ArcheryAddix

Game Animals of New Zealand

2011-09-14T19:58:00.075-04:00

New Zealand is a small island nation situated in the South Pacific consisting of two major islands, North and South Island with a smaller one in the deep south called Stewart Island. For a small island nation we are blessed with a wonderful variety of game. All of which has been introduced by our forefathers in the late 1800 and early 1900’s providing some of the best hunting in the world from the lowly rabbit to the majestic Elk.

There are no predators other than the occasional hawk to keep the animal numbers under control. This resulted in an explosion of animal numbers and as all our game animals are introduced (non-native) there is no protection on them. Because of this there is little, to no restrictions on game limits or seasons. Most of us as youngsters hunted the rabbits and hares. These can be found in most areas of the country and if not hunted on a regular basis soon reach plague proportions and over run the farms and country side. Possums, introduced from Australia for the fur trade) are also fair game; these destructive pests cause major damage to our native forests. They are a nocturnal animal and provide a lot of fun spotlighting them.

Turkeys are found throughout the country. Many of the North American species are present and are often in quite large groups of up to thirty or more. Although not as wily as their North American counterparts, they do provide a lot of fun for the bow hunter plus of course they are great to eat.

If more of a challenge is required in the fowl department, try hunting wild Peacock. These large birds have incredible eye sight and are very secretive. Getting in close can be a real challenge. In most cases the land owners don’t like them and will do their utmost to get rid of them. Their beautiful plumage and long flowing tail makes them a very desirable trophy

Wallabies are found in isolated pockets and can be a wonderful change of pace. There are several different species, and can provide some great hunting. It can be quite funny when our Australian cousins come over here and find that it is open season on them, as Wallabies are protected in their native country, as are the Possums.

Simon with his top goat trophy measuring 39inches tip to tip

Goats are found from one end of the country to the other. They originate from the domestic goat herds of yesteryear, and have adapted so well that they are often culled in their thousands by professional cullers to try and keep their numbers down. It’s not uncommon to find them in large herds of up to fifty or more. They prefer the strong hill country; and are at home, out in the open pasture or in the bush. Goats have, over the years provide wonderful training for budding hunters of all ages. New bow hunters love hunting “Stinky’s”. The Billy goats can make great trophies, with their horns reaching a span of up to 40 inches. (Twenty six to thirty inches is more the normal) and can make attractive trophies as long as the Taxidermist can get rid of the strong odor that the large Billie’s develop. Over years of mating they urinate all over their under bellies. This is apparently a strong attraction to the nannies in season (hence the nickname Stinky's). Often they can be found in fairly dense bush just by following your nose; they really can have a very distinctive smell. The young are exceptionally good eating and their lean meat make great curries. The only deterrent to the keen hunter is their baby like cry when they are shot. . But goats are a wonderful “all season” game to help the hunter keep their eye in.

Pigs are in abundance throughout New Zealand, preferring the hilly, dense bush areas. The Boars can grow a very impressive set of tusks and don’t hesitate to use them when cornered. The dense bush areas where they prefer to live makes it very difficult to get in close. The preferred time to hunt them for the bow hunter is early morning and late evening when they come out onto the open areas to root for fern roots and grubs. A very popular method of hunting wild boar is with dogs. A high degree of physical fitness is required while bush bashing in trying to keep up with them. Usually the dogs manage to bail the pigs up in the bottom of a dense jungle like ravine. Many of these hunters scorn any form of weapon except a sticking knife. He then has to maneuver himself into a position to be able to stick the pig while dogs and furious Boar are constantly changing positions. Not for the faint heart nor the unfit.

New Zealand has seven species of deer; some found throughout the entire country and some only in small pockets........

Fallow are the smallest deer species in New Zealand, and my personal favorite. (Probably because there is a herd found within a half hour drive from my home) I have enjoyed many hours studying and hunting these very agile and alert deer. A Fallow buck would probably be similar in body size and weight to a Whitetail doe found in North America. The does are smaller again. They are creatures of habit and do not require large areas to call home. They are an extremely alert and cunning deer working the valleys and wind changes to their advantage. The Fallow is the only deer, other than the Moose, to grow large palmated antlers. Some of the top trophies can have such large palmation they look like miniature Moose. The Fallow are a very popular species to hunt and can be found in small pockets throughout New Zealand. Apart from the herd in my area of North Auckland there are two other large herds in the North Island and one in the South Island

Whitetail (Virginian) can be found on the smaller Stewart Island at the bottom of the South Island. This is where the main herd is. Another very small herd exists in the lower South Island. The specimens of Stewart Island are poor compared to their North American cousins. They inhabit heavy bush so there food quality is lacking. But they do provide a challenging hunt in the heavy native bush country that is found in those remote areas.

Kevin Watson of Advanced Archery NZ with a very nice Sika Stag

Sika is an Asiatic species of deer who genus is related to Elk. They are only found in the central North Island but have adapted particularly well. Conditions suit them here as they produce larger antlers than they do in their countries of origin. They are a handsome spotted deer with antlers growing up to thirty inches in length with four points on each side. They are a very popular species with the hunting fraternity. Very alert and difficult to hunt, when alarmed they emit a piercing whistle alerting everything for miles around. They make an attractive trophy.

Kevin Watson with his malformed Ruse Stag

Rusa is also an Asian deer with gnarly antlers growing up to 32inches with four points per side. They are slightly larger in body size to the Sika, possibly similar to a large White tail buck from the Alberta area. They are found in several pockets in the North Island.

This Stag is 6years old and
estimate measurement is 450 SCI

Red deer is the most common deer in NZ and can be found almost throughout the entire length of the country. They are equally at home in the dense native bush and the open farm country. The Red deer have been very aggressive in their colonizing of the country over the past hundred or so years since they were liberated. They quickly became so over populated, that in order to relieve the pressure on the state forests from being over grazed they have been heavily culled over the past 60 years. The red deer are a large bodied animal with heavy thick antlers over 50 inches in length and with their multiple tines, make them look as though their antlers are out of proportion to their size. With an even 6 points per side they were called “a royal”. With an even 7pionts per side they were called an “imperial” these used to be regarded as outstanding trophies. But with the modern stud breading on the game farms those old English terms are almost a thing of the past. Now we have reds that look like moving trees with multiple points numbering up to 40 and more.

Top young NZ bow hunter Simon with a young large bodied Samber
Stag

Young Samber Stag in Wallow

Same Samber stag at water hole, Note the typical New Zealand dense bush.

Sambar deer are the third largest deer in the world and the second largest deer in NZ. These huge bodied deer are found in four pockets in the North Island, and are Asiatic in their origin. They are a very secretive shy deer and prefer the dense bush, making stalking them very difficult. Accessibility to them is very restricted and jealously guarded by the private land owners. Their antlers are similar to the other Asiatic deer but can be very heavy in circumference. They are a highly prized trophy.

The Elk or Wapiti is the largest deer in New Zealand. They are found down in the rugged Fiordland area in the south western part of the South Island. This is a wild and very beautiful part of the country, only accessible by boat or plane. During the bugle the wapiti areas are balloted, limiting access during this period. Their numbers have dwindled over the past 40 years from over hunting and inbreeding with the red deer. Apparently the aggressive Red deer are one of the few deer species that will cross breed. This cross breeding occurs also with the Sika deer. This is something that countries, such as North America should consider before allowing Reds into their country. Trying to confine them to just the game ranches will not be enough to contain them from spreading. They are a very aggressive animal in the breading season, and could, in time, have a major effect on the North American Elk numbers

Moose were also liberated in the rugged Fiordland area but their numbers never built up, and have since died out with the last official sighting back in the 1960’s.

Chamois are the only antelope found in NZ. These beautifully small elegant animals are found in the Southern Alps, a mountain range running almost the full length of the South Island. Originally a mountain dweller, the Chamois have adapted very well to the lower bush valleys as well as the mountains. These are a real challenge to the bow hunter, particularly out on the mountain faces. They have very good senses and their eye sight is incredible. The bow hunter has the greater success in the bush, but even there they are a challenge. They have delicate horns that have rear facing hooks (much like a meat hook) which can grow up to 9 inches in length.

Carol Watson of Advanced Archery seen here with a nice female
Tahr, The only woman in NZ to have ever claimed one!

Probably the most sought after trophy in New Zealand is the Himalayan Tahr. Apart from the Himalayan Mountains, the Southern Alps in the South Island, is the only other place in the world where wild herds can be found of these wonderful, incredibly agile mountain dwellers. They are from the goat species and the best time to hunt them is early winter when they have their long flowing shaggy coat, and are more easily accessible before the winter snows set in. They have horns that have heavy bases that curve back to points, a good trophy is 13 inches in length. Hunting Tahr and Chamois is not for the faint heart, and unless the hunter has local knowledge. Then hunting with an experienced guide or outfitter is a must. Any one claiming either of these wonderful animals with a bow will have a trophy and the memories to last a life time.

Continuation.......

In the 1970s it was very quickly realized that there was a worldwide demand for deer products, e.g. Venison, antler velvet and later, the trophy trade. Farmers erected 6f-7ft fences and started breeding programs for predominantly the Red deer and the Fallow deer. Over the ensuing years, the demand for venison and velvet leveled out, at the same time the world wide demand for game hunting was gaining ground. Game ranches were set up, leading to a huge business for not only the game ranches, but the breeding and supplying, plus the multiple services that goes with it all.

Like them, or hate them, Game ranches are here to stay. Providing otherwise unobtainable hunting and trophies to the clients. Because of the genetic breeding programs in place, the standard of trophies has improved dramatically. What used to be classed as a top red trophy is now, very much “run of the mill”. 350 SCI used to be a great trophy now 450 SCI is a good trophy. 500 SCI is a great trophy, and even 600+SCI has just recently been achieved. It appears that with top breeding, the sky is the limit. These monsters have to be seen to be believed.

Of course good hunting can be had in the State forests with no restriction too seasons and licenses. However due to hunting pressure, trophy quality is usually very poor. There is always the exception to this however as occasionally a good trophy is claimed, but often the genetics can be traced back to an “escapee” from one of the game ranches. Much to the chagrin of the game ranch owners escapes happen all too often, either through natural disasters, collapsing fences or trees falling across boundary fences allowing some great genetics to escape into the wild. Even overturned deer transporters caused by road accidents, has contributed to the genetic pool in the state forests when the deer have escaped out of the damaged vehicle, resulting in some great trophies being claimed. But generally it has to be said that if the hunter wants an exceptional trophy it’s the game ranches that are the “go to” places to hunt. Typically the antler mass of a 340SCI head is usually greater than the mass found on most mature North American elk.

The game ranches here in NZ are similar to the South African ones. Huge areas that are high fenced and very well managed with great accommodation. I have talked to owners in both countries about the ethics of hunting behind wire. Their arguments raise some quite interesting points of view e.g. The game ranches provide top quality trophies that in most cases are just not available in the wild, due to indiscriminate hunting pressure from the hunter and poachers alike. The shear size of these animals can also be attributed to excellent food, good management and the ability of the deer to grow to a good maturity, often up to 7-10 years. If the ranch is large enough, (and this of course depends on the various animals requirements), then the animals can and do lead a normal life going through their normal reproductive cycles free from poaching and predation and in many cases dying of natural causes. The high fence is of course, there for the owner to protect his investment plus enabling him to import new genes into his herd without his investment wandering off and becoming fair game on neighboring farms.

Top young breeder, Kerry Torpey with cut antlers of a
button buck, yes he was only 14 months old, imagine him in another 6 years

There are several “stud” breeders in my area that supply the game ranches. Two of whom have become close friends and I have discussed the ethics of breeding top trophies so they can be “liberated” on the game ranches. Their argument is on the lines that they, like most of us, are making a living, while also creating employment. They are also improving the genetics of these fabulous animals. They also ensure the animals are located on the game ranches at a young age to allow them to adapt to their new environment years before they become trophies.

Occasionally I raise the subject about the farm raised deer being easier to hunt because they are not wild; usually this raises a good laugh. Deer by their nature are wild and usually when they escape, or are liberated onto the large game ranches at a very early age; seem to become wilder and even more cunning in a very short space of time. On the few occasions that I have been offered a hunt on one of these properties, I have found this to be correct. They seem to develop an incredible ability to avoid the hunter which seems to boarder on the uncanny.

A few years ago, one of these breeders asked me if I could take out a Fallow buck. Apparently he was proving to be impossible to work with. He had become a loner for several months and had to be removed, but the farmer did not want a rifle hunter cutting loose, so he called me. When I arrived it was to find that the buck had isolated himself in a single paddock of only 100 acres. “Well” I thought this is not going to be much of a challenge. The paddock that he had chosen to hold up in had several quite steep gullies in it with a few pockets of scrub and bush. I immediately sat on one of the ridges and started to glass the area, but saw nothing. Later that day after walking through, what I thought to be every square inch of the property. I returned to the farmer and said that he was no longer there. The very puzzled farmer said that he must be there and he would put the dogs in there the next day. Sure enough he rang me to say that the Buck was still there, and when could I come back. Two days later I was back and once again covered the entire area without luck.

Resting up on a hill face I decided to have my lunch, while keeping an eye out for any sign of him. Half an hour later I stood up and moved a couple of paces to a small clump of scrub to relieve myself, when almost under my feet the Buck erupted out of the long grass and raced off over a ridge. He had been holed up in a small depression in the ground, while knowing full well that I was only a few yards away.

For five frustrating, but enjoyable days I hunted that wily buck. During that whole time he never once presented a shot. On the sixth day I jumped him and once again without providing a chance, he bolted over a ridge. I had a fairly good idea where he would be heading so scrambling through some scrub and around the face of a ridge. I quickly set up an ambush. It was only a couple of minutes when he came trotting past me at 30 yards. I knew this was going to be the only chance I was going to get. I drew back and led him by several feet, the arrow was a little far back but cut the main artery and 180 yards later he was down.

Ray with huge Fallow Buck - note the palmation

I really had to take my hat off to that buck. He knew I was after him and I know that if that buck had not been confined to such a small area, I would never have been able to get near him. This really opened my eyes. What I thought was going to be an easy culling job, showed me how quickly they revert to becoming wild and even more cunning. When these “farm reared” deer are released on the huge game ranches, they become a worthy challenge.

Game farm hunting is not everyone’s “cup of tea” Although top trophies can be obtained; they can cost a considerable amount of money. Plus the question of ethics may make some people shy away from hunting on game ranches. My personal opinion is, if the hunter is after an exceptional trophy, or is traveling half way around the world for a one to two week hunt, then maximize your chances by going with a top outfitter or hunt a game ranch. Particularly if the Game ranch is large enough to allow the game complete freedom of movement that it would normally require in the wild.

This is a very brief outline of the hunting that is available in New Zealand

Written by Ray Scott (Dream Rider)

Contributions by Kevin Watson of Advanced Archery in New Zealand

The Big….. C

2011-08-25T21:45:00.001-04:00

This is a true story about two people I know.......

Jane was quietly sobbing in the passenger seat, while Rob was driving home in stunned silence. They had just been to see the specialist about the recent scan on Rob, and had been given the devastating news that the cancer was growing back again.

Three years earlier, Rob had his right kidney removed after a cancerous growth had been found attached to it. The operation had been a great success, and Rob had undergone six monthly scans with increasing confidence that the cancer had been caught in time. Now with this recent scan the cancer was back and this time was attaching itself to the other kidney with a vengeance. It had spread rapidly and had a large area under attack. Treatments like Chemo and Radiology had been discussed but were quickly discarded. Surgery was the only option open to Rob with a reasonable, to slim chance of success, and had been set down for the following week. Reeling from the sudden turn of events that had turned their happy lives upside down, they drove home.

