CHASING A DREAM STAG

I started hunting when I was a teenager. My dad was into it and, before long, I’d caught the bug too. By the time I was 18, I’d got my gun licence and bought my first rifle. Not long after, I met some blokes who were a wealth of knowledge when it came to deer hunting. They invited me out stalking a couple of times and I tagged along. They showed me how to butcher deer properly and use every part of the meat, making kabana, kranskys and salamis. From that point on, I was hooked. I’ve never looked back.

I’ve always loved being in the bush, whether it’s camping, fishing or chasing deer. My first deer was a fallow buck, taken just out the road from my home town. Since then, I’ve hunted nearly every weekend or whenever I can spare the time.

As a keen deer hunter, one goal always sat at the top of the list: to shoot a trophy sambar stag. After years of hard work and countless early mornings and late nights in the Victorian High Country, the dream still managed to elude me. But, as any serious sambar hunter knows, that’s just part of the journey.

This past weekend I had Friday off and, like always, that meant a day in the bush. I hunted one of my reliable spots where I’ve seen plenty of stags before, but Friday didn’t go to plan. I only saw two sambar hinds all morning, despite covering plenty of ground and checking a few trail cameras that showed good stags had been in the area. But, that’s hunting.

On Saturday morning I wasn’t sure whether to go out again but, like always, the sambar bug got the better of me. I hit the road early and passed heaps of deer on the drive in. I hunted hard again, as I always do, passing up a couple of spikers and small stags with around 20-inch antlers. After two big mornings and plenty of sightings, it was hard not to keep chasing the dream.

Sunday morning, I left home around 4.30 am and headed to one of my favourite spots in the Victorian High Country. Again, I passed plenty of deer on the drive in…always a good sign. I was excited to get into the bush and start my morning stalk. As usual, I got in at least a kilometre before first light.

Soon enough, I found a well-used game trail covered in fresh tracks. A couple of gullies in, I glassed a sambar hind and her calf, watching them quietly feed. Without spooking them, I continued on towards one of my trail cameras, set on a well-used preaching tree. A quick check showed some nice stags had recently been in the area and the adrenaline kicked in.

I kept pushing into another big system, heading towards a known vantage point to glass across the gully. On the way in, I saw more rubs and scrapes. The sign was fresh. I knew a stag was actively working the area.

By 7.15 am, I was glassing the opposite face and picked up another hind and a small stag. After a couple of hours watching the face, the deer moved off and the sun started hitting the slope. I pushed through a saddle and found fresh beds and a big rub, so I started tracking the largest set of marks.

As I stalked down the gully, I found a big wallow with fresh mud splashed and rubbed up all the trees. I had a trail cam in my pack, so I set it up and kept hunting. The wind started to swirl, making stalking tough, and I bumped a few deer without getting a proper look. I climbed back up three-quarters of the way for a better vantage point, glassed a few more deer in a small clearing, but still no big stag.

With the morning dragging on, I decided to start heading back towards the car. I dropped into a new system — still six kilometres from the vehicle — and spotted a big dark shape moving through thick cover. Watching through the binos, I confirmed it was a young sambar stag with around 23-inch antlers. I was hoping it’d be the big one, considering all the sign in the area, but not this time.

I felt a bit disheartened, but as a couple of good mates always say, “if you’re in the bush, you’re in the hunt”. So I kept pushing, checking every gully head on the way out. The sign was getting fresher, and I had hope.

Finally, I dropped into a gully with a history of beds. Thermals were starting to lift, and I found myself in a perfect position. I glassed two bedded hinds and then, above them, I spotted him.

A big, mature sambar stag was bedded down, chewing his cud just 70 to 100 metres away. I knew instantly: this was the one.

My heart was racing. I found a good tree for a rest, tried to steady myself, and slowly eased my breathing. When I was confident, I took the shot…perfect shoulder placement. He struggled to get up, so I quickly followed with a second shot to anchor him, as I’ve been taught. Sambar are incredibly tough animals, and you don’t take chances.

I lost sight of him, so I waited the longest 15 minutes of my life before heading in. At his bed, the blood trail was clear. Tracking him for around 40 metres, I saw his massive body piled up.

Walking over, I knew straight away. This was the trophy of a lifetime.

His antlers measured just over 29 inches, with a 30-inch spread. They were thick heavy antlers with deep pearling and would roughly score over 200 Douglas points.

After the adrenaline wore off, the real work began, taking some photos and starting the capping process. After a couple of hours, I loaded up and began the long, hard slog back to the car. It was brutal, but I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.

Once home, the job wasn’t done. A couple of mates dropped in to check out the stag and helped finish the caping job, dropping off some scalpels and ear pliers. From the shot at 10.30 am to finishing the cape around 8.30 that night, it was a huge day — but exactly what most sambar hunters live for.

A big, mature sambar stag was bedded down, chewing his cud just 70 to 100 metres away.