Snow plus hounds equals great memories

Where else would you rather be?

We headed off on Friday afternoon once work was done and arrived a bit after 9pm to falling snow. Thankfully a tarp had already been set up and a warm fire was pleasing to see.

The next morning the team arose before 6am and prepared for the day's hunting.

It is always a team effort — men, women and children all happily getting involved. Some by placing the GPS collars on hounds, while others cook a breakfast feast for all. The night had been somewhat kind, dumping only 300mm of snow in sheltered areas.

The hunt was discussed and planned, snow chains fitted to a couple of the vehicles and we were all ready to go, heading off to our pre-arranged starting points.

Ben and I were asked to walk two hounds each down a leading spur to start the hunt.

Well, for those who have experienced this, you would know that the first challenge is to try and stay upright. Halfway down the spur the hounds started finding fresh tracks in the snow and the hunt was under way.

I held my position on the spur for a couple of hours and, as the hunt seemed to be heading away from me, I checked with the team to see if I needed to stay put, or if it was okay to walk back up the hill — I was starting to feel cold (standing in the snow will do that).

"Yes, head back if you like," was the call on the radio and, "I will come and pick you up".

On my way out I came across fresh marks made by a stag and a hind. Deciding to follow them, I hadn't gone 50m when I noticed fresh blood on the snow.

Quite intrigued, as no-one had fired a shot and being two or 3km from the hunt, I was quite sure this deer hadn’t been wounded by any of our team.

I spent the next hour tracking the prints while in snow up to my knees at times. Finding blood droplets less than a metre apart, I hoped I would be able to catch up with the stag.

After a very steep climb and almost 1.5km of pushing through snow, along with a few slips and falls to remind me not to load my rifle, I finally reached the top of the main ridge. Having cleaned the snow out of my scope, trigger guard and the rifle’s action several times along the way, I was ready for action.

I had only walked a short way along the ridge when I noticed a stag 80m from me holding his front left leg in the air, tucked up almost to his chest. I was positive this was the injured stag I had been following, and watching for a moment, he gave the impression of being in pain. He then turned side-on facing slightly away from me while standing on all fours.

I took a heart/lung shot which dropped the stag cleanly. On inspection the only injuries I could find were missing dew claws on the front left hoof and a small wound 1cm long just above the webbing on the rear right hoof. These must have been the injuries which had left a blood trail for well over a kilometre!

We can only speculate how the stag came by his injuries. Perhaps he had he been fighting or maybe he had slipped in the icy conditions.

Meanwhile the team was successful, taking two more stags and a hind. One of these stags had antlers only an eighth of an inch under 30 — a near personal best for the lucky hunter.

My stag may not have been huge, but my hunt was most memorable, and it was good to see the whole team involved in the camping and hunting experience.

From setting up camp, attending to the hounds, gathering firewood and, on this occasion, helping a camper by towing his trailer 15km back to a main road. Modern-day hunters who happily share and enjoy the bush with other users.

Where else would you rather be?

Contributed by: Rod Jones.