Paul R
16-06-08, 11:44 PM
I had a day off today and felt like wasting time banging on the keyboard so here’s a long winded account of the hunt I had on the long weekend a week ago.
Bumbling success
The long weekend in June has traditionally been the Rea clan’s annual hunting trip. I can remember always attending in years past with my family, where along with my brother and sisters we had a great time hunting and enjoying the company of our many cousins. My extended family is a large one, I can remember one long weekend we had nearly 60 members of the family attending the hunt, which made for some great games of brandy and bedlam and to see the firepower unleashed at the shooting competitions was simply awesome. We had many great hunts and adventures together over the years, with a highlight always being the nightly session around the camp fire, listening to the outlandish stories told by my Father and Uncles. The tradition has continued, although in recent years the annual hunt has evolved into a male only event. This year we gathered together on one of the properties we have access to in the Tenterfield area. Only 14 of us could attend and unfortunately due to commitments at work, I was only able to join them on the Sunday night and the Monday.
I am the only bowhunter among them all, the rest are rifle shooters, but I do have a cousin who likes to fling arrows with me every now and again. We normally do it a bit hard with all of the cannons going off in the hills around us, however we usually enjoy ourselves and this year was no exception. After the 3 ½ hour drive to the property, I caught up with the lads for a yarn or two around the campfire on the Sunday night, had a few hours sleep and then spent all of Monday hunting the hills by myself, from sunup until sundown. It was a good day with plenty of game sighted and a few good stalks thrown in.
I was out before the sun was up searching for pigs in some likely gullies, hoping to catch a good boar out and about. I spent a couple of hours looking for those elusive hogs but unfortunately I couldn’t find any. There was plenty of sign around but I think the rifle boys had chased them all up into the deep gullies on the mountain slopes. I haven’t shot a pig in awhile so I decided to focus my efforts there and hopefully I’d get the drop on a boar or two in some of the secret gullies I knew of, high on top of the range.
After a hard hike up the escarpment, I was putting in my first stalk, not on a pig but instead I’d bumped into a mob of goats moving out from their bedding area to feed in the sun. I got into 15m from a couple of billys on the periphery of the mob, but the silver leaf scrub was too thick for a shot. I moved to the left to try and find a clear shooting lane through the undergrowth but I was immediately picked up by a nanny, who it seemed, could miraculously see through thick cover. I had a stand off for a few minutes with the few goats I could see, as they snorted and tried to work out what I was before moving off. I followed after them but they moved off a couple of hundred meters, to settle in a step gully under some fig trees at the base of a cliff. It surprised me that these goats were so switched on and I could only put it down to my cousins and their thunder sticks. I could hear some rutting billys in the mob so I sat down and watched them for a while, the cover was too thick and I couldn’t see much so I decided to let them settle. I figured that I could go and hunt some gullies that I hoped held some pigs and come back in a couple of hours when these goats had dropped their guard and begun to feed again.
I headed for the head of a long valley which I knew always held a few pigs and after an hour wasted back tracking to pick up my jacket which had fallen out of my pack, I finally arrived at the valley floor. A couple of minutes of walking down the creek and I came across some fresh pig sign, there was a heap of rooting and over the next hundred meters the sign increased. When I came across some fresh pig dung I knew I was close, the heart rate increased and the adrenalin started to flow, so when a pig materialised in the creek in front of me I wasn’t surprised but the excitement level was high. I was only 20m from the young boar as he was happily digging up the soft ground, so I decided to move closer, big mistake, I got to 15m and felt the ever swirling mountain wind touch the back of my neck. Before I could raise the longbow to shoot, up came the boars head and he turned and bolted, disappearing into the reeds. The wind swung around and became steady again and from the sign I knew there was more than one pig in this valley, so I continued down the creek with the hope of finding some more. There was a patch of reeds that I had searched a couple of weeks previously, that was a well used bedding area for pigs and as I moved further down the creek closer to it, I could sense that something was going to happen. The smell of pig became very strong, the heart rate rose again in anticipation and I moved up to look around the base of a tree in the middle of the reeds, where I had seen most of the beds previously. I was 15m from the tree searching the thick clumps of reeds for the shape of a pig, when I noticed in my peripheral vision something odd 5m to my right. Turning to look I realised it was a large pig lying doggo in the grass, I quickly raised my bow only to see the pig explode out of his bed before I could draw. The pig raced across my front as I drew and released…… sending an arrow harmlessly over his back as he bounced up and down through the reeds. I watched what turned out to be a massive boar run off across the open grassland and into the scrub.
