FEATURE Joe Conde
I had never been to Griffith before and was unsure as to what to expect. It was good country for hunting, but fairly thick bush with open land in between, so it was likely going to be a surprise shot or a long one.
It was a pleasant March afternoon, and the sun was still high in the sky. I glassed for hours without success, and things were not looking very promising. It was early in the season and I probably should have started two hours later.
As the shadows started getting longer, the forest came alive and I started to see deer moving between the clearings, still tentative but becoming active. Then finally as the sun started to set, a couple of stags ventured out on the edge of the trees and cautiously started grazing. I was 576m away, and to shoot from there was a risk not worth taking. I spent the next half hour winding my way behind gullies and small hills to get a closer look.
I came up slowly over a ridge behind a fallen tree and hoped that the swirling gusts had not given me away. The hunting gods were on my side, and the stag was still there undisturbed. I carefully rested my rifle on the fallen tree and steadied my breathing, trying to control the adrenaline rush.
The range finder said 168m, so I carefully aimed at the high heart area, added a notch, and slowly squeezed the trigger. The deer staggered under the impact and gave me the chance to fire a second round. He fell a couple of meters away. Great outcome, fabulous deer.
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