Rob and Jane spent the next few days shoring up their battered lives. Intermittently talking and laughing about the happy times that they had enjoyed together, and trying to put their house in order, and discussing what the future may have in store for them.

The day of the surgery arrived, Jane and their three grown children were there to give Rob loving support, joking and laughing at outrages stories. Time flew by until fully prepped; Rob was trundled into the theatre, where he remained for six hours. Finally the surgeon, Professor Shaw came to Jane and said that the operation had been a huge success, and gave Rob a very good chance of a full recovery. Jane immediately burst into tears giving the Professor a huge hug, and then phoned the family the good news.

Robs recovery was rapid and in a few days was starting to feel his old self again. Life started to resume back to normal, and Rob and Jane started to talk about the future and what they wanted to do with it. A standard follow up scan was arranged for three months time. This was dually carried out and a few days later, Rob was called in to discuss the findings of the scan with Professor Shaw. Jane was unable to go with Rob on that day as she had a full day at the Pharmacy where she worked, “Call in and see me on your way home so you can tell me the good news” she said.

As soon as Rob entered the Professors office he knew something was wrong. After the usual pleasantries were over, the professor started by saying that the news was not good and that the cancer was growing back over the entire area of the operation. All the radiologists and surgeons were unanimous that nothing further could be done. “How long have I got” Rob asked in stunned disbelief, the professor was reluctant to be drawn into giving a fixed time, instead he asked. “Have you got a burning ambition to do anything” he asked. “Yes I have always dreamt of going to Canada and Alaska” Rob replied. “Well I recommend that you do it, and do it soon” he said. “Come on Prof, give me at least a ball park figure of the time that I have left” Rob pleaded. Reluctantly and with great compassion he told Rob that he would be lucky to have a year to live.

Driving home Rob could only think of Jane and how he was going to break the news to her, if he did not call into her place of work she would know something was wrong and start to fret, but how was he going to tell her. He couldn’t tell her the devastating news that he had Terminal cancer in front of the other girls, let alone what ever customers were in the Pharmacy at the time. Rob composed himself as best he could, and with a smile walked into the Pharmacy to be greeted by all the girls and his adoring wife. “All good” Rob lied and with a quick wave headed out of the door.

Later that day Jane arrived home with a radiant smile, one look at Rob and the smile crumbled to be replaced by great sobs and tears rolling down her cheeks. For a very long time they stood there in each others arms. They were so in tune with each other words weren’t needed. As the evening wore on they started to talk, sometimes laughing about something that had happened in their past together, some times just holding each other. Hours later found them in bed cocooned in each others arms as though to ward off the rest of the world. In the small hours, Jane had finally talked and cried herself into an exhausted sleep.

Lying there in Jane's embrace, Rob finally allowed the tears to flow. Oh, he wasn’t crying for himself or out of any self pity. He lay there and wept for his lovely wife Jane and for his family. He wept because he would not be there for his beautiful five year old grand daughter Lisa’s twenty first birthday, He wept for his three wonderful children. His son who he had spent many hours teaching to hunt and to become a man, and his two wonderful girls all grown up and making their way in life Oh how proud he was of them. But mostly he wept for his lovely wife of thirty years.

As the tears rolled down his cheeks he thought back to the day when he first met Jane. It was love at first sight for both of them and within two weeks they were already talking about the day they would marry. Jane was not quite eighteen and Rob was twenty. Ten months later they walked down the aisle, two happier people you would never find. For thirty years they have been husband and wife, sole mates, and every part of their lives had been in accord with each other, always putting the other first. Making their home together and bringing up their children, and all the rest that goes with making a life together. But now, how was Jane going to cope, Rob put himself in Jane’s position and quickly realized that with out Jane his world would end. Oh poor, poor Jane, she was the one that was going to be left behind to pick up the pieces and endure a lonely life, parted from the one she had loved so deeply for so long.

As the early morning light started to intrude into their bedroom, Rob wiped the tears away and forced himself to start thinking ahead. Getting out of bed he went to make a cup of tea for them both. They talked and planned and talked some more while sipping their tea. The Canadian trip was definitely going to happen, and as soon as possible. It would give them time to be together and enjoy the remaining quality time they had.

In the ensuing days plans were made to travel to Canada departing in 5 weeks time. It was during this time several strange things happened. Robs son’s, current partner approached Rob and told him that her mother was a clairvoyant, and that she had told her to tell Rob that he was not going to die from cancer. Rob has always been a down to earth sort of a chap and clairvoyants did not rate high in his beliefs and just laughed it off. Undeterred she also told him that he had to go and see Glenn, “Who is Glenn”? Bob asked. He is a faith healer and he is waiting to see you. A faith healer and a clairvoyant what next!! When Jane arrived home that evening she told Rob that her boss had made, and paid for, an appointment for him to go see a Naturopath. This was weird; it seemed that there was a conspiracy going on. After some thought Rob realized that he had nothing to lose, so a few days later went to see Gary the Naturopath.

Although Rob had not told Gary anything about his recent history, an hour later he came out of Gary’s rooms with his head reeling. Gary had told Rob everything about his cancer and how he was going to try and treat it, unbelievable!

Later that evening Rob went to see Glenn the faith heeler. Uncertain of what to expect he was astonished when Glenn opened his door. He was a powerfully built no nonsense type and was dressed in rough work cloths. Rob, later found out that Glenn was a millionaire building tycoon. Rob told Glenn straight up that he thought that all this was nonsense and had absolutely no faith in him. Undaunted Glenn worked on him for an hour and never once touched him. Later that evening Rob told Jane that the whole lot was a load of rubbish but would see it through until they went to Canada.

Canada was a great experience, for 5 months they toured through British Columbia and on through Alaska in their RV. They did the Inside passage stopping for a few days in Juneau, then up through Whitehorse, Dawson City, Kenai peninsular and back down through the great Alaskan highway to Vancouver . They had some wonderful quality time together with awesome memories. But during the whole time, as much as they enjoyed themselves, they were always conscious of a black cloud hanging over them. Always on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary, any little ache or pain was analyzed with care. They were ever ready to drop every thing and head home to the bosom of their family should things start to go wrong. Five wonderful months later they decided that it was time to return home and give their family the last remaining time with their dad.

That was seventeen years ago, and I am happy to say that I “did” get to see my lovely Grand daughter Lisa celebrate her twenty first birthday. In fact two years ago she presented us with our great grandson Cruz, and now has another on the way, I had the wonderful experience of giving my oldest Daughter Michele away at her marriage to Ross three years ago. Tania is living in Brisbane, Australia and doing very well. Our son Bruce married seven years ago and after a very difficult time his wife, Amber produced our first grandson Daniel, who is now 4 years old. Three weeks ago I had the ultimate experience of taking Daniel out on the Dream Rider to catch his first fish, what a great time we had, he caught twelve and didn’t want to stop, a priceless experience. Jan and I still enjoy a wonderful life together, with a love that is as deep and enduring as the very air that we breathe.

Yes I have been lucky enough to see all this. The cancer never reappeared and ten years ago I built the 48ft Dream Rider from the ground up on my own. I still go to see Gary the Naturopath once or twice a year. Glenn the faith healer, moved on out of my life after I had been treated by him for over 4 years.

Why I was one of the lucky ones to survive terminal cancer I will never know. Perhaps it was a combination of the help I received from Gary and Glenn. Or maybe it was because of the undying love and unselfish support, I received from an incredibly lovely lady that I was lucky enough to marry 46yrears ago. If I have learnd anything since those traumatic days it is to live every day to the full, never look back with regrets and never fail to tell those that are near and dear that I loved them. I look around me and think life is wonderful.

* Yes this true story is about Jan and me. I chose to tell it in the third person as I did not want to be using the “me” and “I” all the way through.I also found that by referring to Rob and Jane It helped me to detach myself from the strong emotions that kept threatening to scuttle the story. This is the first time I have ever written about those emotional dark days.

Written by Ray Scott (Dream Rider)

Snakes, Crocodiles and Buffalo’s

2011-08-08T02:34:00.000-04:00

It was 1130pm and we had time to kill before our chartered flight to Melville Island was due to depart. Six hours in the Darwin international airport, Australia, would not be high up on my “must do” list, but we consoled ourselves in the knowledge that we were soon to be up to our eyeballs in hunting one of the largest land mammals in Australia, the Asiatic Buffalo (Water Buffalo).

After kicking our heels for the six brain numbing hours, dawn finally arrived and with it the charter plane that was to take us out to our hunting destination. With very little fuss we were soon loaded up and winging our way out to Melville Island approx 100 miles north of Darwin.

My son Bruce and I were to be the first paying clients to be taken out there by our very good Australian friend Bill Baker, owner of South Pacific Safaris. Bill was giving us a good rate as we were to be the Guinea Pigs in this new venture of his.

A prearranged 4WD was waiting for us at the small airstrip; quickly loading our gear we set off on the one and a half hour trip to Bill’s hunting concession on the western tip of the island. Upon arrival we found a well equipped camp consisting of three air conditioned modified Ships containers, where we cooked, lounged and slept in. During our stay there we enjoyed all the comforts of home.

As soon as we unpacked the 4wd I took the opportunity to check that my bow was still in one piece. I was using a Hoyt Deviator set at 72lbs with a 27inch draw. Gathering a couple of arrows I went looking for a practice butt. However there did not appear to be anything available, Bill explained that being a newly established camp, in the rush to get things ready for his first clients, a target butt had been over looked. I settled for what I took to be a mound of soil that had been pushed to one side of the camp. Taking careful aim I let rip, only to see my arrow blast straight through the mound, and with out the slightest hint of slowing down, disappeared several hundred yards into the bush. This was my first introduction to the infamous Aussie bull dust. On further investigation I discovered that it had the consistence of talcum powder and was as light as a feather. Great, one of my meticulously prepared arrows gone without even sighting game yet. I had especially made these for the thick skinned Buffalo by using a full length Easton 2020 aluminum shaft with a smaller aluminum shaft inside. These were tipped with a 160gr Grizzly broad head weighing in at 900gr.

Bill had been watching as the arrow disappeared into the bush and had a good laugh at my expense; Aussies have a weird sense of humor and never fail to find humor in other people’s misfortune. But fair to say that the same applies if they find themselves in a similar situation. Oh well, as we were the first ones there, we knew that we were the guinea pigs and there was bound to be a few teething problems setting up a new camp. I then thought “OK”, I would shoot down into the soil from the raised deck adjoining the dining area. Taking careful aim at a dead leaf, I let rip only to see the arrow bury itself into the earth and become enveloped by a great fountain of water. After a lot of rushing to and from......and with more than the occasional profanity it was discovered that I had neatly cut in half the only underground pipe that runs the fresh water from the holding tank to the ablution block. By this time Bill had stopped laughing and was starting to look at me in a very bemused manner.

What were the chances? 30minutes in camp, one precious arrow lost, and the only buried pipe for a radius of a hundred miles cut in half with the loss of several hundred gallons of precious water. I hastily slunk off, making some excuse about needing to be some where else.

Later that evening over a cold beer, Bill talked about the Asiatic Buffalo or Water Buffalo, they had been introduced to Australia over150 years ago to capitalize on the buffalo hide business that was in decline in America. Over the years; the hide business ceased, allowing the Buffalo herds to multiply out of control. Occasional Govt culling programs have been implemented over the years to try and keep their numbers under control. The majority of the herds are found mainly in the Northern Territory and on Melville Island. Although they are not quite as dangerous as the famed Cape Buffalo of Africa, the Water Buffalo are bigger, standing 6ft at the shoulder and weighing in excess of 2500lb. They are considered dangerous game, and should be hunted with the utmost caution. All their senses are good and are not to be taken lightly, he cautioned. They can be totally unpredictable if they spot you, and don’t take kindly when you get in their space. Usually when they become aware of your presence, they will hurl themselves around so they are facing you front on, making any shot with a bow impossible, then will usually do one of three things:

(1) They will lift their head and looking down their noses at you, proceeding to give you their evil beady eyed stare which will turn your legs to jelly. Once this happens they will never relax and your stalk is over.

(2) The most likely scenario will be that they will turn tail and vacate the area as fast as they can.

(3)Or they may start walking towards you tossing their heads in a very threatening manner, with their great hooves pawing the ground - That’s when your legs and bowels turn to unset jelly. “Make no mistake these things are huge and move like greased lightening” Bill said. “If caught out in the open, they could make a mess of you”. Bill said the golden rule is to make sure there are at least two trees handy to climb just in case they charge. (Something I remembered later in the hunt). “Why two trees” I innocently asked. “Well” came the laconic reply “if there is only one, what are you going to climb”.

The next day saw us up and about at dawn, I had hardly slept a wink I was so excited. Incredibly we had only gone ten minutes before we got our first sighting of the game that we had traveled so far to hunt. Two large bulls were having a major disagreement in a cloud of dust, these things were huge. It was right then that I had an urgent desire to be some where else. What the hell had I let myself in for? I could actually feel the ground shaking under my feet. We stood in awe watching these two monsters fight it out for dominance. One of them would make a real nice trophy so we, with a great deal of trepidation, decided to try for a stalk while they were occupied with their brawl. However, 30yards out, the wind did a sudden about face and we were left staring at a settling cloud of dust.

We were to learn that around 9am every morning the sea breeze would die out and the heating land breeze would suddenly start up, and blow from the opposite direction. This ruined a lot of stalks as we saw a number of big bulls out in the early mornings. How ever as soon as the wind changed they disappeared into the bush to bed down, or to find a wallow through the heat of the day. Time and time again we were foiled due to that damn wind. Plus the open nature of the Aussie bush, flat terrain and dry noisy undergrowth, made stalking a real challenge, it was then that we realized that this was not going to be easy. We soon learned that afternoon hunting was the best and enjoyed a lot of exciting stalks but for various reasons did not get a shot.

The third day found us following the bank of a small river, while keeping a wary eye open for Crocodiles, (when we had first arrived on the Island, Bill had taken great pains to instill in us a healthy respect for the “Salties”, (Salt Water Crocks). “Never walk in, through, or near muddy water” he said. The crocks could grow up to twenty feet and were unrivaled for their vicious cunning. Claiming many unwary victims, Bill had confided in me earlier that there was a resident 12ft salty only 300 yards from our camp. Apparently the cook had seen it only a couple of days earlier.

Walking along keeping a healthy distance from the water edge, Bill was in the lead, carrying (as he always did) his 375 H@H Magnum “back up” rifle. He suddenly stopped and pointed out a Bull Buffalo on the opposite side of the stream. The beast was ambling slowly towards the river and on his present course, would arrive right where we were crouching. He came closer and closer until he was on the river bank only 15yards away from us. Without a pause he waded straight into the stream and slowly sunk out of sight in a deep hole virtually at our feet. We watched in fascination as he repeatedly came up for air only to sink out of sight again. Each time his head went underwater a great cloud of small black flies took to the air and stayed there hovering about six inches above the water. As soon as he raised his head the cloud of flies descended on him again. This was repeated many times and he was obviously enjoying himself immensely. I would have found the whole scenario extremely funny if I wasn’t crapping myself. This 2000lb+ giant was only 4 yards away from us. We could smell his breath each time he came up. My eyes were glued to the huge set of black gnarly horns that curled out from the top of his head, ending in wickedly sharp points.