In my defence he had made himself a bed on the edge of an old sow’s nest and the reason why I hadn’t seen him earlier is because he was the colour of the dead grass, a really light brown with a couple of small black patches. If he was black I would have seen him straight away, at least that was my excuse anyway. Even though I kept repeating my excuse over and over to myself like a mantra, it still didn’t lessen the disappointment of missing out on a boar of that calibre, they’re not that common in those hills. That’s hunting though and I felt privileged to have been so close to him and flung an arrow his way. He was a great looking boar with a big boof head and wide chest and hopefully I’ll meet up with him again soon.
On the walk back up the creek I spooked another couple of small pigs out of the reeds and an hour later I was back up on the mountain tops, having some lunch while I watched the same mob of goats I’d bumped into earlier. I could still hear some rutting billys amongst the mob, but still couldn’t see them through the scrub. They were laid up in the same steep, thickly vegetated gully and looked content to stay for a while longer. There was another mob of goats further down in the valley and another laid up on the opposite slope, so I sat back quite content to stay and watch them while I scoffed down a bit of tucker. The plan was to wait for them to eventually come out of the virtually inaccessible re-entrant they were camped in, so I could stalk them on the gentler slopes below. An hour later after ringing my wife and having a quick nap, the goats still hadn’t moved so I decided to try a stalk on them where they were bedded.
Now I’m not the most coordinated bloke and this was a hard stalk, I spent an hour crawling down a very steep slope covered in loose sharp rocks and needless to say I ended up with a few new bruises on my knees as well as suffering from a few face plants on hard rocks along the way. I finally and painfully stalked to within 50m from the mob of goats when, much to my chagrin (that’s for you Ant) some of the goats decided to move out to graze. Dang it to heck (see no swearing) all those bruises for nothing, I could have had another hours kip in the sun and a much easier stalk, instead of tumbling like a slow motion human landslide down the cliff face. If I hurried I could still get there in time so I scrambled back up the slope and around and down onto a much easier gradient, to try and ambush the billy that had followed a few of the nannies and kids out to feed. By the time I got there, the billy was about 40m away, standing broadside to me on a large rock surveying the valley beneath him. The wind and terrain left me with only one approach, straight ahead. I slithered or rather bounced on my belly to 25m from the billy where the cover ran out. I was slightly above the goat and there was an ironbark tree in between us, which luckily for me was obscuring the billys head and allowed me to get to my feet for a shot. The billy still knew that something wasn’t right and kept looking in my direction. There were bushes blocking me in but all I had to do was to squeeze an arrow 2 inches to the left of the tree trunk standing in between us and I’d hit him clean through the boiler room. No worries. I concentrated, drew, anchored and released…….thunk, doh….my arrow had imbedded itself smack bang in the middle of the tree. Alrighty then, I guess my concentration had switched itself to the tree at the last moment, no worries, I’ll just concentrate a bit harder. I went through the process again, concentrate harder this time, draw, anchor release……..thunk, double doh…..this one had hit in the middle of the tree right beside the other arrow. You’ve got to be joking I thought to my self, focus man focus, good grouping though. The billy was still unaware that he had been spared death by the wondering mind of a fool, so I tried again. Concentrate, bore a hole through the spot, visualise the arrow hitting it’s mark, draw….still focussed, anchor….still focussed, release……..woomp my arrow smacked into the goat tight behind the shoulder, woohoo! The billy took off out of my view over the other side of the spur. It was a good shot so I spent five minutes recovering my arrows which were stuck in the tree. They were 9 feet up and with the use of a stick I managed to unscrew the carbon shafts, but the Wensel woodsman broadheads had to stay. Approaching the last place I’d seen the billy after the shot, I found a good blood trail and after following it for 40m, I found the billy expired halfway down a cliff face. He was a young fat billy and didn’t smell too bad, so after a few photos I took his rear legs and back straps to make some jerky.
