Hunting wild dogs in calf country

While the argument rages on what defines a wild dog, their destructive behaviour can be attested by most graziers across the country. There’s a reason rural authorities spend massive amounts of money on baiting programs and scalp bounties. While I’m not a fan of baiting, I can’t help but sympathise with the landowners doing it, losing substantial portions of income thanks to wild dogs.

Hunting by shooting is a safer method to controlling their numbers, and one of my favourite pastimes. I’ve been sporadically hunting wild dogs on many properties for 20 years and find it not only to be challenging, but exciting and rewarding.

Opportunities arose to hunt wild dogs on my brother Charlie’s property, a place that has seen its fair share of in-house control. However, through lack of management by adjoining forestry blocks, evidence such as footprints and fresh scat littered his vehicle tracks. After a good rain season following a prolonged drought, the cattle herd was at last putting on condition, with numerous young calves on the drop. The wild dogs posed a very real and unacceptable threat.

My son Carl’s rugby league game at Kingaroy in South East Queensland saw us just a ‘stone’s throw’ from Charlie’s farm. His household made the short trip to support Carl’s game but also extended the invitation to return to their place for a hunt the next day. “Come back to our place and make sure you bring your guns,” were Charlie’s words. I didn’t need my arm to be twisted any further for an excuse to shoot wild dogs.

In recent times the wild dogs had become so brazen in their appearances that my sister-in-law Rachael managed to film and photograph a wild dog bitch from the kitchen window, licking her lips at the chook pen gate. This was not an isolated incident as my niece had been eerily shadowed by wild dogs while walking her own pet dogs and horses. Charlie had told my young niece and nephew never to run from a wild dog as that encourages a pursuit. Heeding good advice, they have managed to reach the safety of the house without being attacked.

It was the end of May and as the dawning of winter approached, so too the early morning frosts. All night the wild dogs gave unsettling howls from around the property. Laying in my swag, I found it hard to settle. When 5am arrived, I’d momentarily slipped into the realms of dream land prior to the alarm blaring but was up in a flash and ready for hunting before the kettle was boiled. Despite the bumps and bruises from Saturday’s game, a morning’s hunt was the best remedy for Carl. His enthusiasm for an early morning rise was matched only by my nephew Tom, who’d slept all night in his camo clothing and was ready to step off as soon as we’d finished our coffees.

Leaving the house under the cover of darkness was exciting as the wild dog howls lured us to their domain. By the time we’d reached a vantage point in the trees, our now visible breath from the sub-zero air indicated not only ‘first light’ but wind direction. While we sat down to take in the surroundings, the sun rose behind us to illuminate the theatre of paddock with its bush background. This provided a perfect spot to watch, listen and shoot. Eagerly anticipating some action, Charlie’s dog howls were met with wild replies. It was then we realised that dogs were replying from all around, which had us pivoting in an unsettled state of awareness.

The performance continued for some time until a flash of orange from the boundary had our attention. In and out the wild dog weaved through the trees toward an area of the paddock in full view. Our howls kept the dog interested but it wasn’t completely convinced we were there for handshakes and a bowl of dog biscuits. While still visible, it kept a safe position from us shooting.

Thinking at the time it was the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard; Charlie encouraged me to walk across the paddock and pretend like I hadn’t noticed the dog and assume position in the trees for a clearer shot. Immediately feeling completely exposed as I left cover, the dog saw me and understandably ran to the trees. Well, if anything at least, the remaining hunting party were entertained at my expense!

Rifle at the ready, I remained steadfast behind the trees looking back to where the wild dog was last seen, while Charlie continued howling from a distance. To my surprise the wild dog reappeared from the bush and moved back to the spot he’d fled earlier. Tree by tree, I swiftly but quietly closed the gap to a safe range of 80m.

The dog took up view in the scope and the Marlin .45-70 rifle barked. Dead in an instant thanks to a single 300gr bullet, the sound of cheers by the boys soon followed, who were watching through their binos. They’d just witnessed me shoot my first wild dog in a couple of years and it eliminated another rural calf killer from the farm.

Amid the celebrations, I expressed initial displeasure of Charlie’s unconventional hunting advice, but it was hard to argue success with a wild dog at our feet. Being ones not to waste the opportunity for extra cash, we removed the scalp and headed home for breakfast.

Still riding the high of enthusiasm from the morning’s hunt, our afternoon was spent chasing large wild pigs that briefly appeared by a dam bank. They lured us into thick scrub but unfortunately remained concealed.

Success, however, would follow the next day when Charlie and the Marlin lever rifle shot a large wild boar in the paddock and a strong male dog roaming dangerously close to the herd. Although, exciting as it was at the time that we’d shot two dogs in two days, it remained a concern they were reappearing so quickly. An invitation to return soon was promptly accepted and as a family, we made a trip back to the property two weeks later.

As we rolled out a carbon copy start to our previous hunt, two wild dogs flirted with exposure along the boundary fence once more. Unable to get a clear fire lane due to undulation and distance, we stayed patient as I told Carl to prepare for a possible shot. Days earlier we’d test fired groups out to 200m and both my .22 PPC and 6.5 Creedmoor rifles were spot on, adding confidence to the situation. Carl sat and settled the .22 PPC against a tree and kept watch. Minutes later, a big male dog emerged through grass, propped and peered in our direction. Happy he hadn’t seen us, yet obviously swooned by Charlie’s howls, we remained patient. Advancing to 230m, a momentary distraction presented him broadside and Carl instinctively fired. The dog sprang to the air as we heard the thud, and down he went a few metres away, briefly from view in the thick grass.

I witnessed the events through my binoculars and saw the impact of the 50gr Ballistic Tip pierce the dog’s shoulder. I was proud of Carl and his calmness under pressure, congratulating him on a fine one-shot kill. The visible signs and smell of blood as we approached the downed dog confirmed a quick heart shot and being Carl’s very first wild dog, he naturally expressed his joy.

The following morning it was my turn for a shot but after an hour and a half we decided to call it quits. We’d shouldered our backpacks when suddenly, a dog came into view. Now slightly exposed, we froze as not to spook the cunning killer.

Lowering ourselves to the ground, I carefully removed my pack and used it for a rest. It wasn’t long before I took a sight picture and fired at the dog as he propped 240m away. As expected, he dropped and died on the spot thanks to the 140gr Ballistic Tip load from my 6.5 Creedmoor.

Over the two weekends our cash balance for scalp bounties was starting to add up and although not our reason for hunting wild dogs, it certainly helps cover the cost of fuel. I’m happy to report the four wild dogs taken have had a significant impact on wild dog activity, rewarding our efforts for a noticeable reduction in attacks on the young herd. The excitement I’ve had hunting these predators over the years is something I can now share with my son, another form of hunting and a legacy he has expressed a keen interest to follow.