A HYBRID WITH EVERYTHING

Casting back to earlier this year, I had been down to my sambar block on the NSW South Coast checking the cameras and doing some work on the farm. I have taken some great photos of sambar including a heavy set mature stag with 30-inch antlers four years ago. This block also had several quality rusa as residents, but over the last few drier years the stags had moved to other areas, with only a few hinds sticking around. I have been keeping the hybrid genetics in check when I have the opportunity, as my love for hunting sambar far outweighs that for rusa. Later that night, though, while going through the hundreds of images and video footage, I froze, then putting my hands to my head I stood up...“no way!”. I still remember vividly the very first image of what would become my addiction for months. A sambar x rusa hybrid with everything. Super wide antlers with long even inners, this behemoth was impressive, even on a grainy video in the late hours of the night. This would be the start of many sleepless nights, many early mornings and many phone calls and text messages with my closest hunting buddies as I focused all my energy outside of family and work commitments, on a quarry fit for a king.

My workload had increased at this time, my wife had a career change and our two boys’ weekend sport was at full tilt. With commitments coming first, a lot of trips down the coast were short, too short, but I took every opportunity to get the stars to align and hope for him to slip up. This stag, like other dominant stags, didn’t get big by being silly. His movements were limited in daylight hours, moving about the property under the cover of darkness nearly all the time. I have around 17 cameras on this property, which is a good and bad thing, giving me an idea of what game is about but also driving me mad knowing these deer don’t pattern like other species.

If I had the opportunity for a morning hunt on a Sunday, I would be in the Land Cruiser at 2am, embarking on a two-hour drive to arrive early enough for the block to settle after my arrival. The number of rainy trips I made this year was crazy, with the only day I hunted without getting wet being the day it all came to fruition. I had a few opportunities to take the family down on public holiday weekends, but the soggy ground and crappy conditions were not in my favour. The full moon always seemed to be present when I was able to put some decent time in as well. This didn’t give me any reason to give up though. He kept showing up on the cams, usually a day or two, sometimes hours after I had checked the footage from the previous trip. Playing a game of cat and mouse, my frustrations grew, but my drive did as well.

Fast forward to around a month before that magic day. My current work project was at the point where all efforts were required to ensure a handover date was met, giving me no opportunity to chase him, with only two days off in the month and they were dedicated to family commitments. My anxiety levels were through the roof. Has someone else found him? Has he moved off the block to chase the rusa girls who would have begun to cycle? Had he been taken by a poacher?

There was only one way to find out. Recognising my efforts over the last four weeks and listening to my many phone calls to my buddies, my project manager gave me the opportunity to take a few days off, Friday to Sunday. I didn’t finish until late on the Thursday night and had a few items to close out with work and ADA business, so the decision was made to head down after lunch on Friday after a morning in front of the laptop. I would get into a section that over looks a series of wallows that he had visited a few times. My plan was to sit and wait for a few hours before last light. Nothing presented, so I ventured down and checked the camera on the wallow after dark. A young sambar with a few years of growing to go had taken up residency of the wallow, visiting regularly during the last month.

That night, there was a full moon and a howling westerly wind was in full swing. These are usually not the best conditions for deer stalking. I was absolutely spent from the last few weeks of work, so I went to bed very early after dinner. I was woken many times throughout the night with gale force winds battering my little hunting lodge on the hill. I woke up early to have a decent breakfast and a coffee before heading out into the blustery conditions.

I tracked along my usual route following the creek line, with the westerly pushing my scent and noise away from an area where I thought the deer would be, a thick section of dog wood, wild cherry and protected gullies between a few wallows and preaching trees. If the rusa hinds were still cycling, this may give me the opportunity to catch him out, with him having a one-track mind for the girls and not being on full alert for predators. As I moved to a clearing, I contemplated pushing along under the cover of the tree line around the long way, or crossing over into the series of game trails that link the wallows and preach trees with hundreds of wild cherry tree rubs. I got to another camera on the fringe, downloaded the files to my phone and reset it. I had a quick look at what had shown up. My suspicions were spot on. Over the last week or so, the activity of the stags chasing hinds had spiked in the daylight hours. This had my senses heightened. The possibility of running into one of the stags in the thick stuff, including the behemoth, had increased. My heart rate raced as I moved slowly along the game trail. As I worked my way toward his preaching tree, fresh prints and the distinctive smell of a rutting stag filled my nostrils, even in the stiff westerly that was directly in my face. What happened next will be forever etched in my memory. An experience that I will never forget and will tell a thousand times to anyone who is willing to listen.

I slowly approached the little clearing amongst the wild cherry, lantana and dogwood. The scrape and rub tree in the middle of it had had some very recent attention. This had me on full alert. Whatever had been here wasn’t too far away. I approached the camera on the scrape and bent down. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a bit of movement, different to that of the swaying trees and bushes. Two pearled antler tips protruded out from a thicket of lantana, sideways. They were set wide apart. They could only belong to one critter…it was him, only 50m in front of me! For the first time I was to lay eyes on him in the flesh. My heart rate went through the roof. As I reached to unclip my rifle from the Kuiu gun sling on my right side, he stepped out, in full view. What an impressive animal.

Time stood still; he had no idea I was there. He thrashed at a sapling on the side of the game trail. Should I try and get some footage…not a chance. I need to get the crosshairs on him. At close quarters and the wind in my face, I could smell and hear everything, the hairs on the back of my neck were standing up. As I searched for a gap in the lantana bush I was kneeling behind, he started to move toward me. I found a small opening, took a deep breath, released the safety and cycled a round. He needed to take few steps to his right to put his vitals in my scope. I steadied my heart rate. This frontal shot needed to be precise. I waited until the left side of his chest was in the crosshairs…this was it, the moment I had been pursuing. A moment that all hunters have felt seconds before the shot. As I squeezed the trigger, I looked into the eyes of this monarch. The copper monolith Barnes 308 projectile is released from my Beretta BRX1. As a true hunter, a feeling of remorse fills me as the round impacts his chest. Rearing up, he started to charge in my direction, almost running over the top of me. I cycled another round and traced his movements as he ran past me, close enough to feel his breath. I pulled the trigger again, but it was not required. The initial shot had penetrated the chest cavity and hit the heart, fatally wounding him. As he bailed up 40m behind me, the realisation of what had just happened hits me.

Before I walked up on the beast, I took a moment to reflect on the past journey. The actual hunt would not have played out as it did without the countess kilometres, trail camera images and never-ending planning of how I would approach each trip. Success in hunting will be found at the crossroads of determination, effort and luck. This quarry will produce many meals for my friends and family and many memories. I will honour this monarch of the forest, as he deserves it.

A final thankyou to a few people. Firstly my wife and boys for your unrelenting support, the landowner for giving me the opportunity harvest valuable protein, Felix for sharing the moments before and after shot, and giving me a hand with the mammoth task of processing the beast, Cam for the late night at the end of the day caping, and to the ADA, the friendships I have developed since meeting Col many years ago are priceless.

“Two pearled antler tips protruded out from a thicket of lantana.“