http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b198/PaulRea/100_0700.jpg
I walked back to look over the basin hoping that the rest of the billys would move out of their mountain fastness to graze in the afternoon sun. Every now and then I could hear the bellowing of rutting billys and the sharp crack of horn on horn as they fought over the in-season nannies.
Finally I could see some movement as some goats started to head towards the basin bellow. I determined where they were going and quickly scarpered down the slope to cut them off, making it to a couple of large granite boulders and pulling out the camera just in time to see the first goats emerge in front of me.
A few nannies appeared first, followed by this bloke.
http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b198/PaulRea/100_0703.jpg
Then this bloke made an appearance.
http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b198/PaulRea/100_0706.jpg
This fella then decided to join them as well.
http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b198/PaulRea/100_0713.jpg
I could still see some movement up on the slope behind so I waited to see what else would appear.
http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b198/PaulRea/100_0714.jpg
It wasn’t long before this great looking billy showed up.
http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b198/PaulRea/100_0719.jpg
Last of all, the big old and wise patriarch snuck down to join the rest of the mob.
http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b198/PaulRea/100_0721.jpg
http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b198/PaulRea/100_0722.jpg
These last two billys were the biggest I have seen to date in this area, well worth waiting for and man was I excited at the prospect of getting a stalk and perhaps a shot at one of these mountain monarchs. They were both very cautious and reluctant to come out into the open and always positioned themselves at the back of the mob. The big old white billy with the curly horns was the most cagy of all. He had his own personal nanny to keep watch for him and she was always on the lookout. If she relaxed her vigil at all he reminded her with a dig in the side with his horns. She was very perceptive and getting within range was going to be difficult. After ¾ of an hour of patiently waiting, watching and taking photos I finally had some luck. The big white fellow must have decided everything was alright because he started to feed out closer to my position. This was it, I was going to get a shot at the big fellow and even I very rarely miss at this distance. The heart rate increased, the adrenaline started to flow again and I anticipated success. I was still sitting behind the boulders as he passed below me broadside at 20m, I drew and released…….the arrow landed short and skimmed under his body. SON OF A MOTHERLESS GOAT! What a stuff up. In all my crawling and belly bouncing down the slope, my arm guard had come loose and slipped around the other side of my arm. There was nothing stopping the loose sleeve of my 3d suit from getting in the way of the string of my bow and that’s exactly what had happened and because I was sitting down when I made the shot the effect was even worse. Damn it and confound it all (damn isn’t really a swear word in Australia). I sat tight and luckily for me the goats didn’t know what had happened and settled down after a few minutes. They were on a heightened alert level now and it was going to be difficult getting within range of the big fellow again, who was now once more hanging around at the back of the mob closest to the thick scrub. Over the next hour and a half I slowly moved in until I had goats only 10m in front of me, but the big billy was hanging around at the 35 m mark. I was down to one arrow and wanted to be nice and close when I used it. It was getting late, the big billy would not move any closer, I had an hour left of light with an hour and a half walk back to the car and no torch. I tried and tried to get closer but every time I moved that ever vigilant nanny would pick me up. I started to push it a bit too much and the sentry nanny was getting uncomfortable. Finally the big white billy and his nanny had enough and started to move back up into their mountain fastness with the rest of the mob following. They didn’t really know what I was but it was enough to move them on. Luckily for me they decided to pause in a patch of scrubby bushes around a fallen tree for a quick last browse, so I decided it was now