A TRIP I WILL NEVER FORGET

When the ballot draw date came around I was pre-occupied, unable to watch the live stream. I later opened Facebook on my phone to see multiple notifications; friends tagging my name and messaging me asking if that was in fact me that had been mentioned in the Snake Island draw. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I had indeed been drawn, as number 6 on the emergency list. My excitement went through the roof knowing I had a very real chance of getting a hunt.

On December 20 I received the call. There was a spot that had just become available for period 2 on Snake Island, from March 4 to 8. I immediately accepted the spot, knowing full well it may be an opportunity I never get again.

From there I was given the contact details of all the other Period 2 Snake Island hunters, as it is encouraged that we all liaise with one another for both safety and success. I was quickly added to a group chat on Facebook, through which everyone discussed their preferred hunting spots on the island, as well as camping and general preparation.

Having been allocated to period 2 last, I also had last pick of hunting zones, which meant all the popular ‘hot spots’ had already been spoken for. After a bit of research and some suggestions made by others who had hunted the island in past, I chose my hunting zone, as well as a backup location in case the first one was lacking in deer activity.

Over the next couple of months, I was in regular contact with one of the other balloted hunters, as well as his best mate who was to accompany him during his time on the Island. They were extremely generous in offering me transportation on their boat, which was of great comfort to me, knowing I would have free movement to and from the mainland if I were to shoot a deer.

Finally, when the week of my hunt came around it felt like the drive down to Port Welshpool took an eternity. The first step of the journey was the hunter’s information session, held at the old ferry terminal on the Sunday morning before the hunts commencement.

The other hunters at the information session were a welcome sight. It was nice to finally meet the people with whom I’d been in contact for the couple of months prior and discuss plans properly. Most had their owns boats to take them over to the Island, with only maybe one or two opting for charter drop off and pick up. This offered the convenience of free travel, but is not without its own challenges.

Given that most of us were not locals, we had little experience in navigating the waters between Port Welshpool and Snake Island. The first challenge presented on the Sunday afternoon, when we had all planned to make our way over during high tide. Strong winds made for rough conditions on the water, and some of the other hunters opted to wait it out until Monday morning and boat over when the wind had died down.

Those of us who chose to go over anyway endured a very unsettling trip. To say I was relieved when we made it to shore would be an understatement.

Naturally, I was up bright and early for opening morning, even though hunting wasn’t to commence until 8am. We had been told at the briefing the day before that firearms were not to leave camp outside of hunting times, so there was no choice but to wait it out. A normal hunt for me involves a lot of walking in the dark, in order to be in the best possible spot for first light, so lingering around camp in the increasing daylight was a challenge. I couldn’t help but think about what I was missing out on – a classic case of FOMO.

Finally, 8am came around and I was off. It was a lovely walk from camp to my hunting zone at Long Flat, with plenty of wonderful scenery to take in and an abundance of wildlife observed. The network of tracks throughout the Island made it a breeze to navigate, with zero bush bashing necessary. I made it to my hunting spot by just after 9am, checking the wind direction before taking a final approach to my vantage point.

I had opted not to bring a high seat or tree stand along with me on the trip and settled instead for a $12 Wanderer tripod stool from BCF. This was favourable over standing for the day, or sitting on the ground…but an elevated position would have been optimal to get an easy view into the tall tussock grass dotted throughout the area.

It was a long day. From 9am until 7pm I sat, waiting for even just a glimpse of a hog deer, but nothing showed. As an avid deer stalker, I am not used to the lengthy ‘sit and wait’ approach. It was a struggle to say the least, with my boredom leading me to consume an entire 500g packet of trail mix over the course of the day. There were a couple of moments of elevated hopes on the sight of movement, but they quickly vanished on realising the movement was just that of wallabies crossing through the area. Regardless, I sat tight for the day as advised at the information session and made the walk out in the fading evening light, reflecting on the day as I went.

