I had planned on doing a live hunt, however, I didn't get the chance after a huge carry out.
I recently decided to head down to Victoria in Southern Australia to hunt Sambar again. Over the years things get in the way, and I havn't hunted Sambar anywhere near as much as I would have liked. When I do get down I usually spend a lot of time catching up with mates and not too much hunting ends up getting done. After a prick of a year on the injury front, I made a snap decision to head down and get into the hills for some good hunting. I called a mate and asked if it would be ok to pick his brains a bit on the areas he hunts and if he would mind if I headed into a place he had taken me before, for me, that is the right thing to do, all good, he said he was happy to help.
I arrived early Sunday morning and we got up into the bush for an afternoon hunt. After setting up my swag for a return in the dark, just as well too, I headed down into a system to hunt across a south west face. The feed in the area was ridiculous, just great to see. I contoured along for a while, glassing hot spots regularly and trying to stay above reentrants rather than have to climb through them. My mate, a hunter who really knows his country had suggested to head down towards the fringe areas, so, after not seeing a lot of sigh, I started to contour my way towards the bottom of the mountain. Coming to a gully head full of bracken, I started moving across the top to make walking a little easier, my leg strength still hasn't fully recovered yet after knee surgery, I certainly discovered this later that night. I came to a point where I decided to push through the bracken, which to many of you isn't that tall, but for me and my short legs, its bloody tall as and I started making a fair amount of noise trying to get through. This didn't bother me a whole lot, as I thought, 'ah well, anything close might take off, but I have only really just started hunting and things will settle down as I quiet down again'. Anyway, I cleared the fern as the face started to flatten a bit and then walked on to a nice fresh rub, which I inspected in typical deer hunter fashion. Moving along, I came around a large tree and there at about 60 yards is a big bodied mature stag, complete with grass in his one good antlers tops, happily chewing his cud, not overly sure what the good looking creature is staring back at him. Never being one to fool about shouldering a rifle when it is game on, I settled the crosshairs on the base of his neck, fully expecting him to turn and run, this all happened in a couple of milliseconds, from seeing him, realising he was a big bodied stag, only had what I thought was one antler to squeezing off a shot. A side on shot through the heart/lung area was out of the question as this was all behind a tree, so I let him have one under the point of his nose. The 338/06 boomed, and with a solid hit the stag swung too his right and lumbered off away from, disappearing within metres, disappearing due to a combination of the steepness of the country and to the fact he was down a sliding down an even steeper face behind him. I hurried down, thinking I should have just stuck it in his forehead, although I knew he was hit hard. as I passed the spot where he had been shot, the ground really started to fall away, and very quickly, I seen bracken and grass swaying about below me where he was sliding down the bank. Ever ready for that important follow up shot, which was never needed, I found him piled up against and under a log, which luckily stopped his decent even further down into the gully I had crossed at the head just before seeing the rub.
Wow, I have never felt like I did at that moment after shooting any other stag, the feeling was just euphoric and I went into a spin, not really knowing what to do, whether to check him out, get my stuff sorted or just sit down. It was my most satisfying hunting achievement to date, and the usual feelings of a hunter came across me. I always take plenty of photos, which was no easy task considering the near vertical slope he had ended up on. I tried my mate on the radio to no avail, I think he could hear me, but wanted me to carry out most of the meat on my own, ha ha, not really, more on that later. It actually took me a number of minutes before I actually went and sat with my stag and really savoured the moment. When I was parachuting as a soldier, on first exiting the plane, a phenomenon comes over you, known as sensory overload, where everything else around you is completely irrelevant as the adrenalin takes control, I was certainly experiencing this.
I started taking pics with my phone and camera, the issue was trying to set the camera up to get some pics with me in them. It wasn't working out real well, and I didn't want the dark to beat me, so I started to climb out to make contact with my mate. I didn't take any venison at this point, as I wanted the carcass whole for the pics. Heading back up the side of the mountain and discovering another really steep slope before topping out back at the track, I then headed for camp, all up hill, all the while trying to make contact with my mate.
Arriving back to an empty camp, buggar, I jumped in the Cruiser and drove back down to the point where I had come onto the track.