or never. I pinned my ears back and scooted up behind them as quickly and quietly as I could, in reality I was slow and noisy and I expected them to discover me and bolt at any second but to my surprise it didn’t happen and I soon found myself in amongst the mob. The big white billy who had been leading the mob was about 20m in front of me chewing on a shrub. I climbed up on the big fallen tree and ran along it knocking an arrow as I did. When I came to the end of the log the billy was only 12m in front of me and I quickly drew and released before he could react. To my shock I watched my arrow sail harmlessly past his tail. Now I’m not the worlds best shot but even I can hit a goat broadside at 12m, it was then that I noticed in the gloom of the gully, a dead branch of a silver leaf bush sticking up between us that must have deflected my arrow. Talk about more bad luck and to make matters worse I was all out of arrows except for the two shafts without broadheads and one tipped with a judo. I was on the log with goats all around me, including two billys with the longest horns I’ve ever seen on this property and I couldn’t do a thing about it except stand there looking silly. I let out a big “OI” as the big black and white billy walked past at 2m and the mob took off for higher ground.
It was overcast and going to be a dark night, I usually have a head torch in my pack but being a knuckle head I’d left it back at camp and the last thing I wanted to do was to try and walk out of those mountains in the dark. As I wrote earlier I’m uncoordinated at the best of times, put me on a mountain slope in the dark and I’d kill myself and my wife would never forgive me, so I took off for lower ground. I past another couple of small mobs of goats on the half jog/scramble/stumble back to the car and arrived just on dark. It took me 10 minutes to pack up camp and I was back on the road heading for home.
http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b198/PaulRea/100_0725.jpg
http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b198/PaulRea/100_0726.jpg
I had a great days hunting, one that I’d thoroughly enjoyed. I’d stumbled upon some great animals and had some great stalks, I’d had some good luck and some bad luck, but that’s bowhunting and I love it for all that it is.
Bumbling success
The long weekend in June has traditionally been the Rea clan’s annual hunting trip. I can remember always attending in years past with my family, where along with my brother and sisters we had a great time hunting and enjoying the company of our many cousins. My extended family is a large one, I can remember one long weekend we had nearly 60 members of the family attending the hunt, which made for some great games of brandy and bedlam and to see the firepower unleashed at the shooting competitions was simply awesome. We had many great hunts and adventures together over the years, with a highlight always being the nightly session around the camp fire, listening to the outlandish stories told by my Father and Uncles. The tradition has continued, although in recent years the annual hunt has evolved into a male only event. This year we gathered together on one of the properties we have access to in the Tenterfield area. Only 14 of us could attend and unfortunately due to commitments at work, I was only able to join them on the Sunday night and the Monday.
I am the only bowhunter among them all, the rest are rifle shooters, but I do have a cousin who likes to fling arrows with me every now and again. We normally do it a bit hard with all of the cannons going off in the hills around us, however we usually enjoy ourselves and this year was no exception. After the 3 ½ hour drive to the property, I caught up with the lads for a yarn or two around the campfire on the Sunday night, had a few hours sleep and then spent all of Monday hunting the hills by myself, from sunup until sundown. It was a good day with plenty of game sighted and a few good stalks thrown in.
I was out before the sun was up searching for pigs in some likely gullies, hoping to catch a good boar out and about. I spent a couple of hours looking for those elusive hogs but unfortunately I couldn’t find any. There was plenty of sign around but I think the rifle boys had chased them all up into the deep gullies on the mountain slopes. I haven’t shot a pig in awhile so I decided to focus my efforts there and hopefully I’d get the drop on a boar or two in some of the secret gullies I knew of, high on top of the range.
