To start this story, we are going back to when I first joined the Australian Deer Association.
As a complete novice in the deer scene, I enjoyed connecting with new people at the Westernport branch meetings.
It was there I met one of my best mates, Craige.
He shook my hand and, without knowing me, invited me to a ‘hunting crew’ barbecue he was having at his house.
This crew is now like a second family to me, and even though lockdowns are rife again, I have spent many a weekend this year in the high country making some amazing memories, eating a lot of food and even getting on to the odd deer with some great people.
Over the years Craige with his words of wisdom has drummed into me that success on deer comes from three things: time in the bush, optics and trigger management.
I set out at the start of the year to put it to the test in keeping my freezer full while also looking for a new personal best sambar.
Here are a few short stories from some of the many adventures I have had chasing grey ghosts this year.
Let’s do this! My first ever solo trip up to the Alpine National Park.
The forecast was rain, but no worries.
I told myself if I ended up cold and wet I would simply pull the pin and head home. Driving up to the high plains, to a place I’ve walked in the past, was an exhilarating feeling.
I headed off to check out a few wallows for activity before deciding I should find where I would camp for the night.
I ended up travelling back down to a camp I’ve stayed around with friends over the years.
No deer were seen this trip and I only ventured out on that small hunt.
But this trip, as simple as it was, opened the gateway to my confidence in not only camping / hunting solo, but also fuelled my goal of going on my first solo pack hunt.
Buffie (Craige’s wife) wanted to come along this weekend … ladies’ trip!
The forecast was again for rain, but we were on.
Convoying the two of us into the Alpine area, we got to a nice spot to camp, somewhat sheltered from the weather.
We set up and planned an afternoon hunt, but it wasn’t too long before the weather set in and Buffie got on the radio to say she was heading back to camp.
As for myself, well, I had overcommitted on the walk and decided to stick it out.
There was thunder about and the rain had set in so heavy my boots filled with the water that was running down my legs.
I bumped a hind out of her sheltered bed as I decided to high-tail it toward camp.
While bee-lining it for camp, I stumbled across a wallow, then another and then a bigger one.
These were being used.
I marked the way points on my GPS, excited to return to these for further inspection.
Thanks to those active wallows I mentioned, I’ve been on to a cracker stag and I have hunted this spot every weekend since.
I know he is close to making an error. I’ve put the hind up he is travelling with more than once, and have filmed her repeatedly honking at me.
I called in to work and took the day off so I could get in there early.
I switched my GPS on before leaving camp, as I have every wallow, rub and preach marked from this stag.
My plan was to go in from a different direction to hopefully avoid the hind. I started heading down to where I’d walked in, and a ute passed me.
A couple of polite Tasmanians stopped to chat, asking where a lone female might be headed.
I gave some vague directions and they informed me a mate was hunting that same area. My little heart sank.
I decided to head to a little lookout point not far away for the afternoon, contemplating my next move.
Just as the sun hit the top of the mountains, a shot rang out. I knew exactly what it meant.
I packed up and headed out of the lookout, and the same ute passed by.
Excited, the boys told me their mate had shot a good stag.
Gutted, but excited, I invited myself down to their camp for the next morning.
With Craige, Buffie their nephew and myself the following morning, we drove down to the Tassie boys’ camp, and there he was — 26 x 27 with some solid brow tines. Buffie offered to face cape their stag and salt it.
A few jokes about cutting the head in half and sharing it started flowing.
We made some good friends and spent the night sharing a campfire, telling many a hunting tale.
Forecast: Snow. Lots of snow down to 800 metres.
No worries, the three of us decided to camp under the snowline on Friday night.
We woke up Saturday morning to rain, and decided a decent breakfast and a drive up to the snow was a good way to pass the time.
The mood quickly changed as the rain began to ease and became patchier.
We headed in close to lunch-time for a “stalk” (indicating how much talking was going on). Buffie and I decided to take some flats, chatting as we went.
It was a textbook scenario as, 70 yards away, a stag fed out across from us.
Buffie chambered a round into her 30–06 as I got the stag on film.
The stag had no idea we were there as he fed down across from us.
Buffie took a single free-hand shot and the stag dropped, crashing his way down to the flats.
We waited out a few minutes as Craige caught up to us. Walking over, the stag was a beautifully shaped velvet.
Buffie caped him out, and between the three of us we carted nearly the entire animal out in one trip.
Sharing the meat, this has been one of the tastiest stags I have eaten.
The miss. This summed it up in short, but this weekend was not short on excitement.
Buffie and I sat on the side of a hill watching not one, but two stags on the opposing face.
One, a beautiful wine-glass-shaped velvet and the other a freshly stripped narrow stag (pictured). Unable to close the gap, we were waiting for Craige to knock off work to bring up the .338 Edge.
Arriving just on last light, I decided it was no shot.
It was a sleepless night wondering if we would spot the stags again in the morning.
As luck should have it, the stripped stag had perched himself on a bench in the open that morning.
I lay behind The Edge as we made a few calculations to dial in. Buffie, watching through the binos, called it a hit and my heart raced.
Craige and I loaded the big packs and it took three hours to walk in to where this stag sat.
A miss; I had hit the rock ledge just above him. It hurts, but it happens.
Craige pulled out a whopping great castie from the stag’s bed, thicker than a Coke can.
Excited, he screamed so loud Buffie could hear him from the other side of the system.
It was time to go all in, it was my first pack hunt and I was doing it solo.
This had been a personal goal of mine for so long and I was so excited! I decided a single night to start gave me a great opportunity to test my gear and set-up before I committed to bigger trips.
A fully loaded pack with rifle had me sitting around 20 kg. I made it to camp easier than I anticipated, and I set up while maintaining the biggest grin on my face.
I inspected my camp area and managed to pull out a 26” freshly cast antler. However this little trip panned out, I had a souvenir in that cast to remind me of my first solo pack trip.
I found no deer this trip, but I marked in my Rhino what became some amazing glassing spots for future trips, to be continued once lockdowns ease.
These are just a small selection of a few memorable moments this year when hunting. Minus lockdowns, I have been incredibly fortunate to hunt almost every weekend this year.
When friends aren’t available, I continue to hunt solo.
I’ve met many people in the Alpine National Park along the way, also out enjoying their chosen hobby; even bumped in to some familiar ADA faces. I hope when lockdowns ease properly once again I can bump into a few more of you and enjoy a good hunting yarn, share a recipe and have a few more laughs.
- by Megan Scott
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