THE NEXT GENERATION: A ROAR & RUT TO REMEMBER

FEATURE Aaron Stahl

Both of my kids have been by my side in the bush since they were two years old, hunting and scouting while steadily developing their skills along the way. Every opportunity we get, we head out into the Great Outdoors to explore everything nature has to offer. AT a time when hunting and firearms are more heavily scrutinised than ever, I’ve always made an effort to educate my kids to be proud of what we do and to appreciate the lifestyle we’re fortunate to have. That said, I have never pressured them into hunting; instead, I’ve allowed my passion and their own curiosity and inquisitiveness to guide them towards enjoying and pursuing this great pastime.

As late March rolled around, the most exciting time of the year was finally kicking off: the roar and rut. Unfortunately, the school holidays were still a few weeks away, so I headed out solo with the bow to see what activity was around. Conditions were tough compared to the exceptional seasons of previous years. The country was in a deep drought and deer numbers were noticeably down. Even so, I still managed to spot a few red and fallow deer that would make fantastic first trophies for Paige.

The school holidays finally arrived, and we headed off for a quick two-night trip to a local fallow block I have access to. Unfortunately, Paige was still wearing a moon boot after fracturing her ankle a few weeks earlier. The property is not large, but it’s reasonably steep, making it the perfect test to see how her ankle would hold up before our planned 10-day trip chasing reds and fallow up north.

The first 24 hours were incredibly quiet. We spotted several harems of does, but not a single buck among them, which was very unusual for that time of year. On the second afternoon, I suggested to the kids that we head out early and set up overlooking a paddock known for its seasonal scrapes and which consistently holds good numbers of does.

We settled into position well before prime time and, within minutes, we watched several does filter out of the timber and begin feeding. The afternoon was slow, but as the sun dipped toward the horizon, the first two bucks finally stepped out. They were only young, 3 to 4-year-old deer, but one was exceptionally stylish and carried plenty of potential for his age.

I explained to Paige that we should probably leave him for the benefit of the herd, and she understood completely though I could see the excitement in her eyes at the thought of taking her very first buck.

As the light began to fade, we had around 40 fallow deer feeding in front of us at no more than 100 metres. I turned to Paige and asked quietly, “Would you like to take that buck as your first, bub?” Her eyes lit up instantly, grinning from ear to ear.

We got her settled onto the shooting sticks, and I began guiding her onto the right buck out of the two as they milled about the does. Suddenly, my son Beau whispered, “Dad, that’s the wrong buck.”

I asked him what he meant, and unbeknownst to me, there was a third buck feeding behind some dead timber that I had not seen. After a quick look, it was obvious he was the more mature animal of the three. Paige carefully repositioned herself, and in the middle of doing so, the younger buck suddenly walked straight toward us, closing the distance to just 20 metres.

Paige patiently settled the crosshairs on the mature buck out the back as he stood quartering front on at 110m and sent a 150-grain Barnes TTSX from the Kimber Select 308 she had received for her 12th birthday. The shot could not have been any more perfect. After a short 30-metre death run, the buck went down.

We gathered our gear and made our way over to him. He was an old cull buck, the perfect first trophy deer and exactly the kind of animal you want removed from the herd. Paige was absolutely on Cloud Nine.

A week later, we were heading north to my red deer access. As tradition goes, good mate Jared Matthews joined us for the annual trip. We arrived at dusk and, by all accounts, very little had changed since my solo trip weeks prior. The country was still painfully dry, and deer numbers remained down. We felt for the landowners, who were already offloading stock to make it through winter with no rain in the long-term forecast.

We set up camp and pondered what the week ahead would hold. Up early the following morning, we navigated through the hills in the dark to a vantage point I like to glass from…it was a little slower with Paige still in her moon boot. As the morning sun broke, we heard our first roar echo through the valley way off in the distance. We soon located a semi-mature stag perusing hinds out in the open, some distance off. We set off and tried to close the distance. In doing so, we located two other stags going mental in a dry, steep, timbered face. Paige was buzzing. She had hunted reds and seen stags before, but never during the roar.

The stags were positioned in incredibly difficult country, challenging even for a solo seasoned hunter to stalk, let alone with three of us moving through the dry timber. In the end, we decided to sit back and admire them through the spotter. From what I could make out, the larger of the two would have been a perfect first stag for Paige.

Over the following 36 hours, we did everything we could to relocate that particular stag, but without success. In the process, however, we put in a huge 10-kilometre morning chasing another mature stag through the hills. It turned into a real cat-and-mouse affair. So close at times, yet so far, and at one point a roar battle within 100 metres of him in the thick stuff. Beau watched the whole encounter unfold from high above.

Back at camp, we sat down with Jared and discussed our options for the afternoon. In the end, we decided that he and Beau would remain up high to keep watch, while Paige and I would slip in closer, hoping the stag might step out of the timber on dusk with his harem.

