Aussie Hunter - New Zealand Tahr

[AussieHunter]

Guys I posted this with a few ammendments on a Australian Forum I frequent.

It is long and comprehensive hunt report, but I try to take the reader with me when I write my accounts. I hope you can read into what I experience, how I feel and what I come out of it like. There is a little bit of language, but the words are my thoughts at the time. I hope you enjoy. It may take a few posts to get it all up.

Thanks for taking the time to read it.

As a few of you know this trip has been a long time in the making, over ten years. Well that was before I changed jobs and couldn't get leave and did my deposit with one guide and then a missus, home and kids come along and all that other jazz. So when the mate booked Africa 12 months ago I thought at 45 you aren't getting any younger and so it was time to punch the ticket and commit to taking the ride, however that turned out.
After about five initial inquiries to five different firms it was pretty clear who I was going with; well lets be truthful I did set a trap for them in the form a of very open question of "I want to do a Tahr Hunt next year what are your options? " Only two guides came back with a full list of everything they could do, Hard Yards Hunting and Canterbury Tahr Hunting Guide, which was what I wanted. After all, when you out and ask someone can you do X and I will pay for it, are they going to say No?

After a few telephone conversations and emails it was decided on a 6 day Tahr & Chamois Hunt based hunt on the West Coast with John Royle of Canterbury Tahr Hunting. This for me was to be about the whole experience, not the fulfilment of a big trophy and 'look what I got' attitude. I wanted it to be a test, I wanted to experience the terrain, the weather, the range of emotions, the sensory reaction and the see how I would come out the other side.

From eight months out I started training on a slow ramp up. No injuries in the lead up was a big concern. It was going well and by April I was mixing up heavy and light pack marches both very fast and slow over a variety of terrain from 4km to 9 km with kettle bell swings, cleans and a few other exercises thrown in on the other days around 12 hour shift work. In fact it went too well and after smashing out a 4.2km walk pushing my young bloke in the stroller out halfway and then slamming the return half on the run pushing him in 11 minutes I worked out I might have peaked to soon after losing some motivation in the following week. But FTW get back on the pony, shanks that is, and get back into. My brother then lent me his Step-up box and I started on 24 inch step-ups and lunges in with the swings, halos and cleans every other day and the marches continuing rain hail or shine.

With a week to ago I had come from 101kg at Christmas to 93kg. And I was as fit as I think I could have got and likely as fit as I had been since i was in my mid-twenties. But the shooting prep was a little less than I had wanted. In confirming my BDC set up in March I had shot well putting 5 shots in 80mm at 460 metres but that was under ideal conditions. And family, work and other prep had not let me get away as much as I wanted to do the three or four hunts I had planned to do, being a test of gear, fitness and shooting training.

So in mid-May my brother, best mate and I did a quick trip to a new property in the upper reaches of the Hunter Valley. Here they put me to test. After a solid little jog through the bushline on the valley floor they had spotted a pig on the opposing face just above the tree line. Not that I knew it at the time, but my brother was setting me up right royally. The shot was taken after 3 position relocations in fading light from a downhill prone position over two Low Vis Gear bags on a pig I thought was 40 to 50kg at 270metres which in fact turned out to be a slip of about twenty kilos. With heart racing, adrenaline pumping, and my brother working on the verbal pressure, I punched the bullet right through the shoulder of this pig that turned out to have the kill zone the size of saucer. I was pretty happy with myself. But how would I go in the mountains of the West Coast of NZ'd?

Come Friday 23rd of June it was time to pack. My gear had been sorted and laying in a couple of piles on the den floor for three days now. And I had my paperwork in order. In hindsight all simple but it is a minefield to find out what you actually need in the first place; Department of Defence Restricted Goods Permit for rifle export and import. And for that you need to be a registered client with Australian Border Force. New Zealand Firearms Permit completed online. Approvals for both firearm and ammunition from Qantas for Emirates flight. Then check I have copies and originals of everything plus Passport and E-Ticket. Rifle, Bolt & Ammunition and then weigh the lot. Bang on 31kg, one kilo below the limit. Pack the Pajero, shower dinner and an early night..........check that....... kids, 2 hours sleep.......ALARM 0130hrs up, cuppa, and off at 0200hrs for Sydney Airport. Great drive, listening to Meateater Podcast on the way down.

0800hrs turbines spooling up and we're off across the ditch, Thank #*^@#* for that.

Wow New Zealand Customs and Police are a pleasure to deal with. Off the plane and through immigration all good and then through Customs and over to the Cop Shop where my firearm is checked and NZ License is issued. They look at my address and ask did I know Tony Campbell. Yeah I says. It seems he left a lasting impression everywhere as two of the cops say he was the nicest bloke. Another good aussie hunter know looking over us all.

