Dave’s Spot and Stalk Experience | Part II

Dave’s Spot and Stalk Experience | Part II

The Sika

We need to get closer, but we’re also in the eye line of this handsome Sika stag and its hind.

It was more than a hunt; it was also a test. Jeff has taken me across the Poronui Estate to find this stag. The previous day we’d covered all the necessaries: we’ve completed our health and safety checks, and gone to the gun range on site. I’d done my best to prove my skill with a firearm. Today, I just had to follow through.

At a distance of a hundred yards or so, we’re in a tricky territory. I’m not confident enough of a shot, so we need to close the gap – but we’re also at risk of standing out against the ridgeline. Right now, a shrub is providing enough cover for us to make a plan. Jeff spots a decaying log a few metres away, so we make a goal of getting there so I have something to lean against to take the shot.

We poke our heads out from behind the shrub, and wait for the deer to get distracted by grass so we can shift closer. It takes us a few minutes, biding our time, nudging closer, scrambling low to the ground, crawling to stay out of sight. All the while, my heart is thumping its way out of my chest. Every scuff of the dry grass, every crumple of twigs feels like it’s going to signal to the deer that it’s time to run. We edge closer, up to the log, and poke our heads over. The deer still haven’t noticed us.

I’ve only hunted Reds in the thick native forest of Te Urewera, where you’re just as likely to spook a deer as they are to spook you as you round a corner. So to get a chance to watch a deer – carefully, as quietly as possible – is rare. Especially at this range, and doubly so a Sika, known famously as a ‘ghost deer’, not just for their elusiveness but their uncanny ability to silently and instantly disappear.

In the few moments I get to watch them, their power becomes clearer than ever. With each movement, the light catches their pelt, revealing the shifting muscles underneath. But they’re also a beautiful and graceful animal too, with a keen awareness that makes them a formidable goal for any hunter.

Jeff loads the rifle, and passes it to me. In a whisper, he’s reaffirming where I need to place the shot – it’s broadside, but elevated, so I need to aim for just below the middle line to take it out quickly. But it’s also got some distance from me, and with my heart in my ears, it’s going to be a tough shot.

Even through the scope, the deer is still a small target. It’s still nibbling at the grass, its head down. And though the decaying log provides a good support, the adrenaline of the moment means the deer is wavering on the crosshairs. I slow my breathing, and the safety comes off.

And then, in those few moments, the wind hits our backs.

The stag looks up, directly at me, right through the scope.

I blink and squeeze the trigger.

The sound of thunder cracks the air.

We jump up; I flick the safety on.

We watch two deer disappear through the cover and down the hill.

Neither of us are sure that the shot’s been successful. I’m optimistic, but not confident. If I’d done it well, the stag should have dropped there and then.

Jeff calls Marty from the back of the Polaris, who’ll be able to pick up the scent from a few drops of blood. The way he’s pacing around, there’s not much to get excited about. And the more we look, the less we find.

We stalk around, heading downhill where we think they might have headed in the hopes of seeing a few splatters of red in the dirt, but it’s clean. No drops of blood on the grass, no sound of a staggering beast crashing through the undergrowth. A total miss. The only thing of interest Marty finds is an old pig jaw, which he happily carries with him.

I’m embarrassed and ticked off. So far, we’ve got a story to share back at the Lodge – but not yet a great one. Jeff tells me not to beat myself up over it, as we head back to the Polaris. He’s sure that there’s one waiting for me.

I tell him that I hope he’s right.