Parking up, I headed back down with a small tripod to help with taking some self timed pics, still, all the while trying to raise the big fella on the two way, I just know he was listening, ha ha. I set the camera up, pressed the shutter for 3 images after a 10 second delay, this was with mixed results as I only had 10 seconds then to slide down the slope on the bracken, leap the log behind the stag, pick up my rifle, plaster a silly grin on my good looking dile, ha ha and wait for the 3 exposures to go off, the first 2 pics in each set are pretty funny with me leaping about the place.
Butchering was the next consideration, I couldn't get at the carcass. Where he had slid down the bracken, it was know half holding him against the log, so out came the secateurs trying to clear a path under the log so as to drag at least one rear leg under to begin the process of meat recovery.
Eventually I got the first leg out of the bush onto the track and mate contact with my mate, just as dark was settling in, who then drove down to meet me. After his much appreciated congrats and showing a few pics we headed back in. This is where the fun really started, as know being dark, I couldn't navigate using the lay of the land and my GPS didn't want to play the game. Eventually after contouring, heading up and down, swearing I eventually navigated, if that's what you could call it, us back to my trophy.
The rest of the butchering job was every bit as difficult as the first leg I took out and we set off back towards the vehicles in the pitch black night with the aid of our headlamps, it wasn't exactly an easy walk either, the pics just don't do justice to the slope. Around midnight, two very happy and exhausted hunters arrived back at camp.
The antlers are not long, one just under 25 inches, 9 1/2 at the coronet, the other a malform, 30 inches being what everyone likes to strive for as a minimum, but he was a heavy old wily Sambar stag, the pinnacle of deer hunting for me. They are arguably amongst the most difficult to hunt game animals in the world. I usually crack a Sambar in some form when I get down, the plan is always crack the first I see, and then stag hunt from there, but this has, to date, been the pinnacle of my hunting adventures, the elation of getting a successful cracker of at him was sensational for me. Seeing him standing there looking up at me on a mountain bench was awesome.
Where I found him.
Getting ready for the hard work.
Larry Bartlett's Tag Bags, very happy with them.
Hope you enjoyed my adventure.
I recently decided to head down to Victoria in Southern Australia to hunt Sambar again. Over the years things get in the way, and I havn't hunted Sambar anywhere near as much as I would have liked. When I do get down I usually spend a lot of time catching up with mates and not too much hunting ends up getting done. After a prick of a year on the injury front, I made a snap decision to head down and get into the hills for some good hunting. I called a mate and asked if it would be ok to pick his brains a bit on the areas he hunts and if he would mind if I headed into a place he had taken me before, for me, that is the right thing to do, all good, he said he was happy to help.
I arrived early Sunday morning and we got up into the bush for an afternoon hunt. After setting up my swag for a return in the dark, just as well too, I headed down into a system to hunt across a south west face. The feed in the area was ridiculous, just great to see. I contoured along for a while, glassing hot spots regularly and trying to stay above reentrants rather than have to climb through them. My mate, a hunter who really knows his country had suggested to head down towards the fringe areas, so, after not seeing a lot of sigh, I started to contour my way towards the bottom of the mountain. Coming to a gully head full of bracken, I started moving across the top to make walking a little easier, my leg strength still hasn't fully recovered yet after knee surgery, I certainly discovered this later that night. I came to a point where I decided to push through the bracken, which to many of you isn't that tall, but for me and my short legs, its bloody tall as and I started making a fair amount of noise trying to get through. This didn't bother me a whole lot, as I thought, 'ah well, anything close might take off, but I have only really just started hunting and things will settle down as I quiet down again'. Anyway, I cleared the fern as the face started to flatten a bit and then walked on to a nice fresh rub, which I inspected in typical deer hunter fashion. Moving along, I came around a large tree and there at about 60 yards is a big bodied mature stag, complete with grass in his one good antlers tops, happily chewing his cud, not overly sure what the good looking creature is staring back at him. Never being one to fool about shouldering a rifle when it is game on, I settled the crosshairs on the base of his neck, fully expecting him to turn and run, this all happened in a couple of milliseconds, from seeing him, realising he was a big bodied stag, only had what I thought was one antler to squeezing off a shot. A side on shot through the heart/lung area was out of the question as this was all behind a tree, so I let him have one under the point of his nose. The 338/06 boomed, and with a solid hit the stag swung too his right and lumbered off away from, disappearing within metres, disappearing due to a combination of the steepness of the country and to the fact he was down a sliding down an even steeper face behind him. I hurried down, thinking I should have just stuck it in his forehead, although I knew he was hit hard. as I passed the spot where he had been shot, the ground really started to fall away, and very quickly, I seen bracken and grass swaying about below me where he was sliding down the bank. Ever ready for that important follow up shot, which was never needed, I found him piled up against and under a log, which luckily stopped his decent even further down into the gully I had crossed at the head just before seeing the rub.
