A deerly welcomed hunt

The year 2020 posed drastic issues for tackling the roar and hunting season. This included properties being closed to hunting because cattle were so underdone that farmers didn’t want to have them disturbed by rifle shots. Although others welcomed hunters to help rid ferals from feasting on animal feed. 

It seemed that though the Queensland government had not banned hunting per se, it was going to suffer along with many other activities. As luck would have it, I spoke to a property owner who would allow me to hunt but only with two partners. My mate Paul and his son Chis were grateful to join me on a three-day hunt.

Most of the area had been in drought and this was having an effect on the roar. It would have been mid-roar had it have been a normal year, but the deer really hadn’t been going off as they had previously. During the night we could hear stags roaring. Come morning, just like somebody had flicked a switch, they would stop. To date this had made finding stags difficult but things were about to change.

I have known Paul for some years. He had been a bow hunter but due to shoulder injuries is unable to use a bow and had come over to rifle hunting about 15 years ago. We had hunted previously and enjoyed each other’s company. Chris had recently moved back to Queensland but a young family meant few hunting opportunities. Both Paul and Chris were eager to fill their freezers with venison, so were flexible about what they would shoot. Though Chris’ desire was to take a meat animal over a trophy stag. We arrived at our campsite; a machine shed made available to us by the property owner. It was a great place to camp as it has all the mod cons like power, toilet and shower, though there is no hot water. As we set up camp the distant sound of a lovelorn stag, serenading, a would-be lover, floated down from the mountains.

Keen to be at them we donned our hunting garb and were soon trekking towards our stag. Before we could reach the stags, we had to cross 50 acres of predominately open field, rendering us vulnerable to being sighted by our prey. As best we could, we used the topographical features to our advantage, climbing the mountain to the timber fringe.

All the while our stag sang his song to any of the ladies that might listen. Occasionally a stranger would join in chorus, hopefully distracting our targeted animal from his immediate danger. The roars were becoming louder when Chris spotted hinds on the opposite face of the gully we had reached.

Paul and I froze while Chris stealthily searched the gully system for the stag. Sporadically he would raise his rifle, look through the scope, only to lower it. Paul and I could see nothing where we stood, except for Chris. Though we diligently watched the opposite face for any sign of movement.

Suddenly Chris’ rifle exploded into action and not 30m away we saw a spiker collapse. Chris had spotted the deer and decided that it would make a good freezer filler. By the smile on Chris’ face, you would have thought he had shot a 6×6 of gigantic proportions. Satisfied with his achievement there were a few hugs and pats on the back before a photo session, then the hard work began. 

We were up at daybreak, as all during the night stags had been roaring. They continued after dawn. We followed a couple of roars which seemed to be going up the mountain, not down. The grasses were wet from the evening’s dew as we began our ascent. Leaving the pasture country we climbed through the snarly scrub on the mountain.

Through lantana vines, the ridge line seemed to lengthen as we progressed. Two hours of fighting the tangled scrub saw us eventually break through to open eucalypt forest. An obvious game trail showed sign of recent use so we began to follow it. Cresting a ridge line my olfactory senses were bombarded with the pungent odour of deer. I turned to Paul to prepare for a shot as we scanned the terrain around us for the source of the smell, all the while the stench became more pungent.

Dropping about 30m below the ridge line so as not to skyline, Chris signalled he had the stag in view. Paul was caught out in the open with nowhere to rest for a shot. Suddenly a stag half cantered 50m in front of us. I let out the best hind call I could muster. On the sound of my ‘marp’ the stag stopped dead in its tracks to look back. Paul’s rifle quickly shattered the silence. The stag leapt into the air and disappeared down the ridge line he travelled. Confident that Paul had hit the stag, we strode over to where the stag had stood and began searching for blood. Two hours later we were still searching for blood. We called the task off, convinced that Paul had missed. While this was taking place, another stag had begun bemoaning his need for love. Chris started a halfhearted stalk but decided to call it off.

As we sat and contemplated Paul’s missed shot, the roaring stag had stirred up another couple of lovelorn rivals and the bush erupted with the songs of lovesick stags. So, we were soon back into the hunt. This time Chris hung back as Paul and I moved towards the closest roar. As Chris challenged the stags, the roars became more threatening and easier to locate.

I moved 100m forward before spotting the stag. A different stag came into view, probably 5-6 years old, missing trez tines and with poor tops, a feature that needs to be culled from a herd. My decision made, I squeezed the trigger and the stag dropped where it stood.

Chris joined me, and we decided to leave a dehydrated Paul with our gear and the deer. Our arduous journey began through the dry terrain and an hour or so later we were loading the deer onto the buggy.

Once again, we were up before daybreak but to no roars drifting down from the mountains. As we drove up the laneway between paddocks, Chris spotted a deer. We were all soon out of the vehicle and the chase was on, though it was not much of a chase because of our weary legs.

As soon as I saw the deer I knew we had something different. A fallow buck had been caught out in the open after a night of romancing and had nowhere to hide. A well-placed shot from Paul ensured we were going to eat some fallow meat over the next few months. Purdey, my GPS (dog), trained for the recovery of wounded deer, was out of the buggy and earning her keep. Within minutes Paul was standing over his deer. It wasn’t hard to see where Chris had inherited his engaging smile from, as Paul walked around grinning like the Cheshire cat. The buggy loaded with our spoils, we drove to the station’s gut pit. The buck was skinned and meat wrapped in cotton sheets to prevent drying as it hung. Suddenly the skies opened and dropped about 25mm of rain in 10 minutes. Soaked but satisfied, we drove to the shed and took the meat to the cold room. Our hunt had ended and our mouths were watering.