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Two Stags, Two Shots,
Two Seconds, Too Much As published in AustDeer magazine 2003 The story of a hunters trip that fulfils all his expectations. 17/04/2002 Dedicated to my son, may he learn from his father’s mistakes I would like to thank: My wife Donna, for coping with my modern dilemma of being a hunter. Mike Harrison for the ethical and moral guidance. Elaine Harrison for her smiling face an always understanding. My mother for helping me find places to hunt and topographical support. My father for being on call to help out, and making me laugh. Finally Dave Thomas for his support, I hope to one day repay the favour. Prologue Before I begin this article I must re-iterate that I am a Sustenance Hunter, ie. I hunt for meat. The challenge of the hunt as well as any trophies are not bonus’ but gifts, given by the animal to remind you of journeys, tastes and of course mateship among other things. For example antlers are the stags gift to remind you that he gave his life so that you could celebrate a great memory, but of course, only when collected ethically. This story is for any one who has or will attempt to hunt Sambar or has a love of true hunting tales and that they may learn from my experience. I was told in no uncertain terms that if I missed any details, that the story would be sent straight back (ring a bell, Mike). So this story is as correct as I can remember. The day started early, the alarm didn’t wake me at 6am I was already up. A quick rush to turn it off was followed by my wife’s mumbled “Why are you getting up so early”. A quick shower then followed starting the 4 x 4. The backpack had been packed the night before, the gun and ammunition given a wipe over with oil to protect it from moisture. The rifle I was using is a Browning BLR Lightning .270 shooting the Winchester Supreme 150gn Partition Gold, the assistant at the gun shop had heard many good reports of this projectiles effectiveness. Car loaded I headed off. Now as a serious hunter I know that if you are not confident with the rifle and projectile you may as well stay home. Because when it comes to the important shot you will more than likely miss, so my first stop was to a good friends farm to make sure I could hit what I was aiming at. I got there two hours later said “hello” then drove down the back paddock and set up the targets. When I pulled the trigger, “Holy Cow!” The rifle was shooting 10” high at 150 meters. Lucky I had bothered to check I thought to myself as I tightened all the scope mounts. I adjusted the scope then proceeded to shoot one shot after the other, making sure the barrel was cold between shots, to simulate the hunt. Now what was I going to hunt? Deer, but not just any deer, SAMBAR. Apparently the hardest deer to hunt in Victoria, if not Australia. Especially since they live in some of our most inhospitable terrain, the Victorian Alps. The warning signs on the way up the mountains say it all “WARNING ALPINE CONDITIONS CAN OCCUR ANYTIME OF YEAR”. There was however one more stop before I could hunt, a visit to the dentist, so after fixing a chipped tooth, I was off. Was I keen? That would be putting it mildly, it had been six long months since my last visit. My mother had said she had seen deer in the area a year prior. However I was anxious, as well, would I get to see a wild Sambar, it had been seven years ago that I last saw a huntable Sambar, long before I carried a rifle. It was a crossbow back then and I had never actually harvested a deer, but being part of the hunt that was successful for others had lead to some delicious meals. When I finally pulled the 4 x 4 into the clearing from which I would leave it was already getting dark. Too late to hike into a place I had only been once before, so the pack was unpacked, sleeping bag pulled out and knowing it would be an early start I went to sleep. I woke around 6.30 am, repacked and at first light I was off. After a couple of photos of the sunrise and myself decked out I set of down the hill. The fog was terrible, visibility was less than 70 meters and the ground was extremely dry, knowing the chances of seeing a deer were slim here, I decided to step up the pace and make for a good camp and hunt deep into the gully system I knew of. It took well over 5 hours to make my destination as the tracks had well and truly overgrown, and the fog had made the shrubs wet. I was dripping when I made it to the snow plain. A quick and quiet look around was not at all promising. The creek had dried up, leaving mud, and there was no sign of deer, not even a solitary print. Over the creek and up a small gully showed only old droppings and well regrown rub trees. So much for the alpine conditions, it was a warm 15 degrees and even the moss was so dry it crackled under each footstep. But I was in the high country; “God’s country”. The air was clean and the views were spectacular. I chose a campsite that over looked a triple gully system just in case an unlucky deer decided to cross. I unpacked, stretch out my sleeping bag, placed a tarp over my head and lit my stove. I cooked up my lunch, ate and decided I was too tired to do much walking so I climbed a log and waited. After a couple of hours the fog drifted in and then the night chill followed. It was time to call it a day; I crawled into my sleeping bag and went out like a light. During my slumber, I was woken by the fact that my forehead was wet. Precipitation, it was raining! I looked at my watch, 9 p.m. my sleeping bag kept me dry with its Gore-Tex outer, till I was woken again at 4 am with wet feet. It had not stopped raining and my body had slipped out of the tarp cover, well so much for staying dry. But the main thing was it