John meets me in the arrival, intros done and we load his truck and we are off west. First stop is the Sheffield Pie Shop apparently somewhat of a institution in the South Island. A Mochachino and a Venison pie and we roll of through the ranges of the east and up over Arthur's Pass where the weather starts to close in and the rain begins.

Photo 1 -the Start of Arthurs Pass over to the west coast
Photo 2 - Daypack contents
Photo 3 - New Zealand East Coast Mountains before getting to the Pass
Photo 4 - Clothing

 

[AussieHunter]

We stopped for dinner at Stumpers Bar & Cafe in Hokitika where the Lamb Cutlets were likely the best I've ever had, washed down with a pint of Speights. Back into the truck and we made Franz Josef by 1930hrs where we had accommodation for the night. But John had other ideas, Saturday night, first test, All Blacks v British Irish Lions watched at the Speight's Landing Bar & Restaurant with a few more pints of Speights. And not having watched a game of Rugby in over 10 years it was a great game, particularly when you don’t have a dog in the fight and the hotel is full of Kiwis and Poms.

It was up early and down to the Full of Beans Cafe for a big breakfast and a coffee to fuel up and then out to Gus & Popy Gordon's Glacier Country Helicopters to gear up and load up into one of his Squirrel B2's for the flight.

The flight in was awesome, being my first ride in a chopper, and these Airbus machines are just first rate, Gus can’t speak highly enough for them. The scenery, for those that haven't been to the South Island, is outstanding. even if you can’t see yourself hunting there, a trip over is definitely worth the effort.

Gus set us down and gave me directions on what was required of me, i.e. stay low and move the unloaded gear out away from the chopper to a position at his 11 o'clock and in the minutes he was off and we were left in the deafening silence of the NZ West Coast.

It didn't take long to establish that we needed to make camp a little further up the hill as this location was just going to see too little sunlight, tucked low in a gully, and be potentially too wet being on a creek flat. So in a few trips we moved all the gear two hundred metres up onto a small bench and proceeded to set up camp.

We had a quick feed and geared up for an afternoon hunt where we set off north through 'our' local gully and around the lower section of a west facing bowl, running up to the highest point in the area that we could access, to do some glassing.

After about 30 minutes of contouring through all new terrain, boulders, schist, crevasses... #*^@#* yeah, sheet ice covered rocks and snow covered tussock that use muscles that you didn't know you had we came to an area that we could glass throughout 360 degrees of immediately , yet maybe not that rapidly, accessible area.

The Swaros and Mk I Human Eyeballs turned up one lone young bull high up on the horizon over 700 metres away. He was looking down at us from atop a boulder like some mountain monarch, no doubt thinking who are these pricks? We travelled further on to the north and started climbing. Nothing too difficult but up snow covered tussock slopes and some areas where a slip would likely mean minimum a knee re-construction if not a broken leg or arm by the time your slide came to stop. I was starting to understand why John was carrying and using a ice axe. Whilst the single walking pole I was using was great for balance when sidling and extra push up a slope or step it wasn't going to help in a slip or fall.
Photo 5 - Catchment further north to the one I was hunting
Photo 6 - Home for the week
Photo 7 - Glacier Country Helicopter we flew in on
Photo 8 - View on the way in
Photo 9 - The knoll on which the Tahr was atop. I shot from low out of frame on the right



Then just before 1500hrs John pointed out a very good Bull peering over the top of the ridge a 170 metres above us, head, neck and shoulders exposed. A quick change of position, lined up in a near vertical prone position and I was chambered, lined up and finger taking up the pressure................ ........................ ........boom. The shot felt great, the Tahr went straight down out of site and John was calling a good shot

 

[AussieHunter]

After a good 45 minutes searching where no sane human should go, and I didn't, John was calling it a hit, but off the north side and down the near vertical slope over 400 metres down never to be seen again by us. Yet he reported no blood and no hair.

The shot was taken from lower down, out of frame on the right side of the knoll, if there is such a thing on the West Coast.

Inside Aussie Hunter's Head #1
Here is the thing. I am thinking 30-06, 168grain Berger Classic Hunters doing 2780fps hitting low front on in the chest this animal should be bleeding bad and we should be seeing it. Laying in bed that night I can’t help but think that my rifle is off or I have just plain #@)(*%* up. So hold that thought dear reader because it’s going to play on my mind a whole lot more over the next 18 hours.

The walk back to camp was pretty melancholy, I'd been here 8 hours and already I was feeling like I was being beaten. How could I blow such a simple shot?

Back at camp John knows how to look after his clients. We ditch our packs and he hands me a can of Gordon's Gin & Tonic. Now for a Rum drinker that G&T went down grand.

