As the dawn broke, the cool, crisp air of the early morning filled my lungs. I had an overseas trip to Scotland looming in just a few days, and knew I had to squeeze in one last hunt before heading out.
The call of the wild was too strong to ignore, and I wanted a final adventure before the trip, with my faithful dog, Frankie, by my side. The peaceful solitude of the New Zealand back country always seemed to calm my spirit before a journey, and today was no exception.
I awoke at 5.00am, the house still blanketed in darkness and fuelled myself with a hearty breakfast. After packing my gear, I loaded up Frankie and set out for my favourite hunting spot, a quiet creek bed nestled in the hills. The morning sky was clear, promising good weather, though the bite of the cold hinted at the coming of winter. As I parked and geared up, Frankie’s excitement was palpable. This was our domain, where the rhythm of the wild synced with our own.
We began the slow, deliberate climb up the creek, a familiar route I had traversed many times before. Every 50 metres, I would pause, surveying the area with my Pulsar hand-held thermal, hoping for a glimpse of movement. The first 500 metres passed without a sign – not unexpected in these quiet, early hours. The silence of the forest was comforting, the only sounds being the soft crunch of my boots and Frankie’s eager steps beside me.
It wasn’t until we climbed onto a terrace above the creek things began to shift. As I scanned the ground, the fresh deer prints were unmistakable, etched into the damp earth. My heart quickened – this could be the opportunity I had been waiting for.
I raised my thermal once again and spotted a heat source flickering through the dense scrub ahead. Slowly, I crept forward, each step deliberate, every rustle of the foliage seeming louder than it should. As I moved through the last patch of scrub, there he was – an eight-point red stag, his antlers catching the soft light of the morning as he walked up the creek, oblivious to my presence.
With steady hands, I rested my Sako rifle on a nearby tree, taking careful aim. The world around me seemed to pause for a moment before I squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out and the stag dropped instantly. Frankie bolted forward, barking excitedly as if to congratulate me on our shared success.
After a moment of quiet reflection, I approached the stag and began the task of boning out the meat. It was a satisfying end to the hunt, one that would provide for my family and remind me of the beauty of these wild moments. With the work done, Frankie and I enjoyed a leisurely 30-minute stroll back to the Hilux, the weight of the meat resting comfortably in my pack.
As I drove home, the satisfaction of a successful hunt filled me with a quiet contentment. My hunting fix had been met, and with Scotland on the horizon, I could rest easy, knowing the wild would be waiting for me when I returned.