When he had so casually ambled up to the stream we hadn’t dared move, he had looked at us several times, but had just looked straight through us with out seeing a thing. Our immediate concern was in not knowing which way he would exit the stream. If he came out on our side of the river we were in deep trouble. I noticed that Bill was sweating profusely and had the rifle at the ready. Fortunately when he had finished his wallow he chose to exit the way he had entered. With immense relief, I nervously whispered to Bill that if I got the opportunity I would have a shot. After heaving himself out onto the river bank.....then without a care in the world, he stopped side onto me at twenty yards presenting a perfect shot. I wish I could say that the shot was just as perfect. But alas the hunting gods intervened. Just as I released the arrow he took a step forward. By the time the heavy arrow arrived it entered mid height, but a little far back. “Shoot him Bill” I said not wanting him to run away and suffer a gut shot. Bill said “no I think you may have clipped a lung or maybe the liver I’m sure he will go down’.

The Bull lumbered over a slight rise and disappeared. Well it was as if some one had opened a high pressure valve; we all started talking at the same time while trying to disguise the shakes that had gripped us. The adrenalin was coursing through our systems and it took several minutes for us to settle down. However we soon reverted back to the big white hunters we tried to portray, instead of the sweating, shaking wrecks that we really were.

Bill suggested we give him an hour and that we cross the stream and settle down for a bit of lunch. He suddenly launched himself across the stream landing lightly on a small log mid stream then one more lunge and he was on the other bank. Then turned and smiled a challenge to Bruce and me. Without hesitation Bruce landed beside him (oh to be young). They both then gave me that same smirking challenge. Oh crap what to do, I am not only considerably older than them but shorter in the legs. In actual fact I could be unkindly mistaken for bit of a runt. I looked up stream, no help there, looked down stream, no way across. Then the thought of crocodiles suddenly leaped into my mind, now that really got me in lather. If there was one lurking down there he would be well alert for any opportunity by this time.

Bruce and Bill sat down and proceeded to have their lunch ignoring my plaintiff pleas for assistance. When Bruce glanced around and inquired if my life insurance was up to date, I realized that I was obviously not going to get any help from that direction. Nothing for it ----- I took a flying leap for the log, landed badly, "oh shit" I started to slide off its slippery surface. Using my forward momentum I tried for another mighty leap, but only succeeded in a pathetic bunny hop and with arms and legs flailing around like a demented windmill, landed with a huge splash three ft short of the river bank.

I was out of that water so fast I hardly got wet, and with the momentum that can only be produced by sheer terror, I shot passed my startled so called friends, sitting there with their mouths open, half eaten sandwiches frozen in the act of filling their faces. “What kept you” Bill said with a huge grin on his face. “@#$%$#@ You uncaring bastard’s....I could have been grabbed by a Crocodile”. Bill nearly ruptured himself laughing, “I knew there would not have been a crock there” he said “That Buffalo would not have gone into the water if there had been”. “@#$%^$$# you could have told me that before I got myself all worked up” I said. This only raised another round of hysterical laughter. Friends who needs them?

I was wound up like a clock spring and was desperate to find my buff. But Bruce and Bill unconcernedly finished their lunch and settled down for a little shut eye in the shade. Half an hour later Bruce casually opened one eye and asked Bill which snakes were dangerous, (We don’t have snakes in New Zealand) “Why” Bill asked in a cautious voice. Well Bruce said “a snake just slithered across my legs” “describe it” Bill asked his voice going up a few octaves. Bruce proceeded to do so, with the result that Bill leaped to his feet shouting that it was an Easton Brown one of the deadliest snakes in Australia. Quickly vacating the area, I asked Bill why he wasn’t laughing any more, which only received a withering look.

Ray

We followed a poor blood trail for 500yds when Bill stopped in mid stride. “There he is” he whispered. The Buff was standing 35yds away, his head was down and we knew he was in a bad way. He was in an open clearing, with no chance of getting closer. “How far are you confident shooting those fence posts of yours” he whispered. “I am zeroed in at 35yards” I said, “and I am not taking any chances of losing him, the sooner I can put him down the better”. Taking several deep breaths to try and calm my jangling nerves I drew the 72lb bow, placed the 35yard pin on his chest in line with his front leg and one third up from his brisket. Relaxing my fingers the arrow flew straight and true. (I was shooting fingers back then). With a satisfying thump the arrow buried itself to the fletching. The Buffalo was so far gone that he only turned one full circle and fell over with a ground shaking thump. Bill turned to shake my hand and said in an excited voice “congratulations you have your Buffalo and it’s my first as a guide”.

I was ecstatic, lying on the ground he look absolutely massive. Bill did an autopsy and found that the broad head had cut a small slice off his off side lung, and he had almost completely bled out. The best cuts of meat were removed and later given to the Tewi people. These were the local Aborigines who allowed the hunting concession, with the understanding that any meat we did not want, went to them. Although he looked huge to me, Bill said that he was quite young (a teenager) but a nice trophy and in prime condition. As there was a one only policy, that was my hunt over. It was time to concentrate on getting a Buff for Bruce.

(A short foot note to finish this days hunt). After the photo session, autopsy and removal of the meat and horns, it was getting very late and darkness had closed around us. We still had over a mile to walk down stream to the vehicle. Stumbling along on the pathetic excuse of a trail was the most hair raising experience of my life. It appeared that the entire population of Buffalo had come out to play; it seemed that every few yards a huge black shape would go charging off into the bush making a hell of a noise and scaring the living daylights out of us. I swear that they would stand their ground until we were only a few yards away. Then give a spine tingling snort before thundering off. Most times we did not even see them until they moved. I cravenly reasoned that if one decided that he did not like us and charged, the Aborigine tracker being in the front would get wiped out first. The trouble was, he was only a small weed of a chap and would be hard put to stop a charging ant, Bill, next in line, would be able to take most of the impact, giving Bruce and me a chance to escape up a tree. Bruce was next in line with me bravely bringing up the rear. I say bravely, but I was only trying to get as far away from the action up front as possible. I think that my neck developed a serious crick that night as I spent most of the journey looking over my shoulder, afraid that they would double around and have a go at us from behind. I can tell you I was a shaking, quivering wreck by the time we reached the 4WD.

However my hunt was finished so I took on the camera duties and we spent the remaining three days looking for a Buff for Bruce. It must be remembered that this was Bills first Buffalo hunt with clients and was a huge learning curve for him. The week that we were there helped him to get an understanding of their movements and where they were mostly concentrated. We often found them miles out on the beaches looking for salt. Or out in the vast inaccessible swamplands that were swarming with Crocks.

Ray and his son Bruce

Although we saw many Buffalo and that Bruce had several chances he had not yet connected. It was on the last day of our hunt when we stumbled on a large flat dried up swamp area with a small stream out in the middle. There were huge wallows the size of small back yard swimming pools every where, and numerous game trails coming out of the bush all heading for the wet area in the middle. We knew that we had found a honey hole. Glassing the area we could see a large number of buffalo out in the wallows enjoying themselves during the heat of the day.

Selecting a likely victim we planed the stalk, Bruce and Bill were to lead out with me backing up with the camera. When we were 50yards away it was agreed that I would hang back and continued to film as they attempted to get in close. I positioned myself by a small tree, using it for a steady rest while filming. Bill and Bruce got to within 25 yards of the wallow then inexplicably went to ground out of sight, and stayed there. What the hell are they doing I wondered. Time passed and I was getting pee’d off, when out of the wallow erupted a huge Buffalo cow with a small calf in tow. She charged in on Bruce and Bill, sliding to a stop within 12 yards of them. She stood there tossing her head that sported a set of very large horns in a very threatening manner, and proceeded to give them the evil eye. (Bill later told me that it was so unexpected that he could not have got his rifle ready to fire if she had kept coming). After what seemed an age she gave a snort, about faced and charged off.

Unfortunately she chose to run in my direction. Oh crap of all the points of the compass she could have chosen to make her maddened run; it had to be straight in my direction. I looked at the useless camera that would do little to protect me from a pissed off cow and her calf. Bills warning about always having a tree handy flashed through my mind, what tree! The only one within thirty yards of me was the one that I had been using as a camera rest. That scrawny pathetic excuse for a tree was so spindly, that even if I had managed to climb 6ft off the ground, it would have bent over double leaving my bum still on the ground. I had no option. Trying to suck my gut in (no mean feat) I tried to make myself invisible behind the 4inch tree trunk. The cow had by this time build up a good head of steam and without a pause thundered past me 6 yards away. Christ that was close I thought.

Looking over to where Bill and Bruce were, I was expecting them to be looking my way with great concern, but I quickly realized that they had more than enough trouble of their own. In fact they had gone from the frying pan into the fire; a huge bull had emerged from another wallow nearby and was on full alert trying to figure out why his girl friend had suddenly shifted camp. He quickly closed in on the two hunters and at 8 yards proceeded to paw the earth and started tossing his head, man he was pissed off, even from my distance he made a terrifying spectacle. Bill had the rifle at the ready and it became a Mexican standoff. Finally after what seemed a lifetime. The huge bull spun around and without a back ward look, headed for safety.

Aw shit........here we go again, yeah you guessed it, he was heading straight for me. As he got closer I could feel the ground shaking, or was that me? I will never know. It seemed that the closer he came, the larger he became until in my terrified state he became a great slathering beast with flashing red eyes. (No, my life didn’t flash in front of me, I was far to terrified for such mundane thoughts). Finally, a life time later, he thundered passed, missing me by only a matter of feet. As he drew level with me he must have got a glimpse of me, when he flicked his horns in my direction and kicked his hooves as he flashed past.

My legs were shaking so badly that I promptly sat down. Seeing this, Bill came running over to see if I was OK.....apologizing profusely. “I should never have left you out here in the open exposed like this, sorry mate”. “But mate you did the right thing freezing like that, it took guts to stay put and not run, well done” he said.

I felt that it was my manly duty not to inform him that I was so shit scared that I could not have moved if I had tried, I had been frozen to the spot out of shear terror. Bruce came running up and said “did you get it all on camera Dad....it will make great footage”? I looked at him, then down at the discarded camera lying in the dust at my feet. “No son, it all happened too fast for me to get it set up”. Well you don’t think I was going to admit to my own son that I was so shit scared the last thing on my mind was that bloody camera? Well do you?

Moving 1000yards further down the swamp plain, we saw another huge bull wallowing in a deep hole that was surrounded by scrubby trees. It was quickly decided that Bruce and Bill would go in for a stalk while I stayed by a handy tree and watch the action. By this time I’d had a guts full of Buffalo, and was quite happy to leave them to it. “Stay out of trouble” was Bills parting shot. Fortunately he did not see the gesture, nor hear the well framed words that I muttered under my breath.

Bruce

I scaled a nearby tree (purely so I could get a better view I hope you understand) and from my birds eye view, watched Bruce put in a great stalk. Using the cover of the small scrubby trees, he managed to get in real close to the unsuspecting bull, then with his 75lb Ferguson custom long bow, placed the 960grn Grizzly stick arrow tipped with 190grn Grizzly Broad head into his vitals at 12yards. He only ran 100yards and piled up in a cloud of dust. Bruce was beside himself. The buff was huge, making mine look minuscule.

After the congratulations and back thumping, and with the usual photo session plus the butchering accomplished, we set off for the vehicle. On the way back I calculated that we must have seen another 15 bulls, plus numerous Cows. What a Buffalo hunting paradise. Bill estimated that his concession alone held up to 2500 mature bulls, ensuring that many happy clients would have great success in the future.

Now that the hunt had come to its conclusion, Bill handed us a questioner and invited us to put down our thoughts and how the hunt could be improved. Bruce and I were unanimous in saying that the camp facilities could not be improved upon. But as this was one of the most remote places on earth, and with all the traveling involved to get there, we felt that there should be a choice of two Buffs per person. Oh yeah, and to also provide a practice butt!!! Bill told us later that this suggestion was accepted by the local Tewi people, with a small extra fee added for the second Buff.

Back in Darwin we had several hours to kill so we all decided to go to an up market restaurant for a bang up meal and a couple of beers, and to swap lies before leaving on our separate flights. The head waiter sat us at our table and with a flourish laid the napkins on our knees, asking us if we would like the specialty of the house. What’s that we asked, Prime Buffalo steaks, was the proud reply. The poor chap was sent off in a very confused state as we fell about laughing, we had seen enough Buffalo to last us a very long time.

This marked the end of a great hunt with wonderful memories that will last a life time.

Sadly eighteen months after this hunt Australia lost a great sportsman, Bow Hunter, Novelist and one of the real “good guys”. When Bill lost his fight with cancer, Bruce and I, plus our families lost a very dear friend.

R.I.P Mate

Written by Ray Scott (Dream Rider)

*If any readers would like to watch a great DVD about bow hunting Water Buffalo, I highly recommend, Water Buffalo, “Point Blank”. Featuring Bill Baker, Dale Karch of 3 Rivers Archery, Danny Sturgess and Dr Donnall Thomas Jr.

http://www.3riversarchery.com/product.asp?i=7034

Hunting the mighty Eland in Namibia

2011-07-21T22:37:00.001-04:00

It was my third visit to Namibia and once again I was hunting with my good friend and guide, Roger Coomber of Vieranas Safaris. On the previous hunts we had seen numerous Eland but I had not been fortunate enough to connect with a trophy. This trip I was determined to concentrate on remedying this omission.

Eland are the biggest Antelope in the world and have huge body mass weighing in at up to one ton. I had initially been concerned whether I had enough Kinetic Energy, but Roger quickly assured me that I had enough. But it really came down to arrow weight and

the type of Broad Head used, and of course shot placement was critical. The gear that I was hunting with was a Mathews M7 set at 65lb with a 27inch draw. The arrows were FMJ 300 with either a 125 grn Striker or a 125 grn German kinetic. The 300s were an over kill for my poundage, but I wanted plenty of weight and they flew like darts with either BH. I ended up using the Striker, for no other reason than in the heat of the moment it was the first one out of my quiver.

Late on the fifth day found us in one of the many blinds that were strategically placed around the property. This particular one was positioned on the edge of a large clearing surrounded by Mopani trees over looking a water hole positioned approximately 23yards from the blind. These pit blinds are extremely well constructed. Firstly a pit the dimensions of the required blind is dug two to three feet into the ground .Then using mud bricks the sides are built up to the required height, this in turn supported the roof, and the whole structure was then covered by several feet of earth, making for a roomy, wonderfully cool interior that was impervious to the scorching temperatures outside. (Of course the PH was always sent in first to check for snakes). We had seen an enormous amount of game coming into the water hole during the day. Kudu, Red Hartebeest, Oryx, Giraffe and the ever comical Warthogs were well represented. With all this game coming in, it’s damn hard not to relent and put something on the ground, but I was hanging out for the animal that I most wanted.

I was half asleep when I heard Roger whisper the magic word “Eland”. Following the direction that Roger was looking, I immediately got a serious case of the shakes. An Eland Bull had some how slipped to within 50 yards of us without detection, and was standing there without a flicker of movement.

Nothing had prepared me for the sheer size of him. He was majestic. Standing 1.80 centimeters (6ft) at the shoulder with huge body mass, with the bluish coloring around his neck and shoulders that is always evident in the fully mature bulls,. His dewlap was hanging down near his knees and a large tuft of bristles prominent on his forehead. Roger was studying him through the bino’s. He then leaned over and whispered that “he was as big as they get”. “A real Dugga Boy”, to use the colloquial term that applied to old Cape Buffalo Bulls.