John followed the drinks up with a great Lamb, Tomato & Red Wine Casserole (that his missus had pre-cooked & vac-sealed up) with fresh cooked rice and pita bread and a Moscow Mule (Vodka, Ginger Bear, Lime & literally fresh mint). With it dark at 1715hrs I enjoyed half an hour of brief starlight a cuppa tea and a chocolate and crawled into bed. John said I cut about 5 quarts of firewood that night and started within 5 minutes of my head hitting the pillow.

Day 2

After the exertion of energy and excitement, in a literally rarefied atmosphere, you would think one would sleep like a log, but no. Me, being an owl due to shift work, awoke at two in the morning and lay there listening to the silence and the occasional passing flurry of snow fall on the tent fly. Just now as I write this I have recalled that I didn't even have the low level tinnitus that I often experience in the mountains here in Australia. In all the time I was on the West Coast the only man made sounds I heard other than our speech and the coming and going of the helicopter was two jets heading north way above us, likely from Invercargill, so I think.

Other than that it was the gentle but shrill whistle of Tahr on a opposite mountain face, the warning call, to us or the Tahr, of the Kea, the crunching of snow and ice underfoot and the turbulence of flow of the streams over mountain schist. In particular the call of the Kea circling over us reminded me of the birds calling in "the ugly" intro scene of The Good, The Bad & The Ugly, just the wind and the birds, one of my favourite movies.

What would the day bring? Should I still be trusting myself and the Sauer? And I drifted back of to sleep only to arise to John making coffee.

I must say KUIU full zipped thermal merino long johns are the gun. Climb into a cold sleeping bag with them on and once warmed up I was just unzipping them down till bottom velcro and then before you get out into the cold damp, condensation lined tent you just zip them back up and on in the sleeping bag, so much nicer to pull on cold pants over warm merino than anything cold against the skin at minus 7 or 8 degrees Celsius.

Then it was cold boots, fortunately not frozen, after being kept in the tent with my original Swanndri thrown over the top of them. Yet, I thought my feet were cold then. Little did i know how cold can your feet get, but we would be walking and warm up within the hour. A hearty breakfast and we geared up, John the typical; Kiwi Mountain Man in cotton shorts and gaiters, which he had to defrost in the camp oven over the gas burner before he could put on as they were frozen solid.

We left camp contouring north again but about 50 or 60 metres higher this time. Walking or stomping through the frozen snow lying atop the tussock , then climbing small and unavoidable rock sections covered with snow remaining ever vigilant to avoid the clear ice. The colours of moss, lichen and other tiny vegetation brilliant in the perfect morning light. After about an hour we reached the northern edge of the bowl at the base of the spur that separated two different catchments and ran clear to the peak above us.

Photo 10 - One of the faces above camp. We were at 1500metre above seal level.
Photo 11 - Into cold boots
Photo 12 - My random photos - lichen
Photo 13 - My random photos - moss
Photo 14 - Main west facing slope where we spent a fair bit of time

 

[AussieHunter]

Coming across the bowl we had noted a 3 to 5 Tahr up on the spur. Things were looking up, the noise of the helicopters must indeed drive the animals into parts inaccessible by man or his machines. We started climbing and up toward the spur, the higher we got the steeper it got, sketchier and sketchier and obviously further to slide in this case. I thought about a mate telling me how fast he had slid on snow tussock and I thought, synthetics, gravity and low friction equal speed. Scary at speed or the sudden stop.

We reached the spur. Now for those who have not been there this is not like Australia. Some of the spurs are like walking along the blade of a serrated knife. We started a slow and deliberated climb

Inside Aussie Hunter's Head #2
Many of you will know that I knew Tony Campbell who died whilst hunting Tahr with his son in NZ only four or so weeks ago. Well Avalon, my eight year old daughter said to me, in tears, two nights before I left that she didn't want me to go. When I asked she said because "I don’t want you to die over there."

How do you counter that?

It is a real and ever present danger, two have died this year. I was going but I could not fail my kids.

The drop to north just kept getting steeper and longer, the ground slippery with slick mud under tussock and ice and snow on stone. Fark, what was I doing here?

Over the next 20 minutes we worked our way slowly along the spur me shitting myself, John like he was walking down the street in Christchurch. He had spotted a few Tahr in some rock crags forward , to our right, out to the sou-east. I was concentrating on maintaining my footing and trying to keep my breathing in some semblance of composure. We moved forward with the terrain getting narrower and higher, i.e the potential fall longer but still as fatal.

Inside Aussie Hunter's Head #3
Have you ever had that dream where you are falling in a black abysss and just as you hit the base you awake, instantly alert.
I was thinking this now.