Wow, I have never felt like I did at that moment after shooting any other stag, the feeling was just euphoric and I went into a spin, not really knowing what to do, whether to check him out, get my stuff sorted or just sit down. It was my most satisfying hunting achievement to date, and the usual feelings of a hunter came across me. I always take plenty of photos, which was no easy task considering the near vertical slope he had ended up on. I tried my mate on the radio to no avail, I think he could hear me, but wanted me to carry out most of the meat on my own, ha ha, not really, more on that later. It actually took me a number of minutes before I actually went and sat with my stag and really savoured the moment. When I was parachuting as a soldier, on first exiting the plane, a phenomenon comes over you, known as sensory overload, where everything else around you is completely irrelevant as the adrenalin takes control, I was certainly experiencing this.
I started taking pics with my phone and camera, the issue was trying to set the camera up to get some pics with me in them. It wasn't working out real well, and I didn't want the dark to beat me, so I started to climb out to make contact with my mate. I didn't take any venison at this point, as I wanted the carcass whole for the pics. Heading back up the side of the mountain and discovering another really steep slope before topping out back at the track, I then headed for camp, all up hill, all the while trying to make contact with my mate.
Arriving back to an empty camp, buggar, I jumped in the Cruiser and drove back down to the point where I had come onto the track.
Parking up, I headed back down with a small tripod to help with taking some self timed pics, still, all the while trying to raise the big fella on the two way, I just know he was listening, ha ha. I set the camera up, pressed the shutter for 3 images after a 10 second delay, this was with mixed results as I only had 10 seconds then to slide down the slope on the bracken, leap the log behind the stag, pick up my rifle, plaster a silly grin on my good looking dile, ha ha and wait for the 3 exposures to go off, the first 2 pics in each set are pretty funny with me leaping about the place.
Butchering was the next consideration, I couldn't get at the carcass. Where he had slid down the bracken, it was know half holding him against the log, so out came the secateurs trying to clear a path under the log so as to drag at least one rear leg under to begin the process of meat recovery.
Eventually I got the first leg out of the bush onto the track and mate contact with my mate, just as dark was settling in, who then drove down to meet me. After his much appreciated congrats and showing a few pics we headed back in. This is where the fun really started, as know being dark, I couldn't navigate using the lay of the land and my GPS didn't want to play the game. Eventually after contouring, heading up and down, swearing I eventually navigated, if that's what you could call it, us back to my trophy.
The rest of the butchering job was every bit as difficult as the first leg I took out and we set off back towards the vehicles in the pitch black night with the aid of our headlamps, it wasn't exactly an easy walk either, the pics just don't do justice to the slope. Around midnight, two very happy and exhausted hunters arrived back at camp.
The antlers are not long, one just under 25 inches, 9 1/2 at the coronet, the other a malform, 30 inches being what everyone likes to strive for as a minimum, but he was a heavy old wily Sambar stag, the pinnacle of deer hunting for me. They are arguably amongst the most difficult to hunt game animals in the world. I usually crack a Sambar in some form when I get down, the plan is always crack the first I see, and then stag hunt from there, but this has, to date, been the pinnacle of my hunting adventures, the elation of getting a successful cracker of at him was sensational for me. Seeing him standing there looking up at me on a mountain bench was awesome.
Where I found him.
Getting ready for the hard work.
Larry Bartlett's Tag Bags, very happy with them.
Hope you enjoyed my adventure.
