Jaydog goes hunting: Tahr and Chamois in New Zealand
- Thread starter jaydog
- Start date
Sorry this took awhile- I got home jetlagged to hell and found out that I had to plan a two week work trip to South America and leave this weekend. Shania really knows how to keep the staff hopping! 
Day 1 started at first light. We loaded up the helicopter and did a short hop into the mountains. After unloading I watched the helicopter fly off and was amazed for the millionth time at the huge silence that followed. I've had fixed and rotary wing leave me in the bush since the 70's and going from the roar of the engine to the silence of the forest always leaves an impression.
[video]http://vid216.photobucket.com/albums/cc309/Jaydog70/NZ%20Tahr/P1010001.mp4[/video]
We unpacked, built camp and headed out for a 'quick rekkie'..... After following the stream up to the head of the valley and then topping out on the ridge (only a 2000' elevation gain!) we cut across a saddle into another bowl that looked promising.
The sun was turning me into a crisp and the tahr were sleeping the heat off but this looked like a great spot to settle in glassing for the evening. This bowl had a couple tarns, lots of rocky ledges and lots of green grass- tahr heaven. As we started down from the ridge an icy cold fog blew in and visibility dropped to 50m, not a good sign but such is life. We managed to spot two herds and sneak up to within 20m of one group with some bulls in it. Not huge, but ok and a great rush to put the crosshairs on each one while John glassed and aged them. With nothing being worthwhile we headed down to the valley bottom, seeing over 30 tahr in total, and walked home along the stream in the dark.
Camp had homemade curry and triple Moscow Mules so the 9h 'quick rekkie' didn't feel so bad. Luckily I had chosen a rock free spot for my tent too, as my sleeping pad had a leak and was flatter than a pancake!
Day 1 started at first light. We loaded up the helicopter and did a short hop into the mountains. After unloading I watched the helicopter fly off and was amazed for the millionth time at the huge silence that followed. I've had fixed and rotary wing leave me in the bush since the 70's and going from the roar of the engine to the silence of the forest always leaves an impression.
[video]http://vid216.photobucket.com/albums/cc309/Jaydog70/NZ%20Tahr/P1010001.mp4[/video]
We unpacked, built camp and headed out for a 'quick rekkie'..... After following the stream up to the head of the valley and then topping out on the ridge (only a 2000' elevation gain!) we cut across a saddle into another bowl that looked promising.
The sun was turning me into a crisp and the tahr were sleeping the heat off but this looked like a great spot to settle in glassing for the evening. This bowl had a couple tarns, lots of rocky ledges and lots of green grass- tahr heaven. As we started down from the ridge an icy cold fog blew in and visibility dropped to 50m, not a good sign but such is life. We managed to spot two herds and sneak up to within 20m of one group with some bulls in it. Not huge, but ok and a great rush to put the crosshairs on each one while John glassed and aged them. With nothing being worthwhile we headed down to the valley bottom, seeing over 30 tahr in total, and walked home along the stream in the dark.
Camp had homemade curry and triple Moscow Mules so the 9h 'quick rekkie' didn't feel so bad. Luckily I had chosen a rock free spot for my tent too, as my sleeping pad had a leak and was flatter than a pancake!
Guided. DIY is easy in NZ, but I didn't have time to mess around- this trip was planned with two week's notice.
I used a .308 with a muffler that John had used for government culling since the 80s. When I asked how many animals that rifle had shot he just laughed.... thousands....
Last winter I ended up using a Tikka .270 with a can to shoot Sika hinds in Ireland. Tons of fun to spot your own shots and no ear protection needed. Enough to ruin a Canadian for life!!
Yup, I met my share of that stuff. Did a long belly crawl up on a couple big bulls that took me right through some. Its hard to shoot with tears in your eyes......I've hunted tahr on public land (with a guide) SW of Christchurch. Watch out for spear grass. It's pretty tough stuff. Will punch through roper gloves and goretex pants. The area I hunted had some crevasse type features that I wasn't used to. The shrubs/veg in the subalpine can be pretty thick to work you're way through, thicker than what I've experienced in Alberta but probably on par with BC goat country.
