Snowy River sambar ghosts

With all the time, effort and planning that led up to this trip, Mick and I were sure it was going to be a cracker. We were heading to the southeast of Victoria to hunt public land for a long weekend. Being eight hours from home, we tried to plan for every event, even scouting – via Google Earth – a secondary camp/hunting site in case our first choice didn’t turn out to be as good as hoped.

After two months of prepping, the time to roll out was almost upon us, and as luck would have it a turn in the weather allowed us to both take a couple of extra days off work and extend our highly anticipated trip.

With the ute packed and the rain coming down, we headed off mid-week, which meant no traffic and a smooth trip. Arriving at our destination and with the sun shining down, hopes were high. After the Hilux rolled into its parking spot for the night, I stepped out and took a deep breath of that Victorian High Country air. It recharged the internal batteries that were well and truly drained by the drive.

Our campsite was an area cleared by loggers a couple of years prior, so we had a great view across the gully and were only about 500m from the area that we intended to hunt, which was picked by scouting Google Earth.

With camp set up in a hurry, we geared up and headed out to have a look around before the sun went down. Fast and silent was the pace set by Mick. While I was doing my best to keep up, it wasn’t easy. Sitting in a truck all day, every day, does not help fitness levels.

As we neared the targeted area, it was hard not to notice just how thick the undergrowth was getting. Moving over the final crest dashed our hopes, as the big, clean valley we scoped out online turned out to be very thick and about 7ft high. It was a struggle to push our way through, let alone hunt. There went that idea. Goes to show you can’t believe everything you see online.

When we made it back to camp, Mick got to cooking tasty campfire apricot chicken. While savouring the flavour, the decision was made that we would break camp in the morning and check out site number two, which was maybe 10km away as the crow flies but a 40km drive.

The next morning, as the Hilux bounced and slid its way down the road – which would really only pass as a goat track – we were greeted by a gift from the gods. A nice flat campsite welcomed us, complete with a firepit and large picnic table overlooking the Snowy River. Spirits were high once again and as we stepped out of the ute, Mick spotted a fresh tree rub not 10m from the firepit, with deer tracks everywhere.

By the time camp number two was set up it was almost noon and getting hot, so a quick dip to cool off was in order. With hopes of filling the esky with venison, we headed out for an afternoon hunt. This area seemed perfect for hunting. With nice sparsely covered gullies and open scrub, I was sure we would see something.

Unfortunately, we didn’t see a bloody thing but we were ourselves seen, getting honked twice from what seemed like remarkably close ranges. Now I know why they call sambar the ‘ghost of the forest’. I wouldn’t say that I’m afraid of ghosts, but these things scared me with loud honks so close by.

That night sleep did not come easy, as the deer were honking with disdain at our presence in what seemed like their hangout spot. The honking was on and off every half an hour or so until about 1am when the rain started.

With little sleep plus the fact that it was still drizzling, the morning hunt was not off to the cracking start desired. Not to be deterred, we geared up and headed off in the same direction as the previous afternoon’s hunt as we knew there were deer in that area. Mick took the lead with his Ruger .308, while I was carrying my Hoyt Pro Defiant bow.

Just 200m from camp, Mick stopped, turned to me and whispered, “Can you hear that?” By then we could both hear something running and it seemed to be coming towards us, getting louder, and fast. About a second later Mick almost got run over by a mob of kangaroos that came bowling down the game trail we were on. The lead roo stopped only a couple of metres in front of Mick, looked at him for a second, then continued past us taking the rest of the mob with him. Just as we were about to continue Mick spotted two wild dogs barrelling down the track straight at us, obviously in hot pursuit of the roos. Mick quickly downed the first dog but the second ran past me, so he was unable to swing the rifle around for another safe shot.

Once the dust had settled, we went over to inspect the predator that Mick managed to take out while it was running at full speed straight at us. This thing was big, and I can only imagine the damage it has caused in its lifetime. With wild dog numbers high in the area, it was good to be able to take one out. On a side note, one of Mick’s friends was stalked by three wild dogs that same week while out hunting only 15km away from our position. Luckily, he was able to take one down, but the shot scared the other two away.

With the weather not getting much better for the rest of the day, we just sat back and enjoyed our surroundings at camp. In such a beautiful place there were no complaints. Sleep came a little easier that night although the deer were still not happy with our presence.

The next morning turned out to be a cracker, so we headed out with high hopes again, especially with all the activity and sign in the area. But the hunt went pretty-much the same way, getting honked from ridiculously close range but unable to spot the big boys. It’s astonishing just how well they stay hidden.

The mid-section of the day was spent having a bit of target practice with the bows and a dip in the river as the temperature climbed to around 30C.

That afternoon, tactics were changed. We decided to lay in ambush near a grassy flat at the end of a well-used game trail. Two hours later the sun was going down and we had come up with a big fat zero, so meandered back to camp licking our wounds, so to speak.

By the end of the hunt on morning number four we were realising just how hard these beasts are to get the drop on. As we sat eating our late breakfast, a car pulled up to our campsite with a couple of young local guys looking to hunt as well. They had a fair bit of local knowledge, informing us of a few spots around the area to check out, including an old shooters’ hut on the other side of the river. The lads kindly mentioned that as we were here first, we had our pick of hunting areas, and they would head in the opposite direction. We decided to head across the river and check out the old shooters’ hut that afternoon.

Once across the river, our last hunt for the trip was a bit harder going as the terrain was steeper and the underbrush thicker. After a while we found the hut, which was well hidden but offered a perfect view upriver and straight across towards our campsite. From there, a couple hours of further pushing through scrub was enough for us, getting honked twice but again seeing nothing. We called it a day and ended our hunt.

Now, some might say that this trip was a failure because we did not bag our intended quarry, but in my eyes it was successful. Yes, the esky came back without any venison and our first site turned out to be a complete bust. However, thanks to a bit of planning our backup site was a spectacular place to hold-up for a couple of days and enjoy a little bit of hunting around the hills and hanging out with a good mate. That’s a damn successful trip if you ask me.