It was only the second time I’d had the opportunity to go away for a night on a hunting trip since the birth of my daughter 15 months earlier, and the first night away in nine months. I was quite keen to make the most of my time away, so I decided I would stop at a state forest on the way and try my luck there.
Growing up, I didn’t have any family or friends who were into hunting, though I was always fascinated by it, as well as other outdoor pursuits like fishing and farming. These interests led me to leaving Newcastle and getting a job as a station hand in the New England region, where I began chasing pigs and foxes - first with a bow, then eventually with a Mauser .308 rifle. After getting the rifle, the majority of the hunting I was doing was under spotlight, and while I enjoyed it, hunting without harvesting and hunting from a vehicle was slowly becoming unfulfilling. This longing for more led me to getting my R licence and starting to chase game animals for meat.
The station I worked at was only an hour from a state forest I’d researched that held deer, and over the course of two years I hunted there more than 20 times, every time leaving without even seeing a game animal. This time, I was coming from 3.5 hours away and had a little more of an idea thanks to some researching and talking with great new friends I’ve made along my hunting journey. I’d located an area on Google Maps that I thought was promising and was up late planning potential routes. Then I was out the door by 3:45 am the next morning and in the forest by 7:30 am.
Upon arrival I loaded my pack and started hunting. Pretty quickly, the country started looking promising, with lots of game trails going in every direction and both fresh and old scat. I was stalking along a saddle, glassing into the valley below. It was warm already, and the dry ground made a loud crunch with every step, meaning I’d only made it 350 metres in the hour I’d been hunting. I worked my way slowly around a corner and saw the unmistakable outline of a red stag’s antlers. He was sitting in the shade along the saddle, 40 metres ahead, when he sprang up and turned my way, hearing the leaves and twigs cracking but unable to make out what had made the sound. I put my crosshairs just behind the shoulders, and a round from my .308 hit the mark. Hurt badly, he started heading towards the steep valley. I put one in his neck, dropping him, though not quickly enough as he tumbled down the mountain. Without thinking, I ran ahead to try to locate him. I had seen him collapse through my scope, but still not having eyes on a dead stag, I was eager to find him.
A few extremely long and anxious minutes later, I got eyes on him, about 40 metres down the mountain, hung up on a tree. It’s hard to put into words the feeling of seeing the stag expire. The countless hours and dozens of unsuccessful trips had amounted to that one special moment, and I was on cloud nine. I took a few minutes to soak it all in before the hundreds of flies on my back reminded me how hot it was and that I needed to hurry to recover as much meat as I could. I made my way down to him and was again overwhelmed when I got my hands on him. He was the first antlered deer I had ever laid eyes on and my first public land animal. I manoeuvred him out of the tree, causing him to fall another 30 metres down the hill. I climbed further down and started butchering him, which was extremely difficult due to the steepness of the area where he landed. Once I had a pack full of meat and the antlers over my shoulders, I started my slow, treacherous climb out. Even though I was less than 500 metres from my ute, it took me nearly an hour to get back. I will never forget the first call I made to my fiancée with the news—she knew how much it meant to me and what a special moment it was.
It was an unreal weekend, getting a heap of foxes as well as the stag and hanging out with good mates. I attempted my first-ever Euro mount and got the skull cleaned, ready to go on the wall to remember this special moment for the rest of my life.
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