Arriving back home in Nelson, I was distraught to find the freezers empty of meat. I knew I had to get hunting as soon as possible, with this meat crisis hanging over me.
After a couple of phone calls, Dan and I were on our way for a hunt. This hunt was to be slightly different to the usual scenery we explored. We had gained access to hunt along the beach for goats that adorned the steep cliffs above us.
Within several minutes we were spotting goats left, right and centre across the steep faces and before long we had identified a big nanny goat alone on a slip, the perfect meat animal. Dan slipped a bullet into the chamber and within moments the peaceful splashing of waves on boulders was broken with a boom—the goat dropped. The sound of the shot soon had goats, previously hidden from sight, appearing from every gully and bush. Another shot boomed out across the flat sea and another goat dropped.
After retrieving and gutting both goats I was up.
Almost as soon as we had finished dealing to the first goats, the skies opened and the previously easy scramble across the boulders turned into a slip and slide.
Nevertheless, we got onto another tribe of goats. I managed to put a bullet straight through another nannie’s engine room. Feeling bloody stoked and happy to resolve my meat crisis, we decided it was probably time to head in while we were still relatively dry.
We didn’t get far though, as just around the corner I spied another nanny. The shot was tricky, practically vertical and with very little lenience for error. After what felt like ages of trying different positions, we finally found the sweet spot and I put a good shot into her. She dropped on the spot before flying down the steep cliffs practically to our feet. With two goats each we called it a day.
Meat crisis averted and an awesome experience hunting on the beach.