He was standing on the edge of the clearing under a canopy of some small Mopani trees, with the late sun filtering down creating a mottled effect over his tan colored body. It was incredible how he merged into the back ground. I marveled how he became almost invisible while standing there for twenty five minutes with out moving a muscle. It wasn’t until a small herd of Eland cows moved into the water hole, that he decided to merge in with them, trying to adopt the safety in numbers routine, but due to his size, he stuck out like the proverbial sore toe as he towered above the cows, which only seemed to emphasize his sheer height and bulk.

I was in a high state of excitement as I prepared myself for a shot. Many minutes went by while he drank his fill standing directly front on. This however gave me time to get my nerves under control while I studied the monster. Finally he finished his drinking marathon, turned and walked away a few paces. He then turned broadside, presenting a perfect shot at thirty yards. It was now or never, the shot was gone almost without any conscious effort. It felt good but looked a little high with good penetration. He bolted for a short distance, and then quietly walked away; giving every indication that he was hard hit. After a short discussion, we decided to leave him as it was quickly getting dark, with the intention of returning at dawn the next day. We were concerned that if we followed up too soon we could bump him up and lose him in the fading light. Over a much needed drink that evening, we reviewed the film footage and were both stunned to see that the bull had ducked the string by six inches, thus causing the high shot placement. I had no idea that such a huge animal could react so fast.

Early next morning Roger sent out a tracker to climb a nearby kopjes (small granite boulder hill) to glass the area, with the understanding that he was to radio us if he spotted the Eland. Roger and I started following the trail behind one of his top trackers. We had only covered a hundred yards when the first tracker came running back, and breathlessly told us that he had found him. He was so excited that he had forgotten all about using the radio.

The Eland had not gone far, and was probably dead before we even got into the vehicle to return back to camp the night before. To say that I was ecstatic would have been the understatement of the year. Three years I had waited for this, finally all my planning and preparation had paid off. He was everything I wanted in an Eland bull. However he was not going to make any record books, as his horns had been badly rubbed down due to his advanced age, a small price to pay for the trophy of a life time. Several Ph’s who saw the film footage, (when they could stop drooling over him) put him at the quite magnificent age of 14-15yrs. His estimated weight was between 900-1000kg (approx one ton). Roger later told me that there had only previously been four large Eland Bulls taken off Vieranas, and mine was the fifth, with the assurance that he was by far the largest.

While we were admiring and photographing him, Roger told me that he had seen this particular Eland on one other occasion during the previous year. This happened to be just a few days before a film crew arrived from America to cover a hunt for a “well known” American bow hunter. This hunter particularly wanted an Eland hunt on film. Roger and his trackers tried in vain to find the monster, but they had to settle for a lesser trophy for the hunter to claim. The hunt was dually completed and regarded as a huge success, with every one well satisfied with the resulting film footage.

While I was standing there admiring him I reflected back on how fate can play its hand. I did not feel sorry in the least that they had not got him. He was mine now, and would forever be one of my greatest hunting triumphs. Thanks Roger. Thanks Namibia.

Ray Scott ( Dream Rider)

New Zealand

Raining, Deer and Dingoes: Toomba 2007

2011-06-27T18:20:00.000-04:00

Eighteen months of anticipation ended in total darkness as I stepped off a quad bike, tied my bow onto a rope and started to climb a gum tree. I was in Australia, Toomba Station in North Queensland to be exact and I was finally hunting Chital deer.

Good friend Ray Scott had asked me at the beginning of 2006 if I would like to hunt Chital deer with him in June 2007. I jumped at the opportunity to hunt a new species. We were to have hunted with Bill Baker, owner of Pacific Bowhunting Safaris, but unfortunately Bill was undergoing treatment for stomach cancer. Good friend of Bill’s and editor of “Bowhunting Downunder Magazine” Graham Cash would guide us.

Chital or Axis deer were introduced to Australia around the same time deer were being liberated in New Zealand. They are generally regarded as the most “attractive” of the many deer species. Looking at photos of Chital on the net while researching their habits showed them to be a striking animal. The stags are about the size of our Sika stags and their antlers are long (30 inches is a sought after length) with mature heads sporting six points. Like Sika, Chital have spotted hides but unlike Sika these spots are particularly distinctive, smaller, more numerous and white. The hinds appeared to be just a little smaller than a Sika hind but a little bigger than a fallow hind.

Halfway up the gum tree I was climbing was a tree stand. Hunting from one of these would be a new experience for me. I felt somewhat vulnerable perched on a small seat off the ground. Fortunately it wouldn’t be light for another half hour so I couldn’t see how high up I was.

As my surroundings emerged from the gloom I saw that I was in a tree on the edge of a large area of bush and of some eight square kilometers of grass. The stand I was in was put there to intercept the large mobs of Chital that fed nightly on the grass. In the morning they would walk to their bedding areas situated in the bush behind me. Three tree stands were placed along the bush edge spaced approximately 200 yards apart. I was in the center one and Graham was confident that this was the right stand to be in. Time would tell. It was cool perched in the dim morning light with the temperature around 12 degrees but the day promised to be very hot.

Top Aussie bow hunter Dan Smith had told me about the bountiful bird life at Toomba Station and he wasn’t wrong. Just as the sun poked its head over the horizon it was as if someone had flicked a switch as the pre-dawn silence was shattered by thousands of bird calls. Over the next twenty minutes they all took to the air, leaving their overnight perches in search of food. What an experience.

Looking about I quickly realized the grass below me was not like our grass. It is anywhere from two to seven feet tall. The grass was eaten short around the stand, growing to three feet high 50 yards out. This was higher than all of the deer, bar the tallest antlered stags. I glassed and glassed for ninety minutes through my 10 power Leica Geovids before I saw a deer. The time was 7.55am and what I thought was a hind but turned out to be a stag that had cast its antlers, appeared on the edge of the paddock 422 yards ahead of me. It waited 20 yards in from the bush edge looking out into the paddock for almost ten minutes before trotting out 80 yards across a dried swamp to the safety of the long grass.

One of Kevin's morning hunting areas

I was pleased to have seen my first Chital and it only took a few minutes for me to see my second, third …and thirty-first. A large mob of around thirty deer appeared from the trees 100 yards to the left of the first deer. They slowly eased out of the cover and began feeding along a strip about 120 yards wide between the basalt wall and the grass. The geography of Toomba Station is quite unique with the Aussies calling it basalt country. Ten thousand years ago lava flowed for some 120 kilometres over the landscape. Fingers of lava up to 20 feet high spread out from the main flow that is up to 10 kilometres wide in places. These fingers provide refuge for the chital as broken surface of the basalt is virtually impossible to stalk quietly on.

As the mob spread out on the strip I could see two stags, one of which was particularly interested in a hind. From what I could see the larger of the two stags had a reasonable set of antlers. The tops were short so I estimated his antlers to be between 23-25 inches long. The stag pushed the hind closer to me but they were still 250 yards away. As he followed the hind he roared. It was an unusual roar, sounding like four sika single calls but very “songlike, birdlike”.

At Toomba the Chital breed all year round. This is why you can see stags with cast antlers and stags in rut in the same morning. The warm climate creates this rather unusual situation. Ray had told me about this before we arrived but seeing is believing, very confusing for a kiwi hunter.

This was looking really good for me with the stag pushing the hind, bringing him very quickly to my tree stand. The rest of the mob was following them. I nocked an arrow. They all passed a large gum tree 200 yards away. The mob fed around it for a few minutes before moving in my direction. I would later find out that there was a tree stand in that particular gum tree. When the stag was 150 yards away he realized that the hind was just stringing him along. Abruptly he turned tail and trotted back the way he came and out of sight. The smaller stag followed him.

Graham "Cashy" Cash

The mob was still coming my way but now at a much slower pace, just mooching along. Moving towards their bedding area they mob spilled over the basalt feeding as they went. They were now around 100yards away, I readied for an opportunity. It was now 9am and starting to warm up. The mob was spread out a little with some heading into the trees behind the stand but the majority starting bedding down on the warm basalt rocks. That wasn’t part of my plan. I ranged them at 106 yards. Things were about to get worse as the wind was blowing from the paddock into the trees. I took a few photos of the deer bedded down, waiting for the inevitable. The deer that had fed behind me got my wind, alerting the mob. Soon I was alone.

It was apparent that I was in the “Wrong” stand on the first day. I called Graham on the radio and he and Ray picked me up in an old Landcruiser. Ray had no luck either with a hind winding him in his stand and taking all the deer in bow range out of it as she fled the scene.

That afternoon Graham and I hunted in the heat of the day to look for deer bedded down. The Chital like to bed down under shady trees. The plan was to spot the deer at distance then stalk in using the grass (waist high) as cover. Graham pointed out several fresh stag scrapes, while encouraging we didn’t see any deer.

Discussion that night focused on the day’s events and where to hunt the next morning. I quizzed Graham about the Chital and he outlined the three basic rules of Chital hunting. Rule number one is aim low, rule number two is aim low and rule number three is aim low. Chital have lightning reflexes and frequently drop down out of an arrow’s path. Graham said that he could not recall anyone ever shooting low. Little did Graham know but he just put the commentators curse on me.

State of Origin 2

Wednesday morning saw me head out again into the darkness to the stand the mob had been feeding around the previous morning. In three hours time I would call this the “Right” stand. Graham used one of the farm quads so as not to alert the deer by using a vehicle unknown to them. He also followed a well-worn loop farm track for the same reason.

At 7.50am I saw the antler-less stag again. He was in the same place. Five minutes later the large mob I saw the morning before appeared right on cue. This time a larger stag (28” antlers) was with them. They milled about on the bush edge for 10 minutes before they felt safe to head to the bedding area. My luck was in as they starting trotting along the farm track and would pass within 20yards of the stand. They were moving too fast to range so I relied on remembering the various landmarks I had ranged earlier. I didn’t know how the deer would react when I drew the bow and my lack of experience saw me draw too soon. Some of the deer were only 15 yards away and they reacted to the movement. Some ran off, some stopped. The stag stopped looking at the deer in front of him. He was at the back of the line and further out than I would have liked, I guessed 42 yards. Placing my 40 yard pin low on his chest I executed a perfect shot. It would have been more perfect if it had hit the stag but the arrow went just under, yes under, its chest. He just stood there perfectly still, I couldn’t believe it, the stag was supposed to drop. Before I could reload he ran to catch the rest of the mob and was gone.

I hardly had time to reflect on the chance when I looked to my left to see a mob of fifteen deer walking past 50 yards out. I effortlessly drew the 62lbs of my Hoyt Vectrix back. I lined up on the lead hind and squeezed a shot off when she stopped. By the time the arrow arrived the hind was a full body length away. Wow, two extremes, one deer not reacting at all to the shot and another super fast. Two shots in two minutes and more was to come. A third group emerged ahead of me. No stags in it with two spikers acting as rear guards. I didn’t want to shoot at the two spikers so I let the mob of ten deer run past me at 15-20 yards. This proved to be a good call.

Just as that mob went past I saw two more deer appear 100 yards in front of me. They were running along the same path. A hind was in the lead with the second deer, a spiker a few yards behind. The hind stopped on the track and licked her left side. I estimated the range to be 25 yards. With her head turned I drew the bow. Deciding on a quartering on shot I placed my 20 yard pin at the base of her neck. She brought her head back around and looked down the track towards the basalt just as I moved my right elbow back. I didn’t see the arrow speed across the gap between the tip of the broad head and the hind but heard that it had struck its mark, or so I thought. The hind turned to her right and then she powered across the dried up swamp to my right. Her destination was to the apparent safety of the long grass covering the paddock on the other side of the swamp. It took the hind less than ten seconds to cover the 200 yards from where I shot her to reach the waist-high grass. I was surprised she made it that far, expecting her to drop halfway across the swamp.

She slowed to a walk as she weaved her way through the grass. I was glad to have good optics on me as I could easily make out the top of her back in the grass but after she had moved 20 yards through it she was gone.

Uncertainty over my shot now hit me. Most deer if hit properly would have dropped halfway across the swamp but she had made it all the way to the other side. Had she kept on going in the long grass, hidden from view or had she simply died where I had last seen her? The minutes ticked by as I scanned the area for any sign of her, all the time running the different scenarios through my head, wondering what had happened. I was about to get the answer and it came from a most unlikely source, a bird. One about the size of our native falcon flew 20 feet over the spot I had last seen the hind, circled twice then landed in the grass. It turned out to be a forked-tailed kite and it looked like it had found my hind. I called up the boys and soon the Landcruiser was parked under the treestand. I told Ray and Graham what had happened and where I thought the hind was and why. Picking up the blood trail was easy, I felt good about this because the hind had fair belted for cover. Despite the long strides she took, the blood trail was easy to follow, a sign of a solid hit. Graham and Ray were keen on following the blood trail but I wasn’t really that interested in following it, instead setting my sights on where I had seen the kite land. It didn’t take long to cover the spongy surface of the dried swamp and reach the long grass. As a precaution I nocked an arrow. Moving through the waist-high grass we continued to find blood and then a few yards in front of us the kite took to the air in a panic. Any doubts I had over the shot were gone, there lay the hind, man was I happy. If I thought I was happy then Ray was even happier.

Kevin with his first hind

He was extremely pleased for me. I felt very fortunate to be hunting with Ray. Two years earlier Ray had spent a week on Toomba and while he had opportunities Ray ended up going home empty-handed. Those of lesser character may have been miffed not to have shot a deer first but not Ray.

Doing a quick autopsy I found the hind had jumped the shot with the arrow hitting her on her left side instead of her right where I had been aiming. The arrow passed through her chest coming out by her back legs. Looking at the hind I had to agree that they were a striking looking deer.

That afternoon Ray and Graham discussed the options for the evening and decided to hunt from “Stralia” stand. “Stralia” stand got its name because of a piece of basalt at the base of it that is the shape of Australia. “Stralia” stand was at the end of small peninsula of basalt around 3 feet high. It faced the homestead overlooking a large feeding area. To Ray’s right was a large swamp with a small pond in the center of it. Straight ahead and to the left lay open grassland. The deer usually fed out from basalt bedding area to Ray’s right and past the stand well within bow range.

Getting into the stand early so the area would be pristine for the evening hunt Ray had a few hours to pass before the action started. For the kiwi hunter, waiting up a tree would seem like the most boring thing you could ever do but it’s not. Having spent the previous two mornings in one myself, it surprised me just how quickly time passed. As Ray waited he was treated to a wide range of wildlife moving around him with the highlight being an Echidna.

An hour before dark Ray spied a mob of 11 Chital as they ventured out to feed. Ray first saw them at 180 yards. Rather than emerge from where predicted, the right, they came out behind the stand and to Ray’s left. The mob hugged the natural contours created by the basalt as they picked their way through the long grass towards “Stralia” stand. Unfortunately there were no stags in the mob, just a mixture of hinds, spikers and yearlings. Ray was eager to put a Chital on the deck so decided to take the first good opportunity at a hind. It took the mob almost an hour to feed into bow range. Two spikers walked past the stand and around the top of the small pond, two hinds followed. Ray carefully ranged the closest hind, 20 yards. Side-on to Ray he drew his Hoyt Vectrix back to full draw as she dropped her head down to feed. With his pin sitting mid-chest Ray sent his arrow on its way.

The next sound that reached Rays ears was not the sound he was expecting or wanting. It was the sound of an arrow hitting the ground, the shot was high. Both hunter and quarry were surprised. Without thinking about it Ray nocked another arrow as the deer bounded five paces further out. Unsure what was going on it stopped, somewhat confused. The hind was now quartering away with its head to the right. Taking into account the extra distance Ray quickly sent another arrow towards the hind. Ray cursed as he realised he had rushed the shot. The arrow passed within 1/2inch of her right shoulder landing six feet past her in a cloud of dust. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred after firing two arrows at a deer you would expect never see it again, what happened next I have never seen. The hind looked at the arrow quivering in the ground, trying to work out what it was. This gave Ray a third chance.