was still raining. My sleep was broken from then on with the heavy rain I think it stopped at around 6 a.m. A light drizzle continued on and at first light I started preparations for the walk out. After passing an oiled rag through the gun barrel I re-taped it, packed up camp and left it just the way I found it. My plans had now changed dramatically. I would be able to stalk Sambar because of the rain; the problem was now carrying a wet pack. I looked at the contour map and my G.P.S. After studying my options I decided that I would travel up the triple gully system, contour high around the hill, trying to make a short cut back to the track on a saddle. I would be still hunting all the way, so I chambered a round, released the hammer to safety and set off. Crossing the plain was so much quieter with all the moisture. The creek had water in the depressions; it still was not flowing. It did show a fair bit of rain had fallen. I had my rifle over my shoulder, so I could constantly check my progress up the gully with the G.P.S. once satisfied I was on the right path I placed it in my pack pocket over my right shoulder, for easy retrieval, an unshouldered my rifle. I started the slow but deliberate process of contouring the hill. As everybody who knows me will agree, I read hunting and fishing magazines front to back, even going back to old magazines every few months. If you can’t get out yourself you may as well read other peoples stories, you can’t learn it all but you will learn something. So after so many articles on Sambar hunts, usually unsuccessful because of simple mistakes, I knew that I had to do a few things and one of them was the 5-7 step technique. Take 5 to 7 steps then stop and look around, to make sure I was going slow and stopping I continually pulled the G.P.S. out from my pack and made sure I knew my position. After walking for a couple of hours the excitement had worn off and I needed a rest. Seeing ahead I saw I was coming up to a gully surrounded by a rocky outcrop, I decided that it would be easier to rest my pack than actually take it off. Walking up to the rocks I found a place to sit and plonked myself down. Pulling out the G.P.S. I found that I had not contoured at all but crossed over the hill and… “what was that?” On the other side of the valley a dark brown log had just flashed a large piece of orange at me, “it couldn’t be!” I picked up the rifle and looked through the scope even on x2.5 power it clearly showed the rump of a deer, a Sambar, a real wild Cervus unicolor. The small amount of time looking at the deer in the Bunyip Sambar pen, only once actually going in, had paid off. My eyes had instinctively trained to focus on the most visible parts of a deer, not the whole animal, and looking through the wire’ I had subconsciously achieved this. Those of you who now me understand I love fishing so I had never put the time aside to go into the pen. What would an experienced stalker do now? NOT GET BUCK/DEER FEVER! So I decided to watch and let my nerves settle. I re-read all the magazine articles in my head. There was a gentle breeze up the gully and being the morning that should stay the same, the sun warming the cold mountain air causes it to rise. The next step take a photograph, if I spooked the deer or missed the shot, no one will believe me, that is how hard these deer can be to find. The deer had moved and started grazing straight up the gully. Being waterproof I carry my camera on the waist belt of my pack, this is so I can get the quick photograph of any running deer. I never shoot running game with a rifle, not even rabbits! As I have seen others do it and gut shoot animals, it must be painful? I only have to think about it, not to do it. I wiped the lens, zoomed in, turned the flash off and snapped. Only once as the deer turned and looked in my direction, not to fussed because it continued to chew on a mouthful of grass. Of the two things that had stopped the deer from bolting, one would become a blessing the other severely irritating. The first thing was the trees; they had been the cover that now would block any sort of attempted shot. The distance I estimated was between 100 – 130 meters and in any gully there are plenty of trees to fill that space. The blessing was the rain and its effect on the trees. Every time the breeze would blow the large droplets would fall and hit the fallen leaves making loud popping sounds. Now considering any stalk on this deer would involve, moving from my current position over rocky ground, almost straight down, on only semi-wet sticks. On moist ground this would have been no problem but sticks break very easily on rocks. I picked out a path that would take me only five meters but it should give me a clear shot at the deer’s chest. The whole time I had been watching this animal had only moved a couple of steps, happily taking mouthfuls of wet green gully grass. With such slow movements I could wait an hour and still not get a shot. So I unclipped my pack and moved. Taking note of the wind, every time it blew I took one or two more sliding steps. The path did not allow me to watch the deer and walk so after a few meters I lent over a fallen log and looked through the scope. With scope now on x8 I found the deer had gone! It could not have exited the gully! So I looked again and to my surprise there HE was. He had moved to a better position to see me and in doing so showed he had antlers. They were in velvet, however once again I could only see his head, neck and rear end (those damn trees). I had amazingly only travelled three meters yet he had moved over a log and was now looking down hill. I once again I had to plan a new stalk, I placed the rifle in an upright position to cover my white face