Disappointed that I hadn’t had so much as a glimpse of a hog deer that day, I decided it’d be worth heading to my backup spot the next day. Discussing a plan of approach with my camp mates, one of them agreed to drop me on the beach via boat to avoid having to cross through other hunter’s zones on the walk over. Satisfied with that plan, I looked forward to what the next day would bring.

Luckily the next morning the high tide allowed for early water travel to my new spot. In the early morning light, we made our way around to the south-eastern corner of the island, dropping anchor about 100m from the shore as it wasn’t possible to get the boat any closer. My camp mate was nice enough to wade through the shallows with me and help drop my gear on the beach before making the trip back, while I continued to the nearest track.

It took me a while to get my bearings, but after some cross referencing between Google maps and the island map provided, I found my hunting spot. It was a lovely little waterhole, tucked away from view of the track and surrounded with plenty of cover. Conscious of the wind direction, I picked my approach, making my way slowly along a well-worn game trail.

Locating an adequate vantage point, I dropped my pack and was just about to sit down when I noticed movement by the water’s edge, a young wallaby making its way in for a drink. Watching it, I could see it lifting its nose regularly to test the air. My heart sank as I realised the wind was swirling, and the wallaby could smell me. I began to question whether I should relocate to a better position. My options were limited however, as moving around would cause too much of a disturbance to the area. I opted to stay and take my chances, hoping that the wind would stop swirling soon.

Not even 10 minutes later, while I was mucking around with my gear on the ground, I looked up and noticed something different about the scene in front of me. Something was out of place. It was a hog deer, a young stag, standing amongst the tussocks up the on embankment behind the waterhole. I could only see its head and shoulders, and it was obviously on high alert, focussed on something to my right. I assessed it for a moment, considering whether to take it.

I made my decision quickly, raising my rifle and lining the crosshairs up on the stag’s shoulder. Boom!

I watched as he tumbled down the embankment into the thick mud on the edge of the waterhole. Quickly reloading I sent another round into him, to prevent him from ending up in the water. He expired quickly, but in his final death throws had almost entirely submerged his head into the mud.

I picked my way carefully around the water’s edge, sinking into the mud with each step. Grabbing the stag by the back legs, I dragged him up the embankment to dry ground for my first proper look.

He was beautiful. Only a young stag, but a trophy all the same. One antler had formed the typical 3-point style known to the species, while the other was a unique pipe antler. This occurs when the previous year’s antler isn’t shed as normal, and the new antler is forced up and around it during the velvet stage. When the old antler finally falls out it leaves a hollow in the new one, hence the name ‘pipe antler’.

I placed the appropriate tag on his rear leg, cleaned the mud off his face and called the number for the Port Welshpool checking station, telling the station officer to expect my arrival within the next couple of hours.

Then I remembered the tide situation. It was still early in the day, so the tide was still up, but I only had a narrow window of time to get back to the mainland before water levels dropped too low for travel. I quickly set up my camera and tripod, snapping some photos of myself and the stag before gutting him and securing him to my pack on the meat shelf for the carry out.

I was fortunate that my camp mate had heard my gun shots (from almost 3km away) and contacted me, asking if I needed assistance. While I was sorting my stag out, he had brought the boat back around and met me on the trail near the beach to help carry some of my equipment back to the boat.

We made it back in good time, but I was still surprised by how rapidly the tide had receded. With my stag on my back, I waded the last 100m through knee high water and dropped him in the boat, ready to head to Port Welshpool.

Looking back over the whole process, I’m filled with a great sense of appreciation and gratitude for the awesome adventure I had experienced. From the anticipation of the ballot to the moment of finally sighting my stag, every moment of this journey was epic. Being able to hunt a new species in an entirely different environment, while also meeting great like-minded hunters and building new connections along the way has been extremely valuable and rewarding, something I’ll forever be grateful for.

It was a trip I’ll never forget.

I made my decision quickly, raising my rifle and lining the crosshairs up on the stag’s shoulder.