Ray with his hind

Already having had two practice shots Ray made no mistake on his third shot. The 125 grain Montec whipped straight through the hinds chest. It looked and sounded like a good hit. Ray lost sight of her as she ran for the safety of the basalt bedding area. Darkness was starting to close in so Ray climbed down out of the stand almost immediately confident the deer was dead. A good patch of blood greeted Ray when he reached the spot the deer had been hit. Looking to where the deer had run he saw her only 20 yards away piled up in the pond. Ray called Graham and me up on the radio and we headed in to pick him up. He could not contain his happiness as he had a permanent grin on his face. This was absolutely fantastic, two deer shot on one day, it doesn’t get much better than that but it did. That night we watched Queensland spank New South Wales in the second State of Origin match.

Later in the night it rained. This was a bonus I thought as it would wash away all of our scent from the hunting areas. What I didn’t know is that we wouldn’t see the sun again until we got to Brisbane Airport four days later.

The Rains Came

It poured that night and turned into a constant drizzle for the morning hunt. I hunted “Wrong” stand again and it lived up to its name. The closest a deer got to the stand was 400 yards. Ray also had no luck. For the afternoon hunt Ray sat in a stand in “Middle Alley” a main thoroughfare for the chital. Just after Ray got into his stand it poured. Graham was thrilled about this as according to him “you can just walk right up to the stags in heavy rain and simply poke an arrow into them”. After two hours of power walking in the heavy rain I worked out that the stags must know this as none were about.

Graham, Ray and I spent Friday searching for deer at a spot called Four Corners. The country around here is what the Aussies call the sand hill country. A classic Aussie description, it was basically flat, no hills and covered in trees and grass. Despite the misleading description it was great country to hunt and screamed deer. Spreading out we covered a lot of country with light rain falling all of the time. Kangaroo’s and wallabies were everywhere, a good sign according to Graham as this means the food in the area is appealing to deer. Two hours later we met up, no deer had been seen even though there was an abundance of “Rub trees”. This is an Aussie term for a tree a stag has rubbed his antlers on, not a type of tree. We headed back to camp. Shortly after we arrived the heavens opened.

Two pm rolled around and the rain had eased to a light drizzle. Graham took Ray out to a tree stand in the basalt. Just as Graham got back the rain came down heavier than before. I laughed, Ray would be saturated. Graham and I delayed our departure for as long as possible hoping the rain would ease. It didn’t but it wasn’t going to stop us going for a hunt.

Stalking along the bush edge I spotted a dingo out in the open. Graham howled at the dingo. Its ears picked up and he came quickly towards us. We moved towards it as well but the dingo stayed 65 yards away from us. Not having a pin for that range I estimated where 65 yard pin would be and let rip. Graham said the arrow just cleared its back. The dingo ran 10 yards and then came back to see what had almost hit him. I watched it sniff the arrow. It must have got a nose full of my scent as it turned tail and ran for the hills.

An hour later we were stalking the edge of a small lake. Graham led the way as the rain came down just a little heavier and the temperature dropped a couple of degrees, fantastic. This is where I was very pleased to have thrown in two extra items of clothing, a Bow hunting New Zealand magazine beanie Matt Willis had given me and a Stoney Creek Silent Series top. The top kept the worst of the rain out and the beanie kept me warm. Six foot high reeds surrounded the pond flanking us on the left while waist-high grass was on our right. With all of the rain we were able to move relatively silently through the grass, our noise masked by the heavy droplets falling around and on us. All of a sudden the back end of a hind materialized 20 yards ahead. I fumbled in the wet to nock an arrow. Moving two paces forward I could see three deer feeding next to the tall green reeds. I called to Graham and he slowly lowered himself down, out of sight and harms way. One of the deer was side on to me. Facing left its head was lifted so it could nibble on something tasty high in the reeds. I guessed it to be only 18 yards away. Drawing the bow I instinctively lined up my green 20 yard pin low on its left front leg. The shot went off easily and the sound of a solid hit could be heard through the heavy rain. All three deer literally exploded away from the reeds, heading for cover. One went high back to the basalt while the other two ran 20 yards above the pond but parallel to the reeds. They were soon lost from sight in the high grass. I thought the deer I shot at was one of the two that ran off together but I couldn’t be sure. I also thought I saw the deer react to the shot going off, so once again I had doubts as to where the arrow had gone. Graham was unsighted so could shed no light on where the deer was hit.

Cashy with Kevin's second hind

Unlike the hind I had shot two days earlier there was no time to ponder, the heavy rain would soon be washing any blood trail away. I looked for the arrow but there was no sign of it, lost somewhere in the vegetation. There was good blood where the deer had been standing and it was easy to follow but after following it for 20 yards it began to disappear due to the rain. It was after 5 pm and was getting dark making the blood even harder to see. We decided to split up to look for the deer. Graham followed a likely trail in the grass not far from the reeds while I ventured a little higher. It was less than five minutes since my shot and we were looking for a dead animal. It was impossible to find blood; any sign had simply been washed away. Pushing through the dense waist high grass for a few minutes I yelled out to Graham, “Here it is”. My second Chital lay on top of the grass very dead and facing back the way it had come. It had traveled about 60 yards from where it had been feeding. Graham was quickly at my side shaking my hand. Turning the deer over confirmed it had reacted to the shot. There was no hole where there should have been on its left hand side. Turning the deer over we could see the arrow had gone in the front of its chest between the front legs coming out behind the right hand shoulder. I was amazed how fast the deer had reacted. It was a short walk back to the accommodation where we had left our cameras. I took great delight having my photo taken while kneeling in a large puddle of rain water. How often does that ever happen in the Northern Queensland dry season?

Ray glassing for Chital

The next day Ray and Graham stalked in on a feeding stag with antlers around the 26 inch mark. Over an hour had passed as they covered the 400 yards of open ground to get within bow range. Tucked into some light cover Ray ranged the stag at 42 yards. He waited for the right moment. As the stag moved into a broadside position and lowered his head to feed Ray drew back putting his 40 yard pin halfway up its body. Ray released his arrow as the stag fed, perfect timing. On release the stag dropped down on his hind legs, wheeled around 180 degrees and bolted for the cover. Rays arrow was right on target but the stag had moved completely out of the way. It ran out to 60 yards stopping to work out what had just happened. There was no chance for a second shot and they watched the stag disappear into the long grass. Ray and Graham were both amazed how quickly the stag had reacted and Ray’s bow is particularly quiet.

During the last two days of hunting at Toomba Ray and I saw a lot of deer. No more stags were seen, the rain spreading them far and wide over the property. Like all good trips it came to an end far too soon, it had been one of the best hunting trips I had been on. Graham is a brilliant guide doing everything he could to get us a stag each. We both had shots at stags so could ask for nothing more. On our way home Ray and I were fortunate to catch up with Bill and Linda Baker at Townsville Airport before we left. We had a good yarn and Bill was thrilled with our success. Regrettably Bill succumbed to his illness on August 20^th. Bill’s passing is a huge loss to bowhunting in Australia and his regular column in Bowhunting New Zealand Magazine will be missed by readers on this side of the Tasman.

Ray and I will be heading back to Aussie soon as we both have unfinished business with the Chital.

Ray taking a picture of Kevin

On behalf of Archery Addix, I would like to thank Kevin Watson of Advanced Archery New Zealand who kindly agreed to allow Ray Scott (dream rider) to submit this incredible story to the AAF Blog. Kevin has for many years made regular contributions to New Zealand and Australian bow hunting Mags.

The Majestic Red Stags of New Zealand

2011-06-08T05:54:00.000-04:00

It was one of those glorious mornings that make you feel good to be alive. Bow hunter and guide sitting in companionable silence, watching the sun slowly coming up over the horizon, sending out fingers of light that danced off the fresh snow cap that crowned Mt Ruapehu. We watched as the new born light gradually pushed the dark shadows down the face of the mountain, seeking out the last remnants of darkness until the mountain was standing proud in all its colorful glory, Gerald and I sat in quiet wonder with our breath forming puffs of white vapor in the crisp morning air, doing little to obscure the panoramic splendor that was laid before us.

I was hunting the mighty Red Stag with Gerald Fluerty, one of the top hunting guides in New Zealand. The vista that we were sitting there enjoying, is situated in the central North Island, in one of the countries national parks. While basking in the wonderful feeling of well being, and the camaraderie of Gerald’s company, I quietly reflected back on how this all came about.

I have always wanted to hunt a top trophy Red Stag, but for some reason or another it had never come together for me. Over my many years of bow hunting I had shot hinds and smaller stags, also a long line of great trophy Fallow bucks, but the big Red stags had always eluded me.

One day while visiting my friend Kevin Watson of Advanced Archery in Auckland, we got onto the subject of hunting the mighty Reds. He excitedly told me about a top New Zealand hunting guide, Gerald Fluerty, who had just recently visited his premises with the desire to take up bow hunting. Kevin set him up in the hunting gear that Gerald required, which ultimately lead to an invitation for Kevin to go on a hunt with him.

Several weeks later Kevin returned home from a highly successful trip. He was enthusiastic about what he had seen, and Gerald’s ability to put him onto good trophy Reds. His enthusiasm rubbed off and I knew I would not be happy unless I had a crack at getting a top Red for myself. I contacted Gerald one evening, and after a wonderful hour talking about all things hunting, I found myself booking him for a six day hunt in late March. This is early roar (rut) over here.

The next few months found me giving the target a heavy pounding with my Hoyt Vectrix, set on 65lb with a 27inch draw. I was using Beman 400 carbon arrows with a 125grn Striker BH. This was the rig I intended to hunt with, and I am a great believer in practicing with the gear that I am going to use.

Eventually after what seemed an interminable wait, I found myself in the company of Gerald, as we drove to the area that we intended to hunt. The excitement quickly mounted when I got my first look at the terrain that we were to hunt. It consisted of large rolling hills covered in heavy native bush, with lots of good clearings. This is ideal Red Deer habitat, and it wasn’t long before we were huffing up one of these huge hills with the intention of glassing for any activity during the late afternoon and early evening. (Let me clarify that statement, I was the one that was doing the huffing and puffing). Gerald, 30years younger, as fit as a buck Rat, was striding out like he was immune to gravity.

Although we saw plenty of animals, with hinds and young stags in good numbers, we only spotted one good stag. After a long look with the bino's I decided that he was not quite what I was after. We also noted that due to it being unseasonably hot, the stags were not yet roaring and were still holed up in the tight bush, making it almost impossible to find them.

After three wonderful days covering many miles, we had still not sighted a top trophy (they were there but just not showing themselves in the unseasonably warm weather). That evening Gerald put in a phone call to another hunting concession and was told that the reds were starting to roar there. This was followed by feverish activity breaking camp, and hitting the road, arriving at the new area a few hours later,

I instantly fell in love with the new hunting area, which consisted of gentle rolling hills covered in mature Beech forest. It bordered onto the central North Island National park, with the majestic Mt Ruapehu in the background. We were so close to the mountain that we could see through the binos the chairlifts on the ski fields.

We spent the remaining three days hunting from daylight to dark, and although we saw some great trophies my luck was out. It was just not going to happen. On one occasion we saw three huge stags having a punch up in a large clearing. After a few minutes of discussion we came to the conclusion that it would be incredibly difficult to get in close as there was no cover. However nothing ventured, nothing gained, so we decided to take the direct approach through the knee height grass relying on their preoccupation with their brawl to keep them distracted. We quickly crawled and wriggled to within 50 yards; our target was a small bush that was 30 yards from them that would enable me to get into a shooting position. But 10 yards short, while still out in the open, one of the stags suddenly lifted his head and stared at the two mounds lying on the ground that had not been there before. Concern quickly transmitted through the stags, and in a few seconds we were surrounded by three extremely tense stags at approx 50yards. We felt very vulnerable lying out there like fly’s stuck to sticky paper. It was an impossible situation and after the slightest movement they were gone. I had had a great time, and before leaving for home, I arranged a return date with Gerald for the following year, right in the middle of the roar.

The year quickly rolled around and in April, I was back hunting the same wonderful Beech forest, with the Stags roaring fit to bust. What a thrill stalking into a frenzied bellowing stag at the height of the roar. On one occasion after a long careful stalk, we got in real close to an absolute monster. He was huge with at least 21 points and was by far the biggest that I had ever seen. This is it I thought; at long last I was going to get a shot, and was just lifting my bow when I felt a hand on my shoulder. Glancing around Gerald nodded towards a young stag that was watching us from a small ridge. We had been so intent on the big boy we had not seen him. One grunt of alarm from him and it was all over.

We were into the last day and I was starting to think that I must have done something very bad to have upset the hunting gods. We had seen a good number of great stags but for one reason or another it just did not happen. Late morning found us on a small mound, glassing a roaring stag about 1000yards away. While we were discussing his merits and whether a stalk was possible, out stepped the same huge stag that I had attempted to get a shot at the previous day. Only thirty yards from us he proceeded to strut around the base of the mound emitting ground shaking bellows, challenging the stag that we had just been glassing. I hardly had time to take in this primeval scenario that has been acted out in its spine tingling glory for countless eons, when Gerald whispered “take him now while he is fully occupied”. I ranged him at 30yards and quickly got into position for a shot. I had just placed the pin on his shoulder, when from behind me I heard a soft “no”. Confused I let down and looked back at an equally confused Gerald. “What’s wrong” I whispered “why did you say no”? “I didn’t”, he whispered back “I just said aim “low” because you are shooting down hill”!!!!. Owing to the fact that I have done a lot of competitive small bore shooting in my younger years, I am slightly deaf, and I had thought that he had said “no”. Although we laughed about it latter, we were both extremely frustrated with each other at the time.

Fortunately the stag had been so preoccupied; he had not noticed a thing. In fact he had moved to within 25yards, and was slightly quartering away. I needed to take a little time to settle my nerves. After all how often does one let down on a sitter of a shot on a huge stag? The experience had left me with a serious case of the shakes. Amazingly the stag continued to just stand there bellowing his challenges. Taking several deep breaths I drew the bow back, settling the pin on the crease behind the shoulder. Nothing in the world would have stopped me from letting that shot go, slowly letting the air out of my lungs, I touched off the trigger. With immense pleasure I watched the arrow hit dead center. He exploded into a hard run for 20 – 30 yards, slowed to a walk then simply fell over, it was unbelievably quick.

I have to fess up and say that there were tears in my eyes as we walked up to this most noble of all stags. Seeing this, Gerald respectfully left me for a couple of minutes to show this magnificent animal the respect that he deserved. He was huge and beyond my wildest dreams. Its moments like this that makes all the hours of planning and preparation worth while. As I sat with him for those precious few minutes, I did not feel foolish in the least, for thanking the hunting gods for smiling on me that day. He now holds place of honor on my trophy wall. As I sit and write this, memories of that day still chokes me up.

Ray's Trophy

Ray Scott ( Dream Rider)

New Zealand

Charter Fishing on the Dreamrider - Part II

2011-05-26T12:58:00.001-04:00

Happy Clients

The Snapper was putting up a great fight and I could tell by the strain on the rod, that it was a good one. I only had the line in the water for a couple of minutes when I got the hook up, I don’t often fish while I have a group of clients but on this occasion the boys had almost got their limit so I decided to have a go., fighting it to the surface I was visualizing nice fresh snapper fillets on my plate for my evening dinner.