It was fun and I'd hunt public land tahr in rugged country again. I did the hunt as a sideline thing for 4 days while my wife and I were on a honeymoon/vacation. She went for a train ride well I hunted
- Location
- West Quebec
Have fun man...
Day 2
We start by melting the frost with coffee, eggs, bacon, beans and toast. Then a second coffee just to make sure! Mount up and head downstream a bit and up over a saddle into a high valley. The terrain there looks fantastic and way down below we see four hunters with giant packs and blaze orange pack covers. Not sure their plans but we are far enough up the valley they won't reach us. We take our time glassing and moving as the morning is cool and there are animals out but nothing looks worthwhile.
By midday we have topped out in the valley and come across some great green areas (this is early fall so most grass in brown) that are mowed flat and full of tahr scat. At one point I can hear the tinkle of water underground and am dying of thirst so we dig down 3' and fill out bellies with cold tasty mountain water. NZ forgot to import giardia.
We decide to cross over the ridge into the next valley as John had seen large herds of bulls there before. Its only Day 2 but I'm starting to feel a little itch growing and am thinking that some nanny or kid is getting in peril with every step- we are talking feral animals after all! As we climb up some ledges we spot two bulls on a rocky peak behind us and watch them. They decide the intensity is too much and boot it up over the top, only to return two seconds later with 5 others in tow! John says 'move quick' and starts classifying them while I try to find a shooting spot on a 50 degree slope. Every time I find a tiny spot and try to get a rest I slide downhill.... things aren't looking good and I keep hearing "shoot the third one, shoot the fifth one, shoot the first one....". My fussing is enough movement they spot something (us) in the long grass and veer off to the right. Finally I just sit on my butt and ask for a range and animal- the answer is 325yards and the third bull. While I practice and shoot animals in the 300-400 yard range regularly, sitting and using my knees for a rest on a steep hill is far from ideal. I leaned in, controlled my breath, and shot and missed. The bulls stood in a line looking around (another bonus of a rifle silencer) and John said I had just shot a hair high. With a few more seconds to get my heartrate under control I shot again and dropped the tahr on the spot. Its laying in the grass by the scree slope on the left.
Walking up to the animal I could smell goat and it made me think- what an incredible animal and an incredible environment to hunt in. How lucky am I to be part of all this and have such an opportunity? I'm a born and bred meat hunter so taking the skin and skull but only enough meat to eat in camp felt odd to say the least, but the conservationist in me felt quite happy that there was one less feral animal left in NZ (even though I know my contribution is near zero). I was glad to have some time to spend with the bull before the processing took place. We took some photos, collected dinner and then made our way back to camp while continuing to glass. Arriving in camp well after dark with a pack heavy with tahr I had long lost count of the number of animals we had seen that day and was glad to give my knees a rest after the long downhill.
We start by melting the frost with coffee, eggs, bacon, beans and toast. Then a second coffee just to make sure! Mount up and head downstream a bit and up over a saddle into a high valley. The terrain there looks fantastic and way down below we see four hunters with giant packs and blaze orange pack covers. Not sure their plans but we are far enough up the valley they won't reach us. We take our time glassing and moving as the morning is cool and there are animals out but nothing looks worthwhile.
By midday we have topped out in the valley and come across some great green areas (this is early fall so most grass in brown) that are mowed flat and full of tahr scat. At one point I can hear the tinkle of water underground and am dying of thirst so we dig down 3' and fill out bellies with cold tasty mountain water. NZ forgot to import giardia.
We decide to cross over the ridge into the next valley as John had seen large herds of bulls there before. Its only Day 2 but I'm starting to feel a little itch growing and am thinking that some nanny or kid is getting in peril with every step- we are talking feral animals after all! As we climb up some ledges we spot two bulls on a rocky peak behind us and watch them. They decide the intensity is too much and boot it up over the top, only to return two seconds later with 5 others in tow! John says 'move quick' and starts classifying them while I try to find a shooting spot on a 50 degree slope. Every time I find a tiny spot and try to get a rest I slide downhill.... things aren't looking good and I keep hearing "shoot the third one, shoot the fifth one, shoot the first one....". My fussing is enough movement they spot something (us) in the long grass and veer off to the right. Finally I just sit on my butt and ask for a range and animal- the answer is 325yards and the third bull. While I practice and shoot animals in the 300-400 yard range regularly, sitting and using my knees for a rest on a steep hill is far from ideal. I leaned in, controlled my breath, and shot and missed.
