Hunting in Oz....4½ days in the hills (a long one!)
Back in August I had successful day trip on this property.
My hunting mate from Sydney and I took 3 goats that day; Peter bagged an attractive black nanny goat and myself a black & white nanny and a white & black crested billy goat with a good set of horns.
If for no other reason the billy's head had been left near an ant's nest to let them do the job of stripping it to bone so I wanted to retrieve it for proper measurement and mounting European style.
But a good working week on the property promised some really good goat action with possibilities of a crack at hogs and foxes on top of the ever present rabbits.
Instead it taught me some lessons about hunting.
We headed out around 10:30am on Monday 9th January for a 100km drive north to the property near Bigga, some of it over challenging dirt roads.
This didn't worry me as Peter's '99 Land Rover Discovery TDi is very capable but the first signs of problems appeared when we passed a sign saying "No Solid Fuel Fires" on the dirt road to the property.
Did that mean no wood fires? On arrival the owner confirmed it and that was an issue.
Peter's 2 burner gas stove was back in Sydney and the only heat we had was an emergency hexamine stove.
The owner offered to lend us a BBQ but it was the size of a beer keg, the Disco was full of gear and it turned out the BBQ's gas bottle was empty.
No problems, the owner said, I'll have my wife fill it up tomorrow and it'll be back for Wednesday morning.
So, 2 nights with only hexamine fuel tablets (like fire lighters) to heat our meals.
Peter had raw chicken in the 12v car refrigerator and other things like uncooked sausages that the hexamine wasn't up to.
Nonetheless I prayed and we headed for the Meglo Creek valley where we would be camping and hunting.
Peter opens a gate as we drive along a ridge toward the Meglo Creek valley.
Miraculously a goat turned up as soon as we reached the bottom but it took to its heels before I could take a shot and Peter, who'd spotted it, had no rifle in his hands.
The change in the valley since the last visit was huge; the first "green Christmas" in 13 years had the creek bed gurlging and the grass was knee height and full of nettles.
A short walk showed no sign of goats or pigs around the creek like there had been in August and the rabbits we saw were quickly hidden in the grass.
Only an Olympic shotgunner would've had a chance at nailing them.
So we set up camp and cooled our feet in the river and had a beer; it was good with the temp around 34 C.
Cooling my feet in the creek with a beer.
The babbling shady stream, a vast contrast from its normal stony dryness.
After some more walking about with further lack of success we returned to camp as the light failed around 9pm (courtesy of daylight saving) and found the hexamine provided ample power to cook bacon and eggs as well as enough water for a cup of tea.
Vowing that an early start in the morning would see better results we got to bed around 11pm.
We ended up rising at 7am instead of 5:30 but there was no more sign of goats at 7:30 either up or down the creek than there had been the evening before.
Then the heat closed in accompanied by a hot breeze.
The temperature topped 38 C and we lay about in the shade, me without a shirt and waited for the heat to go.
Around 7:30pm we headed out again but there was no sign of goats and my efforts to nail rabbits with my Martini Cadet sporter in 25-20 were discouragingly poor.
It consistently shot about 1½" low and I gave up.
Thankfully the hexamine proved very effective and we were able to cobble together a filling meal.
Before heading for bed at 11pm we decided the next morning would see us up at 5:30am and we would check up and down river before driving over the ridge to check a ravine there before driving up to the homestead to get the BBQ and full gas bottle.
Wednesday morning was again without success.
Plenty of rabbits but no sign of goats or pigs along Meglo creek or the other ravine so we headed for the homestead.
As it happened the owner's wife had forgotten to take the gas bottle and not even returned that night so our hand was forced and we had to drive the 100km round trip to the nearest large town so we could buy a single burner cooker.
While there we both had an early lunch of hamburgers that were so big they needed planning permission and got some more bread and bananas.
The long drive during the heat of the day turned out to be a good thing.
The Disco has excellent air con as did the hamburger joint in town and we escaped the 36 C temps for a good 3 hours.
More evening forays along the creek after our return showed no success but it was on our walk back to camp around 8:15pm that Peter looked high at one of the hills and said "What are those white dots?"
They were goats......5 in a small mob traversing the hillside moving westward away from us.
The light was closing in and it was too late to give chase that night but we now knew where to look.
It was with lighter hearts that we ate our meal that night, both because of the far better cooker and the prospect of goats in the morning.
At this point I should say that I'd been praying for goats, quite literally, for at least 2 days.