The Snapper broke the surface 30 feet behind the Dream Rider, and looked to be a nice medium sized one. But something was wrong, while I was winding it in closer. The fish seemed to become elongated and growing in size before my eyes. Oh sh-- a huge Bronze Whaler shark had followed the snapper to the surface and was about to rob me of my dinner. I went into overdrive frantically winding the reel in as fast as I could, while watching the monster gaining on the hapless fish with deceptive ease, and then leisurely opening his jaws he swallowed my dinner in one single gulp, A sharp tug that left me flat on my back, The mono filament line all over the place, and me without my dinner. Worse still, when I gathered myself and looked around, I found that I was surrounded by ten grinning clients that had seen it all happen and thought it a huge joke.

Sharks are always a problem on a charter boat as they can cause chaos. Unfortunately the Kaipara Harbour where I operate the Dream Rider is a nursery for White Pointers, Bronze Whalers, Seven Gillers and the lowly but very common Tope, (School Shark).They come into the Harbour in their thousands to drop their young over the summer months.

Tope Shark

The White pointers and Bronze Whalers predominantly prey on the Topes and anything else they can catch. The Topes prey on the smaller fish eg Snapper Kahawai Travalli etc. They can all become a major pain in the butt with the loss of sinkers and tackle, not to mention the loss of the fish that they were targeting. This often forces us to move to another fishing spot. Of course there are those on board that think its great fun and get a kick out of playing them. This however is not always appreciated by those that want nothing to do with sharks, and the howls of annoyance are directed at the misguided angler, when the hooked shark gathers up all the lines in its savage attempt to throw the line, often leaving the owners holding nothing but an empty line minus the sinker and tackle. Over the years I have learned to live with the sharks but I feel sorry for my clients, they are the ones out of pocket with the mounting loss of gear.

Dinner

During the many years that I have run the Charter business, I have enjoyed some memorable experiences. On one occasioned I had on board a group of fairly seasoned campaigners. Some of these had over the years obviously enjoyed a tipple or two, resulting in expanding waist lines. These guys tend to enjoy life to the full but are not the most agile on the deck of a heaving boat. This particular day fish was coming on at a cracking pace, and one of these portly gentleman was in the act of lifting out two fish (we call them double headers) he held them poised about three feet above the water, while he proceeded to tell his neighbour how it takes rare skill to catch two at a time. When suddenly there was a huge eruption and a large Bronze Whaler came leaping out of the sea, and with consummate ease swallowed both of the fish that the angler had conveniently left there for him. Falling back into the sea the huge shark created such a wave that it almost engulfed the anglers across the stern. The resulting chaos has left an indelible picture in my mind that will stay with me forever. The gentleman that was standing at the Starboard corner let out a yell, and proceeded to dance around in rapt wonderment. The chap next to him just stood there in stunned silence not believing what he had just witnessed, both of these guys were drenched from top to tail. The third chap in line had suddenly disappeared from the rail. Quickly looking around I found him standing behind me, ten feet from the action. He had moved so fast that I had not seen him leave the rail. He was standing there bone dry, shaking like a leaf in a gale. Later while talking to him he said that he could not even remember moving. His reflexes must have been incredible. It’s amazing what a squirt of adrenaline will do. The next in line was the chap that had caught the double header. He was frozen into immobility, His mouth, still open and was as white as a ghost, and to add insult to injury he was still holding his broken rod, minus its top half that the shark had also claimed. The guy in the other corner of the stern, wet as a shag, was peeing himself with laughter, or was it terror? I did not like to ask him.

After everything had settled down I watched how every one reacted differently. Some staring in wonder, trying to grasp what they had just witnessed, others were swearing and cursing at how wet they were, yet others were talking about how close the shark had been, and that they could have reached out and touched it. While others had to sit down, and were as white as a sheet and shivering from reaction.

I know that it was an experience that they will never forget, and I smile to myself knowing that the story will grow with the telling. The shark will grow from its twelve feet to an incredible twenty feet and will of course be a lot closer, (practically on the deck) and that it will have leap clear over the boat.

On another occasion I had on board my Daughter in law (Amber) and her work mates. It was a superb day, one of those that make you feel good to be alive. The fish were coming on board steadily but not real fast. What we were catching how ever, were real beauties.

Amber had already struggled with three monsters in the past hour, when she claimed that she had hooked another one, and it was beyond her capabilities to get it up any further. “Please help me” she pleaded with me, relenting I proceeded to wind in her line. It felt heavy, but there did not seem to be much of a fight being put up. By this time there were a lot of excited onlookers lining the rail peering into the water for their first glimpse of the fish. What actually came up were the remains of what had been a six foot Tope shark only the head was still attached to the hook with entrails hanging out of it. While the spectators were oohing and aahing at the sight, they failed to spot the Great White that was returning to complete the job. As it came rushing out of the depths I yelled at every one to step back from the rail. That shark came out of the water like an express train, half its body came out of the water then falling back with an enormous splash, it then proceeded to circle around the stern of the boat for several minutes looking for the remainder of its dinner. He finally gave up and disappeared. “He’s gone” I said to my badly shaken passengers. When fifty yards behind the boat it leapt clear out of the water completing a perfect barrel roll before entering back into the water never to be seen again. I have had a lot of experience with Great Whites but I had never had the good fortune to witness such behavior before. I believe that for half of the passengers, if they never see another one it will be too soon. While the other half swears that they will never go fishing again.

Double

Experiences like these are what make my life as a charter fishing skipper worth while. Every day is different I have met some wonderful people, and some not so.

The people I particularly enjoy taking out are the people that go for the experience and not necessarily for the quantity of fish. These are people that are happy just to catch a fish and have a good time. They go home with a little sun tan, and sea air in their lungs.

One such gentleman told me on the way down to the fishing grounds that he did not care if he did not catch a lot of fish. Just one would do, as at the age of eighty he had never had any luck no matter how hard he tried.

I took the elderly gentleman under my wing and set his gear up the best way possible. I lowered the anchor in fairly deep water as I could see some good fish marks on the fish finder, then watched the old chap lower his line. It seemed to take an age for it to hit the bottom. He sat quietly for half an hour occasionally winding up to check his bait, replacing what needed to be replaced then lowering it again. It was plain to see that he was thoroughly enjoying himself, and was at peace with himself, when suddenly he jumped up, and with his rod bending at a steep angle proceeded to wind it in. The old chap was nearly exhausted when the sinker finally appeared. I was already waiting with the landing net and in a second I had two beautiful, huge snapper at his feet. He could not believe his eyes and with a huge smile, said that he had finished fishing for the day.

Later, at the end of the day he was helped off the boat with his prize catch. Then with a tear in his eye, I pretended not to see, he thanked me, saying that it was the best day of his life and could he come again. Alas I heard that he had died sometime later without getting the opportunity to come out again. I like to think that he would have gone with a smile on his face.

I have a lot of fun with most of my regular clients and every Christmas I shout a free trip and BBQ, for the hard working leaders that over twelve months of the year, organize their groups so that they turn up on time, and if one of them has to drop out, organize a replacement. This is my way to show my appreciation. These groups come from all walks of life consisting of church groups, work clubs, Executive groups, RSA (Returned Service Associations) etc etc.

One of these leaders is Charlotte a 75year old Maori lady, she is a real sweetie, and when ever she is on board I always try to make a fuss of her. On one of these trips I presented her with a little booby prize of a packet of small confectionery fish, while announcing some trivial misdemeanor that had occurred over the past year, this raised a good laugh from every one, and set the tone for the day.

Later that day they were having a great time catching fish and imbibing in the “occasional” beer and wine. All that is, except Charlotte. She did not look happy. I went over to see what the problem was. “It’s this bloody bait, she said. “It’s just not working”. Why what’s wrong with it?” I asked. “I don’t know it keeps falling off the hook” she said. “Let me have a look” I said. She then showed me the half empty packet of the confectionery fish that I had given her. “You are supposed to eat them you silly moo, they aren’t bait”. As fast as she had put them on the hook they dissolved off it. No wonder she was not catching anything. She still gets reminded of that little episode.

Its times like these, and the people I meet that make my job a wonderful experience I feel blessed and I would not change a thing.

Ray Scott ( Dream Rider)

New Zealand

Question: At what stage in a fishes life is its period of fastest growth

Answer: The day after it’s caught.

Charter Fishing on the Dream Rider

2011-05-18T05:46:00.000-04:00

Dream Rider

I have been a commercial and charter fisherman for most of my working life, except for an interval of five years while I learnt the trade of boat building. This trade has stood me in great steed over my life on the sea, allowing me to do all my own repairs and maintenance, including building several boats for myself and for other clients. 10 years ago I decided to build a fast 48fter to take me into my last few working years before retiring.

The Dream Rider took me 16months to build from start to finish on my own. She was commissioned just under 8 years ago, and in that time has become one of the top charter boats in the area. I fish inside and outside the Kaipara Harbour. Which is the largest harbour in the Southern Hemisphere and the third biggest in the world. It feeds into the Tasman Sea and is situated on the West coast of the North Island, New Zealand. The predominant fish species that we target is Red Snapper (the no1 premium fish that everyone lusts after). Also Kahawai (sea trout), Gurnard, Travalli and Kingfish.

The fishing method is predominantly bottom fishing using good sturdy boat rods with 2 or 3 hooks attached to the trace. Good quality bait with a high oil content is a must. Mullet, Pilchard and Bonito are high on the list and if the fish aren’t interested in either of those baits, then we knew we were in for a slow day (which fortunately is very rare). Our bag limits are very generous with ten Red Snapper per person per day. Three Kingfish, and any other fish eg Kahawai, Travalli, Gurnard has a mixed max of 20. On most days we would see clients staggering off the boat with their fish bins bulging, making for a lot of very happy, repeat clients.

Charter fishing is like any job having its ups and downs. Fortunately mostly ups, but when the downs come they really are downers, leaving me questioning my sanity. I deal with 1500 - 2000 clients per year; most of them are repeat clients, coming out 10 – 12 times a year. These are my favourite groups as they are not only happy with my set up but know how to deal with changing conditions that occur during the changing seasons. The new clients can be very rewarding to deal with as they often don’t have a too high expectation, and when they leave the boat with bulging bags their enthusiasm is infectious. On the other hand some times we get clients that are impossible to please.

I well remember a couple of years ago I had on board a group of ten Chinese gentlemen and I decided to give them a real treat by taking them over the bar out into the Tasman Sea. Something I only do when conditions are ideal. I knew the fishing would be exceptional, and I was out to make an impression with the intention of adding them to my long list of regulars.

After arriving at the required depth we started a zig-zag course to try to locate the feeding snapper. Standing beside me was an old retired Ships Captain with his eyes glued to the color fish finder. Now, he could not understand a word of English nor could I understand a word of Chinese, but we seemed to have a rapport going and enjoyed a lot of laughs together. With both of us looking intently at the sounder it suddenly erupted with a huge mound of fish on the sea bed. The Chinese chap suddenly leapt up and started getting very excited and demanded that I drop the anchor immediately (or at least I think that was what he was saying). I knew we were on a honey hole so after dropping the anchor I told them to start fishing.

I always enjoy watching people catching fish, even after a lifetime of fishing, I still get a kick out of the radiant smiles that follow their first ever fish, or when they get a real beauty and proceed to claim bragging rites. Its with this in mind I always position myself so I can watch, and render any assistance if required. The old gentleman that had watched the sounder with me was so excited he was the first to get his line in the water, and I noted that he had four hooks on his trace, “He means business” I thought, as I watched him lower his sinker to the bottom. Within 20 seconds he was excitedly winding in his gear with his rod bending almost double. When the trace arrived on the surface he started yelling at the top of his voice. He had within 2 minutes from start to finish hooked four large snapper. The look on his face was stunned incredulity. He quickly removed the fish, re-baited then lowered his line to the seabed with exactly the same result. Within 8 minutes he had 8 large snapper and his smile lit up the whole boat. Until I held up two fingers getting the message through to him, that he could only catch two more. The smile quickly disappeared, and he looked at me, then looked at his four hooks, looked at his watch, then looked at his hooks again, then muttering something unintelligible he whipped out his knife and cut three hooks off, and with a grin of triumph proceeded to lower the one hook. The smile did not stay long however as he pulled up and lowered the line twice more with a beauty snapper at each attempt.

After pleading with me to allow him to continue fishing with out success he sat down and sulked. While all this was going on the other nine Chinese gentlemen were having the same success with snapper coming over the rail at an incredible rate.

After only half an hour they all had their limit and we were heading for port. We were half way back to port when the leader of the group started to remonstrate with me that they had only been fishing for a short time, and they felt that they had not got their money's worth and was I going to give them a discount. I politely but firmly told them that the law was the law and I could do nothing about it. At the same time pointing out that they had been lucky enough to get some of the most exciting fishing that I have ever witnessed and that, NO......there would be no discount.

For the rest of the trip back to port there was a stony silence. Arriving back at the jetty, they staggered off the boat with their huge catch and left with out a word of thanks. I have never heard from them since. I guess you can’t please every body.

On another occasion I had another new group. On the way down to the fishing grounds I took the opportunity to have a chat with the leader of the very enthusiastic group. I told him that it would be approximately one hour before arrival and that to tell the group that the first hour and a half would be the best bite time and for them to have all their gear set up and bait cut up ready for the “go” word from me.

After dropping the anchor I was heartened to see that every one already had their lines in the water and were already showing signs of good activity, except one. This chap proved to me during the day that my patience was not infinite, and that I am only human. When I saw him still setting up his gear, I went over to him and gently asked him if I could be of any help. He briskly told me no, and that he was OK. I shrugged and left him to it. In the mean time every one was pulling in good fish and I knew they would get their limit in good time. I grabbed the opportunity to make my toast for my breakfast. Ten minutes later I came out on deck only to find this chap still messing with his gear. Putting my toast down I went over to him and asked once again if he needed assistance. NO was the reply and for me to p-ss off. I doggedly told him that he was missing out on the best bite time, which was met by a stony response. Half an hour had passed when he was finally ready to put his line in the water. I could see instantly that it was set up wrong. So being a tiger for punishment I once again tried to help him by suggesting a different rig and that I was willing to give him one of mine, which was rewarded with a snarled F--- off and that he will fish any way he wants to.

On the way home there was a very happy group of clients that had caught their limit, with the exception of the one chap who had only caught one fish for the entire day. The crunch came when he stormed into the wheel house and none to gently poked me in the back and demanded an apology. “What for” I asked not believing what I was hearing. He got right in my face and preceded to tell me what a lousy captain I am, and that I had spent the whole morning giving him a hard time etc, etc. I tried telling him that it was my job to give my clients the best day possible and that all I had done was to try to advise him on how to achieve it. He proceeded to demand an apology, which I am sad to say resulted in my losing it completely. Resulting in me telling him to get the f--- out of my wheel house and to never set foot on my boat again. Not the best way to deal with a customer, but some times it’s the only way you can get through to some people

While all this was going on the rest of the guys were falling over themselves with laughter. They later told me that this guy was like that at work and could not be told a thing, he knew it all, and that they had long since given up on him. They apparently had been waiting to see how I was going to deal with him, and quite frankly openly admired my explosion. Even though they had a great time and thanked me profusely for a great trip it still left me with a sour taste in my mouth. I felt that I had let myself down and that I should have been a bigger person

As I said at the beginning. The highs are numerous and I meet a lot of great people but there is occasionally that low spot that leaves me wondering what I am doing this for, it’s at these times I like to go bow hunting so I can enjoy the solitude of the bush and get my thought in order, ready for the next charter trip and what it might bring.

