I just got back from the best part of 5 days in the hills.
It was a very successful time and began last Sat 10th October.
My mate Peter arrived around 10am from Sydney and we finally left town around 11am after collecting some important last minute items......6-pack of beer, bottle of port, throat lozenges for my cold, another pair of khaki cargo pants for me(!).
We drove the 115km to the property, arriving around 12:30pm and chatted with the owner at length before heading out across the ridges toward a new campsite we haven't used before.
I was again impressed with the capabilities of Peter's Land Rover Discovery on some serious slopes and nasty terrain and we got down to the river around 1:45pm.
The view down the ridge toward the valley:
Peter had a wizz-bang new tent which we carefully assembled with much humming and hawing and we'd just finished erecting it when, heading back to the Landy to remove more gear, I glanced over my shoulder.
Over a rise not 50yds from us came a mob of 7 or 8 goats led by a good sized white & black billy!!
Peter and I have always had a policy that from the moment we enter a property we have a rifle with its bolt in and ammo at hand.
My 8mm Mauser sat in the front seat for that very purpose with an empty chamber but 3 rounds in the mag and I'd silently cursed and nursed it across the bumpy paths and wrestled with its length getting in and out for each gate.
I didn't even stop to think now however.
I called to Peter but his Tikka T3 '06 was buried along with the box where its bolt and ammo were locked so he stood back and put his hand over his ears.
As soon as I was past him I chambered a round, placed the reticle on the leading billy and squeezed away a shot that put it on his side.
In the next motion I swung the rifle up and put another round through the behind of a smaller black & white billy retreating up the slope.
The last round in the mag was duly cycled in and I put the shot through the neck of a white nanny who had already run about 80yds away.
I ran back to the Landy and grabbed another 4 rounds in the hope of felling any lingering goats and I loosed off a final shot at the last goat, a white nanny who was now well and truly 100yds away and fleeing across the slope.
The shot may've hit but it was unlikely as there was no blood trail and despite my quick pursuit the mob were gone.
For obvious reasons I was not disheartened about it and returned to have a close look at my marksmanship.
The leading billy, like all other non-headshot full grown goats I've ever taken, had not died from first bullet despite the fact that the Hornady 150gr SP it was hit with would've still been travelling at close to 2800fps.
Peter had finished it off with a .22lr.
The white nanny which had been taken with my third shot had fallen where it was hit, as the bullet exited through the top of her skull breaking the base of the horn.
The smaller billy I had to locate by his noises and I found him 150yds away lying on a steep rocky slope bleeding profusely from the "Texas Heart Shot" which must've mascerated most of one lung and a lot of his innards.
A similar shot would've anchored another animal and killed it swiftly.
Not a goat.
Another 8mm bullet ended his pain.
Here's a shot the leading billy's carcass and the view down to camp.
He fell where he stood and you can see how close that was to our tent.
For obvious reasons that meant something had to be done soon with the body.
Since the flies were prodigious and big and we were not in the mind to take meat with us, especially on the first of 5 days, we instead towed the carcass off several 100yds away and disembowelled it in the hope of attracting foxes.
We then returned to camp, finished setting things up and started a campfire like we'd not been allowed to in January.
Camp just after dark:
Dinner was a truly fine curry Peter's wife had cooked and sent along and we finally turned in around 9:30pm after a cup of tea and some port.
I in particular was VERY pleased with things.
We rose a little later around 8am on Sunday as it had been raining overnight and after some cereal decided to walk south up the valley in search of game.
There was sign of both pigs and goats but none were on the valley floor.
We saw a small mob of goats high up on the eastern side and began to work our way back and up to them but they disappeared amongst the gullies.
Looking up the eastern hillside:
Across the valley to the western side:
So we returned to camp for a cuppa and bite and made a packed lunch before heading up onto the top of the western ridge so we could scout out the country to the north.
The view down to camp - the tent is that vague small square shape:
Showers to the northeast:
We'd seen goats on the far northern end of the property when coming in the day before and hoped to intercept them.
None were there and we would've turned back but for my suggestion to follow the ridge right to it's northerly point.
As we crested the last point a small white goat looked straight at us.
We looked back and in much the same way I'd reacted before Peter chambered a round in his T3 30-06 and dropped it where it stood - score one for Pete!
With that pleasing experience we wandered back and chatted amiably, scanning the hillsides for more game as we went.
Once back at the Landy we sat for a moment after the walk back and then drove about half way back down the ridge before eating our lunch while we scanned up the valley with our binos.
On the top of the ridge:
By the time we returned it was well after 4pm and the fire needed restarting.
So around 6 with some light we carefully checked the gutted goat carcass for signs of foxes but there were none.
However we did spy some goats high on the western valley wall above camp.
They were heading away from us and it was impossible to catch them but we decided to close the distance on them a little and on my encouragement Peter rested on a tree and took at shot at a large white billy.
Unfortunately he missed, the shot striking 2 feet behind, and the goats fled but it was a remarkable shot all the same.
The shot was 480m with standard Federal 150gr ammo and the elevation was spot on.
Only windage caused the miss and it would've been impossible to judge at that distance.
He was a little non-plussed but considering the necessary hold over and closeness it was astounding, at least IMO.