So when Thursday morning arrived and we were out of camp at 6:15am I directed a prayer of thanks as goats appeared on the same hill, this time heading eastward toward the rising sun and now 7 in number.
We stood at the bottom of the spur leading up to the ridge and decided what to do.
I pushed that we should climb the slope and cut them off if possible but Peter was very hesitant.
We had no camera, no extra ammo, no food, no GPS, no maps, no first aid kit, no sunburn creme and more importantly.....no water; just a hand held UHF radio each.
But I knew that even if I ran back to camp that the chance would be gone and against all wisdom I thought that while the temperature was low we should go for it.
Peter was hesitant but after some debate and a long monologue which included plenty of swearing about the insanity of young men he led the way up the slope.
To clarify things Peter is 64, looks like he could be in his late 40s, and is probably fitter than I am, and I'm 35.
However by the time we had scaled only about a quarter of it we were puffing like locomotives.
We managed to climb with reasonable stealth but just as it seemed that we would get a clear shot at them under 100yds they turned and disappeared.
We struggled across the hill face, which had a 30 to 35 degree gradient and was effectively a fine scree cleverly disguised as grass, until we spotted a large white billy goat and 2 smaller nannies.
This time we got so close, under 80m, we almost fired.
But then they miraculously vanished; I'll never know how.
And just when we were convinced they'd given us the slip a huge herd of about 20 goats slipped out from under a small crop of trees about 160m above us not far from the top of the ridge.
Then Peter caught a bad blossom in the breeze, turned away from the herd and had the biggest loudest sneezing fit I've ever heard!
But the goats didn't even seem to notice so we settled again ready for the opportunity.
Peter waited until a tawny nanny goat was clearly in the sunlight and rested on a tree he lined up his Kahles Helia 3-9x40 equipped Tikka T3 Hunter in 30-06 and squeezed away 2 Federal Powershok 150gr factory rounds.
His first shot broke the front leg of the nanny, punched through the lower sternum and sent it rolling and wailing down the hill.
A second punched through the heart and lung and it rolled a little further coming to rest on a log.
At this the heard milled about and I tried a shot but did not allow for the steep upward slope and missed just as the herd fled over the ridge.
We gave chase pausing for a moment to check Peter's nanny and he took it slower as I climbed for the ridge.
When I got the there the herd were gone and I was disappointed so I wandered about at the top waiting for Peter and looking around.
It was then that the first mob of 7, plus the big white billy who had vanished earlier, appeared trotting along a track not far below.
I quickly seated myself, waited for the billy to appear in the gap in the trees and squeezed away.
This time I failed to allow for the downward slope and the bullet sailed just over him.
He scooted quickly after the others and although a minute or so later I saw his 2 white nannies clatter among the trees to join him they were too well shielded by the timber.
Now I was really annoyed with myself.
I stomped off in the direction of Peter when I spied some movement down a wooded spur to my right.
A white kid with black markings was well hidden in the dappled shade but it had spotted me and flicked it ears glancing down the slope.
This directed me to it's mother which was about 10 metres further down also white with black markings.
Clearly spooked by the stranger the kid scampered down to the nanny and stood right beside it; that was its last mistake.
I dropped and crept forward slowly then got into a comfortable seated position.
Then I lifted The Judge, my T3 Lite Stainless in 9.3x62, and wound the Linx 1.75-5x20 scope right up aiming roughly for the nanny's forequarters as it proved a bigger target and knew the kid would hang around if the nanny collapsed.
I squeezed the trigger, the drop of the slope put the 270gr Speer Semi Spitzer into the kid's neck and it kicked over and lay still.
A pic taken later of the kid.
The nanny ran about 3 metres and looked back.
It copped another round from the Judge which passed behind the front leg.
It ran around the spur behind some bushes and I climbed down as quickly as possible in pursuit.
By now I was out of ammo, both of my heels had shocking blisters and the sun was beginning to gain strength.
I followed the goat down a little further but it quickly collapsed under a bush and I ended its suffered with my knife.
The nanny......the dark patch behind the front leg was the entry wound.
The Speer had made a 9.3 cal entry wound but on the far side it had exited making a hole the size of a soft ball and much of the intenstines were hanging out.
Perhaps a little overkill.
So, without a camera I was forced to descend painfully back to camp but with some foresight I made large markings on the bark of the trees so I could return late in the day and take some pics.
So in the end I was back in camp around 9:15am, the whole episode over in around 3 hours.
