A HUNT IN THE VICTORIAN ALPINE NATIONAL PARK

This taught me where our food comes from and made me appreciate it more. Acquiring this skill was always put on the back burner due to other things that seemed more pressing.

But now, being a father of two, with a daughter approaching the age I was when I witnessed my first animals being processed, this goal increased in priority.Having no friends who were hunters, I was uncertain of how to achieve this goal. My quest for knowledge led me to binge-watch hunting videos on YouTube.

Through this, I discovered the Australian Deer Association after Bolt Action Productions mentioned it. It was like finding Narnia but with more antlers. A Google search revealed the ADA Hunter Valley Branch 20 minutes from home. Fate was telling me, “Grab a rifle; time to go hunting!”

In early 2023, I acquired my firearms license and joined the ADA. Attending meetings, the branch seemed quite active, conducting regular hunts, with one scheduled for September in the Alpine National Park in Victoria.

This seemed the perfect opportunity for my first hunt. I bought a second-hand Tikka T3 in .308 and obtained approval for a week-long hunt, promising to return with venison. I’m a bit optimistic for a first hunt, but, hey, confidence is key, right?

Departing at 4 am on a Friday towing a caravan, I reached the campsite around 3 pm. The daunting terrain left me unsure of where to begin. Martin Thann, our hunting Yoda, graciously offered to Guide the newcomers on a drive the following morning to impart some insight into what to look for and how to approach sambar hunting.

The subsequent morning felt like being the new kid in school, only instead of algebra, we were learning the ABCs of stalking. Martin led a convoy of new hunters, dropping wisdom like breadcrumbs. We were shown game trails, sambar browse plants, rub trees and wallows, and how to distinguish stag from hind sign.

Following this briefing, we dispersed with instructions to meet again in two hours to discuss what we had found. My first stalk took me across a river, resulting only in wet boots, yet I relished every squishy step of it.

That afternoon, I hunted a nearby gully system, covering approximately 5km and discovering wallow and fresh rub trees. Back at camp, I described my hunt to Mathew Grainger, Ben Lindsay, Bob Fraser and Martin Thann, all experienced hunters, and we reviewed the route I had taken on Avenza. They suggested I needed to slow down (something I’ve been told my entire life) and invest more time in glassing - a mental note for the following morning’s hunt.

The next morning, I hit the trail early, hoping to intercept sambar, heading back to the hills, finding more rubs and a preaching tree (who knew trees gave sermons?) and was honked at twice. Unfortunately, I couldn’t lay eyes on either deer.

My routine over subsequent days was to rise well before sunrise, stalk around 5km before returning to camp for a combined breakfast and lunch and then embark on an afternoon stalk. Each stalk imparted new lessons, and I gradually refined my approach

On the afternoon of Day 3, I was honked at by a deer uphill from me. I couldn’t spot the deer, but it was close. After 10 minutes of honk-a-thon, a hind finally revealed herself, just 20m away.

I tried for an off-hand headshot. On squeezing the trigger, she turned and bolted. There was no sign of blood, and in retrospect, I think that my shot went high. I couldn’t believe I missed such an easy shot, and the 3.5km slog back to the road wasn’t enjoyable.

On the penultimate hunting day, I returned to camp exhausted, having spooked one deer at 30m and been honked at later by others. [MA1] Meanwhile, Ron Russom had shot a young stag so that us new hunters could learn how to butcher an animal and take home some venison. Eager to be involved in the butchering and procure some venison, my exhaustion swiftly dissipated, and we headed off to recover the meat and head.

Back at camp, as an experiment, I sliced the liver and heart into strips and cooked them in butter with fried onions. No-one seemed overly interested in trying my efforts, but after some encouragement, everyone had a go.

With a full belly and renewed enthusiasm, I set off for an afternoon hunt. However, a sit on an active game trail resulted in no action. Shannon Rowe had had better luck, though, securing a hind.

Food was had, beers were cracked, and I received guidance on skinning the head of Ron’s stag, gaining further insight and knowledge. All-in-all, a day of guts and glory, with onions on the side!

The following day was my last, so I planned to make the most of it. Leaving camp at 4am, I was in the bush before 5am. Glassing and moving slowly, my Avenza app indicated I traversed 2.29km in just over four hours. Mid-morning, I crossed the range to escape the sun, surmising that sambar would also be seeking shade.

It was then that I spotted two deer approaching me; however, I couldn’t ascertain their sex as their heads were concealed. They crossed into the adjacent gully and disappeared.

This was the first time I had seen deer without beingdetected, and it felt like an achievement. I speculated that the deer had caught a hunter’s scent below in the gully and were taking evasive action. I followed in the direction that they had taken, and with the thermals rising, the breeze was in my favour.

Come early afternoon, I had not seen the deer again and leaned against a tree, feeling somewhat defeated and tired. It had been a challenging five days in a tough country. I was still thinking about the missed shot and that I was going home tomorrow without any personally harvested venison. These thoughts and mental gymnastics were going on while I was standing and looking down into this gully.

Then I noticed a set of antlers 30 metres away and closing. My knees instantly felt weak, and a surge of nausea enveloped me. I released the safety and attempted to locate the stag through my scope.