and started clambering sideways to a lone rock that would offer the perfect bench. I always carry my bipod, it might be extra weight, but it is valued when a long steady shot is needed. When I reached the rock the whole trip would have been 5 meters as the crow flies but actually 15 meters of slow walking every time the wind blew. I slowly unfolded the bipod and lay down, you wouldn’t believe it but the stag had moved again, this time for the better. I could see his whole body dark brown, HUGE ears and yes I could confirm he was a stag. At this distance there was no need for any sort of hold over or under, then he took two steps and put a lot of small dead shrubs in the way. Slowly lifting the rifle and sitting up I could avoid the twigs, but the shot would be harder as I had no rest. Placing my left elbow on my knee, jamming the rifle into my shoulder, taking a deep breath I held steady. With him looking down hill to my left and quartering towards me I placed the cross hairs on his left shoulder. Slowly lifting the hammer I released my breath then took another, I didn’t want to miss, I didn’t want to suffer buck fever! It was now or never so slowly I pulled the heavy trigger. BOOM! I saw him drop. Dropping the rifle to reloaded I watch another cartridge chamber and then looked through the scope, what! He had stood up and was now facing the other way he looked fresh, had I just given him a fright or was it true these deer are tough even when well hit. BOOM! Another Partition Gold was sent on its way, watching through the scope, I saw him flinch. Hang on… what was that? Another stag jumped to his feet and ran off. Now tell me I’m wrong but wild Sambar are solitary, especially stags, so what were two stags in velvet doing in one gully. No time to think I looked at my watch 9.42 and 33 seconds. I can remember the exact time because in every article you have to wait at least 20 minutes before following up the animal. I knew I had hit one stag and he had run uphill, the other had run downhill looking unscathed. Then I heard this cashing sound, I realised it was the body of a deer rolling back down the step gully sides, no need to wait the 20 mins. I pulled the phone out of my pack and called my wife, my voice shaking I did my best to explain the situation and that I would be late home (the things we men do). Grabbing the pack I slid down into the gully then walked up the game trail. Looking to my left I missed him the first time, but on the way back down I saw where he had rolled. He had travelled less than 35m before expiring. He looked stunning, as they all do dead or alive. I had accomplished half the job now the skinning, and butchering. I started at 9.58 and finally finished at 12.32. These are big animals, they must weigh in excess of 200kgs. I had cramp in my fingers just from skinning him. Placing all the cuts on a piece of now wet calico, I wrapped the two front legs and back straps placed them in my pack. As there was no more room I hung the back legs from a tree, to keep them from the wild dogs. Wanting to know more, I went back to the carcass to find the entry and exit wounds of the projectile. After the autopsy I picked up my pack (it was heavy), my rifle and the cape. Looking around I decided the best thing to do would be to walk straight back to the track, I would be going through the thick scrub but end up on a familiar track. After slowly sliding over a few fallen logs, I realised this was going to take a long time to get out. Then the most amazing and at the same time shocking discovery occurred. I had almost walked straight into the body of a much larger stag! What was I supposed to do? I had shot two! Now I had two dead stags both in velvet, both in the same gully being shot within seconds of each other. I sat down on the log he was lying over place his mates antlers next to him, tears welled up in my eyes. In total awe and disbelief, I pulled out the camera and took some photographs then marked it on the G.P.S. I knew I was coming back but all this would be too much for me. So there I was a pack full of meat and hiking gear, cape and rifle. I started off once again, trying to plan my return trip my brain was going haywire, what had I done? What would people think? How will I organise to get back? I thought about my family and friends and who would be able to come back with me? This kept my mind occupied for the first 30 mins of bush bashing but then the reality of how heavy the pack was set in. Everything was getting wet, that meant heavy and the track was not as close as I had thought. After an hour I made it to the track, covered in leaves, sticks and a couple of thirsty leeches. I knew exactly where I was. I dug deep into my pack and pulled out my last portions of food, a muesli bar and an energy drink. I had not prepared to stay any longer and my water was running low, just a sip to wet the mouth. I had carried in 2.5L, but cooking and the warm weather had taken its toll on my supply, not to mention washing my hands. I had also expected the creeks to have water, so now I had to start rationing myself. I put the pack back on and continued. I was warm with three layers of clothing, top and bottom, and with all that weight it wasn’t long before I started to feel weary. I lost the spring in my step and started to trudge on. Brainstorming kept me thinking about my next plan of attack; I would need time and at least another person to help, now that I had found it was two large stags. I didn’t think it could get much worse but then it started to rain. I know I started to feel drained after the high and my lack of fitness started to show. I was going downhill so I just kept putting one foot in front of the other, getting wetter and wetter, I was even