I spent the rest of the day trying to rest my heels and then, with constant comments of "You're a mad bastard!" from Peter I bandaged and taped both heels, put on 2 pairs of socks and scaled the spur once more at 5:30pm while the light was still strong, this time with the Judge AND a small pack carrying the camera, spare ammo, sunburn cream, a hand held UHF radio to keep contact and water.
It took me an hour and after finding and taking pics of the goats I continued up in the hope of spotting and nailing another one or 2 coming back across the hills in the evening.
But there were no more that day so after taking some pics I descended back down the spur and then to camp, being reminded by the pain in my knees that I need to loose at least 25lbs and that goats are truly nature's little Haflingers.
Yours truly and the hills to the west.
Looking across the hills above Meglo Creek where we'd stalked the goats.
Peter was stunned that I'd done the climb twice in a day and he said $500 wouldn't get him up that slope again.
For $1000 he said he watch me from the bottom with binos!
From there we didn't bother planning further hunting.
We enjoyed the last of the beer which had been steadily consumed over the preceding hot days, had dinner and then decided to pack up camp as soon as we were up the next day.
Last of the beer!
We were up again at 6am on Friday packing as quickly as possible as there were signs of rain and it would've made the tracks impassable, even by 4x4.
We found ourselves at the homestead at 9am and back at my house 100kms south by 11am having a cup of tea and relaxing.
All in all a fairly easy day, but then I'd learnt a few lessons over the past 4 days and for those who haven't already cottoned on here they are:
Here are a couple of pics from Friday:
Looking back toward the Meglo Creek valley and the next ridge where we had chased the goats.
Peter with the Disco and the homestead in background on top of the next ridge.
Incidentally, the horns from the last trip measured 34½" from tip to tip and are almost a full twist either side.
I estimate the Douglas Score should be over 100.
Here they are with the skull almost stripped:
A good boil and bleach should make them a good wall hanger.
Ironically the extra effort I had to make to get last weeks kid and nanny probably makes them more valuable on a personal level than this rack.
Back in August I had successful day trip on this property.
My hunting mate from Sydney and I took 3 goats that day; Peter bagged an attractive black nanny goat and myself a black & white nanny and a white & black crested billy goat with a good set of horns.
If for no other reason the billy's head had been left near an ant's nest to let them do the job of stripping it to bone so I wanted to retrieve it for proper measurement and mounting European style.
But a good working week on the property promised some really good goat action with possibilities of a crack at hogs and foxes on top of the ever present rabbits.
Instead it taught me some lessons about hunting.
We headed out around 10:30am on Monday 9th January for a 100km drive north to the property near Bigga, some of it over challenging dirt roads.
This didn't worry me as Peter's '99 Land Rover Discovery TDi is very capable but the first signs of problems appeared when we passed a sign saying "No Solid Fuel Fires" on the dirt road to the property.
Did that mean no wood fires? On arrival the owner confirmed it and that was an issue.
Peter's 2 burner gas stove was back in Sydney and the only heat we had was an emergency hexamine stove.
The owner offered to lend us a BBQ but it was the size of a beer keg, the Disco was full of gear and it turned out the BBQ's gas bottle was empty.
No problems, the owner said, I'll have my wife fill it up tomorrow and it'll be back for Wednesday morning.
So, 2 nights with only hexamine fuel tablets (like fire lighters) to heat our meals.
Peter had raw chicken in the 12v car refrigerator and other things like uncooked sausages that the hexamine wasn't up to.
Nonetheless I prayed and we headed for the Meglo Creek valley where we would be camping and hunting.
Peter opens a gate as we drive along a ridge toward the Meglo Creek valley.
Miraculously a goat turned up as soon as we reached the bottom but it took to its heels before I could take a shot and Peter, who'd spotted it, had no rifle in his hands.
The change in the valley since the last visit was huge; the first "green Christmas" in 13 years had the creek bed gurlging and the grass was knee height and full of nettles.
A short walk showed no sign of goats or pigs around the creek like there had been in August and the rabbits we saw were quickly hidden in the grass.
Only an Olympic shotgunner would've had a chance at nailing them.
So we set up camp and cooled our feet in the river and had a beer; it was good with the temp around 34 C.
Cooling my feet in the creek with a beer.
The babbling shady stream, a vast contrast from its normal stony dryness.