After a hard hike up the escarpment, I was putting in my first stalk, not on a pig but instead I’d bumped into a mob of goats moving out from their bedding area to feed in the sun. I got into 15m from a couple of billys on the periphery of the mob, but the silver leaf scrub was too thick for a shot. I moved to the left to try and find a clear shooting lane through the undergrowth but I was immediately picked up by a nanny, who it seemed, could miraculously see through thick cover. I had a stand off for a few minutes with the few goats I could see, as they snorted and tried to work out what I was before moving off. I followed after them but they moved off a couple of hundred meters, to settle in a step gully under some fig trees at the base of a cliff. It surprised me that these goats were so switched on and I could only put it down to my cousins and their thunder sticks. I could hear some rutting billys in the mob so I sat down and watched them for a while, the cover was too thick and I couldn’t see much so I decided to let them settle. I figured that I could go and hunt some gullies that I hoped held some pigs and come back in a couple of hours when these goats had dropped their guard and begun to feed again.
I headed for the head of a long valley which I knew always held a few pigs and after an hour wasted back tracking to pick up my jacket which had fallen out of my pack, I finally arrived at the valley floor. A couple of minutes of walking down the creek and I came across some fresh pig sign, there was a heap of rooting and over the next hundred meters the sign increased. When I came across some fresh pig dung I knew I was close, the heart rate increased and the adrenalin started to flow, so when a pig materialised in the creek in front of me I wasn’t surprised but the excitement level was high. I was only 20m from the young boar as he was happily digging up the soft ground, so I decided to move closer, big mistake, I got to 15m and felt the ever swirling mountain wind touch the back of my neck. Before I could raise the longbow to shoot, up came the boars head and he turned and bolted, disappearing into the reeds. The wind swung around and became steady again and from the sign I knew there was more than one pig in this valley, so I continued down the creek with the hope of finding some more. There was a patch of reeds that I had searched a couple of weeks previously, that was a well used bedding area for pigs and as I moved further down the creek closer to it, I could sense that something was going to happen. The smell of pig became very strong, the heart rate rose again in anticipation and I moved up to look around the base of a tree in the middle of the reeds, where I had seen most of the beds previously. I was 15m from the tree searching the thick clumps of reeds for the shape of a pig, when I noticed in my peripheral vision something odd 5m to my right. Turning to look I realised it was a large pig lying doggo in the grass, I quickly raised my bow only to see the pig explode out of his bed before I could draw. The pig raced across my front as I drew and released…… sending an arrow harmlessly over his back as he bounced up and down through the reeds. I watched what turned out to be a massive boar run off across the open grassland and into the scrub.
In my defence he had made himself a bed on the edge of an old sow’s nest and the reason why I hadn’t seen him earlier is because he was the colour of the dead grass, a really light brown with a couple of small black patches. If he was black I would have seen him straight away, at least that was my excuse anyway. Even though I kept repeating my excuse over and over to myself like a mantra, it still didn’t lessen the disappointment of missing out on a boar of that calibre, they’re not that common in those hills. That’s hunting though and I felt privileged to have been so close to him and flung an arrow his way. He was a great looking boar with a big boof head and wide chest and hopefully I’ll meet up with him again soon.
On the walk back up the creek I spooked another couple of small pigs out of the reeds and an hour later I was back up on the mountain tops, having some lunch while I watched the same mob of goats I’d bumped into earlier. I could still hear some rutting billys amongst the mob, but still couldn’t see them through the scrub. They were laid up in the same steep, thickly vegetated gully and looked content to stay for a while longer. There was another mob of goats further down in the valley and another laid up on the opposite slope, so I sat back quite content to stay and watch them while I scoffed down a bit of tucker. The plan was to wait for them to eventually come out of the virtually inaccessible re-entrant they were camped in, so I could stalk them on the gentler slopes below. An hour later after ringing my wife and having a quick nap, the goats still hadn’t moved so I decided to try a stalk on them where they were bedded.