-------- to be continued, as I will talk about a few experiences with sharks, and confectionary bait!!!!!!

Ray Scott ( Dream Rider)

New Zealand

Bow Fishing in New Zealand

2011-04-21T07:20:00.000-04:00

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

2011-04-06T17:33:00.000-04:00

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

Dark Continent - Part II

2011-03-17T05:58:00.002-04:00

When I finally arrived at Johannesburg via Singapore I had been traveling for thirty two hrs, twenty two hrs of actual flying, the rest waiting in airports. It was a great relief to have a young smartly dressed young man jump out and say, are you Ray Scott,? I am to be your hunting guide; my name is Carlos let me take your luggage.

On the three hour journey up to the Limpopo, I got to know this likable enthusiastic young man. He was 23 yrs old, and was of Portuguese extraction and was from Mozambique. He was a fully qualified PH, as all the professional hunters and guides have to be .He told me that to qualify, they had to have a large amount of experience in the bush. Also to be able to accurately estimate distances for both the bow hunter and the rifle hunter. Part of their tests cover being able to identify all the game animals plus the abundant bird and plant life. If that is not enough, he has to be able to identify every track left by the incredibly diverse numbers of animals, and to also to be competent, at tracking wounded animals. He also has to prove his ability to shoot extremely accurately with a rifle. His general knowledge about everything African was incredible, and during my hunt was often left open mouthed, when he would casually point out a set of tracks and identify them from the cab of the four wheel drive, as we were cruising along at around 30ks heading to the blind chosen for that particular days hunt.

He once told me of an experience he had with a rifle client and a Zebra. The client put a badly placed bullet into a zebra mare, and then followed up with an equally bad second shot. They tracked the poor animal for a whole day but it kept eluding them. The next day Carlos set out on his own, he refused to give up on it. It was almost dark on the second day, when he managed to put in a well placed shot to bring her down. They had covered over 9 Kilometers over the two days, through some fairly diverse terrain. My respect for both the Zebra for its determination not to give up, and my growing admiration for this remarkable young man knew no bounds.

Carlos confided in me that, while he had guided many rifle hunters on other hunting concessions, he had very limited experience with bow hunters. He said that he was very keen to learn as much as he could from me. Over the time that I hunted with Carlos his enthusiasm for the bow was very evident, so much so that I got out my “back up bow” which was another Hoyt, and set it up for him so he could practice at the same time as me. I soon realized that he was a natural. I feel sure that this helped him obtain a greater understanding of the bow and its limitations, which ultimately helped me in my hunting success. To encourage the young man further and to try and show in some small way my appreciation, I gifted him that bow before I left for home. He told me that his next goal was to qualify to become a ph for the big six. Apparently to achieve that goal is a long and involved undertaking, but if his enthusiasm is anything to go by, I feel sure that in time he will achieve it.
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Buchholz safaris in South Africa is a wonderful camp, it consisted of several luxurious sleep outs with the center area making up the liquor bar, and breakfast bar, plus outdoor dining and BBQ. This is where it all happens, it’s where everyone eventually gathers to tell their lies, and get their excuses properly worked out for the telling. Later that day Carlos asked me if I would like to go for a bit of game spotting. Even though I was suffering extreme fatigue and jet lag, wild horses would not have kept me away from my first real glimpse of the game that I had traveled so far to hunt. It wasn’t long before I was drooling over the wonderful animals that we saw. We spotted Kudu, Zebra, Impala, wildebeest and even a couple of enormous Eland. They were undisturbed but wary of the vehicle. But as soon as we set out on foot to have a closer look everything just vanished. I was to discover over the next 9 days that they had not only a great and diverse hunting area, but the game had to be seen to be believed, the number and variety was truly amazing. That evening I made my excuses early and headed for bed. As I lay there I was thinking, this is going to be a cake walk, there was so much game around I couldn’t miss. Two days later after having seen plenty of animals but with nothing of trophy size, I was starting to think that this might be a little harder than I had originally thought.

It was early on the third day, and my luck was about to change. We were in a different area, and in an elevated blind, when a large group of Blesbuck came in. Now Blesbuck are a strange medium sized animal with a large white blaze on their face. Their antics can sometimes boarder on the hilarious, and whenever they were around we were always highly entertained. Carlos pointed out a really nice ram that was in the group, indicating to me that it was a good trophy, and was I up to it? Trying desperately to keep my pounding heart under control, I chose a spot and gently squeezed the trigger. He dropped like a stone. The arrow had taken out his spine, I had forgotten to take into account that I was shooting from an elevated blind, and the shot was slightly high, although with immensely satisfying results. I had my first kill in Africa under my belt, and I was ecstatic. He measured 15 and half inches, and I was assured that he was a very worthy trophy.

When I first started hunting in South Africa I must confess that I was a little resentful having a guide breathing down my neck all the time, after all I had spent many years back home hunting as a loner. But it was after that experience with the Blesbuck, that I really started to appreciate the advantage of having a guide with me. It’s all very well shooting at just any animal that comes along, but it must be remembered that, put an animal on the ground, it costs you money, and while it’s not the one thing to keep counting the cost, it’s certainly a great advantage to be told what is recognized, as a good trophy. After all it takes time and experience, to be able to become familiar with strange animals in an environment that we are not accustomed to. I found it wonderfully informative having Carlos and later Roger with me. They would spend many hours whispering about the habits and prospective merits of individual game that came into the blinds. I found that the excitement of seeing the wonderful variety of animals and learning firsthand about their habits was just as rewarding as the shooting of them.

The blinds that I hunted from, were many and varied, ranging from a portable pop up to casually erected blinds, utilizing whatever materials that were at hand, to the wonderful dug out pit blinds that Roger had on Vieranas in Namibia. These were dug out to an approx depth of 2-3 ft and either brick or mud walls with a solid roof, this was then able to support the several tons of soil that was shoveled on top. From outside they just looked like mounds of dirt with a hole to shoot through. These particular blinds were very comfortable, exceptionally quiet, and most importantly kept an even comfortable temp. All these points are very important as we would spend upwards to 10 hrs a day in them.

Long before I departed for Africa I was told that there is basically two seasons to hunt. There was the green season, just after the rains when the growth was good and there is plenty of cover. The spot and stalk method was mostly used then with moderate success. It must be remembered that as there was plenty of water available on the ground after the rains, the animals rarely came in for a drink at the water holes, this making for a long boring wait in a blind.. The most popular time of the year however is in the dry season from May through to Nov, with July, August and Sept the premium time to be there. It is very hot and dry and the animals come into water every 2-3 days, making it a wonderful experience watching the animals cavorting around the blind.

Unfair advantage I hear you saying, not so, believe me in that hot dry almost arid climate at that time of the year, the animals have all the advantages. We only needed to move a finger outside the blind and we would not have seen another animal for the rest of the day. It is in fact the only way to hunt at that time of the year. I would compare it with tree stand hunting for whitetail in the autumn fall in the USA. It’s often the only way that you can possibly get to see an animal, and in my case while I was in Africa, I used the adage -When in Rome -------.

Towards the end of my stay at Limpopo I was really keen to get an Impala. I had tried on several occasions but they so far had eluded me. There had been plenty coming in but were either females or young rams, not quite in the trophy class. We had heard that there was good numbers on another game ranch. But although there were some good trophies there, it was a rifle hunting concession. I did not rate my chances of success but however we went to have a look. As there were no blinds on this place we decided to take a pop up blind with us. On the way into the property we called in to see the owner. Like all the African’s that I met over there, he was very friendly and was almost falling over himself to help. I found that I could not go anywhere in South Africa without a large extremely friendly farmer trying to ply me with either huge quantities of food or drink, usually of the alcoholic variety, their hospitality is outstanding. Of course it could have been that looking down on my modest 5ft 6 inches, they just felt sorry for me. When he saw my bow the look on his face was worth a thousand pictures, I don’t think he had ever seen a bow hunter before. However he took it in his stride and took us out to have a look at where he thought we could put up the blind. We drove way out to the back of the farm to an old mud brick building. He explained that it was his grain and feed shed for his stock, and often there would be a small spillage of grain on the ground coming out of the holes in the grain sacks, that the inevitable rats would chew through. He said that the wild animals would often come around looking for a free treat. Carlos decided to put the pop up under a tree near the building. I felt that we seemed to be sticking out like the proverbial sore toe. As it turned out only a few animals came into within 100 meters of us. They would see the pop up and slam on the breaks, then high tail it out of there. It was very frustrating as we could see with the bino’s that there was some real nice Impala out there. At the end of the day Carlos was discussing with me where to go tomorrow. I told him I knew exactly where we were going tomorrow and that was right back here.

The next day a very confused Carlos couldn’t believe it when I set up “inside” the grain shed. I forced open a window in the front and the back, and worked out my possible shooting lanes and distance’s then settled down to wait. Within a couple of hrs we had been visited by Kudu, Wildebeest and Eland, eventually around mid day a mob of Impala with a very nice ram came in. It turned out to be the easiest shot of the entire hunt. I got in a nice hit at only 12 meters; he had absolutely no idea what had hit him. Carlos said he would never have believed it if he had not seen it for himself.

My all to short a stay at Buchholz finished on a tragic note. A couple of days before I was due to leave for Vieranas in Namibia, we noticed a fire burning out of control many miles away. Despite the concerted efforts of the locals to bring it under control, it kept spreading. On my last day, my hunt got called off as the wind had whipped up the fire and it was heading our way. We were told to get back to the camp compound, urgently. On our return we couldn’t believe our eyes for it seemed that for miles everything was ablaze, and it was only a few hundred metres away from the main camp compound. That fire went over the top of us like a freight train. Fortunately the large compound had earlier been well mowed, making it impossible for the fire to take a hold inside. However we were all in fear of the sparks flying around as most of the buildings, were roofed in the old traditional thatch. One spark and it would have gone up like tinder. We were kept busy patrolling with a fire hose looking for any flare ups, fortunately, and to Chris’s enormous relief, the fire was kept out.

At the height of the fire we had a little light relief, when 5 very wide eyed, shell shocked, Spanish bow hunters arrived in camp, right in the middle of all the mayhem. Apparently the van driver had been racing the fire along the country roads to try and get to the safety of the compound before it closed in. They only just made it by a matter of minutes. Although the new arrivals were extremely anxious, they were never in any real danger as their van driver, knew every inch of the area, and no way was he was going to get caught out there. But I often chuckle to my self when I remember the looks on their faces when they arrived. Their ruffled feathers were soon settled back in place after Chris had plied them with more than a few drinks later that evening.

I have since heard that almost the entire farm was lost to the fire. Fortunately Chris suffered no stock loses and I hear that the grass is starting to grow again. The govt stepped in and helped with extra feed for all the farmers in the district. But I heard that a black farm worker got caught in the fire with a tragic loss of his life. Also a huge Kudu got caught in the fire on a neighbor's farm, and had to be shot as did a nice trophy Waterbuck. Three horses had to be put down, and another neighbor lost part of his home and that is only what I have heard about. It really bought home to me the frailty of human life and that we don’t know what is in store for us all, at any time.

As much as I enjoyed my experiences with Carlos and Chris and his lovely wife Ria at Buchholz, I was really looking forward to my hunt in Namibia. I had read and heard so much about this wild rugged country and its

that I could hardly wait to be there.

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

The Dark Continent

2011-03-04T16:50:00.002-05:00

The place that all boys at some stage in their lives dream about . Ever since the explorers Livingston and Stanley wrote of their experiences, Africa has been the Mecca for explorers and hunters alike. Years after those two great explorers, came the hunters such as Selous and Karamajo Joe Bell. Some time later came the great bow hunter Howard Hill. Followed by a vast host of bow hunters such as Swinehart, Fred Bear, and in more recent years, Gary Bogner, plus many others that have regaled us with their wonderful bow hunting stories.

As a boy I was not immune to the romance of hunting Africa, and although I have been hunting with a bow for over 40 some thing years, never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would ever go there.

Three years ago I became aware that time was passing me by, and after a major health scare some years back I convinced myself that there was no reason why I could not at least do some serious dreaming, and maybe kick a few tyre's (tires) by looking into the possibilities of going there for a hunt. If I found that it was going to be completely impractical,--- well I could say at least I gave it a try.

In so doing I never realizing what a can of worms I was about to open.

I suppose you could say that it all started getting serious when a few years ago I had Dr Donall Thomas Jr of American traditional Archery magazine fame, and his wife Lori stay with my wife Jan and I in our home in Helensville, New Zealand. Don is co editor of that wonderful mag.

One evening he was enthralling us with his wonderful hunting adventures in South Africa. I asked him about costs and where, in his opinion was the best place to hunt. His reply was South Africa is a great destination, but dollar for dollar Namibia was about as good as you can get. Maybe not the range of animals as in South Africa, but what is there, is often better trophy quality. He proceeded to fill my head with dreams of hunting in Africa to the point where I became like a dog with a bone. I couldn’t let it rest.

A few months later my son Bruce and I were in a very fortunate position to be Chital Deer, and buffalo hunting in Australia with our very good friend, the late great Australian bow hunter Bill Baker, of South Pacific Safaris. One evening we got talking about bow hunting in Africa, as he himself had been there with good success a few years earlier. He started filling my head with things like, how easy it was to organize a hunt in Africa, and that the cost, though steep was well worth it. I mentioned what Don Thomas had told me about Namibia, and Bill agreed saying, that he and a few mates had organized their next hunt, and it was to be in Namibia. But unfortunately before they could go they had to cancel out, as a cyclone had all but wiped Bill out on the Queensland coast. (Sadly for Bill, another African hunt was never to be). He gave me a contact in Namibia and it was then I realized that I was hooked, I would never be happy unless I hunted in Africa..

I spent many hours on the computer learning as much as I could, going into many, and varied web sights asking numerous questions, and making a regular nuisance of my self. After about 6 months of fact finding, I sat down and wrote up a list of what I wanted to hunt in the way of game, what my budget would allow, where I would like to go, and what sort of gear I would need to take.

I had no ambition to hunt any of the big six – Elephant, Lion, Cape buffalo, Leopard, Rhino and Hippo. I had long ago excluded these from my wish list. They were far too expensive, and I would have had to hunt in different countries, but far more importantly, they can either bite me or trample me, so they were out of my reckoning. Although I have to admit I have always had a sneaky private dream about some day going after a Cape buffalo. But that is where it stays, as Jan said “only in your dreams buddy”. I decided that plain’s game would be my main target. Plains game are mostly browsers and grazers eg Kudu, Zebra, Impala, Gemsbok, Springbuck, Wildebeest just to name a few, and after getting a rough quote on what each of these species would cost. I soon realized that hunting in Africa was not going to be cheap, but far more affordable than I had ever imagined. I have been told that if you hunt any where else in the world, you may be able hunt one or two species for about the same cost as hunting an incredible range of game in Africa. The next thing for me to do was to work out where I wanted to hunt.

Africa is a huge diverse continent, and there are many destinations for the keen hunter. I realized that the countries like Botswana, Mozambique, Tanzania and others, were all far too expensive for me to even consider. Usually twice, and some times treble the cost of South Africa and Namibia. I would dearly have loved to hunt Zimbabwe, as it is a very natural beautiful country. But the political climate put a stop to any thoughts of going there. I have already mentioned that Namibia was highly recommended, so I definitely decided to go there. One day I happened to be talking to my mate Kevin Watson of Advanced Archery about my planned hunt in Namibia, he made a suggestion that, as I was paying to fly all the way over there at a cost of $3600 return, and that it was most likely to be my one and only chance. Had I considered incorporating a second hunt in South Africa at the same time? I initially laughed the idea off. What about the expense? But it stuck to me like a burr, and after a lot of thought I decided that it was a great idea. I would be over there for 20 days instead of 10. I would be able to experience life in different camps, meet a wonderful diversity of people, travel the different countries and more importantly, see a greater variety of game. I decided to go for it.