Whilst I was concentrating on staying alive John had watched the Bull and two nannies contour north to a position at about our 2 o'clock 240 metres out. He hurried me across gulch about 200mm wide and two metres long, to my left 200 to 300 metres of airtime, my right a 50 metre near vertical snow chute with boulders at the bottom onto a stepped bench the size of a coffee table.

John hurried me to get into shooting position. My mind was racing; gloves off, no time to range, pack in place for a rest, don’t drop anything and be careful where you put it otherwise its gone over the edge into oblivion, be muzzle aware John is to my right, load rifle, cheek weld, butt position on shoulder high and wide, eye relief and reticle centred, feet layed down and spread with boots dug in to the the snow, I lined up. Jesus I am breathing like a asthmatic mule and the heart is pumping like pneumatic de-watering pump with a 900 kPa up its clacker.

A deep breath, #*^@#* my thumb is crushing the wrist of the pistol grip like a small animals throat, I realign it up the spine. I settle down and into the shot but I am still wavering a little. The though flashes through my mind 'thanks Sauer did such a good trigger on these 202s'. John increases the pressure " he is real good 12 to 13 inches" .

The reticle is still rising and falling a little from centre chest to top spine, one final breath and a exhale and the shot fly’s and the nannies hit the speed of the sound and although they are some 60 metres to the north of the Bull, the Bull is in hyperdrive and passes them like there is no tomorrow and they are gone out of sight into the vertical country to the north never to be seen again.

#*^@#* #*^@#* #*^@#*, what the #*^@#* are you doing? I think to myself. Scared shitless one second, buzzing with adrenaline the next and then utter deflation. The shot felt good, the sight picture was good. I had good natural point of aim as the scope returned straight back down to the point of aim after recoil.

Photo 15 - This shot was taken literally 1 foot to my left from where I shot. I was lying feet to left side of frame and head at the right side of frame.



Will post more tomorrow getting late down under

 

[AussieHunter]

John looks at me in disbelief. What can I say? Well, I #@)(*%* that up and I am the only bloke to blame. He responds along the lines of that was a 13 incher man. I gather my shit mentally and then Johns says pick out a spot on the rock face and let’s see if this rifle is shooting true.

I grab the Low Vis Gear Can bag out from my pack and get settled to take a test shot. John says whoaa we have a satellite bull round to the south about 300 metres out and moving, about 10 to 11 inches. No time to range again as he is about to drop behind a rock shelf I hold above his the top of his shoulder, he is quartering towards me. John calls the shot right on line 6 inches high. I drop the reticle just below the top of shoulder.

BOOM followed shortly after by that satisfying WHOMP.

#*^@#* yeah man he is hit hard. I cycle again, last in the mag, and fire hitting high in the offside front leg and he is down but still alive. John can see the blood on the snow below him.

Finally, what a relief. John congratulates me and states that although he is hit hard we are going to have a bit to eat and let him bleed out rather than pursue him and have him do the Harold Holt off into some canyon too.

Now I physically collect my gear and we have a bite to eat then push on up this spur.

We have not gone 20 metre and my heart sinks with fear again for the third time this morning. In front of us on our right side of the spur is, well it looks like a sheer walled box canyon 15 metres deep and 10 metres wide blocked on the left end, right at the spur line by a piece of schist that looks like a ginormous dinner plate standing on its edge. John promptly goes left and I am left staring into the canyon. When I peer around the edge to the left side there is nothing below me for over 300 metres and then there is the bush line. I look where John has walked across and it is sloping patch of tussocky earth about 3 metres high, no more than a foot thick off the other side of the dinner plate and at an angle of over 80 degree.

I can’t go there I think, what would become of the kids if I fall? John yells out. "Piss that walking pole off and get the ice axe off your pack". He shows me how to adjust the wrist strap then tells me to drive it in behind a clump of vegetation. "Stop thinking about what’s below you" he yells. Oh $*)Q!#@$ great John there is nothing below me, I think. "Stay vertical, keep your weight over your feet, trust your boots and look at me."

I drive the axe point into the dirt and load test and take my first step ...... into oblivion so it seems. My mind is choking the #*^@#* out of my gut reaction to bend over. Stay upright twat I am thinking. Three steps, now I have to pull this axe out and drive it in further forward, "No Dave you need to put it in further towards me, yeah more" I slam it in again. "Pull on it and check that it is secure" John yells. I repeat the process three more times till John reaches down and hauls me up a metre high step.

