NZ SOUTH ISLAND DOUBLE

Tim whispered that it was a nice bull but not particularly old. With the day potentially being my last chance for good weather, I steadied my aim. The bull presented a quartering shot at 80m. I squeezed the trigger, felt the recoil, and watched in horror as the shot missed. Luckily, the confused bull turned to face me head on. This time, the shot was true. The projectile struck between its front legs, and the bull dropped instantly. The bullet had penetrated deeply, lodging in its spine near the rump. Tim commented on the bull’s peculiar low position.

As we approached, the bull’s stunning blonde coat and impressive horns were a sight to behold. We took some photos before skinning it for a shoulder mount. The bull, almost skin and bone, had a large wound behind its left shoulder, likely from a recent fight during the rut. This tough bull had retreated lower down the mountain out of the harsh weather to heal.

With the cape cooling, we began our steep climb back up. I learned firsthand about Golden Spaniard grass, which stung painfully when I grasped the wrong clumps of grass. My legs were tired, and tussock was often the only support I had as I pushed on up the mountain.

At a knoll, we spotted the bull from this morning, now with a dozen nannies. We stalked closer, but once we ran out of cover, Tim and I assessed the bull. It was impressive but similar in age to the morning’s bull. I chose to photograph it instead.

As we approached through knee-deep snow, the nannies started chirping at us, their calls so bird-like it was almost eerie. The snow began to fall heavily, turning the valley into a whiteout. We decided to head back to the hut for a late lunch, retrieving my cape along the way. Warm soup and tea revived us and, in the afternoon, we glassed the rear mountains for potential targets. While we spotted many tahr, nothing stood out.

On the third morning, we stumbled out of our sleeping bags before dawn, eager but anxious. Breakfast was a quiet affair as we peered through the foggy gloom, waiting to see what the day had in store. The tops were shrouded in a heavy mist, but we forged ahead into a valley with a glacier at its head.

We began our ascent from the river bottom, stopping frequently to glass the terrain. The glacier gradually came into view, its icy blue-green hue contrasting starkly with the surrounding snow. Below the glacier, five red deer stags emerged, feeding on tussocks peeking through the snow. Tim, ever the opportunist, turned to me and asked, “Want to take a shot at one?” With the stags on DOC land and the helicopter likely to swoop in if we didn’t act, I didn’t need to think twice. “Absolutely,” I replied.

Tim ranged the stag I had my eye on at 380m. I took a deep breath and set up on a rocky ledge, I aligned the crosshairs, and with a steady squeeze of the trigger, all five stags vanished in a flurry. Four bolted away, but one remained. We scrambled over rocks and through a steep creek, finally finding the stag lying in the snow. The projectile had entered behind the right shoulder and exited through the left, breaking the shoulder on its way. What a shot! I was ecstatic.

After taking some photos with the glacier in the backdrop and collecting the stag’s head and meat, we set off for the hut, eager to escape the worsening weather.

By lunchtime, the fog had thickened to a dense, misty veil. In the buggy, we descended the valley in hopes of finding tahr hidden in the murk. Through the swirling fog, we spotted a band of four bulls, huddled low on the mountain. It was still a gruelling hike to reach them, and the fog closed in, limiting our visibility to just ten meters. Amid the stillness, we heard the faint clatter of rocks above us, the tahr were near.

A brief break in the fog revealed the bulls had moved higher, now mingling with a dozen nannies and young tahr. With no mature bulls in sight, I decided to do my part for conservation and cull a couple of nannies. But as I fumbled with my gloves, the fog rolled back in, obscuring the scene. The nannies, now barely visible through the mist, chirped teasingly as they moved higher up the mountain.

We contoured the mountain in the dense fog, now accompanied by a steady drizzle. By late afternoon, we were ready to retreat to the warmth and dryness of the hut.

The forecast had promised light snow through the night, growing heavier through the day. However, we woke to a staggering 120mm of snow, far more than expected. We barely made it off the property, getting caught behind graders clearing the snow-covered roads. As we finally arrived at Tim’s house, exhausted but thrilled, we reflected on the incredible adventure. Despite the challenging weather, every moment had been worth it.

As I sat on the plane home, a broad grin spread across my face. My first overseas hunting adventure had surpassed every expectation. The breathtaking views, steep climbs, abundant wildlife, and a taste of New Zealand’s notorious alpine weather made it unforgettable. Tim had crafted an experience that was truly remarkable. If you’re considering a New Zealand hunting trip, I wholeheartedly recommend reaching out to Tim from South Island Hunting NZ. He’ll tailor an adventure to suit your budget and timeframe, just as he did for me.

“As the bull climbed a rocky outcrop, its beautiful mane and impressive horns came into view.”