Now I’m not the most coordinated bloke and this was a hard stalk, I spent an hour crawling down a very steep slope covered in loose sharp rocks and needless to say I ended up with a few new bruises on my knees as well as suffering from a few face plants on hard rocks along the way. I finally and painfully stalked to within 50m from the mob of goats when, much to my chagrin (that’s for you Ant) some of the goats decided to move out to graze. Dang it to heck (see no swearing) all those bruises for nothing, I could have had another hours kip in the sun and a much easier stalk, instead of tumbling like a slow motion human landslide down the cliff face. If I hurried I could still get there in time so I scrambled back up the slope and around and down onto a much easier gradient, to try and ambush the billy that had followed a few of the nannies and kids out to feed. By the time I got there, the billy was about 40m away, standing broadside to me on a large rock surveying the valley beneath him. The wind and terrain left me with only one approach, straight ahead. I slithered or rather bounced on my belly to 25m from the billy where the cover ran out. I was slightly above the goat and there was an ironbark tree in between us, which luckily for me was obscuring the billys head and allowed me to get to my feet for a shot. The billy still knew that something wasn’t right and kept looking in my direction. There were bushes blocking me in but all I had to do was to squeeze an arrow 2 inches to the left of the tree trunk standing in between us and I’d hit him clean through the boiler room. No worries. I concentrated, drew, anchored and released…….thunk, doh….my arrow had imbedded itself smack bang in the middle of the tree. Alrighty then, I guess my concentration had switched itself to the tree at the last moment, no worries, I’ll just concentrate a bit harder. I went through the process again, concentrate harder this time, draw, anchor release……..thunk, double doh…..this one had hit in the middle of the tree right beside the other arrow. You’ve got to be joking I thought to my self, focus man focus, good grouping though. The billy was still unaware that he had been spared death by the wondering mind of a fool, so I tried again. Concentrate, bore a hole through the spot, visualise the arrow hitting it’s mark, draw….still focussed, anchor….still focussed, release……..woomp my arrow smacked into the goat tight behind the shoulder, woohoo! The billy took off out of my view over the other side of the spur. It was a good shot so I spent five minutes recovering my arrows which were stuck in the tree. They were 9 feet up and with the use of a stick I managed to unscrew the carbon shafts, but the Wensel woodsman broadheads had to stay. Approaching the last place I’d seen the billy after the shot, I found a good blood trail and after following it for 40m, I found the billy expired halfway down a cliff face. He was a young fat billy and didn’t smell too bad, so after a few photos I took his rear legs and back straps to make some jerky.
http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b198/PaulRea/100_0700.jpg
I walked back to look over the basin hoping that the rest of the billys would move out of their mountain fastness to graze in the afternoon sun. Every now and then I could hear the bellowing of rutting billys and the sharp crack of horn on horn as they fought over the in-season nannies.
Finally I could see some movement as some goats started to head towards the basin bellow. I determined where they were going and quickly scarpered down the slope to cut them off, making it to a couple of large granite boulders and pulling out the camera just in time to see the first goats emerge in front of me.
A few nannies appeared first, followed by this bloke.
http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b198/PaulRea/100_0703.jpg
Then this bloke made an appearance.
http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b198/PaulRea/100_0706.jpg
This fella then decided to join them as well.
http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b198/PaulRea/100_0713.jpg
I could still see some movement up on the slope behind so I waited to see what else would appear.
http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b198/PaulRea/100_0714.jpg
It wasn’t long before this great looking billy showed up.
http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b198/PaulRea/100_0719.jpg
Last of all, the big old and wise patriarch snuck down to join the rest of the mob.
