agreed that I should hold out for an old bull with plenty of mass to its base. It was about the fourth day when it was my turn to relax in the chair, and I was reading a good book, (we took it in turns to keep a watch). Roger gave me a nudge and said that there was a huge old bull coming in, and he was one of the best he had seen. Well there was no beg your pardons with this fellow, he just came straight up to the water, and started to drink. The problem was he was surrounded by his girls; there was no way for me to get a shot. A couple of times he presented a shot but there always seemed to be others behind him, I could have taken a shot, but if I got a pass through the arrow may have gone on to hit another one. Any where in Africa draw blood and you pay. Besides I did not want to run the risk of wounding anything, so I waited. Now the trouble with red hartebeest is once one decides to go, they all go, I was aware of this and was getting real twitchy, then almost en mass they all turned and headed off. My heart sunk as this fellow even had Roger on the edge of his seat. Inexplicably, the old boy came back for another last mouth full. That was his last mistake; as he only ran for 6 seconds then fell over within sight, with an arrow through his heart. Roger was probably more ecstatic than I was. He knew the true potential of him as a trophy. It was drinks all around at the bar that night, quite a few in fact.

As the days passed, we noticed a dramatic drop off in animal numbers, and those, that we had been seeing during the day was now coming in much later and in smaller numbers. It was a classic case of the increasing brightness of the moon. We found that from half moon onwards, it played a bigger role in the animal movements. I had always known the effect of the moon on animal movements, and being a fisherman, I also know the role it plays in the fish movements. But I had never had it so graphically proven to me as in Africa, for as the moon became more dominant, the animals changed to feeding and drinking at night. We would often arrive in the morning, to find a large number of tracks of animals that had been in most of the night, then choosing to bed down in cover during the day. We changed our hunting patterns to earlier in the morning and later in the evening, staying back at camp through the heat of the day. But it was often very frustrating to see a nice herd of animals only just starting to come in late afternoon, and through their natural caution arriving just as it was to dark to shoot.

On my last day I still had not got a Gemsbok. We had seen a few nice ones, but for various reasons I had not got a shot in. I remembered that on the second day I was there, a huge cow came in. Now cow horns were often longer than a bull’s, but had a little less mass to them. However as the horns are measured by length only, they are consequently very popular with the hunters, and the record books have a high percentage of large female horns in them. In fact it is very difficult to tell the sex difference with the old mature trophies that is often seen adorning the main camp trophy walls. We estimated this cow to have horns in excess of a whopping 42inches. I looked pleadingly at Roger who shook his head. He explained later that she looked pregnant, so, fair enough she was a non shooter. Another time a few days later, we saw a big bull come in with big dark sweeping horns, a really tremendous trophy, but the whole time he was there he remained quartering towards me. Once again no shot was taken.

On the last day I was starting to believe that I would be going home with out a Gemsbok, as they don’t have to come in for water very often, and even less so on a full moon. We were very surprised when we saw a huge lone bull heading in for water in the mid afternoon, he hung up at about 120yrds out, and from that point on he took one and a half hours before he moved in. Our nerves were all shot to pieces, and to make matters worse, when he did get in close, he kept moving about. He would just not settle. In the end Roger said in a strained whisper. “Don’t wait for him to settle, he could explode out of here any minute, as soon as you get a reasonable chance take a shot”, 5 seconds later he was out of there with my arrow in the centre of his lungs, he only went 80 yards and was down. We were like a couple of school kids yelling and screaming and hugging each other.

Roger later told me that he had never had such a nerve racking couple of hrs, and that for him that was one of the most rewarding shots that he had been involved in.

Alas at last it all came to an end, and after saying my good byes to Amelia and their two lovely little girls Alexandra and Georgia, we headed off on the long 6 hr drive, to the airport. On the way Roger and I spent a few enjoyable hours recapping the past 10 days, just as we were reaching the airport, Roger turned to me and said, Ray I know that this was going to be your one trip of a life time with no chance of ever doing a return trip, but do you think that after this experience, you would be able to ever do a return trip sometime in the future?

Hell yes, I replied, how soon can you fit me in?

Ray Scott (dream rider)
New Zealand
Archery Addix Forum Member