Thread: The Long Weekend - Fallow 1.

Had a bit of a mission this weekend with the goal of bringing out a few animals, as the neighbour was keen on another batch of venison salamis.

First run was on Sunday. With much of the hills covered in low cloud and a party on the low end of the station, we had no choice but to push on up towards the top in hopes of finding an opportunity in the mist. After some challenging altitude gains on the quad we parked up and began a slow descent into the back gullies, hoping we might get lucky despite the sub-100m visibility. One fallow soon got the better of us, sighted only as it dashed across the basin and back into the heavy cloud. There were plenty of unwary roos sitting in the tussock of this virtually un-shot valley, but I'll be back for them another time now that I know where they are.


The 'flattest' spot on the face as the cloud was lifting. Look closely and you might see two dopey roos front and centre. I'll be back for them with the .223.

Picking our way carefully through the spaniard-infested tussock, we reached a small crest near the bottom of the valley and settled down to wait for 20 minutes until the mist began to lift a little. Two deer were briefly sighted disappearing over another crest half a k upstream, so with nothing else obvious nearby, we stood up and began to make our way in that direction in the hopes we might catch up with them. Less than 10 steps later, I glanced downhill to see a spiker picking his way through the snowgrass, around 150 metres from us. Pointing him out to my hunting mate 'Y' and making sure he was on the same page, I quickly shuffled sideways to a bare patch of ground where I wedged myself in a position as much above the tussock as possible and set up behind the shooting sticks before settling the crosshair on his shoulder. I tensed the trigger and fired the 7mm for the first time since October. The spiker leaped and ran as my shot sailed into the earth behind. Damn. He didn't hang around, but as he was disappearing around the bend another young spiker stepped out of the tussock into almost the same spot as the wasted shot. "This one's yours" I whispered to Y as I passed him the shooting sticks. He braced himself and delivered the good news. One deer on the ground. Immediately with the shot a black neck topped with a head bearing minuscule spikes raised out of the scrub 5 metres on the nearside of the fallen animal, staring intently at where it fell. I quickly reclaimed the sticks and made certain of my shot this time. Dead centre in the back of the neck to drop it on the spot.


Naturally he fell into a cluster of spaniards. Shown after I had dragged him to the relative safety of a nearby game trail.

We made our way over to the two fallen and set about gutting them, although not before Y realised he had left his knife on the bike. Luckily I had a spare to hand him. I briefly considered just loading up with the back legs and assorted fillets, but lacking any form of bag I came to the conclusion that the venerable backpack method was the best option. While still weak, my body has thankfully been functioning a bit better this past month, so I felt up to the task of my first proper backpack carry. All loaded up and ready for the climb ahead, I was grateful to find a game trail angled up the face in the direction we wanted to go. The many spaniards and greasy 40% incline made for a deeply unpleasant half hour haul up towards the ridgeline and it was a huge relief to finally reach the bike and swing the deer from my shoulders.

Thanks for reading, part two to come in the next few days when I get a chance to put some words down, unless I go hunting again.

You strike again...

Nice looking country.

Good work,looks like The Hunter Hills.