The bulls stood in a line looking around (another bonus of a rifle silencer) and John said I had just shot a hair high. With a few more seconds to get my heartrate under control I shot again and dropped the tahr on the spot. Its laying in the grass by the scree slope on the left.
Walking up to the animal I could smell goat and it made me think- what an incredible animal and an incredible environment to hunt in. How lucky am I to be part of all this and have such an opportunity? I'm a born and bred meat hunter so taking the skin and skull but only enough meat to eat in camp felt odd to say the least, but the conservationist in me felt quite happy that there was one less feral animal left in NZ (even though I know my contribution is near zero). I was glad to have some time to spend with the bull before the processing took place. We took some photos, collected dinner
and then made our way back to camp while continuing to glass. Arriving in camp well after dark with a pack heavy with tahr I had long lost count of the number of animals we had seen that day and was glad to give my knees a rest after the long downhill.
- Location
- West Quebec
Great pics..
The story isn't over, its getting longwinded!
Day 3
I wake pretty happy for a guy who has been sleeping on the ground for a couple days. There isn't any frost this morning and tahr hate the heat so we gobble down serious portions of eggs, bacon, beans and toast and head out. I'm feeling strong and want to explore the edges of the valley we saw those tahr in the fog so have an extra coffee and get my laces nice and tight.
As we head upstream we see a lone bull moving up the mountain side. He's walking up loose scree faster than I can go down and we guess he fell asleep and got left down low by the rest of the herd. As we climb into the valley across from the mountain he is on we keep watching as he climbs 2000' in little over an hour and then lays down 50m away- and facing away- from 3 other bulls. Somebody is pissed! They are black dots on a mountain of pure scree and I put them out of my mind except to laugh at the tiff going on.
As we climb through the series of rock ledges and grassy patches the heat climbs and I start to wonder if 'almost the top' will be good enough today. A quick lunch beside a small stream gets me focused and I'm committed to exploring some of the rock fields that are hidden at the top. Good thing too- there are two small tarns up there and enough goat crap to fill a truck.
We are in the right spot and tuck ourselves into some rocks (top center of first photo below) to spend the day glassing and waiting for the afternoon grazing to start.
After a couple hours we start to see tahr. A group of 6, a group of 8, a group of 15...... By late afternoon there are 30+ tahr in one big group in the ledges at the top of the photo below and one small group of 6 off to the left side. Can't see the black dots without binos? Trust me, they are there and there are 3 bulls that have John excited. With the number of tahr he hunts that has me excited too!
You know how hunting is about the experience? The thrill of the chase, facing the elements, testing your mental and physical toughness? For every sweet high there is a bitter low to give it perspective..... My low comes in the form of a small plane. These tahr also get heli hunted by guys with deeper pockets than I and a different view of the chase. The tahr freak out and huddle all staring at the plane. It flies away with them still staring and I start to breathe again. After John calms down and stops giving me a Kiwi curse lesson I point out that the animals are all still there and we just have to know they are skittish when stalking. No big deal...... then the plane comes back! All hell breaks loose and the big herd takes off towards the river valley, scattering. Then out of nowhere the satellite herd of 6 goes barrelling by us and runs all the way down through our small valley, past the big herd, down over the ledge into the river valley and is gone. My understatement of the year was "Well that was something"!
We still know where a couple bulls are and climb down, sneak behind some rocks and do a very long, very painful belly crawl to get in position. Note to self: summer weight alpine clothes are useless against spear grass. Welders gloves and chaps likely are too. We can just see part of one bull and are looking for the others below us when the wind which has been in our face constantly puffs against the back of my neck. Five bulls, three of which are shooters, break from the rocks below and run for their lives away and down into a deep ravine. We race along behind, hoping to find them hiding in the ravine but they are gone. John and I split a chocolate bar and discuss the value of a great stalk versus an animal down, pass on some of the ok but not thrilling tahr left with the nannies and kids above us and head to the river valley. Its awhile until dark and we have a ways to get home.