http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b198/PaulRea/100_0721.jpg
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These last two billys were the biggest I have seen to date in this area, well worth waiting for and man was I excited at the prospect of getting a stalk and perhaps a shot at one of these mountain monarchs. They were both very cautious and reluctant to come out into the open and always positioned themselves at the back of the mob. The big old white billy with the curly horns was the most cagy of all. He had his own personal nanny to keep watch for him and she was always on the lookout. If she relaxed her vigil at all he reminded her with a dig in the side with his horns. She was very perceptive and getting within range was going to be difficult. After ¾ of an hour of patiently waiting, watching and taking photos I finally had some luck. The big white fellow must have decided everything was alright because he started to feed out closer to my position. This was it, I was going to get a shot at the big fellow and even I very rarely miss at this distance. The heart rate increased, the adrenaline started to flow again and I anticipated success. I was still sitting behind the boulders as he passed below me broadside at 20m, I drew and released…….the arrow landed short and skimmed under his body. SON OF A MOTHERLESS GOAT! What a stuff up. In all my crawling and belly bouncing down the slope, my arm guard had come loose and slipped around the other side of my arm. There was nothing stopping the loose sleeve of my 3d suit from getting in the way of the string of my bow and that’s exactly what had happened and because I was sitting down when I made the shot the effect was even worse. Damn it and confound it all (damn isn’t really a swear word in Australia). I sat tight and luckily for me the goats didn’t know what had happened and settled down after a few minutes. They were on a heightened alert level now and it was going to be difficult getting within range of the big fellow again, who was now once more hanging around at the back of the mob closest to the thick scrub. Over the next hour and a half I slowly moved in until I had goats only 10m in front of me, but the big billy was hanging around at the 35 m mark. I was down to one arrow and wanted to be nice and close when I used it. It was getting late, the big billy would not move any closer, I had an hour left of light with an hour and a half walk back to the car and no torch. I tried and tried to get closer but every time I moved that ever vigilant nanny would pick me up. I started to push it a bit too much and the sentry nanny was getting uncomfortable. Finally the big white billy and his nanny had enough and started to move back up into their mountain fastness with the rest of the mob following. They didn’t really know what I was but it was enough to move them on. Luckily for me they decided to pause in a patch of scrubby bushes around a fallen tree for a quick last browse, so I decided it was now or never. I pinned my ears back and scooted up behind them as quickly and quietly as I could, in reality I was slow and noisy and I expected them to discover me and bolt at any second but to my surprise it didn’t happen and I soon found myself in amongst the mob. The big white billy who had been leading the mob was about 20m in front of me chewing on a shrub. I climbed up on the big fallen tree and ran along it knocking an arrow as I did. When I came to the end of the log the billy was only 12m in front of me and I quickly drew and released before he could react. To my shock I watched my arrow sail harmlessly past his tail. Now I’m not the worlds best shot but even I can hit a goat broadside at 12m, it was then that I noticed in the gloom of the gully, a dead branch of a silver leaf bush sticking up between us that must have deflected my arrow. Talk about more bad luck and to make matters worse I was all out of arrows except for the two shafts without broadheads and one tipped with a judo. I was on the log with goats all around me, including two billys with the longest horns I’ve ever seen on this property and I couldn’t do a thing about it except stand there looking silly. I let out a big “OI” as the big black and white billy walked past at 2m and the mob took off for higher ground.
It was overcast and going to be a dark night, I usually have a head torch in my pack but being a knuckle head I’d left it back at camp and the last thing I wanted to do was to try and walk out of those mountains in the dark. As I wrote earlier I’m uncoordinated at the best of times, put me on a mountain slope in the dark and I’d kill myself and my wife would never forgive me, so I took off for lower ground. I past another couple of small mobs of goats on the half jog/scramble/stumble back to the car and arrived just on dark. It took me 10 minutes to pack up camp and I was back on the road heading for home.
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I had a great days hunting, one that I’d thoroughly enjoyed. I’d stumbled upon some great animals and had some great stalks, I’d had some good luck and some bad luck, but that’s bowhunting and I love it for all that it is.