
Roaring Ruahine Reds
The last Roar had coincided with Easter weekend. Would it be the same this year?
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The last Roar had coincided with Easter weekend. Would it be the same this year?
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For the last month or so I'd been going out after work, looking for sign of any stags that might have moved into the areas where I knew hinds were living.
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“Good Luck” were Joe’s parting words before swinging the Toyota out of the Walls Whare carpark, leaving me with my pack and rifle.
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The date was set for an early July trip into the Douglas River, Westland. Joining me were John Gilchrist my hunting partner and his friend Joy.
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My trip started with a very early rise and after a five hour drive from Balclutha to the Copland track turn off on the West Coast I was eager to stretch tired limbs.
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Late Sunday night. Six of us lying in bivvy bags, above a West Coast ravine, in the pitch black.
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I recall with pleasure the happy days spent hunting the big country beyond Lake Tekapo some 26 years ago.
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With half a day to go until the 1994 opening morning, the three hunters sat in the small cosy crib grasping their callers. Chris had been teaching young Jim the calls he would need to challenge some of the 20 shooters on the oval lake.
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For all the days in a year our deer, and other game, live in the bush interior, so that is where we have to seek them.
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One of the most fascinating aspects of hunting I find is the uncertainty of what lies around the next corner or over the next hill.
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As we lay there in the soggy darkness the sodden ground was shaking like a Baghdad belly dancer, yet there was the frightening possibility that this was NOT an earthquake!
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To the deerstalker, the first signs of Autumn, when the mornings get colder, the leaves change colour, the days get shorter, the first frosts of the year jolt early risers back to reality – all these signs mean only one thing.
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