Dukats Journal of Hunting

Hunting in New Zealand had long been a dream of mine.  The majestic red stags with their massive crowned antlers and the beautiful full maned tahr are trophies like few others.  My brother-in-law, Fred, had booked the trip with Craigieburn Alpine Safaris www.craigieburn.com in January for a hunt in July of the same year. 

Johnny Westenra, the outfitter and owner of Craigieburn, operates the 42,000 acre ranch in the middle of the South Island of New Zealand.  He conducts free range hunting for a wide range of species on his ranch and has additional areas for chamois and tahr.

The New Zealand landscape we would be hunting, consisted of broad valleys with ridges and peaks rising straight out of the bottoms.  As we neared the ranch we began to see streams, rivers and several large lakes to compliment the mountain backdrop.  To say it was breathtaking would be an understatement and it was then I realized this would be a very physical hunt.

We awoke on our first day of hunting in the dark.  My wife and our six month old daughter made the trip, and even with the jet lag, my daughter was up well before daylight.  Finally the sun showed itself around 7:30 only to reveal a thick layer of fog.  There was no reason to climb mountains blanketed in fog, so we milled around the house for the next couple hours until it finally burned off. 

Johnny sent us up with Daniel, his only other guide, to have a look around for chamois.  Daniel grew up in the valley and the peaks and crags were his back yard.   He chose a steep, but grassy route up a mountain for Fred and I.  The plan was to hike to the top and glass our way across the ridgeline looking in the rocky shafts and slides on the opposite side. 

Day two of hunting, Fred and I split up.  Johnny located a good stag the day before and he and Fred headed off to find him.  Daniel and I headed out in search of chamois once again.  Unfortunately, the mountain Daniel planned on climbing was clouded in and we had to take an alternate route.  Once again, I did my best to keep up with Daniel’s ground gobbling pace.  We spent the day hiking and glassing, and more hiking and glassing.  Although the pace was not what it had been the previous day, the hiking was more technical with steeper slopes and rock strewn chutes.  Again we didn’t see or catch up with the chamois. 

As we finally gave in and headed down the mountain, Daniel began to point out fresh wild boar sign.  I didn’t think much of it, focusing on keeping my footing and toughing out another mountain decent.  Not more than a minute later as we jumped down a dirt bank there was the boar, high tailing it the other direction.  He was a big black pig, climbing the hill we had just descended.  I jerked my gun off my back, chambered a shell and searched for the boar in my scope. 

Making a classic rookie mistake, my scope was cranked up to 9X power and the first two shots fired at the pig were in vain.  He was too close and was moving through the scope too fast.  After two quick misses, I settled down and lowered the power.  We lost sight of the pig briefly and had to sprint to our right to get around the hillside.  We found him again and I took two more off-hand shots at the running boar as he weaved in and out of the brush.  He kept running.  I dropped to my stomach with my last bullet, steadied, and fired just before he disappeared into a bush at the edge of the ridge.  The slap of the bullet reverberated back to us and Daniel shouted “You got him mate, I was sure you had run out of bullets.  Good shot.”

He had taken the last shot through the bottom of his heart and was a stout healthy boar with a good set of pork chops.  The long day turned successful as the sun was disappearing.  We gutted the pig and with several miles to go, tied a rope to him and started the long drag to the car.  It was a pretty good hike without the boar, but pulling him through rocks, brush, over creeks and gullies made the trip a real work out.  Once again, the sweat was pouring down my face and burning my eyes.

Fred had some luck himself.  He and Johnny climbed a long ridge in search of the stag Johnny discovered the previous day.  As they searched the area, Johnny eventually spotted him near the flats on the bottom.  The stag was bedded and the only shot was from the back and above the stag, so a spine or neck shot, downhill with little room for error.  Two hours later, Fred could wait no longer for the stag to stand and decided he’d give it a try.  The stag was right at 200 yards and Fred got into prone position, took a good rest on a backpack, and centered the stag’s neck in the crosshairs.  The 30-06 roared and the stag never knew what hit him.  Johnny was elated with the shot, and Fred had a beautiful gold medal free ranging stag.  Our hard work had paid off with success on day two.