I am shaking, bordering on shivering, hanging onto the other edge of "the plate" with a white knuckle grip. John yells out come and have a look at this man. "No man I am #@)(*%*", "You got to see this." I look up and he is standing on top of what looks like a cylinder shaped piece of rock standing vertically, connected to the bonnet sized piece of snow I am standing on by a bridge of snow, #*^@#*, ice, who knows what’s under it, about 3 metres out from me and a metre below me.

I wish I had taken the time to take a few photos of this slope and cylinder.

I don’t know how I am doing this or where the mental strength is coming from, but from somewhere deep inside me I once again find the guts, strength and determination to cross out to the top of this cylinder.

Once there John points out a roughly one metre diameter patch of snow some 250 metres below us and about 60 metres further to our north that is stained heavily with blood, and there down another 100 metres below is a second blood stained patch.

I had hit the first bull this morning. Maybe I hit the Bull yesterday too?

As I walk back across the snow bridge I think of the line 'fools rush in where Angels fear to tread', well at least I didn't rush it.

We climb up and back though a small gap in the rock and back to the south side of the spur and continue to gain altitude then John leads off and starts contouring. Within 50 metres I spot blood. We follow and contour around right in the tracks of the first bull to where we find the spot I had shot him. And yes the prints of the bull where 3 times bigger than the nannies.

He had been hit hard likely right in the heart. There was blood and bits of flesh a metre behind where he was standing when I shot. Just like Sambar Deer in Victoria do, he was running on empty. My only mistake was maybe I should have aimed a little further forward and gone for the shoulder shot to anchor him. I was getting the fast track class on just how tough these animals are.

Right now we had to move on and finish Bull #2 off. Another ten minutes contouring and then a very slow and quiet stalk and we found Mr Bull had died and slid off the bench and was in the basin below us about 30 metres. We tracked down and round. As i walked up the rise on the bench with a icy creek flowing through it I saw the tops of his mane wafting in the wind. A minute later I was standing next to my first NZ'd Bull Tahr and West Coast at that.

I stood in silence for a minute or two and just couldn’t believe what had transpired over the last three hours.It would take a few hours and during the walk back, the impact of achieving a fifteen long year goal hit me with tears running down my face. I had finally done it Bull Tahr, Mid-Winter, West Coast and from a tent camp not a hut.

I still couldn't understand where I had found the guts to do the things I had that morning but I had and I never ever thought that this hunt would be this challenging mentally.


Photo 16 & 17 My First Tahr
Photo 18 Cape Loaded Up
Photo 19 KEA Mountain Parrots

 

[AussieHunter]

As I alluded to, it was a slow and heavy hike back to camp. Melancholy mixed with elation but neither winning out over the other.

When I walked into camp John handed me another Gordon Gin & Tonic can, I cannot think of a drink that has ever tasted better. The view and the surrounds were made for it.

The balance of the afternoon was spent with John doing a bit of glassing and I pulled the Olympus EM-5ii out and went for a bit of walk in the local gully.

Day 3

Understandably it was another early night after a great dinner and another mule. Late that evening around midnight the weather set in and it rained , sleeted, snowed, sleeted and rained and snowed some more pretty much all night. You pretty easily start to tell the difference by the sound on the tent fly but many of you Yanks would know that, it is all new to this Aussie though.

We had a short reprieve while we ate breakfast and had a coffee and then John decided to cape out the head skin and shortly after we salted it all down it started to rain solidly. So it was time to do a bit of drainage works around the tents and erect a second fly over the tents for a bit more protection. Unfortunately the old Rossi elastic sided boots just can’t hack it in the waterproofness stakes and within 30 minute I couldn't feel my toes. It took a dry pair of socks and into my sleeping bag and 30 minutes of rubbing my feet together before I even felt like the feeling was coming back. (Note these were just my camp shoes)

I fell asleep for a few hours and then by 1300hrs it was beginning to clear so we got up and went for an afternoon glass lower down below where I had been successful the day before, but this time for Chamois. We spent three hours glassing the bush line and shrubbed hill just below the snow line but to no avail.
late on Day 3 as we walked back to the north John spied a good mob in the lower section of the bowl. Amongst the mob of seven he said there is a bull of a lifetime, 13-14 inches. The fog had been shifting in and out over the last two hours and the Tahr where a between two and three benches above us. By this stage I had only just glimpsed a tail end nanny. We dropped down around a small bluff and unbeknown to me we had been scented by a second unseen mob to the south and a little higher than the first mob. I still haven't seen them yet, but they busted out of there to the northern vertical country putting 'our' mob on high alert.

Now in this country you basically have three colours, black rock, whit snow, green shrubs and yellow tussock. Tahr are .......... black-brown and blonde manes, sometimes, so they blend in so well it has to be seen , or not, to be appreciated.