After some more walking about with further lack of success we returned to camp as the light failed around 9pm (courtesy of daylight saving) and found the hexamine provided ample power to cook bacon and eggs as well as enough water for a cup of tea.
Vowing that an early start in the morning would see better results we got to bed around 11pm.
We ended up rising at 7am instead of 5:30 but there was no more sign of goats at 7:30 either up or down the creek than there had been the evening before.
Then the heat closed in accompanied by a hot breeze.
The temperature topped 38 C and we lay about in the shade, me without a shirt and waited for the heat to go.
Around 7:30pm we headed out again but there was no sign of goats and my efforts to nail rabbits with my Martini Cadet sporter in 25-20 were discouragingly poor.
It consistently shot about 1½" low and I gave up.
Thankfully the hexamine proved very effective and we were able to cobble together a filling meal.
Before heading for bed at 11pm we decided the next morning would see us up at 5:30am and we would check up and down river before driving over the ridge to check a ravine there before driving up to the homestead to get the BBQ and full gas bottle.
Wednesday morning was again without success.
Plenty of rabbits but no sign of goats or pigs along Meglo creek or the other ravine so we headed for the homestead.
As it happened the owner's wife had forgotten to take the gas bottle and not even returned that night so our hand was forced and we had to drive the 100km round trip to the nearest large town so we could buy a single burner cooker.
While there we both had an early lunch of hamburgers that were so big they needed planning permission and got some more bread and bananas.
The long drive during the heat of the day turned out to be a good thing.
The Disco has excellent air con as did the hamburger joint in town and we escaped the 36 C temps for a good 3 hours.
More evening forays along the creek after our return showed no success but it was on our walk back to camp around 8:15pm that Peter looked high at one of the hills and said "What are those white dots?"
They were goats......5 in a small mob traversing the hillside moving westward away from us.
The light was closing in and it was too late to give chase that night but we now knew where to look.
It was with lighter hearts that we ate our meal that night, both because of the far better cooker and the prospect of goats in the morning.
At this point I should say that I'd been praying for goats, quite literally, for at least 2 days.
So when Thursday morning arrived and we were out of camp at 6:15am I directed a prayer of thanks as goats appeared on the same hill, this time heading eastward toward the rising sun and now 7 in number.
We stood at the bottom of the spur leading up to the ridge and decided what to do.
I pushed that we should climb the slope and cut them off if possible but Peter was very hesitant.
We had no camera, no extra ammo, no food, no GPS, no maps, no first aid kit, no sunburn creme and more importantly.....no water; just a hand held UHF radio each.
But I knew that even if I ran back to camp that the chance would be gone and against all wisdom I thought that while the temperature was low we should go for it.
Peter was hesitant but after some debate and a long monologue which included plenty of swearing about the insanity of young men he led the way up the slope.
To clarify things Peter is 64, looks like he could be in his late 40s, and is probably fitter than I am, and I'm 35.
However by the time we had scaled only about a quarter of it we were puffing like locomotives.
We managed to climb with reasonable stealth but just as it seemed that we would get a clear shot at them under 100yds they turned and disappeared.
We struggled across the hill face, which had a 30 to 35 degree gradient and was effectively a fine scree cleverly disguised as grass, until we spotted a large white billy goat and 2 smaller nannies.
This time we got so close, under 80m, we almost fired.
But then they miraculously vanished; I'll never know how.
And just when we were convinced they'd given us the slip a huge herd of about 20 goats slipped out from under a small crop of trees about 160m above us not far from the top of the ridge.
Then Peter caught a bad blossom in the breeze, turned away from the herd and had the biggest loudest sneezing fit I've ever heard!
But the goats didn't even seem to notice so we settled again ready for the opportunity.
Peter waited until a tawny nanny goat was clearly in the sunlight and rested on a tree he lined up his Kahles Helia 3-9x40 equipped Tikka T3 Hunter in 30-06 and squeezed away 2 Federal Powershok 150gr factory rounds.
His first shot broke the front leg of the nanny, punched through the lower sternum and sent it rolling and wailing down the hill.
A second punched through the heart and lung and it rolled a little further coming to rest on a log.
At this the heard milled about and I tried a shot but did not allow for the steep upward slope and missed just as the herd fled over the ridge.
We gave chase pausing for a moment to check Peter's nanny and he took it slower as I climbed for the ridge.
When I got the there the herd were gone and I was disappointed so I wandered about at the top waiting for Peter and looking around.
