A FALLOW RUT

FEATURE Rupe Hoskin

Mateship, deer camp and precious time in the bush

Mateship is just one of the many aspects of hunting that I love: a group of old friends collaborating remotely to plan a trip together, then reunited for precious days in the bush. More than just hunting, there is so much to share and discuss from our busy lives, with plentiful banter and memories from decades of friendship.

We live and hunt in a few different places, so our contribution varies according to who’s local and who’s flying in. For the 2023 fallow rut we would be Ben from North Queensland and Bob and myself from Canberra, hunting in Southern NSW. We’d put some thought into how we’d hunt, with Ben using a compound bow and Bob and I our rifles. We would establish a basecamp then mostly hunt individually, so we’d made up property maps with sectors and boundaries, to ensure quiet space and safety.

Our priority was fallow bucks, for trophies plus venison. Early in the rut the meat is fine, though it gets pretty lean and rank after a few weeks of poor diet and frenzied activity. After a few wet years the feral pigs had bred up, so the farm manager also asked us to shoot as many as possible. A welcome request, and we just had to be a bit thoughtful about getting that job done without messing up our chances on bucks.

We set up a simple base camp, with a tarp for shelter, swags, comfy chairs, kitchen in a box, and a good fireplace. I love this setup, really feels immersed in the bush. It’s also practical - quick to set up and leaves the 4WDs free for getting around the property. Rain and frosty nights are pretty common in April, but it’s manageable with the right attention to structure, drainage and overhang, and remembering that “there is no such thing as bad weather, only unsuitable clothing”. We sometimes fly-camp with swags near early morning hot-spots, then return to camp for storytelling over a hearty breakfast.

On arrival day we helped Ben set up a tree stand overlooking a game trail and fence-crossing where my pre-season trail cams had shown a lot of activity. There were plenty of does around and a few bucks starting to appear, though still individually. We knew to plan our hunts around the does’ routine, knowing the bucks would move to them. Their pattern was to move through some well-travelled fence crossings, coming out of cover late afternoon, feeding all night on the good grass in the open. They were making the most of sunny hillsides, then moving back in about an hour after sunrise. Except when they did something else, with the trail cams showing them around at other times too. As always, the start of the rut is hard to pick, but we’d had to plant our flag on some particular dates that worked for jobs and families. The moment of truth would be the first morning in the field – would they be croaking yet?

I crept in darkness direct from camp to a good area, arriving just on first light. Only one croaker up in a treeline, but he wasn’t very enthusiastic and he eluded my quiet approach. Ben saw nothing from the tree stand, and Bob just saw a few does with no croaking heard. So, Bob and I teamed up to look for pigs, and spotted a small mob over the creek, then a decent boar on our side. We split up again. I crossed the creek and shot a couple of herd pigs with my Sako 85 Bavarian .270Win, while Bob followed the boar into some blackberry patches where it escaped before he could get a shot.

Ben had better luck in the afternoon, with good traffic of does passing below him, though no croaking was heard and no bucks seen. Bob and I walked a range where we knew bucks live, but still only saw does. Just on dark a mob of pigs emerged in some low country off the treeline. We were torn between leaving the area quiet and getting amongst the pigs, so weighed up our options. We decided we could knock over these pigs then hunt somewhere else the next morning, letting the area settle again. So, Bob stalked in close to shoot three of them with his Remington 700 .270Win. Driving back to camp a couple of small boars were mooching along next to the track, then disappeared into darkness as we approached. I jumped out with my rifle and a handy torch with magnetic barrel mount. A quick shot anchored the first boar on the run, then a longer shot seemed to drop the second one. At least I thought so but, when we searched the next day, I’d either missed, or he’d rolled into the blackberries. With that we felt we’d done our duty on the pigs (OK, and it was good fun) so could concentrate on the fallow from then on.

Sitting around the campfire with a nice Shiraz and pre-marinated venison backstrap steaks from an earlier trip, we reflected on progress so far. Evidently, we were a little early for the rut but had heard a few tentative croaks around the hills, so it was only a matter of time. Ben had a good hunt the next morning, shooting a young buck that passed within bow range of his tree stand. He brought it back to camp for butchering, and we got some great venison which later became jerky, steaks and a juicy roast. Bob and I each covered a lot of ground, with plenty of glassing and listening, but no bucks seen. The next couple of days followed a similar pattern, until I had to depart for a work trip. It was a shame not to have got onto a good buck, but that’s hunting, and I live nearby so reset a couple of trail cams and determined to get back ASAP.

Early the next day I got a text message from Bob, “Lots of croaking, am going to investigate”, then, “Nice buck”. A few minutes later he sent through a photo of a solid trophy. Ben’s second buck was shot on the ground. He’d heard croaking off to the south, so came down from the tree stand and slowly stalked in that direction. As the croaking got closer, he established a hasty ground blind (just a few branches and leaves against a tree). Not long after a buck and his does moved past, and he shot the buck. Ben is a seasoned bowhunter, and his effectiveness is always impressive – not easy. Stalking on foot one morning, Ben also glimpsed a big buck with solid antlers. Despite a careful stalk, he was unable to close to within reliable bowshot range before the buck vanished into thicker scrub. We nicknamed it ‘Old Mossy Horns’ for its bulk and hooky antlers, and my determination to get back there grew even stronger. Having done well on the bucks, they shot a few more pigs, before packing up and dropping Ben to the airport.

A week later, I’d planned to join Bob for a quick morning’s hunt. My plan was to stake out a fence-crossing near where I figured Old Mossy Horns would have his rutting stands. But again, work got in the way, and I had to cancel. Bob and his daughter Isabelle did get out and they set up a ground blind where Ben’s tree stand had been. They heard plenty of croaking through the night and in the early morning once they’d crept into the blind, but alas noting came past. They kindly grabbed the SD card from one of my trail cams, and when I downloaded the photos, sure enough there was Old Mossy Horns, exactly where and when I’d planned to ambush him. Hmm, rather frustrating, and the bantering text messages from Ben and Bob kept me keen.

Soon after, Bob and I slipped in a cheeky weekday hunt. We were there right on first light, and I was rewarded with the sound of very active croaking, exactly where we hoped to find Old Mossy Horns. It’s so good to hunt when the rut is in full swing – there was no mistaking his location, and what he was focussed on. The wind was perfect for me to stalk up the reverse side of a knoll then leopard crawl over the top to where I could see him. And there he was on the spur line opposite – a magnificent and thrilling sight. Old Mossy Horns with a great rack, croaking constantly, surrounded by around 20 does, looking rather exhausted, and completely unaware of my presence. I’m guessing his work was largely done, with his genes well and truly passed on among the does. I was able to take my time, fold down the bipod, check the range, then take an unhurried shot to his high shoulder from 167m. He dropped immediately, and the does ran off. Bob had watched it all unfold through his binos, then joined me and we walked over happily to check him out. A terrific trophy, unusual with many thick and gnarly tines, albeit not particularly big palms. We savoured the moment, such a satisfying hunt. I felt blessed by fortune – I’d had to be patient, but my chance eventually came.

It was a memorable deer camp for all of us, a terrific reunion of old mates with busy lives, enjoying what we love in a beautiful place. We’d each enjoyed great hunting, too, and had some valuable experiences to reflect on for the future.