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A tale of woe and misfortune
Perhaps the title is a touch hyperbolic. It should read “A tale of a great trip punctuated with woe and misfortune”. That’s much more accurate. Two weeks ago to this day three of us were flying into the Oamaru Private hut with Helisika. The landscape was topped with white from recent snowfalls with evidence of snow further down still remaining in the shaded parts of the hills. It was a touch chilly.
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We’ve spent a bit of time on the public side of the river in the past, mostly fishing during the days with some half-hearted (on my part) attempts at hunting in the mornings and evening. Note to self, there are multiple reasons for not carrying beer in, weight only being one of them. Getting up early being the other.
This side of the river was completely new to us however and while I had spent hours researching and starting at maps in the evenings leading up to the trip it would turn out that there’s no better way to figure an area out than be being there and going for a walk. None of the marks I made on my GPS ended up being investigated because, weirdly, things look different when you’re on the ground and distraction is very easy to come by.
Here’s a bit of a background. I’ve put some stats together recently in a big spreadsheet, because TV is boring and when you’re sitting on the couch stuck in Auckland central you tend to think about hunting a fair bit. I racked my brains, collated information and the end result was something like this.
TOTAL DAYS HUNTING: 49
TOTAL DEER SEEN: 28
TOTAL DEER SHOT: 1
Those are the top line figures, we could drill deeper into other variables but I think this still tells a very good story…I’m not shooting enough deer. From the Kaimais to the Kaimanawas, from Woodhill to Fiordland and from the Ureweras to the Ruahines, I’ve given it a good nudge for very little return. I sleep at night only because I can tell myself I haven’t spent anywhere enough time in each of these spots to get to know them enough for a return on my efforts, but it still keeps me hungry. And truth be told each and every one of these trips has taught me something about hunting and I’ve loved every minute of it, deer would just be a bonus. (at least that’s what we tell ourselves, right?) I’ve only been hunting 18 months so maybe I’m being too hard on myself but coming home empty handed is getting old.
So it’s with all of this floating around in the back of my mind that I’m now sitting in the hut in our own private block that has been well rested and with a sunny forecast for most of the time we’re there, no pressure, no pressure…but it’s time to deliver.
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With enough sun hitting the hills we should, hopefully, see some deer moving about and after a quick afternoon wander over Sika Saddle confidence was high with plenty of sign seen and lookouts found. Surely it was just a matter of being in the right place at the right time now? But where was the right place? Right time was easy enough. That evening was spent glassing a likely looking spot that had multiple clearings, Manuka and afternoon sun but no joy. Back to the hut in the dark to find two other souls with a similar story but on the upside the fire was cranking, dinner wasn’t far off and the beer was nice and cold. Just a couple mind you, early start tomorrow.
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Last up in the morning. I’m ashamed and disappointed in myself. But it’s still dark and someone is cooking me breakfast so I’ll still be out amongst it in time. Another coffee? Why not. Leaving the sanctity of the hut we depart on our separate missions in a heavy frost. I’m going to find a sunny spot to watch the sunrise. Spot one, good view, shot would be a stretch, wind has just turned, bugger. Spot two, much the same, time’s a wasting.
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Sun’s up now, may as well go for a wander and find a GOOD spot to hang out for a few hours. Bingo. 180 degrees of guts, benches, clearings and faces, all with the wind working in my favour. Shots from 100yds to 250yds, all within my MPBR I’ve worked out. This is, by definition, a high percentage spot, it’s 9am and the sun is doing its thing so considered your ass parked for the next couple of hours. Sit, glass, wait, repeat. Surely something will walk out or make its position known?
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Time flies when you’re looking for ghosts and after a few hours I decide to head back to the hut for a coffee and a feed and to warm up for a bit. The wind is up now so I’m already decided to come back to this spot for the evening, no point in wandering around wasting time when the wind is against you and you have a good spot up your sleeve already.
Back at the hut it’s all similar stories, walking, sitting, watching with high expectations but no luck. As we all gas up and depart again for the afternoon the weather starts to roll in, it’ll be raining by dark and that wind isn’t letting up. The sun is gone behind the clouds for the rest of the day too, not looking good. I go for a bit of a tiki tour on the way back to my spot and decide to drop down to the stream bed via a clearing to have a look around for sign, not much down low, am I wasting my time? Should I be in the bush? Up high in the bush? Bashing through Manuka? Stalking the flats? Back over the saddle? No. Stick it out, see what happens.
Nothing happened.
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Dejected I walk back to the hut in the wind and drizzle, only tomorrow morning left and I still haven’t seen a deer. Am I just hopeless at this? Self-doubt permeates my mind, what am I doing wrong? One thing? Everything? Or do I just expect too much? I probably should have gone up into the bush, definitely hitting the bush tomorrow morning, of course they’re all in there just waiting for me, easy targets. Jobs done. Bush it is.
Back at the hut again. Another debrief with similar results all round. I want someone to get a deer (me mostly) but it’s comforting to know everyone is struggling. Tim is hitting the bush tomorrow. Dammit. Ok, all good, no deer in there anyway. They’ll all be through the saddle, that’s my plan. I know of a good spot with a great view that gets the sun, fingers crossed the wind drops and this rain clears. The second night of venison steaks for dinner, is this bad luck? The equivalent of a banana in a boat? Lucky I’m not superstitious.
The final countdown is here, an early start was on the cards but some heavy rain earned us a couple of hits of the snooze button. The log burner does a good job overnight, too good, way too cosy to get up just yet. Eventually I get up and fire up the cookers for bacon, eggs and coffee (x2). A quick check outside shows a clear sky and stars all round, bizarre. Splitting off again on our own personal missions I’m sure everyone is putting the same amount of pressure on themselves, a deadline will do that to you. Don’t get me wrong, this has been a trip to remember full of laughs, shit talking and memories generated, let’s just get that icing on the cake.
