Dave’s Spot and Stalk Experience | Part III

Dave’s Spot and Stalk Experience | Part III

The Fallow

So far, I’m gutted. I’d been talking up my hunting game to Jeff all morning – but when the time came to take the shot and drop my first Sika stag, I missed.

It’s hard not to regret a miss. I’m reliving those last few moments before I took the shot, trying to figure out exactly what went wrong. Jeff had set me up in a good position; I had the log to rest against, and a clear line of sight to the stag. The Sika was broadside, slightly elevated. I had the crosshair where it needed to be.

But then the self-doubt kicks in. I was too impatient. My hands were wavering too much, or I was breathing too fast. I pulled the trigger instead of squeezing it, sending the barrel too high. Did I see a lick of dust kick up behind the stag, where the shot hit the soil?

We climb back into the Polaris with Marty in the back, and Jeff suggests another valley, where the sound of the earlier shot won’t have been heard, and where we’ve got a good chance of finding something new. It’s also getting to the peak of the day, and the deer will likely be sunning themselves; we’re best to mosey for a few hours and wait until it starts getting dark, when they will come back out to feed.

Jeff can tell I’m annoyed at myself. He understands. We’ve all gone home with empty casings and no trophies at least once. As Jeff points out, it’s better to learn from it than bully yourself over it. As we wind around the estate, we swap stories of misses and near-misses, mis-fires and mistakes we’ve made over the years.

And successes, too. Jeff’s been hunting since he was a young lad, and working as a hunting guide at Poronui for a few years, so he’s got plenty of stories to share – of his first big trophy deer, stocking up the freezer, the firearm skills of his daughters (one of whom is a hunting guide herself). He reminds me that it’s only by being there that you get a good yarn. Being there is sometimes all you really need. The trophy or the meat are a bonus.

The shrub opens up to a huge golden valley. I’ve got my camera with me, and Jeff suggests I stalk some Reds and get some pictures, generously stopping the Polaris every time we spook a pheasant or pig or ram, or a Red eyes us from a distance.

By this point, the sun is heading down. We drive to the edge of this valley, and Jeff parks the Polaris up so that we can quietly stalk over the ridgeline. It’s a pleasant walk in the cooling air, and we continue chatting, cutting around old fences and spotting the odd antler shed in previous seasons.

The light is fading as we round a corner and the shrub changes to low flora. We spot a fallow buck.

Jeff and I both freeze, and silently dart behind the nearest shrub. He asks me if I’d be happy with a fallow. Fallow meat is generally more tender than Red or Sika, and their palmated antlers are a thing of beauty. I say yes.

This buck is less than a hundred yards away, but we haven’t got a clean shot, so we once again have to get closer without spooking it or its harem. Jeff jumps down into a cut in the land, and I follow his lead so we can get closer. We’re both trying not to be heard, but the scree shifting beneath our boots might give us away.

We’re now close enough, just covered by a mānuka bush. Jeff hands me the gun. I pull the rifle up to my shoulder, line it up, safety off, breathe once, and squeeze the trigger.

A flash of light, and the deer drops. There’s no question of it.

I put the safety on and handed the rifle back to Jeff. The adrenaline’s set in, so I’m breathless as we move closer to the deer to confirm the kill. Seeing it close up, it’s easier to appreciate its stunning pelt and handsome antlers. I’m absolutely over the moon. Jeff pats me on the back, shakes my hand and congratulates me on a great shot: right behind the front shoulder, in a good spot to make a quick kill. We’re both grinning ear to ear.

We take a couple of quick pictures, and Jeff disappears to get the Polaris. In no time, he’s returned; we load the buck onto the back, and make our way back to the Lodge via the butchery freezers, radioing our ETA to the Lodge. The whole time, we’re replaying and retelling the events: the missed shot, the sheer odds of seeing the fallow, scrambling to get that perfect shot.

We make it to the Lodge just as the other guests are sitting down at the long table – others dressed for dinner, and us still in hunting clothes. Our chef is explaining that night’s main course – slow braised and smoked beef cheek, rainbow carrots roasted with Poronui’s own honey, autumn salad. We take our seats.

Before we start eating, each of the guides takes a moment to congratulate guests on their successful days harvesting deer and fly fishing the gin-clear waters, and we all toast for each. Jeff shares that our success was me getting my first fallow buck, and in the last minutes of the day, no less. We all toast again. And, he adds, we got a good story out of it too.

Dave Taylor and his trophy Fallow Buck