On day three, it was my turn to join Johnny in search of a stag.  We hitched a ride with one of Johnny’s ranch hands to the end of a long ridge.  The plan was to spend the day hiking the ridge searching for sign and stags as we went and ending our search with a hike to the house.  We started with a friendly climb up a valley that seemed to stretch forever.  There were deep canyons with flowing water and thick brush that looked perfect for a deer or elk to hide in.  The ridges and canyons reminded me of northern Nevada, with the sage brush replaced with lush grass.  The first climb was just a teaser as we crossed the bottom of a grassy valley and headed up a much steeper hill.  As with Daniel, Johnny marched right up the hill without slowing for a breather.  Although it was around 32 degrees F, I shed my coat on the first climb and was now soaking my camouflage shirt with sweat. 

I finally reached the top of the hill and found Johnny sitting on a rock waiting for me.  He assured me, the worst of the climb was over, and the hiking would be easier the rest of the day.  The top of the hill flattened out with canyons running down both sides and patches of thick timber.  We stalked along the edges of the timber, searching for fresh tracks or spore.  The shadowed edges had six to eight inches of snow and it was evident by the tracks that there were deer around.  Unfortunately, none of the tracks were fresh, so we continued our trek.  As I followed Johnny, it was obvious he was a highly experienced hunter by his stalking mannerisms and meticulous attention to detail. 

We would hike from one side of the ridge to the other, checking pockets and gullies, looking down canyons for the elusive red stags.  It was soon lunchtime and Johnny hiked off to make a loop as I ate.  He returned a half hour later with good news.  “I found some very fresh sign, made within the last two hours.  It may be a stag and I’m confident they are within 3 or 4 miles.”

My spirits lifted and we stalked over to a deep timbered canyon above a steep drop to the bottom with thick brush meandering up its base and sides.  We sat down in the crusted snow and began glassing.  After a thorough search, Johnny said, “You stay here, I’m going to hike around the edge of the ridge.  There are several smaller canyons and if I bump the deer, they will most likely run to this canyon.  They will either head for the trees at this elevation or disappear into the brush below.  Either way you should have a chance at a shot, so stay alert.”

To put it mildly, I was in awe.  As he fed across the bottom, Johnny and I trailed his progress from our vantage point above.  The stag didn’t know we were in the area, but would soon be feeding away from us.  I settled the scope on a rock and planted the crosshairs just over the top of his back.  We decided to let him stop before I took the shot, but not to wait much longer.  Johnny ranged the distance and it was just over 400 yards, a very long shot, but not impossible.

As I was watching the majestic stag through the scope, I could see he had great mass and beautiful crowns.  I tried to concentrate on the shot rather than the mass of bone on his head, but I knew he was much bigger than I had set my sites on for the hunt.  As I admired him in the midday sun, he decided it was a good time for a rest.  He dropped down near a patch of brush, for an afternoon nap.  The shot presented was poor and Johnny and I had another conference.  We decided I would put a stalk on the stag and see if I could get within 200 yards for an easier shot.

I put my rifle across my hips and began sliding on my backside from one clump of brush to another, trying to avoid the nasty shrubs covered in thorns.  After a half hour, I pulled out the rangefinder and checked my progress.  Three hundred yards and still no shot at the stag.  I continued my sliding descent moving from patch to patch of grass and shrubs.  I finally peaked over a sharp rock and found the stag in the rangefinder at 220 yards.  Perfect.

For the next two hours, I sat in the shade on a patch of snow and shivered.  The stag was enjoying a long nap in the sun and had no reason to stand.  I prayed the wind wouldn’t shift and I could hold my position until he stood.  I also hoped that I wouldn’t be shivering too much to make the shot.  As my teeth chattered and I wondered for the hundredth time whether I had put a shell in the chamber, the stag decided to stretch his muscles.

In an instant, he was standing and I steadied the crosshairs of the scope on his chest.  I clicked off the safety, and slowly squeezed the first shot.  Whap, a solid hit echoed up the ridge.  The stag hunched up and began moving to my right.  Whap, the second bullet impacted the stag and reverberated up the canyon.  Whap, bullet number three impacted the stag and he staggered and fell back to his left.  Three solid hits and the stag was down.  I jumped up and as I crested the small gully he had fallen behind, I saw a mass of antlers sticking above the grass.  I walked slowly up to the beautiful stag, admiring his beauty and massive crowns.  The hike back to the house was a long one under the stars, but the beauty of the New Zealand landscape on that night will forever stay in my mind.

Make the trip to New Zealand.  It is an unbelievable place, and Johnny Westenra is one of the most skilled hunters and guides I’ve had the opportunity to accompany.  For the hunter wanting a free ranging trophy, he would be hard to beat.  Determination is the key.  You will be awed by the landscape and the friendly kiwis, but if your hunting free range, don’t expect it to come easy.  You will earn your trophies.