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Busting out through the last little patch of Manuka I step onto my small lookout, two spots actually, side by side. Just then I see three deer far off in the distance on the bench above disappearing into the bush. My fault? Doubt it, the sun is coming up and they’re probably just sticking to their schedule. Good to finally see a couple and know I’m there at the right time. Will this be the right place? Then I see it, a stark white rump of a deer working its way up a small gut from the stream below. I can’t quite identify it 100% because of its dark coat, beside there’s another rump following it up that has distracted me…wait, two deer? Am I dreaming? And then it hits. 100% pure adrenalin, heartbeat is up, shaking, fogged brain. This could really be happening. That was my first mistake. I ranged the second deer at 212yds, slight drop in angle but as long as it stayed put I might have a shot on it, then I remembered the Manuka stumps on the other side of the lookout. They should make a good rest, although I could just use my bipod from here…? Nah, go the stumps, they range at 185yds. Second mistake. Set up with an awkward stance, the deer has seen me and is looking back, no doubt about to run off any second now. Adrenalin running at 120%. It’s now or never. I pick a spot at the base of the neck / upper shoulder as that was all I had, seems like a big enough target and should do the damage. “Breath, relax, squeeze….” is what I should have done, that’s what I do at the range everytime. No problems. Tense, stress and yank was more the order of things, probably with my eyes closed waiting for the bang. It felt terrible. I look up and just see the rump disappearing into the bush.
First thoughts, “I’ve hit it and it will probably go for a wee run then expire like a good deer should”. The fantasy is shattered by the deer popping out of the bush on the edge of the bench, stopping long enough to look back at me before high tailing it deep into the Manuka. But was it the first deer perhaps? No, it’s the second, much bigger and lighter coat. I still make the bush bash down to, and across the stream and up the gut for a look. An hour later I call it, no blood and a hit deer wouldn’t make beeline out of the bush stop to look back.
The next hour was spent wandering around aimlessly like a lost soul, replaying things over in my head, torturing myself. Going from the highest of highs and now feeling pretty damn low. So close, yet so far. Should I have taken the longer shot off the better rest of the bipod, a shot I’ve practiced much more than the “old stump of wobbly Manuka” technique. Probably. Should I have waited for a better broadside shot? Probably. The upsides were at least I have gotten a shot away, and at least it was bad enough to totally miss the deer rather than wounding the poor thing. And that’s when I pick my head up and start to look forward again, straight away staring at another bloody deer.
And it’s staring at me, guesstimate is about 120yds away, but I can see nostrils flaring trying to obtain a scented read out on me. This time it’s worse. It’s a flat shot but there’s a field of metre high scrub between me and my target. No rest this time. A standing shot is out of the question. Confidence is at an all time low. But it won’t run away. This deer is practically gifting itself to me. My old mate adrenalin is back with a vengeance. Head has fogged again. Taking a seat I can just get a bead on the deers chest above the scrub, front on. A big enough target. Wrapping my arm through my sling a couple of times and resting my elbow on my knee I try to slow things down, taking aim I’m ready to shoot, feels solid enough. This shot felt worse than the first, yanked it. I know it straight away. The deer just stands there for a moment looking at me as if to say, “Nice shooting dickhead” before running off with a couple of mates I hadn’t seen tucked away. Another clean miss, I’m sure of it. What sort of deer stands there looking at you moments after being shot? One that hasn’t been shot. Still, I’m looking around for a good hour again, trying to find blood, getting up high and looking down hoping to spot a dead deer in the scrub and then follow any deer trails out of the area. No dice.
This is the lowest of the lows. I’ve reached it. 52 days of hunting now and not one but two missed deer within the space of a few hours. I continue on up the valley for a while but my heart isn’t in now. Time to call it and head back to clean the hut before our ride out. I barely acknowledge the amazing landscape around as I trudge back. Over and over and over, both scenarios are on repeat in my brain, I’m sure I’ll lose my mind before I make it to the safety of the hut and a cup of coffee. How do I break the news to the guys? How does this happen? Over and over. Thankfully before I got too deep into a depression Brendan (Ning) walked around the corner to give me a hand with the deer he assumed I’d shot. It was a relief to be able to share the disappoint with someone, albeit slightly embarrassing and by the time we got back I was feeling slightly more philosophical about the whole thing. Tim came back not long after buzzing from seeing a couple of animals in the bush but not quite being able to get a shot away, maybe he exercised more restraint than me? Food for thought.
With a couple of hours to kill before the chopper arrived I figured I would set up a target and check my zero just to be sure everything was in order. My zero is set up at 2.5” high @ 100m to give me a MPBR of roughly 275yds. The target reported otherwise, 5” high in fact. That’s a big variance and no doubt contributed to the outcomes, perhaps it was the extra inches needed to completely miss each animal rather than just wound them both? That would be ironic.
I have a philosophy about this whole experience, at that’s what this whole thing was at its core, valuable experience. I was going to miss eventually. It was inevitable. Is it better (and lucky) that I missed and learnt from it early on without wounding a deer before I grew an ego of a hunter that has yet to miss, only to put aside any learnings when he does because he’s shot so well to date? I think so. To miss now, and so badly, is very grounding for me and has just stressed the importance of proper field practice at the range. Forget the bench once you’re sure the rifle is doing its part and get down on the ground, prone, sitting standing, various distances and after a few press ups. I’ve learnt the hard way, but at least I’ve been there now and I know I sure as hell don’t want to go back.
I suppose I’ll have to add a miss column into my spreadsheet now…