It was then that the first mob of 7, plus the big white billy who had vanished earlier, appeared trotting along a track not far below.
I quickly seated myself, waited for the billy to appear in the gap in the trees and squeezed away.
This time I failed to allow for the downward slope and the bullet sailed just over him.
He scooted quickly after the others and although a minute or so later I saw his 2 white nannies clatter among the trees to join him they were too well shielded by the timber.
Now I was really annoyed with myself.
I stomped off in the direction of Peter when I spied some movement down a wooded spur to my right.
A white kid with black markings was well hidden in the dappled shade but it had spotted me and flicked it ears glancing down the slope.
This directed me to it's mother which was about 10 metres further down also white with black markings.
Clearly spooked by the stranger the kid scampered down to the nanny and stood right beside it; that was its last mistake.
I dropped and crept forward slowly then got into a comfortable seated position.
Then I lifted The Judge, my T3 Lite Stainless in 9.3x62, and wound the Linx 1.75-5x20 scope right up aiming roughly for the nanny's forequarters as it proved a bigger target and knew the kid would hang around if the nanny collapsed.
I squeezed the trigger, the drop of the slope put the 270gr Speer Semi Spitzer into the kid's neck and it kicked over and lay still.
A pic taken later of the kid.
The nanny ran about 3 metres and looked back.
It copped another round from the Judge which passed behind the front leg.
It ran around the spur behind some bushes and I climbed down as quickly as possible in pursuit.
By now I was out of ammo, both of my heels had shocking blisters and the sun was beginning to gain strength.
I followed the goat down a little further but it quickly collapsed under a bush and I ended its suffered with my knife.
The nanny......the dark patch behind the front leg was the entry wound.
The Speer had made a 9.3 cal entry wound but on the far side it had exited making a hole the size of a soft ball and much of the intenstines were hanging out.
Perhaps a little overkill.
So, without a camera I was forced to descend painfully back to camp but with some foresight I made large markings on the bark of the trees so I could return late in the day and take some pics.
So in the end I was back in camp around 9:15am, the whole episode over in around 3 hours.
I spent the rest of the day trying to rest my heels and then, with constant comments of "You're a mad bastard!" from Peter I bandaged and taped both heels, put on 2 pairs of socks and scaled the spur once more at 5:30pm while the light was still strong, this time with the Judge AND a small pack carrying the camera, spare ammo, sunburn cream, a hand held UHF radio to keep contact and water.
It took me an hour and after finding and taking pics of the goats I continued up in the hope of spotting and nailing another one or 2 coming back across the hills in the evening.
But there were no more that day so after taking some pics I descended back down the spur and then to camp, being reminded by the pain in my knees that I need to loose at least 25lbs and that goats are truly nature's little Haflingers.
Yours truly and the hills to the west.
Looking across the hills above Meglo Creek where we'd stalked the goats.
Peter was stunned that I'd done the climb twice in a day and he said $500 wouldn't get him up that slope again.
For $1000 he said he watch me from the bottom with binos!
From there we didn't bother planning further hunting.
We enjoyed the last of the beer which had been steadily consumed over the preceding hot days, had dinner and then decided to pack up camp as soon as we were up the next day.
Last of the beer!
We were up again at 6am on Friday packing as quickly as possible as there were signs of rain and it would've made the tracks impassable, even by 4x4.
We found ourselves at the homestead at 9am and back at my house 100kms south by 11am having a cup of tea and relaxing.
All in all a fairly easy day, but then I'd learnt a few lessons over the past 4 days and for those who haven't already cottoned on here they are:
- Be persistent, keep your eyes open and do what it takes.
- Don't expect the game to come to you.......be willing to go to it.
- NEVER leave camp without all of the basics, especially water - God was
looking after us but I wouldn't count on him to let us get away with another stupid mistake like that. - Lastly, take the rifle that suits the task.....if I'd taken something that weighed much more than the 6.5lbs the T3 does I would've had a very difficult time.
Here are a couple of pics from Friday:
Looking back toward the Meglo Creek valley and the next ridge where we had chased the goats.
Peter with the Disco and the homestead in background on top of the next ridge.
Incidentally, the horns from the last trip measured 34½" from tip to tip and are almost a full twist either side.
I estimate the Douglas Score should be over 100.
Here they are with the skull almost stripped:
A good boil and bleach should make them a good wall hanger.
Ironically the extra effort I had to make to get last weeks kid and nanny probably makes them more valuable on a personal level than this rack.
