A HAMBURGER WITH THE LOT

Hunting in new country is always interesting. Everything is fresh to the mind and you are constantly anticipating what the next gully, spur, ridge or creek may be like. Looking at maps is a good way to start, but there is nothing like getting into the b ush and finding out first hand.

I had the 4wd packed on Thursday night and after leaving work a little early on Friday headed off. I arrived at the spot and got all my gear ready then began the long trek in. I had a couple of hours before daylight was lost so I tried to make good time. The scenery was incredible and something that you cannot visualize by lo oking at a map or Google Earth.

As the sun began to set I realized I was still a fair way from my first night’s intended fly camp spot. I pressed on a little more until I needed to stop and break out the head torch and GPS to help with the last bit of the journey. Pushing through some thick scrub, I picked up a set of eyes in the dark. The biggest feral cat I had ever seen stood looking at me from no more than ten metre s away. It was a huge tabby that had no fear in the dark. We stared at each other for a few seconds b efore it melted into the scrub.

A little further on, I decided to set up camp for the night just as a pack of dogs began howling on the next ridge over. It was hard to get to sleep as I was full of anticipation for what I might find over the next couple of days.

I was up before well before daylight, packed and on the move. It was cold with a hard frost on the ground and the going was a little crunchy. Eventually I came to a big open gully head and from my position I had an excellent vantage point. I sat and glassed for quite a while but there was nothing out. I decided to move on, stopping to glass where I had good views.

After more slow walking I eventually bumped into a hind sunning herself in a saddle. We stared at each other for a few seconds, and she very obligingly let me take her photo before departing. Things were beginning to look up! I continued further and found a wallow that had been used recently, the n another that had been idle for some time.

I headed through a couple of gullies and began to climb the side of a long spur. A series of termite mounds dotted the open hill and I checked them as I moved along. The first two showed no sign of stag activity but the third had fresh stag track s around its base and antler marks around the top. I decided to walk to the top of the spur so I could glass into both sides and see what the gully heads contained.

On reaching a high point I had a saddle with waist- high scrub and a few trees in front of me. Moving toward the saddle I saw a stag rise from the scrub and amble off about 20 metres. He then stopped and stood looking at me as I sized him up. I could see he was mature, but his antlers did not look that impressive. We looked at each other for a few seconds before he turned his head so I could get a really good look at both antlers. This was when I realized what I had standing in front of me; without hesitation, I raised my rifle took aim on this front shoulder and fired. The stag bolted off the spur followed by crashing and then silence.

When I reached the spot where he had been standing it was obvious that my bullet had connected and a short follow- up found my stag lying dead on a steep scrubby face. He was a ripper! Good length, heavy beams, rough pearling, and massive tops. One of his inner tines showed a break near the tip which had occurred while he was in velvet and it had healed, but slightly offset. I couldn’t believe my good luck. He was a dominant stag with all the gear - a real Hamburger with the Lot, the stuff that keeps you going back week after week, year after year.

I sat down with him for a long time and re-lived the day’s events. It was incredible looking at the magnificent scenery and the king of the mountain next to me. After taking photos and composing myself I began the process of breaking down the deer. I climbed onto the spur and began sorting my gear and re-organising my pack. It was now after 5 pm.

I wanted to try and get out as far as I could with the daylight left as I did not want to be walking in the dark with so much weight on my back. Shortly after 6 pm, I called it a day and set up camp on a flat spot on the ridge.

It was a very restless night. My mind kept re-living the day’s events and thinking through the tough carry-out next day. However, it was nice lying in my sleeping bag looking at the massive antlers hanging in a nearby tree and silhouetted against the brilliant stars.

Sunday morning had arrived and it was time to get going. I had packed up in the dark and thought it best to try and make a mile before the sun got high and things began to warm up.

The trip out was everything I had anticipated and more – steep, thick, rocky, very slow going and about 99 per cent up hill. I kept chipping away and by mid- afternoon I was most of the way back. The last stretch was the worst. I began to dehydrate badly and threw-up. I had been trying to conserve the last of my water and not eat for fear of making me too thirsty. Finally just before 6 pm I arrived back at the 4wd. It was the most welcome thing I could have wished to see. It had been an exceptional weekend.

During the drive home I went over the whole sequence of events in my head over and over again. I am convinced that the reason the stag propped as long as he did was that he had had virtually no human contact due to the remote location where he had been living. As tough as it was, it was a great hunt and one that I will always remember.

I am extremely lucky to have been able to take a great stag in such a remote location and experience all of the highs that come from being in the mountains and hunting sambar.