New Zealand is an endless playground, and I choose to spend my spare time in the hills or in the sea – exploring our backyard, getting amongst everything it has to offer, bringing home the tasty treats that are our fresh seafood and wild game meat. Every meal is exciting – combined with our freshly grown vegetables, it’s a pleasure to cook and create. Inspiration from the enjoyment on other’s faces while they eat your catch is a feeling like no other. We rely on my success in the sea or on the hills for our meat; knowing where our food comes from and how it’s prepared is not only a choice but a life skill we’re passing on to the next generation.

Preparation

This adventure was set to be a good one. The forecast checked out: cold temperatures but blue skies. I was familiar with the area, so not too much planning was needed this time.

As I performed my routine gear check, I touched base with my partner – I always send her coordinates so she can easily track my trip and notify the right people should the worst occur. Hopefully never, but it’s always good to be prepared.

Chamois

On my previous adventure into this specific area, I hadn’t seen any stags, but after a very early climb on this day, I found a young mob of chamois. This was an absolute buzz for me; I hadn’t found them here before and there were six – nothing big, but I’d seen meat! I quickly managed to secure one to take home to eat – an easy shot 80m across on the opposite face.

That week, we cooked a whole leg in the slow cooker with a bunch of different herbs and spices and finished with some heavy plum sauce. It’d be fair to say, if I get a chance again, I’ll harvest another chamois. It was sensational.

Not long after I’d fired the shot on the young chamois, movement on the ridgeline above caught my attention. From what I could see with the naked eye, it was two large-bodied stags up above 1600m, which was much higher than I thought they’d be. The chamois were quite low at about 1100m. Sighting these guys up higher was more than enough motivation to come back …

To the Foot of the Beech Forest

It was two weeks since my previous hunt. There had been many nights of hoping, dreaming and wishing, and the day had finally come. I knew where hinds had been grazing from previous hunts; it was an area that’d produced on multiple occasions but was sometimes a complete flop. Deer numbers are low, but the deer are fat, so it’s always worth the walk.

My bags were packed – packed light to carry out heavy. It was late March; usually around this time, the stags are fat and the meat will be beautiful. I’d seen some great rubs in the area and hoped stags would be hard antler. Although the drive and hope of a big-timbered stag is always there, there’s nothing more satisfying than taking home fresh organic meat from our public land; stag or hind, I’d be more than happy.

A three-hour drive after work followed by two hours of relatively easy river walking saw me at the foot of the beech forest. From there, it was a 300-metre climb through nice open beech to where I’d find somewhere to camp for the night. My plan was to do the final 200m to the tops the next morning, hopeful that there’d be deer out feeding.

Great Stag Sign

The first part of the beech forest had me super excited: trees smashed, scratched, snapped and rubbed as far as I could see. It was that good, I nearly didn’t climb high. But I said to myself, “Trust your gut!” I knew the flats were bare, feed was slim, and the tops were a lot healthier. It’d been a crazy summer of hot days, heavy rain, strong wind and some snow in February! The feed in the tops was really thick, giving a good indication that there should be some big stags getting about this Roar. The rest of the evening climb was much the same with great stag sign and little hind sign.

By 10pm, I was ready to call it a night. I set up camp quickly, then headed straight for my sleeping bag after demolishing a solid serving of pre-made porridge. I mix generous amounts of oats, raw milk, yogurt and berries. It’s a great filler and always provides good energy. Plus, it not only saves me having to carry cooking equipment on short missions, but it’s also enjoyable not having only freeze-dried meals.

Gear checked, rifle ready and day pack packed – not a minute more, then lights out.

Climb to the Tops

Surprisingly, I had a great sleep on a mossy bed and my body was fresh and ready for a climb at 4am! I put my clothes straight on and donned my boots, then drank my water; I like to drink a good two litres of water before beating the feet.

The climb started off nice, but not long after leaving camp, my excitement came to a halt with a sudden realisation that the next hour was probably going to be hard yakka. The recent 10 days of strong winds had absolutely ruined some old beech trees. What should’ve been a 40-minute ascent took an hour and 30 minutes with the extra navigational challenges. Taking many long, deep breaths and talking to myself like an idiot, I was still optimistic that there’d be something out in the sun when I got there, even though I wasn’t there to see it rise.

Breaking into the tops is always majestic; it’s a magical feeling looking up into the hills and wondering what might be walking around. I could see a decent vantage point, so I waded through the cover of high tussock to gain a better view into a head basin full of little grassy guts, creeks and swamps – it felt like red deer paradise. It was windy and freezing cold, but the sun was shining in a blue sky; it looked promising. I settled into my vantage point and glassed the hills hard.

The Ultimate Prize

After about 30 minutes, I still hadn’t seen any deer, which was a bit gutting, considering I felt I could see everything from here. After taking some photos, I thought to myself, “Surely, there has to be a deer here somewhere.”

Then, as the sun lit up more of the highest ridge, a big, white bum stuck out to the naked eye. As soon as I put the binoculars onto it, I could tell it was on! It was a great-looking stag with wide antlers. I couldn’t judge the age or points; he was about a kilometre away and on the move, feeding.

I immediately descended 200m and then climbed another 300m to get to within shooting range. Once I was set up ready to take the shot from about 200m distance, I took a moment to watch him. Such a stunning animal at the highest spot on these ridges – ones I’ve hunted many times – out in the morning sun, feeding, unaware of my presence … just epic.

It felt like forever as I patiently waited for him to feed his way down. He finally stood broadside; a single shot to the shoulder saw him drop on the spot. I was full of emotion: excitement, relief, gratitude and appreciation. I absolutely love these adventures and pulling it off. The ultimate prize is always a sweet feeling.

Once I got over to him, I was rapt with his antlers and to see how fat he was.

Everything about this hunt was just what I wanted it to be: special times in the hills away from everything, harvesting wild meat, taking home memories of the hunt and awesome bone to show my daughters and to hang in the shed. I can’t wait to share these adventures with the next generation.

Bringing it Home

I took some time to relax and eat some snacks, rehydrating after an exciting couple of hours. After taking multiple photos, it was time to get to work and butcher this beast. He was fat and I wanted to do him justice, so I took all his biggest muscle groups – or rather what my legs could handle and what turned out to be around 40kgs of meat.

Such big bits of meat; the back straps were the length of my 3-year-old daughter! I gave the meat plenty of time to cool while I sat back and relaxed. It was to be a heavy descent to my tent, and I was constantly battling to trick my mind into not thinking about the extra weight I was about to add to this already rather weighty pack.

Nonetheless, we got back down to camp, packed, fuelled up and headed down to the river flat. I took my time getting out, stopping five or six times during the three-hour journey. A cold Speights waiting for me at the car was calling my name.

It was an awesome adventure and a pleasure to tell the story.