We set off mid-afternoon and made our way to the glassing point. As we arrived and began discussing landmarks and likely travel routes, a stag suddenly erupted from the bush across the river, no more than 400 metres away.

At that moment, Jared realised he had left his radio back in the car and asked Beau if he could run back to grab it. Beau turned to leave, then suddenly whispered, “Psst… Dad, the stag’s right there.” The stag was crossing the river directly below us at only 150 metres.

Caught completely off guard in the open with our pants down, I quickly looked him over and was confident it was the same stag we had seen in the timber the previous morning. I hurriedly got Paige set up on the shooting sticks while trying to stay calm. By then, the stag had closed the distance to around 100 metres and was walking straight towards us. Paige could not pick him up in the scope; the adrenaline was through the roof for all of us.

The stag suddenly broke into a trot, but a few hind calls stopped him in his tracks, his attention instantly drawn towards us. Cool as a cucumber, Paige settled the crosshairs of her 308 and squeezed the trigger.

Boom!

Yet again, a perfectly placed shot. The stag bronco-bucked before making a short death run and rolling over. The elation and emotion that swept over all of us in that moment were something special. It instantly took me back to two years earlier, watching Beau take his first stag. To top it off, Jared captured the entire thing on film.

We made our way over to Paige’s stag, an exceptional first. A beautiful 37-inch royal 12. As we admired him, we noticed one of his tines had been freshly broken. We followed his running line to where he had crashed over, when Beau’s eagle eyes spotted a small fragment nearby. Digging beneath the log he toppled over, I found the missing tip speared into the timber.

After taking it all in, we began a photo session to capture the moment before setting up to cape the stag. But before we started, I gifted Paige with a custom R&N Blades knife by Rob Herbert, just as I had done when Beau took his first stag years earlier. It’s a knife she can cherish forever and, hopefully, every time she uses it the memories and emotions from that unforgettable day come flooding back.

Over the following days, we put in the hard yards but could only turn up younger stags as the roar seemed to be tapering off. Even so, the kids had some incredible close encounters that were priceless moments.

We then decided to head to another station I have access to, which holds fallow and the occasional red. We set up camp high on a ridge with good glassing access over a big basin. It was a section I had not spent much time in, though Beau and I had explored it once before and thought it showed real promise.

The first afternoon we glassed several fallow deer, including a solid, mature, one-antlered buck. With what we were seeing, the days ahead were shaping up well. As night settled in, we could hear several croaks echoing through the valley, adding to the anticipation for the days ahead.

The following morning, we glassed numerous bucks, but nothing worth pursuing. Later in the morning, I picked up a mature menil buck in the open, about 1300 metres away. I turned to Jared and said, “Get your gear, I’ve found a good one.”

As he sorted his pack, I reevaluated the buck through the Swaro spotter. “Mate, do you mind if Beau and I send it?” True to form, his response was instant, “of course not”.

Beau and I set off, moving through open paddocks and across gullies, slipping past several does along the way. We reached a ridge about 500 metres out and began glassing again couldn’t relocate the buck. It wasn’t until we shifted just 10 metres to the right that we picked him up feeding on the timber edge.

I ranged him at 450 metres, a big cross gully shot, but after weighing up the terrain and his position, a stalk would have been extremely difficult. There was also a strong chance our thermals would suck up and blow the whole area, pushing him and the does out.

Beau had previously consistently hit an 8-inch gong at 500 metres with my Kimber Mountain Ascent in .280 AI, so I set the rifle up and dialled the Swarovski Z6i 2.5–15x44 BT to 450 metres.

I looked at him and said, “Don’t take the shot unless you’re completely steady.”

He got down into position, took a few deep, controlled breaths, and brought his heart rate under control. Once he was settled prone, he turned to me and said he was completely steady.

“Whenever you’re ready, mate.”

The 280 AI broke the morning silence, and the 145-grain Barnes LRX was on its way. The impact looked solid. The buck dipped, hesitated, then sprinted into the timbered gully. I tracked him visually and marked the spot mentally where he entered the timber.

We waited around 10 minutes before crossing over. Moving into the timber, there was no immediate sign of blood. Beau dropped 10 metres below the line while I stayed about five metres above where he entered. A few does busted out ahead of us, but still no sign of the buck. With no blood to follow, doubt started to creep in. We continued contouring through the timber, and then there he was; he hadn’t made it more than 60 metres.

I let Beau walk up to him first. He was a very even and stylish buck with all the fruit. Beau was absolutely chuffed and rightly so. We radioed Jared and Paige, and they soon came over to join us for a photo session and helped cape him out before returning to camp.

We rounded out the trip by glassing several quality young bucks that showed real promise for the years ahead. The 2026 roar and rut is one I will never forget. I cannot thank Jared enough for capturing so many priceless moments on film and stills, and for his patience and support with the kids throughout the trip. Trips like this really emphasise what hunting, family and mates truly mean to me. I cannot wait for the 2027 roar and rut and do it all again.