The Wonnangatta was somewhere I’d wanted to hunt for a long time. I’d heard plenty about it over the years and was keen to finally see the country for myself. With the gates closing soon, it seemed like the perfect time to make the trip.
Over the previous 12 months I had spent as much time in the bush as possible, joining branch hunts and fitting in extra trips whenever work and family commitments allowed. Despite putting in the kilometres and finding deer, and having plenty of close calls, things just hadn’t come together yet. Missed opportunities, rushed decisions, and a few hard lessons had left me determined to keep going and eventually put a sambar on the ground.
Matt, Keith and Pete during the carry out.
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The trip to the Wonnangatta felt like the perfect chance. With several days planned in some great sambar country, I was keen to have another crack at an animal that had beaten me more than a few times over the previous year. The goal was simple: hunt hard, enjoy the trip, and hopefully harvest a deer.
As we made our way into camp and got our first look at the country we’d be hunting over the next few days, it didn’t take long to realise my new boots were going to get a workout. Steep ridges rose from the valley floor on either side, broken up by river flats and deep gullies.
After spotting a hind on the first afternoon, I was keen to put in a solid hunt the following day. The next morning, at gentleman's hours, I began working my way along a series of burnt gullies with fresh regrowth.
Before long, I began finding more recent sign and it wasn't long before I had my first encounter. From the opposite side of a gully head came the unmistakable honk of a sambar. I sat down, waited, and carefully glassed the area, hoping the deer would materialise…but after 10 minutes the bush fell silent again and the deer had slipped away unseen.
Continuing on, I had a light breeze in my face, and the bush was unnaturally quiet. Every few steps, I would stop to glass ahead, carefully searching through the bush and looking for anything out of place.
Working my way through one of the gullies, I became acutely aware of the silence. The bush was completely still. I was quiet with every step, making sure not to crunch any sticks and to glass ahead, uphill, and downhill as I worked my way through.
That's when I noticed something out of place about 70 metres up the gully. At first glance, it looked like nothing more than a brown stump at the base of a tree. Taking a few careful steps to improve my angle, I raised my binoculars and quickly confirmed it was a bedded sambar.
Completely unaware of my presence, the deer remained motionless. I raised my rifle into position. Settling the crosshairs on the animal's shoulder, I squeezed the trigger.
The stag where he fell.
The deer exploded from its bed.
STAG!
As he bounded up the game trail, his antlers came into view for the first time. He covered only a short distance before piling up beside a fallen, burnt log.
After taking a few moments to take it all in and snap a few photos, I got on the radio to see if anyone back at camp could lend a hand and help get a vehicle closer to the stag. Fortunately, Pete and Matt were available to help with the recovery.
With three sets of hands and Matt’s backpack, the job was made much easier, and it wasn’t long before the stag was loaded up and headed back to camp. Once the meat was hung, we settled in around the fire with a few well-earned beers and good company. After plenty of close calls over the previous year, it was satisfying to finally have a stag back at camp.