We popped up from behind a small bluff about 80 metres below them with me at the ready. John is saying now see the big bull, he is on the black rock with two nannnies above him and slightly right. I am sighted in on him, I squeeze the trigger and BOOM ..WHOMP.

John says what did you shoot?

Well I had exchanged a bull of a lifetime for a nanny. What I was looking at was a nanny, slightly higher and right of Mr. Big, with two kids above and to her right. The relative position and scaling was right but I am zeroed in and tunnel visioned on making a good shot placement so i #@)(*%* up. A great clean kill just the wrong animal.

Can it get any worse? Ahhhh yeah.

The bull takes off north and starts contouring around the side of the notorious spur. I have time for at least one shot.

Inside Byrnesy's Head #4
Now I have heard Steve Rinella talk about if a few times and never really appreciated - the perceived scale of different country. He talks of a early explorer in in the Alaska far north who spots a Polar bear about 3 mile off and commences to stalk in on it only to discover that it is a Snowshoe Rabbit about 200 yards away.

Despite the #*^@#* up I am now confident in my gear. I have just enough time to to glance up at the spur and do a mental range, abouts 340 metres I thunk, then quickly dial up to 300 metres and load, steady off hand, reticle on the top of his shoulder line and fire. John sees the first and second shot hit the snow above and behind the big bull but perfectly online.

The Bull peels slightly downhill then, up and over the spur to that dreaded vertical country.

Once again John gives the look of "what the #*^@#* are you doing man?". I pull out the range finder, the big bulls tracks in the snow are clearly visible and range at 240 metres. Later I check my drop, yep 25 centimetres high the shot would have sailed about a foot over top of Mr Big.

Another tough lesson learned; different country leads to different perception, when dealing with distance dont assume.....

Today I walked back to camp a more satisfied man having been able to resolve my thoughts and knowing from what I had experienced and what others have told me of theirs, that I had achieved something good. It was, and would continue to become more evident over the next few days that anyone that hunts Tahr in this terrain and these conditions and is successful, has indeed achieved a TROPHY.

Photos below are Random shots of the country around camp

 

[AussieHunter]

Day 4

We awoke once again to tent interiors covered in condensation although the snow beneath the tents had appeared to have melted so there was less condensation on the floor. Before leaving I had packed on of those chamois like sporting towels; it became the best thing for lightly wiping down the inside of the tent before getting out of the tent.

Given the predicted temps before I had left I to-ed and fro-ed on whether I would take my One Planet Bushlite -7 deg C 850 loft bag or my wifes ten year old Mountain Design Ascent 900 -15 deg C bag which was 700 loft. I opted for the later. Both are down bags and even though every morning the toe box was covered in condensation and down could be seen stuck to the entire upper outer surface with damp from the condensation I was never anything but toasty warm. Its great to have good gear that can be relied upon to do its job

Getting out of the tent the third fly was covered, nearly totally in a sheet of glass like ice. The mountains and coastal plain were clear but the ocean had a layer of thick fog or cloud over it. Typical West Coast weather so John stated. 'The fog will likely roll in just before lunch time'. With a breakfast of bacon, eggs, beans and crumpets all washed down with the best tasting instant coffee I had drunk, no doubt the cold and the location warped the perception. Both of us then headed about 300 metres up behind camp and glassed the face to the south of us. We spotted a number of Tahr and two Chamois. Given it was basically a sheer cliff 300 to 400 metres high and over a 1000 metres away I wasn't going there. So we returned to camp and geared up and headed around to north on the lower section of the bowl.

After the rain the terrain and its dangers had changed yet again. The snow was less but what was left had turned to a icy crust on the tussock looking like some demented wind blown lemon frosting on top of a cake. So you couldn't walk but more like lift and stomp. Much of the rock was now not covered in snow, which provided a pretty good grip once you stepped on it and compacted it into a step, but sheets of 2-4mm thick clear as glass ice. Step on that and you were almost certain to be on your arse.

The melted ice and snow had uncovered some large crevasses in the rock, holes big enough, in some cases to drop a small car in at the top, others a little bigger than a toilet, but all seemed to be plenty deep and got tighter and smaller towards the bottom. Certainly putting you in the proverbial shit if you stepped down one during a dark return to camp.

By now I was convinced of the merits of the Ice Axe and was carrying it permanently. Used by holding it across the head above the handle it is a handy walking pole. The end of the handle is radius and can driven into the snow and mud when sidling to provide extra support. The only issue was at 6'2" and the biggest axes being 75cm long another 8 to 10 cm of handle length would be real nice for that sidling support.

As we came around the face we spotted a young bull standing atop of huge boulder on the sky line about 800 metres out. No doubt the prick had heard about the events of yesterday and was thinking that humans just aint as good as they believe. He stood there metaphorically laughing at me, mane blowing in the wind for the best part of 15 minutes. My only consolation prize, Mr Big no longer had one of his prized girls.

