A sambar scrape in the forest

Periodically over the years I’d noticed sambar tracks heading off in a general northerly direction from their usual habitat, so it was time to go for a stroll and try to find another piece of this puzzle.

Without the weight of a rifle or daypack I was free to explore without any added burden and if I bumped into a deer, so be it. As most hunters already know, hunting isn’t about simply shooting animals but the entire experience, that indeed sometimes involves shooting. This exploration was merely another excuse to again immerse myself in the magnificence of Victoria’s sambar forests.

After following a game trail that held the occasional set of deer prints mixed with those of wallabies, I reached a fork in the gully system with deer sign dispersed throughout. There wasn’t a lot of sign and what lay before me hinted at different outcomes. So the process of elimination began.

Up into the right fork the bush became dry and the sign scarce so I headed up into the high ground between the gully fork and found the majority of sign (which wasn’t much) heading off into the left-hand branch. With a bit more hope than doubt I climbed higher into the left branch and the amount of deer sign elevated in unison. Indeed it was scattered everywhere amid a patch of fire regrowth, indicating feeding sambar.

While 90 per cent of the area wasn’t burnt, the small zone that was had received frequent attention. The further I went into the system the more I could sense the presence of sambar as the scattered sign became a game trail that arrived at a fresh scrape. As I stood there looking at the freshly pawed earth and the marks of spread stag cleaves in the dirt, I heard the slightest of sounds up in the dry scrub by the opposite face. To me, this seemed the place to be.

No vantage points were available overlooking the scrape, which I assumed belonged to a young stag. So, the nearest point possible was chosen that could be approached without spooking the likely bedding areas yet close enough to see deer soon after leaving their beds or the scrape.

A patch of dirt was cleared where I could sit quietly on the next spur down the gully, which was about 100 yards from the scrape that was out of view. In addition an approach trail was roughly cleared with my hiking boots and the beginning of the trail identified by a dead wattle tree that had been snapped off at the top sometime prior. The trap was set.

On occasions we go hunting because we’re keen and on others simply because we wish to be among nature and carry an attitude of what happens, happens. My next trip, was the latter. It was blowing a gale at the house and from the wrong direction to boot. But what the heck – I was going. More than worrying about success I would simply be happy if I returned home without getting clunked by a falling tree or branch.

The vehicle descended into the hunting area where the stillness of the tree tops took me by surprise. Stepping into the forest the slight breeze was even blowing from a favourable direction. Geared up and ready for the climb to the approach trail I slogged my way into the surprising humidity.

Wearing more clothes than I needed at this time of day, the sweat was building upon my forehead and beading down my nose onto the forest floor. At the broken wattle tree I slowed right down and ducked and weaved around the first couple of branches before reaching the clear path below. Bird calls increased as I descended into a gully filled with life and the vigour of spring.

The aroma of flowing plants mixed with the usual scents of dogwood and eucalyptus erupted as I sweated out every tense and slow footstep down that trail. Disappointingly, all the deer slots on the ground were faded and old so it seemed fortunate that I was merely here to be in the forest.

Setting up the stool and easing out of the daypack I noticed the fresh prints of a mature hind and half-grown hind. I settled in upon my stool with the .338 Win Magnum across my legs and renewed hope in my mind.

A blue wren landed in branches nearby before pursuing a female aggressively through the forest of trees weaving this way and that. Snap! Something heavy could be heard moving for a brief period over the spur and above the pawed earth of the scrape, again, just the sound of the forest with a gentle rustle of leaves and the cackle of a crow nearby.

Soon, the crow’s call was faint in the distance as a cockatoo’s screech replaced him nearby. Hours later the clouds had rolled in and sparse raindrops began to thud with varying intensity upon my cap and throughout the forest. A lyrebird began to cry higher up in the gully from where the trees stood tall and proud with their white trunks contrasting with the green of the forest. Judging by the noise, there was a sambar deer at that scrape.

The resonance of antlers thrashing vegetation drifted through the forest blending with bird calls as I readied the rifle and positioned for a shot from the stool. For about 10 minutes it continued on and off as the stag turned his attention to different vegetation in his vicinity. All of a sudden, a mature-sized sambar ran off through the forest onto the opposite face with its big, brown body disappearing as quickly as it appeared.

Tilting around upon the stool I followed its progress via the swish of snapping twigs until I spotted a rear right leg protruding among the saplings. There was no chance of a shot. The animal disappeared completely off to the right upon the opposite face and I pondered if he’d been alone at the scrape as the amount of noise had been considerable.

About 15 minutes passed before I heard the slightest crunch of a twig snapping in the direction he’d taken but at the gully floor. I surmised he may have been crossing over as he continued his journey down to feed. Potential sambar reverberations were silent for the next 30 minutes or so as I scanned up in the direction of the scrape for further activity.

Turning to my right I was surprised to see a stag walking out of the bush angling up towards me at a distance of about 15 yards. His neck stretched out about a foot off the ground as if following a scent as his head and eyes flickered in and out between minimal foliage. As such, he didn’t notice my movement as I quickly turned and lifted the rifle to shoot.

The bolt-action clacked, clunked and did the job. When he had walked out in front of me I only had time to quickly glance at his antlers and I guessed him to be about 20″ but it was the meat I needed, as the freezer was completely empty. However, as I stepped nearer to him his antlers grew a little and I was well pleased with my sambar scrape stag.

Looking at his right rear leg and its coloration it was obviously the same deer I saw earlier. It would seem he was a bit rut crazy, moving around patrolling his gully looking for hinds or rivals. When he first ran off I was sitting stationery and the wind had been in my face the entire time so being spooked by me wasn’t the reason for his behaviour.

A few photos were quickly taken in fading light and a phone call made to my meat packer. Removing a front and rear leg I headed off down the gully towards the vehicle. The growth was thick and it was difficult to find a reasonable path that could again be followed in subsequent trips. Sweating from battling brush and the general humidity, I made it to the track.

The revs of a four-wheel drive mingled with the growl of a brushtail possum in a tree above as the vehicle lights illuminated relief within for the heavy task ahead. While the stag was butchered, mosquitoes swarmed.

Legs and cuts of meat were placed in bags to keep them clean as the exhausting task of the carryout began. To make matters worse I took a path that made the carryout even longer than it needed to be. At last, the track was reached. Initially I had only gone into the forest to simply be there and in the end I took back more than I had bargained for. But then, that can sometimes happen when you find a sambar scrape in the forest.