FROM HUNTING TO HARVESTING

You’ve heard the saying, “That’s why they call it fishing, not catching.” Well, in the world of hunting, it might be, “That’s why they call it hunting, not harvesting.” I’d been on the pursuit for four years: long walks, many deer sightings, but never the elusive ‘seal the deal’ moment. (Anyone up for a bit of armed bushwalking?)

Many ‘first deer’ stories revolve around kids or teenagers hunting with their parents, growing up with the outdoor lifestyle. What’s been exciting lately is the surge of late-onset hunters finally achieving that coveted first deer – and now I can count myself among them.

In early 2019, I joined the ADA, having secured my firearms license just a few months prior. Coming from a suburban background with no exposure to hunting or the outdoors lifestyle, my decision to try hunting seemed to come out of left field.

My husband, Rod, used to target shooting in his teens but had been away from shooting sports for years. Then, out of the blue, his best mate decided to try hunting. If I’m being honest, we probably owe a bit of thanks to MeatEater for sparking the idea.

The boys headed out on a few weekends, and my interest was piqued and buggered if I was going to be left sitting at home! And so I just sort of invited myself along.

I did not expect it to take four years to bag my first deer. I don’t get out as often as I’d like, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. It had got to a point where people started feeling sorry for me; ADA friends offered to take me to prime hunting spots, and others showed me their ‘fool-proof’ deer locations. However, it seemed like the deer knew I was ‘the world’s unluckiest hunter’.

I’ve become fairly proficient at finding deer, and I could regularly lay eyes on animals. However, aligning all the elements for a successful harvest remained an elusive goal.

In September, diaries finally aligned for a hunt near Orange with our friend Matt. In the days leading up to the weekend, I felt a bit anxious after many unproductive trips. The pressure was on.

Saturday evening was perfect, with clear skies and a comfortable temperature. We were heading to a hill with great visibility to sit and watch as the sun went down. Naturally, the deer had other plans. Just as we were about to leave the ute, Matt spotted a group of deer in the opposite direction to our planned hunt. “Feel like a bit of a walk?” he asked. Off we went.

Moving over hills and small ridges meant we repeatedly lost sight of them but then spotted them again. We went through a creek crossing or two, continuing to move in their general direction and knowing we were closing in on where we had spotted them.

We were walking along the side of the hill, Matt maybe 10-15 metres ahead of me and Rod about that far behind me. I glanced down, across the creek to the other hill face, and…” Is that a…”? Looking through a tree branch, I wasn’t quite sure; two steps to the left and there he was, a nice little fallow spiker, grazing away.

I started madly waving at the boys, hand signals indicating “deer” and “headgear” but “only little headgear”. Matt was already laughing at me.

I set up using Matt’s tripod, given we were on the side of a hill with no trees and no option for a prone shot or anything to steady against. With the Weatherby Vanguard Camilla 7mm08 locked in, I was ready to go. Naturally, at this time, the deer has moved so that he is directly facing us. I lined up, waiting for him to present me with a shot.

Waiting. Waiting. Turning. Breathe. Bang!

I saw the flash of the white belly through the scope. And I saw him hit the deck and not move. Yet after so long to get to this point, part of me was convinced I would miss, even at this short distance. “Did I get it?” Matt was really laughing at me now.“Yeah, you got it!”

Happy. Sad. Excited. Relieved. Grateful. My cheers would have sent any other deer in the area scattering.

It was a short walk over to the deer, and for a moment, we were all a bit confused as we couldn’t find entry or exit points. We did end up finding the entry point, a textbook spot, just behind the shoulder, but it turned out there was no exit wound. The 7mm had done precisely what it needed to do, with the bullet mushrooming beautifully and coming to a rest inside the animal.

After a quick skinning and quartering, we headed back to ‘deer camp’ (aka Matt’s place) for a great night with Matt and his lovely wife, Jo.

I’m grateful to everyone who helped me reach this point and that I am in a position to encourage others to give hunting a shot (pun entirely intended).

Incidentally, we did go out again the next morning. I missed an opportunity on a decent stag when I was too slow to set myself up, and his bachelor mob made me pay. But that was fine. I had my one, my first – and a weekend I’ll never forget.