I could only see antlers due to the bush being thick. As I watched, he turned to his right, presenting his antlers side-on. Attempting to adjust my position and gain height, my boots brushed against the grass.

Instantly, the antlers came to a halt and turned toward me as I stood on one foot. All I could see was the antlers and his right ear. I froze momentarily before he resumed feeding. I grappled with indecision: I couldn’t move because we were so close, yet I couldn’t see his body due to the cover. I kept thinking about the earlier missed shot and ‘Don’t screw this chance up!’

I could see a gap between trees several metres in front of the stag. I aimed at the spot, hoping for an off-hand shot. My heart raced! I watched first his head pass my cross-hairs, then his neck, and, as his shoulder emerged, I squeezed the trigger.

The stag exhibited the flinch jump I had observed in countless videos, turning and bolting down the hill. I chambered a second round, awaiting a potential reappearance as he descended. A fleeting glimpse prompted another doubtful shot. Then I heard crashing as the stag hurtled down the hill.

After running forward, I tried to locate where the stag was when I fired, but everything looked different. I grew flustered and scoured for blood but couldn’t find any. Looking down the gully, it was thick without defined game trails.

All I could think was, “I’ve missed another shot. How could I stuff up again?” I descended another 80m looking for blood or any other sign without luck. I was now certain that I had missed and was ready to give up and call it a day.

Checking my phone, I surprisingly had reception due to the altitude. I called Martin in my defeated state; he had left for home the previous day. He instructed me to mark the location where I stood when I fired and where I believed the deer was positioned. He suggested that I have a drink and wait 20 minutes to calm down and then spend the rest of the day looking for the animal.

While still on the phone and encouraged by his pep talk, I turned to begin the climb back up the hill. To my astonishment, lying 20m from me was the stag. To say I was excited is an understatement.

It’s safe to say my excitement was heard throughout the surrounding gullies, likely reaching anyone within several metres of Martin’s phone as well. It was now 2pm, and I was 650m, as the crow flies, from my vehicle, a steep climb of 200m to the ridge and then 600m along the ridgeline.

I removed the head and secured it to my backpack. Unfortunately, while removing a backstrap, I sliced the back of a finger. I was carrying a first aid kit, but the bleeding was too much for a Band-Aid. Two nitrile gloves applied pressure, but the gloves were still filled with blood. After this incident, I sat and tried to calm down. Emotion and adrenaline were running high, and I needed to avoid any more mistakes.

Upon opening the gut cavity to extract the tenderloins, it became apparent that my first bullet had ruptured the stomach, and it had been the second shot that had finalised the job.

Since the stomach was compromised, I left the tenderloins and guts in place, planning to return the following morning to remove and pack out the legs. The temperature at night was dropping to just above freezing, so I wasn’t concerned that the meat would spoil.

The pack-out proved gruelling, and I needed to take breaks every few metres while climbing to the ridge. I hadn’t thought that a head and backstrap would add much weight, but I was mistaken. By the time I made it back to my car, it was 4pm, and I still had a 45-minute drive to camp.

I was euphoric, but I put on a straight face as if I hadn’t been successful. Matt Grainger greeted me with, “How did you go?” I responded that I was unsuccessful and hadn’t seen any sign to be consoled by his “Don’t worry, your stag is somewhere out there waiting for you.”

Meanwhile, I collected the head from the back of my ute and stood waiting for him to notice. Then his face dropped, and he couldn’t believe what he was seeing as I let out a massive cheer and cringeworthy exclamation along the lines of “The alpha stag-killer has arrived!” The adrenaline was still running hot, so I’ll blame it on that.

Each time a member returned to camp, I enthusiastically reshared every detail of the hunt, unable to contain my excitement. It was mentioned several times that I was extra turbocharged that evening, speaking at one hundred miles per hour.

The atmosphere at camp was certainly euphoric, with three deer taken. A rough assessment showed the antlers were 28 inches long, with a Douglas score of 188 points. Applying the skills that I had learned the previous night, I caped and cleaned the head and positioned it facing the fire, allowing us to admire it together.

Comment was made, though, that I should have removed the legs and hung them in a tree to cool, rather than leaving them attached to the carcase. When I raised the issue of no game bags and the flies, I was told that they would not have been a major problem overnight—one more lesson learnt. Camp lingered a little longer around the fire that night, sharing stories over beers.

The following morning, Shannon Rowe, Ron Russom and Peter Reichler helped retrieve the legs in a single trip. After packing up camp, I returned home with Eskys of venison, as I had promised, plus a trophy head.

Since returning home, Martin has been a massive help with processing, labelling andstoring the meat, along with boiling and cleaning the head. For a first hunt, I couldn’t have asked for a better outcome.

I feel that what I’ve learnt would have taken decades if I was hunting on my own. Taking a stag within six months of getting my shooter’s licence is beyond belief, a feat which owes much to the ADA Hunter Valley Branch and the guidance they provided.

This hunt has not only fulfilled my goal of sourcing meat for my family but has also expanded my circle of friends to include fellow hunters. I hope I can continue to develop these skills and friendships so that when my children are older, I’ll have the ability to take them on hunts and pass the knowledge forward. So, here’s to more hunts, adventures and stories!