Now that I had decided where and what I wanted to hunt, I set about booking my self into the best outfitter I could afford. I soon found out that you can’t just contact them, and say I want to be there in a few months. Oh no, bookings were out to two years, and what had been left over, was usually in the wrong moon phase. When booking a hunt in Africa it is very important to book and plan several years in advance, and to take into consideration the phase of the moon, this has an enormous influence on the activities of the animals. Something I will talk about at a later stage. The out fitter I decided on in Namibia after studying their web sight, and getting in touch and talking to supplied references was the same one that Bill Baker had recommended. Vieranas Safaris, which is up in the north western corner of Namibia, bordering the northern semi Namib Desert.. A six hr drive from the capital Windhoek, (pronounced vindhook). Vieranas is a bow hunting only place. Owned and operated by Roger and Amelia Coomber. It consists of 22’000 acres, 5’000 of which is high fenced. As the client I got to choose where I wanted to hunt. I hunted in both areas with great success. They also have use of a range of large concession blocks owned by other farmers in the area.

Roger is originally from the UK. A very enthusiastic bow hunter, and is the Chairman of Namibia Professional Hunting Association’s Bow hunting Committee. . His enthusiasm for all things bow hunting is second to none. I found him to be great company with a wealth of information, which he gladly shared with me during the course of my stay. Amelia originates from Dorsland (Thirst land) Trekkers (1870’s), who settled in those parts around 1928, coming to Namibia from Angola 1928, , and both her and Roger took over the family farm from her grandparents. They could see the future potential in game farming, and have never regretted their decision .After making contact I booked Vieranas with out any hesitation.

Now I needed an out-fitter in South Africa. So it was back to my friend Don Thomas via internet this time, as he was back home in Montana USA. One of the outfitters he mentioned was Buchholz Safari and Lodge. Which he told me is based in the Limpopo valley 3 hrs north of Johannesburg. Now, as soon as I heard the name Limpopo my ears immediately pricked up. Limpopo is steeped in history, the stuff of many stories and legends. After talking to the people of Buchholz and doing some back ground research, I was hooked. Buchholz is owned by Chris Van Schalkwyk and is also, bow hunting only. Chris turned out to be a very friendly knowledgeable South African whose family history dates back to the early Dutch settlers of 1651, and can lay claim to being the 15th generation South African, Chris was eager to help me fit in his part of the bookings with my hunt in Namibia. Not an easy thing to do. But Chris was extremely helpful, and details were finally ironed out. I was to arrive at Buchholz on the 26th August, hunt for 9 days then onto Vieranas for another 10 days.

Before I discuss equipment, I would like to digress a moment .I can not emphasis enough the importance of doing your home work. The diversity of game ranches in South Africa is incredible. Some are small only a few hundred acres, to the majority that consist of many thousands of acres. Some have great accommodation, some not so, some have inflated ideas of charges, some will have bow hunting only. (Very important as African game are incredibly alert, and any excessive hunting pressure can make a difficult hunt into an impossible one). Avoid at all costs a rifle hunting outfitter. Some will say they are a bow hunting only, but can and often do slip in rifle hunters. So be aware and do the home work.

Another thing one has to be aware of is, bow hunting in South Africa will almost always be done behind wire, and you have no choice. It’s the law. While this may be abhorrent to many, some of these game farms are huge. Also keep in mind that if it wasn’t for the wonderful game management of the South Africans, there would be no indigenous animals there at all. It would all be cattle ranches .These animals are 100% wild, and believe me are not easy to hunt. (The law for hunting behind wire in South Africa does not apply in Namibia).

When it came to the requirements of equipment, I talked to both Roger and Chris. Then knowing roughly what I would need went straight around to Kevin and Carol from Advanced Archery. Between us we came up with a comprehensive list.

We set my Hoyt Vectrix up to 65lb for the species that I would be targeting, 55lb – 70lb was recommended.

The recommended arrow weight was between 480grn – 600grn, it was suggested the heavier the better.

As I like hunting with the slim carbons and I only draw 27inches, I could not get an arrow with enough weight. We settled on the Beman max-4 400 (the heaviest I could buy), put in a plastic weight tube, and used a 125gr. broad head. I managed to get an arrow weighing in at 535gr. This also had the added advantage of making the bow quieter. We then spent a lot of time getting the bow shooting as quietly as possible. In Africa the game are particularly wary and fast, noisy bows do not cut it over there. By the time the arrow arrives, the animal has often reacted to the noise resulting in wounded animals. With my set up, not one animal reacted before the arrow arrived.

Also be sure to take plenty of arrows. I settled on two and a half doz. It is amazing the diversity of animals and bird life that always seemed to invite a probing arrow. Also take plenty of broad heads and replacement blades. I can assure you there are not to many corner archery shops around out there. I found a complete back up bow gave me a feeling of security. I never needed it, but it was great to know it was there if any thing went wrong with my no1 bow.

Broad heads were the next thing that was discussed. Both outfitters recommended a multi-fixed blade that preferably cuts on impact. Neither of them was very enthusiastic about mechanical heads, as they had seen too many disasters with them. Rodger was also a little cautious about the use of the traditional single blade, after a strange experience he had with a European traditional bow hunter last year. This particular hunter wanted a female Kudu for the skin. Roger later told me how the story unfolded. The hunter in question put a nice shot into the rear of the lungs, the Kudu cow let out a grunt from the force of the hit. She ran off for about 100 meters then slowed down, they both expected her to fall over but she stayed on her legs and wandered off. Later while tracking her they were puzzled by the lack of blood. They only found a couple of spots, eventually having to give up on her. Something that all hunters hate to do, particularly the African’s as the predators almost always get into them during the night. The next day the hunter left for home with the promise that if Roger found her during the next day, he would try to save the skin and send it on.

76 hrs later Roger had hunting with him, a well known bow hunter from the states, when out stepped the same Kudu cow looking fit and healthy. Roger could not believe his eyes. He immediately turned to the American hunter, and said shoot that cow. The cow was dispatched with a shot through the heart. When they did an autopsy on her they found that the original arrow had indeed double lunged her. The conclusion they came to was that the single blade broad head, had gone straight through slicing with the grain, and before the lungs could collapse, had sealed up again, and because of the good clean pass through, no further tissue damage occurred. The cow seemed to be completely untroubled by the wound, and would almost certainly have lived a normal life. Neither the very experienced American, nor Rodger had ever witnessed any thing like it. Roger later sent the skin to the original hunter explaining why there was two broad head holes in the hide!!. Roger has no doubt, that had that been a multi-blade broad head, it would have been a nice quick kill.

How ever it must be said that there is no doubt in both Roger and Chris’s mind, that when hunting large dangerous thick skinned animals, a heavy robust single blade is the only way to go for maximum penetration.

I settled on two broad heads to take with me. The G5 125gr. striker for thin skinned game. This little broad head performed outstandingly well, it is a cut on impact plus has replaceable blades, and is scary sharp straight out of the packet. I would recommend this little beauty to anyone hunting small to medium game. The second broad head I chose was a German Kinetic. This is a single blade broad head and is made by a firm in Germany. It had been highly recommended to me by a bow hunting friend in Spain, as he had used this broad head on three separate occasions while in Namibia, and was absolutely thrilled with its performance. The quality and the precision machining is out standing, It maintained a high degree of accuracy’ no matter what I put it through during practice. The only down side to this broad head is the high cost. I had decided that if I had a chance at a Zebra I would use the German kinetic. The Zebra is a very tough stocky animal, and is renowned for its ability to absorb a lot of punishment.

It was late on the fourth day in South Africa when a group of Burchell’s Zebra came in, three females one foal and a majestic stallion. As soon as my guide Carlos saw him he started getting very excited. Get that stallion if you can he told me, he is an outstanding trophy. After many draw backs and false alarms, I managed to get a shot in. Well that stallion seemed to go into instant overdrive, I can tell you, I have never seen any animal move as fast as him. Judging by his reaction, I felt quietly confident that it was a heart shot. By the time we got onto his trail it was dark. Darkness closes fast in Africa, one minute you can see, the next minute it’s dark. The initial blood trail was very patchy, it was getting late, and we all started to get worried. A couple of trackers were bought in. I had been told earlier by Chris that these African trackers could follow a fart in a thunderstorm. A slight exaggeration, but in short order my wonderful Zebra was found 180 meters away. The German kinetic had cut through both lungs, and had sliced every artery from the top of the heart. The fact that the stallion had traveled so far after that damage, is testament to the incredible toughness of that powerful stocky animal. In fact all the African game that I was lucky enough to shoot, were incredibly tough, their ability to tenaciously hang onto life is legendary. I think it may be the harsh environment they live in where every bush they encounter could conceal an enemy that is out to devour them.

It’s for this reason that, I went to great lengths to find out the best kill zone on the various animals that I was likely to encounter. Both Chris and Roger were very clear in their advice. Forget all about what I had previously learned about shot placement. The African plains game has their lungs well forward and their heart very low and even further forward. Forget the “behind the front leg crease shot for these animals”, in fact put a shot any where behind the front leg and it’s most likely going to be a gut shot. Very early on in my inquires, Chris sent me a shot placement chart (which is now established on his web sight). I found it to be an enormous help and set up all my practice shots with that advice in mind. If I had to quote which was the best piece of advice I got during my build up for Africa that would have been it with out a doubt.

I felt confident that I had the best of advice and the correct equipment to handle anything that I may face. I had put in a lot of research into where I wanted to go, and believe me it paid off. Both of the out fitters I chose were outstanding, and I have made some wonderful lasting friends.

During the twelve months before departure I put in a lot of leg work to try and build up my fitness, plus a lot of practice on the range and out in the field. I recommend that all the field practice be done with the bh you intend to use. I was very fortunate as Advanced Archery had my bow so well tuned, that any broad head I tested grouped in the same place. Putting in the time testing all your gear well in advance of the hunt, is time and money well spent, it pays off in the long run.

To be continued------

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

Africa Three continued......

2011-02-10T06:47:00.001-05:00

It would take 5 hours to drive down to the other concession, so I sat back and enjoyed the scenery going by. We had left at day break and as the day warmed up, I was fascinated to see the wild life coming out to the edge of the road, feeding on the wide grass sidings. Oryx, Kudu, Steen buck and Baboons were out in good numbers, many were oblivious to the car speeding by. The numbers of Warthogs were staggering, we estimated there must have been well over 400 scattered along the route that we took. Many were Sows with piglets that just stood and watched us go by. The boars however, didn’t waste any time ducking under the boundary wires and quickly disappearing into the bush. One old codger, just barely skin and bone with worn down tusks, miscalculated his run and hit the bottom wire square on at speed. Just like a cartoon caricature, he sprung back ending up on his back with all four legs quivering straight up in the air. As we sped past he staggered to his feet and with as much dignity as possible, shuffled under the wire and disappeared. Our laughter was mingled with sadness; we knew he would not last much longer against the predators. Such is the harsh reality of life in Africa.

We arrived around midday and were greeted by the ranch manager Jacko, and his lovely wife Jackomien. After the usual hellos and hugs with these two wonderful people, we all sat down to cool drinks, and enjoyed a very nice lunch before heading out for an afternoon hunt.

This concession is a privately owned game ranch, consisting of well over twenty thousand acres situated approx 150 kilometers east of Windhoek, and is very popular with the rifle hunters. Although I usually try to avoid rifle hunting areas, this place is huge. I have been there twice and would have seen less than a tenth of the place. On my previous hunt there, I had seen Waterbuck, and that was what I was predominantly after.

They are also involved in a breeding program for the rare but incredibly beautiful Sable. With their glossy black coat, white facial markings and large sweeping horns, they are a prized trophy. But be prepared to rob the bank before claiming one. Costing US $10’000 upwards. Last year I photographed an absolute monster as he walked by. That evening I described him to Jacko. He smiled, and said that he would measure an incredible forty seven inches. Then went on to say that it was just as well I had not been tempted to shoot him, as he was their main breeding bull, and was valued at US $22’000.

One of the reasons that I enjoy hunting with my guide and outfitter Roger Coomber is that he is a keen bow hunter like me, and never fails to take his bow with him. On the second day he had already dispatched two Jackals, when an enormous Black Wildebeest came in. As I had already got one on a previous hunt, Roger asked me if I would mind if he could have a crack at him. He had always wanted to hunt one, but as he was busy guiding clients he just never got the opportunity. We decided that for a change he would be the hunter and I was to be the camera man. At thirty yards he put in a perfect centre heart shot resulting in a short mad run and the wildebeest was down. After much congratulations and back slapping, it was off to the bar, where a very proud hunter found himself shouting the drinks for the rest of the evening.

It was getting towards the end of my hunt, when we went to an area where Jacko had seen a few Waterbuck Bulls the day before. Six hours later we were still waiting. We were in a slightly elevated blind overlooking a large flat area covered in knee high grass, with a large number of small scrubby trees dotted around. We had seen plenty of game, which included a pair of Honey Badgers plus a lovely Steen buck Ram, but I had my blinkers on. Only a Water buck would ring my bell.

Thinking that we had drawn a blank for the day, we debated moving but decided to hang in there for a while longer. Roger had only just commented that “it’s very quiet but everything can change in five minutes,” when it did. From behind a small clump of trees two hundred yards away, stepped one, two, no three Waterbuck bulls. Through the bino’s we could see that one of them was a real beauty. I knew that I wanted him with an intensity that was all consuming.

They moved towards us, feeding as they went, with agonizing slowness. Taking a couple of steps, stopping to browse, another couple of steps, browsing some more, and so on. For over an hour this went on, my nerves were nearly at breaking point and the light was starting to fade. Finally the big boy presented a broadside shot at 23yards. It took me a long time to get the shot off. My nerves were jangling. My knees were knocking. Roger sensed that I was having trouble, and quietly leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Keep the back tension, and it will happen”. That settled me down, and the shot was true. Thanks Roger you are a true friend. He blasted out of there with his two mates in tow, making it to a clump of scrub a hundred and twenty yards away.

After a few minutes we saw him lay down, and when the other two bulls came trotting out, we knew he was down for the count. After much back thumping and congratulations, Roger measured him. This wonderful bull went twenty seven inches and I was absolutely choked.

This bought to a close my third sojourn into that wonderful country called Namibia. Where the sky is always blue and the hunting is second to none. I have made some wonderful friends, and those three years of memories will stay with me forever.

Like, the time we saw a large tom leopard shading himself under a Mopani tree fifty yards away, without a care in the world.

Like, finding the huge foot prints of three rogue bull Elephants that had passed only a hundred yards from our blind.

Like, having a 16 ft tall Male giraffe, eyeballing us through the blind opening at only ten feet and watching his eyes grow round with shock, as it dawned on him what he was looking at.

Like, watching a Sable cow suckling her new born calf, only eight yards away from the blind completely unaware that we were there.

Like, that first experience of a magnificent Kudu bull ghosting up to the water hole without making a sound.

Like, those fascinatingly ugly Warthogs providing endless entertainment.

And like the haunting cry of the Jackals as they hunted at night.

Namibia, thanks for the memories..........

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