Remember the band of brothers from the morning? The ones who thought it was funny to leave their buddy snoozing? Here they are, relationship mended and about 1/3 the way down the mountain. Don't bother squinting.
We look at a couple of the big patches of grass and figure if they stop to feed that its within shooting range for me. Not ideal, but not a bad end to such a day. Just then it was like the Dukes of Hazzard show started starring four tahr bulls- they started running at each other, spinning around, flaring their manes, bluff charging and running straight downhill in between each goof off scene! We cinch our packs down, wait for them to go behind a small ridge and run as fast as possible down the mountain and across the river below to reach a dry riverbed to hide in. At this point my knees are singing their own song and I'm panting like mad but they keep coming down and charge into the river and fresh green grass a couple hundred yards below us! I'm totally amazed at the scene before me but have no time to take it all in as we start our stalk again. Using the dry riverbeds and belly crawling in between we manage to get 50m away from the four who are busy feeding. Problem now is that they won't lift their heads and dark is fast upon us. With minutes of shooting light left we try an unusual hunting tactic.... announcing our presence. John clicks rocks, whistles and finally hoots at the bulls. Four heads pop up and they take off across the river flat. My instructions are "first or last" and now I wait for them to break stride and present a shot. Two hundred yards away they stop at the base of the mountain to look back and that's all I need. One shot and the bull drops in his tracks. I'm amazed at the day, the hunt and the experience of it all. Walking over to the bull John says "You know you had one chance and only a few seconds with what we did, right?". He's right, but that sentence sums up so many hunts for so many game in so many environments. My bull was stunning. A thick mane, great colour bands going down his back and 12.5" horns.
We sort the bull out for the night and walk home in the dark. Once in camp we had some steaks, some Moscow mules and then just sat quietly staring at the night sky. I've only seen skies that dark in northern Canada, Tanzania and now New Zealand- the southern cross, the milky way and fittingly Orion the hunter were our company at the end of such an incredible day.
Day 3
I wake pretty happy for a guy who has been sleeping on the ground for a couple days. There isn't any frost this morning and tahr hate the heat so we gobble down serious portions of eggs, bacon, beans and toast and head out. I'm feeling strong and want to explore the edges of the valley we saw those tahr in the fog so have an extra coffee and get my laces nice and tight.
As we head upstream we see a lone bull moving up the mountain side. He's walking up loose scree faster than I can go down and we guess he fell asleep and got left down low by the rest of the herd. As we climb into the valley across from the mountain he is on we keep watching as he climbs 2000' in little over an hour and then lays down 50m away- and facing away- from 3 other bulls. Somebody is pissed! They are black dots on a mountain of pure scree and I put them out of my mind except to laugh at the tiff going on.
As we climb through the series of rock ledges and grassy patches the heat climbs and I start to wonder if 'almost the top' will be good enough today.
A quick lunch beside a small stream gets me focused and I'm committed to exploring some of the rock fields that are hidden at the top. Good thing too- there are two small tarns up there and enough goat crap to fill a truck.
We are in the right spot and tuck ourselves into some rocks (top center of first photo below) to spend the day glassing and waiting for the afternoon grazing to start.
After a couple hours we start to see tahr. A group of 6, a group of 8, a group of 15...... By late afternoon there are 30+ tahr in one big group in the ledges at the top of the photo below and one small group of 6 off to the left side. Can't see the black dots without binos? Trust me, they are there and there are 3 bulls that have John excited. With the number of tahr he hunts that has me excited too!
You know how hunting is about the experience? The thrill of the chase, facing the elements, testing your mental and physical toughness? For every sweet high there is a bitter low to give it perspective..... My low comes in the form of a small plane. These tahr also get heli hunted by guys with deeper pockets than I and a different view of the chase. The tahr freak out and huddle all staring at the plane. It flies away with them still staring and I start to breathe again. After John calms down and stops giving me a Kiwi curse lesson I point out that the animals are all still there and we just have to know they are skittish when stalking. No big deal...... then the plane comes back! All hell breaks loose and the big herd takes off towards the river valley, scattering. Then out of nowhere the satellite herd of 6 goes barrelling by us and runs all the way down through our small valley, past the big herd, down over the ledge into the river valley and is gone. My understatement of the year was "Well that was something"!