sweating in the cold rain. I made it to the saddle, loosened the straps, dropped my pack and sat down. I could see water running out of my pack. Drinking the last of my bottled water, I contemplated the hike up the mountain. I knew it was only a couple of kilometres on the map and the zig-zag pattern meant that it would be step country. Swinging my pack up onto my back, then the rifle and finally the cape I started. The first 100m went fine until I had to cross a couple of logs. I lifted my leg, swung it up and slipped, cracking my right shin into the log. I knew I had done some damage but I refused to look, I kept on going. Hypnotised by the squelching of my boots, I didn’t notice the cramps start but I realised when I tried to rest. Both legs wanted to give in, keeping them bent at every stop meant I couldn’t rest for long. This was not looking good I would have only travelled 1 kilometre, and was already in bad shape. I decided to have a serious rest again leaning up against a tree I pulled out the G.P.S. It told me that at my current position it would be sunset at 5.44pm, it was now 2pm, I had plenty of time. But the cramps wouldn’t go; I had no more water and was not covering the track as quickly as I needed to, to get back to the car before dark. I started to get worried and with that came all sorts of wild and imaginative things that didn’t help my struggle. The pack straps began to dig into my shoulders, I still had a long way to go, my pace got slower, and the realisation that I had done the wrong thing really hit me. By taking the deer, I would not be able to fully harvest either one because I would be too sick to return. It continued to rain but the mini waterfalls on the sides of the track had not yet started to run, so I knelt down and drank out of a puddle. It got dark very quickly and I started to panic; I was physically weak and mentally exhausted. A couple of times I actually found myself crying from exhaustion and guilt! I knew it was not my fault I had shot the two stags, but the consequences fell directly on me and it was my responsibility to return, even if only to do the second stag justice. When I finally trudge my way to the top of the hill, I let out a howl of relief and dropped everything. Got the keys out of my pack and walked to the car. When I sat down I started to drink water and my energy started to come back, resting for a few minutes, I started the car and drove to my pack. Feeling a lot better physically, I took some photographs and headed to my mother’s place. In the three hours it took to get there I made a dozen phone calls and drank 2L of water. My mother helped me unpack and it was estimated that I had carried out around 50kgs of water logged gear and on the scales I had lost 2kgs in weight. It was decided that I was to unwell to return straight back. It wasn’t until 4 days later that I returned with David Thomas, a good friend. I was anxious about the return hoping the meat had not gone off. It was a very quick hike in, but the weather had not been favourable for the stag and he had started to smell. I looked at Dave and started the messy work of removing the skull. When it was all done I was extremely disappointed in myself. I had reduced myself almost as low as a poacher There in front of me lay a deer carcass without a head, just like you see Elephants lying in Africa without there tusks. Dave saw the gully and how I had made the mistake of taking the similar looking deer both animals lay no more than 60 meters from each other when they had expired. We dropped into the Harrison's on the way home and I repeated the story of the happiest and saddest deer hunt I had been part of. Mike gave the antlers a quick going over. I have decided to have the two sets of antlers skull mounted. They are gifts that will always remind me of some of the mistakes I made and will never make again. Always hunt with a partner and be fit enough to do what you set out to accomplish. If just a few people learn from this, then these two stags will not have wasted their gifts. I just hope that nobody else has to go through the same. Thanks for reading my story, Chris Boon A.D.A. member For all of you wondering about the performance of the gun and the projectiles, they worked perfectly. The BLR Lightning although being exposed to some extreme conditions; being wet for over 24 hours. Fired two perfectly placed shots at a range of 130 meters measured on a G.P.S. Good proof that the gun is well designed for the quick accurate second shot. There was RUST in the barrel though! As told the ammunition was the 150gn Partition Gold projectile in .270 calibre, the supreme load by Winchester. Only one projectile was recovered, from the second stag. It entered his rear upper right rib cage travelling the diagonal and was found between the lower left shoulder and the base of the neck. Destroying both lungs and major arteries leading out of the heart. On the first stag shot at he was too far gone for an autopsy. An entry hole was found near the left shoulder and judging from the angle I was shooting from the bullet would have passed straight through his heart. Which may explain why after the first shot he collapsed and on the second shot jumped up again. The only disappointment was the lack of exit holes, which leaves tracking shot animals very difficult. The two stags would have both weighed between 200 and 300 kilograms. You may have notice I have not included the antler size of either animal, this is due to me not ready to except them as trophies. They are still gifts, until I hear of some people actually taking note of my mistakes. Then I may get them scored. Hell, I’m sure Dave would love to know. • Home |
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