So we went to bed satisfied around 9:30pm, this time full of home cooked pasta, tea and a splash of port to finish the day.
Monday dawned overcast as a result of the intermittant rain during the night and it left us with fewer options.
My boots were already wet through and we made the decision to drive the loop road toward the Abercrombie River junction where the property boundary lay and then back up and around the ridges we had walked the day before.
I was just out of the tent, stretching and stratching my head, when I saw the same mob of goats from the night before on the valley wall above camp, this time heading slightly down and toward a place we could close on them.
I hustled Peter to get him moving and we took the road up the hill, as it afforded us a lot of cover, popping out just below a gum tree half way up.
The goats were now 170m away and would pass from eyesight so Peter found a tree to rest against as did I.
I already had earplugs in and could not hear Peter so after trying to work out what I was going to shoot he acquired aim on a white billy and hit it.
At that point the goats began to mill about and I took aim at a light brown nanny which was standing beside a white & black billy.
When I fired neither of them seemed to be hit and they were fleeing up the hill so I took aim at the black & white billy and attempted a "Texas Heart Shot" as this had proved successful on the goats 2 days before.
No such luck.....the mob were moving away with alacrity and neither of mine had fallen.
So Peter put one more round in the white billy which anchored it and we hiked up to inspect his handiwork.
Sure enough the white billy was now dead which pleased Peter no end.
I then glanced to my left and noticed not 20yds away on the same level lay the black & white billy I'd aimed at lying dead from a head shot!
Talk about happy.....a moving shot at 170m!
So we returned to camp for a decent breakfast and then headed north in the Landy to the river junction.
It was good to see water in it but the clear pics of the northerly aspect the day before were no clouded by rain.
We were driving back down the ridge and scanning occasionally when Peter said "That looks like a black nanny with a black kid."
I picked up my binos, said "That's because it is....." and he was out the door as quicker than you can say knife.
He leaned up against the rear of the Landy and with the Tikka T3 '06 put a 150gr SP through the nanny @100m.
Both goats ran across the hill and stopped between 2 black trees which made it difficult to pick their outlines so Peter aimed at the larger.
At the this the nanny seemed to drop so we drove down to investigate.
Just beyond the trees the nanny lay in her death throws so we ended her with a .22lr.
"Now we have to find the kid and finish it off," said Peter so I wandered up the slope in search of it.
Between the trees lay the kid.
It must have been in front of the nanny when Peter loosed his second shot and the bullet punched through the kid, killing it outright, and then hit its mother.
Great shooting!
So, quite chuffed, we hopped back into the Landy and began the final steep decent to the valley floor.
But just around a corner on the rocky path Peter suddenly cried "There's a dead goat there! Bugger.....I'm going run over it!"
We pulled up a few metres on and went back to check it over.
To my complete joy it was the brown nanny I first shot at that morning!
In the soft soil the tyre had barely crushed its skull and so I had to get a pic:
This episode confirmed 2 things in my mind:
- 1.Adult goats only drop immediately if they head shot and they can still cover really nasty terrain for a little while before dying.
- 2.The considerably sum I'd invested just after Christmas rebarrelling, restocking and bedding my Mauser, fitting a Timney trigger was well spent. Even the cheap scope was performing.
As the rain cleared a little that afternoon we decided to head out and do some more game stalking the southern end of the valley.
Unfortunately Peter fell off a log while crossing the stream out of camp and his BRNO Model 2 fell from his hands, clattering against the ground.
It had nothing in the chamber but the scope, which had delivered sub-MOA accuracy before, was now well out.
We found out subsequently that a cheap but nice pair of Olympus 8x21 mini-binos were also smashed in the fall.
Peter cursed considerably and he was forced to leave the BRNO at camp taking instead his '06.
This was the only outing "The Judge" (my Tikka T3 9.3x62) got all trip and the only game we saw were goats heading south high up, well outside of the property fences.
The sky at sunset:
After a simple supper and some port we headed to bed, tired but pleased with the days hunt in spite of the damaged equipment.
Tuesday we were due to visit the smaller southern section of the property which is seperate.
However we drove all the way out only to find the gates locked.
It was intensely frustrating but the weather was intermittant so we went for a walk in the valley below the homestead, which was bare of game, and then returned to camp along a different track.
The river crossing on the return journey:
We made a final walk along the northern track toward the river junction but nothing appeared aside of roos and wallabies.
Showers slowed the cooking of the evening meal and we finally made bed at 11pm, well tired and sore from 4 days of hiking and walking.
Wednesday dawned overcast and the showers now fell closer together.
With all of the tracks out dirt we breakfasted and packed quickly to try and exit before noon.
All packed and just about to leave:
We reached the homestead around 11am to find the owner still in his winter pyjamas!
His power was off and he and the 2 kids were parked around the fire in the sitting room, his wife headed off to work.
We chatted with him for about 15 minutes and in that time a gale picked up soon to be joined with heavy rain.
We'd got out just in time!
So, we headed back to town and arrived just after lunch.
Praise God, the weather had held off just long enough and given us a great hunt.
So, the tally? 9 goats!
Gotta be pleased with that!