By 0930hrs we were on a nice little bench below and east of the dreaded vertical country. We brewed up and had a snack, did some glassing and I had my first real chance to just sit back and appreciate the grandeur of the West Coast.

There is another great thing about New Zealand's west coast - there is water everywhere. No need to carry it. And at this time of year if you don’t blow your CamelBak tube clear after drinking you end up with a ice filled hose in less than ten minutes. So unlike hunting in New South Wales, my home state.

So for the brew John just broke the ice on top of a small tarn and filled the JetBoil.

We stayed for about three hours glassing the face, drinking coffee and eating crackers cheese and salami.... THIS IS THE LIFE

John even found Mr Big a mere 180 metres away but as he said "he may as well be on the moon".

Right on cue the fog started coming in and snow, sleet and rain all started falling over the next 40 minutes as we punched our way back to camp.

Photos below
Bull #2 12 Incher
Tarn half way up the pass
Entry to the Pass from camp
Ice Lake at the top of the Pass

 

[AussieHunter]

Atop the last descent down before going down through the creek and up the rise to camp John stopped and glassed up the pass and said "lets dump our gear at camp, travel light and fast up the pass and have a look"

As we had crossed the creek flat from the high ground north of camp John had glassed several Tahr up the pass, a nice group actually, one good bull, which he stated would be a upgrade on my existing one and a number of nannies. The idea was to stay out of sight as long as possible by going up the ridge and then to either contour around on them or hopefully be able to stay out of sight as we worked our way into them from beneath using the overhangs and boulder strewn creek bottom. All the while the fog continued to move in further and heavier as we moved east up the pass.

About three quarters of the way up we hit a similar box chute as to over the other side, so once again it was out to the north and down and around. Although I was gaining confidence in this country and the area we were now traversing was not as severe, I was still ever vigilant as even a small slip fall or slide could result in broken limbs. Not a way to remember a trip. From here it was slow progress trying to sneak under the over hangs on the valley floor edge and stalking from boulder to boulder to try and stay out of sight..

We got to a position and took a range, 380 metres, and John asked if I was confident. I stated under the right circumstances yes. There was little wind so it would be position, position, position in this case. We closed the distance a bit further to a large boulder and had a good glass. John was excited, we had two bulls at 12 to 13 inches and a number of nannies. I could see the nannies but could not find the bulls. Like I stated earlier in some spots they just blend in so damn well and now I had fog to contend with. I tried rangeing but got nil reading due to the fog.

We watched some more and finally I spotted one of the bulls, then i got a range, 320 metres and checked the Slope Doper, 30 degrees. I did the mental arithmetic correcting for range and angle and wound up 6 clicks.

I was loaded and steady and lined up on the bull lying onto the face of a boulder but almost standing. I was ready to shoot. One final check and a quick chat with John, don’t want to shoot the wrong animal this time. Good I am right. I glance at the muzzle, #*^@#* if I took the shot the 168 grains of lead would have slammed into the snow covered rock 200mm in front of the muzzle. You just couldn’t see it through the scope.

Damn I couldn't take the shot from here.

We re-positioned up the creek a little further to another boulder. The whistling started, we had been sprung by a nanny. Once again I ranged. I was into 260 metres but the angle was now 40 degrees. More mental arithmetic. That should put me on 200, at my zero, wind back down. I was now standing against the left side of a huge sloping boulder. I was all clear for a shot but I was having trouble getting stable. It was now snowing big fluffy flakes and I was starting to loose light. I flicked on the illumination. I found the first bull, John thought him marginally better but I had no shot, he was in amongst some bushes bashing the crapper out of them, brooming his horns.

The nannies were all whistling and moving off up slope. I remember thinking are these things born with suction cups on their feet? I was running out of time, my hands were freezing and I couldn't feel my feet at all. It wouldn't be long and I would be shivering.

I said to John I have a shot on the other bull. I squeezed the trigger and I went straight over his back and he started climbing. John said "you should have a shot on the other bull now" as he had moved. I reloaded and re-positioned. BOOM straight into his front right shoulder. He crumpled and slid down onto a snowy sloping bench. He was laying head down hill and couldn't get up but was still lifting his head. Through the scope I was thinking #*^@#* we won’t get him off that bench. So I put another round in him and with that he gave a reflex kick and slid off the bench dropping about 8 metres and sliding down the slope to where we would be able to access him.

With that John offered a congratulatory handshake and said it time to move back to camp. By now the snow was turning into light rain.