We still know where a couple bulls are and climb down, sneak behind some rocks and do a very long, very painful belly crawl to get in position. Note to self: summer weight alpine clothes are useless against spear grass. Welders gloves and chaps likely are too. We can just see part of one bull and are looking for the others below us when the wind which has been in our face constantly puffs against the back of my neck. Five bulls, three of which are shooters, break from the rocks below and run for their lives away and down into a deep ravine. We race along behind, hoping to find them hiding in the ravine but they are gone. John and I split a chocolate bar and discuss the value of a great stalk versus an animal down, pass on some of the ok but not thrilling tahr left with the nannies and kids above us and head to the river valley. Its awhile until dark and we have a ways to get home.
Remember the band of brothers from the morning? The ones who thought it was funny to leave their buddy snoozing? Here they are, relationship mended and about 1/3 the way down the mountain. Don't bother squinting.
We look at a couple of the big patches of grass and figure if they stop to feed that its within shooting range for me. Not ideal, but not a bad end to such a day. Just then it was like the Dukes of Hazzard show started starring four tahr bulls- they started running at each other, spinning around, flaring their manes, bluff charging and running straight downhill in between each goof off scene! We cinch our packs down, wait for them to go behind a small ridge and run as fast as possible down the mountain and across the river below to reach a dry riverbed to hide in. At this point my knees are singing their own song and I'm panting like mad but they keep coming down and charge into the river and fresh green grass a couple hundred yards below us! I'm totally amazed at the scene before me but have no time to take it all in as we start our stalk again. Using the dry riverbeds and belly crawling in between we manage to get 50m away from the four who are busy feeding. Problem now is that they won't lift their heads and dark is fast upon us. With minutes of shooting light left we try an unusual hunting tactic.... announcing our presence. John clicks rocks, whistles and finally hoots at the bulls. Four heads pop up and they take off across the river flat. My instructions are "first or last" and now I wait for them to break stride and present a shot. Two hundred yards away they stop at the base of the mountain to look back and that's all I need. One shot and the bull drops in his tracks. I'm amazed at the day, the hunt and the experience of it all. Walking over to the bull John says "You know you had one chance and only a few seconds with what we did, right?". He's right, but that sentence sums up so many hunts for so many game in so many environments. My bull was stunning. A thick mane, great colour bands going down his back and 12.5" horns.
We sort the bull out for the night and walk home in the dark. Once in camp we had some steaks, some Moscow mules and then just sat quietly staring at the night sky. I've only seen skies that dark in northern Canada, Tanzania and now New Zealand- the southern cross, the milky way and fittingly Orion the hunter were our company at the end of such an incredible day.
Last edited:
The old man says "sometimes the sun shines on a dogs ass" and that pretty much sums up my life. 
I make beans but have a super agreeable wife and a super flexible job. In the next two weeks I will fly 33,000km to get my job done and with any luck there will be a rabbit hunt in the Falkland Islands involved- but that is another thread if I can make it happen. In the meantime, I just feel lucky for every day in the field I get.
For years 200+ field days a year were the norm but as I got older and had a family that became less reasonable. Taking every chance to get out and hunt is the compromise. No hunt is too short, too weird or too small..... 30 minutes of crows before work is still 30 minutes more than I would have if I lay in bed dreaming of hunting.
I make beans but have a super agreeable wife and a super flexible job. In the next two weeks I will fly 33,000km to get my job done and with any luck there will be a rabbit hunt in the Falkland Islands involved- but that is another thread if I can make it happen. In the meantime, I just feel lucky for every day in the field I get. For years 200+ field days a year were the norm but as I got older and had a family that became less reasonable. Taking every chance to get out and hunt is the compromise. No hunt is too short, too weird or too small..... 30 minutes of crows before work is still 30 minutes more than I would have if I lay in bed dreaming of hunting.
