After eight years’ of applying, I’d finally been successful - and not just anywhere, but Period One on Snake Island. That’s when the excitement really kicked in.
With roughly 13 weeks to prepare, the planning began immediately. Lists were made: where, how, and what. Early February was likely to be hot and dry, so water would be critical. A reliable water source would narrow things down and almost guarantee hog deer movement throughout the day. From research and advice from others, hog deer can be more active between 10am and 3pm, especially around water.
One of the other hunters set up a WhatsApp group for the successful hunters, and we all introduced ourselves and shared the areas we intended to hunt. Most were focused on the southern end of the island. After studying the map closely, I decided to target the Big Plain waterhole instead.
Having my own boat was a huge advantage. Access via Swashway Jetty and the cattle farmers’ access track leading to huts in the middle of the island looked promising as a well-used route. As scouting reports came in from other hunters, it became clear that access tracks were quite overgrown, making travel slow and difficult.
My gear list seemed to grow by the day. A cart was now essential. My chosen hunting location was roughly three kilometres from the drop zone. About a kilometre short of the waterhole was lighter scrub, ideal for a campsite that would offer some protection from prevailing winds.
Because hog deer are smaller-bodied animals, I was advised that a high stand would be ideal. I found an elevated platform on Marketplace— with a flat standing area at 1.8 metres high, weighing around 20 kilograms. A quick phone call and a trip to Melbourne later, I had the foundations of my high stand. Things were falling into place.
I planned to head over the day after the hog deer information session, but strong winds and rough seas put a stop to that. Professional fishermen had stressed the importance of respecting the waterways as conditions can turn dangerous very quickly.
I did manage a scouting trip the week before my hunting period. By 7.20am, my boat was anchored and I was on Snake Island with a loaded pack. To my surprise, travel was easier than expected. The cattle track was well used, and sandy sections were still fairly firm.
Along the way, I marked several potential camp locations. When I reached the Big Plain waterhole, both the northern and southern ends were relatively open, with fresh hog deer scat on the northern side. I found an excellent spot for my high stand, allowing me to blend in with surrounding trees and improve camouflage.
During testing, I noticed the stand was affected by wind, so it would need to be tied down. A small tree beside me was perfect for this, though it already had a resident, a snake basking quietly on top of a grass tussock. Thankfully, it wasn’t bothered by my presence.
I checked another potential area, hiking two kilometres through overgrown tracks. There was no deer sign, no water, and reports confirmed that most smaller waterholes had dried up. The Big Plain waterhole clearly held the best potential.
The Saturday before the hunt, we completed a gear run, offloading heavier equipment to keep the boat light for the following day, as winds were forecast to increase. We covered the gear with a tarp at the campsite. That night was restless—full of anticipation.
The briefing was brought forward as the wind began to build. An hour later, paperwork signed and tags in hand, we headed out. The boat ride was wet and rough, with spray soaking us as we crossed. We dropped the remaining gear at camp, then headed to my hunting location to set up the high stand.
That night light rain on the tent sent me off to sleep peacefully.
I was up at 5.30am, walking the track as dawn broke and the island came alive. Birdlife was everywhere, some bathing, others feeding around the waterhole. I settled into my stand, determined to be fully present and take it all in.
I’d fitted a safety rail to the front of the stand and padded it with a pool noodle. Combined with the armrest setup, my rifle sat perfectly, ready for a shot. Rosellas landed on the barrel of my rifle and perched on the overhead camouflage netting - an unforgettable moment.
I ranged all likely entry points to the water, with the furthest at 62 metres. The stand was extremely comfortable, which was important as we’d been warned we might be sitting for long periods.
A wallaby came in to graze at the far end of the waterhole, then spooked briefly before returning, likely catching my wind. Then, at 11.26am, I noticed an ear flick in the shadows. A hog deer had slipped in quietly for a drink.
At first, I thought it was a doe and simply observed, filming around 40 seconds of footage. When I lifted my binoculars, I caught the faint outline of antler blending into the dark bank.
It was a stag, and a good one!
I slowly brought the rifle to my shoulder, clicked the safety off, settled the crosshairs on the shoulder, and squeezed the trigger. The shot struck true. The deer dropped instantly and did not move. At 55 metres, the 150-grain bullet did exactly what it was meant to.
As I stood in the stand looking at the deer, the adrenaline hit hard. I couldn’t stop shaking - far more than I ever had with other deer. After five minutes, I text my mate Simon back at camp. He’d heard the shot, and we were both over the moon.
I walked over and took a moment to admire the stocky little hog deer, then tagged it properly. Simon arrived shortly after, and we took some photos before loading the deer onto my rickshaw and heading down the track to gut it.
We made the tide and reached the check station in time for weighing, measuring and photos. I was told the stag was approximately three and a half years old.
I’d already spoken with Cam Johnson from Wild Things Taxidermy, highly recommended by others. Cam met us in Sale and had the cape off in under five minutes—an incredible display of skill. We processed the deer at the boat ramp and stored it in bags in my car fridge. By then, it was 7:30 pm.
The trip back to Snake Island should have taken 20 minutes—but we ran aground about a kilometre from Swashway Jetty, stuck waiting for the tide. For five hours, we pushed the boat forward a few metres at a time, gondola-style, using my gaff. We finally anchored at 12:30 am.
Without head torches, we carefully made our way back to camp under a clear night sky. I crawled into bed at 1:30 am, completely spent. What an epic day.
The next morning, I slept in before returning to the stand around 9 am, once again enjoying the birdlife and stillness of the island. Then, at 2:21 pm, a large shadow appeared behind the waterhole. At first, I thought it might be a sambar deer, which others had reported seeing.
Instead, a big hog deer stag stepped out and drank right where I’d sat the previous day, admiring my own deer. I filmed it for around 45 seconds before it pivoted sharply and disappeared, likely catching my wind.
That was the last deer I saw, but it was a fitting end.
Back at camp, we heard that several other hunters had also been successful. Horseflies were relentless, biting through layers of clothing. With a nasty weather front approaching, we agreed to pack up on Wednesday.
An unforgettable hunt, a hard-earned deer, and a memory that will stay with me forever. I would like to thank all involved in the organisation of the hog deer ballot as it was an amazing experience.
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