Puk
24-12-05, 10:27 PM
Being 195cm tall, or 6 foot 5 in the old scale and shooting at 32 inches, finding a good beginners bow for a finger-shooter isn’t easy, but after a bit of research, I managed to get a Darton Renegade from the ‘states’ for a good price. Very little finger-pinch, and quite forgiving at 70 pounds draw weight..
Having chased a few rabbits around the Mallee country of the Sa/Vic border, it was time to get serious, and the feral goats were about to have some company. I had done the usual scouting and knew where I thought there might be some “stinkies”. I had only ever hunted alone, and had a friend who was just getting into bowhunting, like myself, coming up from Vic to join me on the way through to Adelaide.
Perhaps the strange thing about this story is that we are both ministers of religion. It takes all kinds, they say, and leads some people to open up the old debate with us about killing, with us being Pastors and all. But hey, it’s not like we’re shooting ‘roos and Mallee fowl! A feral is a feral, they don’t do the farmers or the fences any favours, and besides, at the younger end of the spectrum, they don’t roast up too badly.
Anyway, after walking the trails and glassing a few valleys with not a goat in sight, I found myself standing on top of a hill grumbling about how this always happens whenever I take anyone fishing or now, it seems, hunting, when Adam pointed over my shoulder and “Um, Joel, is that what we’re looking for?”. A herd of about a dozen goats, no big billies, but some good young eaters and big does. They had wandered out of the scrub-line and were grazing quite oblivious to any danger.
We were away through the mallee scrub, in my book the hardest ground over which to stalk quietly- dead sticks all over the sand, and me trying to find a place to put a size 14 boot without sounding like a bowl of rice bubbles- Snap, crackle, pop!.
Well, we set Adam up in position, and I moved up to our left a bit further to see if they moved our way. They weren’t getting any closer than about 40 metres, but moving across our front, and Adam couldn’t resist taking a shot. I heard one distinct “twang” followed by another, but saw all of the goats run out through a paddock, through one of those holes they make under every fence in sight, and up over a scrubby hill.
At times like this a minister struggles to find the right words to say (at least any that he would admit to in print). I thought he had blown our chance and would have no chance of seeing any goats again that day, but away I went at a run up on top of the hill and stopped to listen. Nothing. They must be long gone.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, and I threw my head back and bleated like a goat. I felt quite the goat doing it, too. More so when I realised that here I was, pretty well camouflaged, standing in the scrub bleating like a goat, when there was another bloke out there with a bow!
Not wanting to end up skewered, I stopped and was about to go back to where I had left Adam when a return bleat sounded through the scrub from about 30 metres away! The doe he had shot was down, but it was not a quick killing shot, having gone in and out through the gut. Still, I silently apologised to him, from that range his shooting had been better than I thought. I put a Savora broadhead on a gold-tip hunter through both lungs and was surprised myself at how quickly she bled out and was still. My first kill, and it wasn’t really. I hadn’t brought it down myself, so I couldn’t claim it. It was a team effort.
Adam caught up with me just in time to check that it was dead, and just before we sat down to rest for a while we heard a noise to our left and noticed that the doe had two kids with her that would not go any further away than about 30metres, as they were not yet fully weaned. No ethical dilemma came up for us, as they would have probably died if left on their own, so down they both went from about 20 metres. Having read all the articles, I still didn’t believe how quickly an animal is despatched when a razor sharp arrow goes through both lungs, causing the lungs to collapse, as well as massively haemorrhage. The kids both spun on the spot and didn’t move a metre from where they were hit.
Adam taught me a thing or two about skinning and cleaning a carcass, and we were finished, washed up, and having a beer within half an hour.
Each of us got our first kill of species, and having both changed to release aids since then, are waiting for more trips in the future. Bowhunting feral goats for me means pest control and meat in the freezer, a good walk in some beautiful but rugged country, and an enjoyable afternoon with a like minded mate. Everybody wins.
http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c180/Jpukallus/Pinaroo29-11-2004017_1.jpg
Puk 8)
Having chased a few rabbits around the Mallee country of the Sa/Vic border, it was time to get serious, and the feral goats were about to have some company. I had done the usual scouting and knew where I thought there might be some “stinkies”. I had only ever hunted alone, and had a friend who was just getting into bowhunting, like myself, coming up from Vic to join me on the way through to Adelaide.
Perhaps the strange thing about this story is that we are both ministers of religion. It takes all kinds, they say, and leads some people to open up the old debate with us about killing, with us being Pastors and all. But hey, it’s not like we’re shooting ‘roos and Mallee fowl! A feral is a feral, they don’t do the farmers or the fences any favours, and besides, at the younger end of the spectrum, they don’t roast up too badly.
Anyway, after walking the trails and glassing a few valleys with not a goat in sight, I found myself standing on top of a hill grumbling about how this always happens whenever I take anyone fishing or now, it seems, hunting, when Adam pointed over my shoulder and “Um, Joel, is that what we’re looking for?”. A herd of about a dozen goats, no big billies, but some good young eaters and big does. They had wandered out of the scrub-line and were grazing quite oblivious to any danger.
We were away through the mallee scrub, in my book the hardest ground over which to stalk quietly- dead sticks all over the sand, and me trying to find a place to put a size 14 boot without sounding like a bowl of rice bubbles- Snap, crackle, pop!.
Well, we set Adam up in position, and I moved up to our left a bit further to see if they moved our way. They weren’t getting any closer than about 40 metres, but moving across our front, and Adam couldn’t resist taking a shot. I heard one distinct “twang” followed by another, but saw all of the goats run out through a paddock, through one of those holes they make under every fence in sight, and up over a scrubby hill.
At times like this a minister struggles to find the right words to say (at least any that he would admit to in print). I thought he had blown our chance and would have no chance of seeing any goats again that day, but away I went at a run up on top of the hill and stopped to listen. Nothing. They must be long gone.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, and I threw my head back and bleated like a goat. I felt quite the goat doing it, too. More so when I realised that here I was, pretty well camouflaged, standing in the scrub bleating like a goat, when there was another bloke out there with a bow!
Not wanting to end up skewered, I stopped and was about to go back to where I had left Adam when a return bleat sounded through the scrub from about 30 metres away! The doe he had shot was down, but it was not a quick killing shot, having gone in and out through the gut. Still, I silently apologised to him, from that range his shooting had been better than I thought. I put a Savora broadhead on a gold-tip hunter through both lungs and was surprised myself at how quickly she bled out and was still. My first kill, and it wasn’t really. I hadn’t brought it down myself, so I couldn’t claim it. It was a team effort.
Adam caught up with me just in time to check that it was dead, and just before we sat down to rest for a while we heard a noise to our left and noticed that the doe had two kids with her that would not go any further away than about 30metres, as they were not yet fully weaned. No ethical dilemma came up for us, as they would have probably died if left on their own, so down they both went from about 20 metres. Having read all the articles, I still didn’t believe how quickly an animal is despatched when a razor sharp arrow goes through both lungs, causing the lungs to collapse, as well as massively haemorrhage. The kids both spun on the spot and didn’t move a metre from where they were hit.
Adam taught me a thing or two about skinning and cleaning a carcass, and we were finished, washed up, and having a beer within half an hour.
Each of us got our first kill of species, and having both changed to release aids since then, are waiting for more trips in the future. Bowhunting feral goats for me means pest control and meat in the freezer, a good walk in some beautiful but rugged country, and an enjoyable afternoon with a like minded mate. Everybody wins.
http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c180/Jpukallus/Pinaroo29-11-2004017_1.jpg
Puk 8)