On the way back down, a few hundred metres behind John as usual, I had a welling of pride with a few tears in my eyes and running down my cheeks mixing with the rain as I punched the air in my own little private moment of celebration. I would remember this for the rest of my life.

Twenty five minutes later we were back in camp, John cooking tea and both of us knocking a G&T back in with weather gear on, in steady rain in the last minutes of half-light.

I was feeling pretty chuffed with myself now. And I said to John "I thought I would never be this happy sitting here in the freezing rain and dark, eating dinner and drinking a Moscow Mule from a tin plate and cup"

Life is strange. The moments we cherish as hunters others will never understand.

As I was writing the last chapter last night Avalon, my daughter, walked into my den and asked why I was crying and I said because I was so happy because I couldn’t believe what I had achieved. She asked what did I mean. I explained grit and determination and overcoming fear to her. She said "Daddy I hope I can do that someday."

We were up on fist light the next morning with a coffee and hot breakfast.

The plan was to head up the pass and recover my second Tahr, return to camp and start to do a preliminary pack up for tomorrows flight out.

I emptied my day pack to load the cape into on the way back and grabbed my Olympus Tough TG-4

Gear Note #2
These are remarkable little cameras. The shots they take are awesome and they were built to be in in this country being shock proof, water proof and freeze proof. In all the time over there my TG-4 took over 180 photos and about 20 minutes of video and didn't flatten the one battery. I did have spares though.

We started up the ridge again and followed the way in as we had done yesterday although at a pace that allowed a greater appreciation of the country I was in.

It was a stiff steep climb up to the bull and then using 15 metres of Paracord I had in my back pack and driving the Ice Axe handles, to use as snatch blocks, into the snow and ground we carefully shuffled the bull away from the deep chute that he was about to fall into and across onto a picnic blanket sized bench for photos and caping.

After we loaded the cape up and got back down slope to the creek Johns said I am walking up to the top of the pass to have a look. He said "You should come."

With quads and calves already burning I left the pack with his gear and we set off up to the pass. First challenge was crossing over and then back across the creek in two different location but on a ice and snow covered rock faces that would normally be not quite a waterfall as it wasn't quite vertical. With every step you could hear the ice groaning, creaking and cracking. On we went to the top through snow nearly a foot deep.

After a bit of quiet time and appreciation we made our way back to camp where we had some lunch and John began skinning out the face.

As he was doing I glassed three nannies on the ridge line to our north. They were contently feeding. All of sudden, through the Swaro's, I saw them all instantaneously lift their heads and look west. Two seconds later I heard the way off thump thump thump of a big helicopter. Thirty or so seconds later Gus's big blue Squirrel thumped out from under the cloud in front of us, down valley, banked to the left and hovered and his offsider jumped out and ran towards us.

He shouted over the whine of the landing chopper to pack quick, we have fifteen minutes to get out, four foot of snow due tonight and the cloud is closing in from the north fast.

#*^@#* how much adrenaline can a man use in 5 days?

Madly but systematically we started jamming sleeping bags in cram sacks, stuffing clothes and gear into packs, rolling up mattresses, taking down fly’s and tents. Gus and Nigel where packing our "kitchen", stuff on a rock, into the cooler and loading it into the bird. I'd reckon in 12 minutes we had all the gear at the Squirrel where I felt like a fifth wheel so decided I was best out of the way and strapped myself in to the back seat.

Within another minute Nigel was in the back with me and John and Gus up front. The turbine rolled up in rpm with the rotor and we lifted off and then dropped down the valley 500 or so metres under the cloud and out to the coast. And yes you could see the heavy cloud building over Fox and Franz Josef Glaciers and all the way out to Mount Cook.

The hunt was a rush to the end.

Back at Glacier Country Helicopters Gus offered us a bed for the night in his hut, which I gladly accepted with a hot shower. He asked if we wanted to go for dinner.

So an hour later a stretch hummer turns up and we join a well-heeled Texan father and son hunters, their guide and cameraman, Gus, John and I and off we go to the Blue Ice Restaurant in Franz Josef.

As I have said this was a unbelievable trip with a great result and a shit load of personal achievement to boot.

Thanks for reading guys: onya:

 

[birdman27]

What a great trip report! Thank you for taking the time to write it all down. I know that country and it certainly is an experience.

 

[BlakeA]

Congrats on an epic adventure! Thanks for sharing.

 

[vanish]

Awesome

 

[Spitz]

Wow! Thanks for sharing. Someday . . .

 

[1_pointer]

Wow! Thanks for sharing. Someday . . .

This in spades.

 

[AussieHunter]

Thanks men. From experienced hunters, I am truly appreciative of the comments above.

 

[Northwoods Labs]

Fantastic story and images. Thanks for sharing