Yes, I know most of you Nth American hunters are up to your eyeballs in snow but it's now summer Down Under. I try and do an overnight hunt in my holidays and being a school teacher that gives me 4 times during the year that I can find some time to chase ferals of one description or another. My wife is very patient and last year I managed 2 5-day trips and another overnight hunt earlier in the year. Hoping to use the long summer break I organized access to a colleagues big property near the Abercrombie River in NSW, a property myself and my hunting buddy Peter hunted for both 5 day trips in January and October last year. So the week of the 4th to the 8th was set and we geared up to go.
It was already hot and showed no signs of cooling as we drove out on Monday and we reached the homestead around 1pm. After a chat with my colleague we ventured down the first gully and then up onto the next ridge in order to reach our desired campsite in the next valley, better known to us now as “goat central”. Last time a mob of goats had walked into camp as we set up our tent. This time we rounded a tight corner leading down the slope only to see at least 40 goats stream across the road 100m below us! Peter pulled up and I immediately set off down the track, 8mm Mauser in hand, in the hope some of the goats would pause and look at what made the noise. Peter, still wearing sandals from driving was unable to join the pursuit. He will learn……
Sure enough, as I got 50m down, a mob of about 7 or 8 actually turned and walked a few metres up the slope toward me with the gormless curiosity they often display. I placed my scope high on the shoulder of a fair sized black billy and squeezed off a shot but the bullet went high. There was some milling about but, since no one was hurt, they stopped again. This time I aimed lower at a white, black and tan billy but still seemed to miss. The mob needed no further encouragement and they fled, quickly running into the next gully and then half way up the other side where, paradoxically, they stopped again and looked at me. I found a tree rest and punched a shot 100m across the gully into the shoulder of a decent sized creamy billy. He wailed and fell on his side. This broke the spell and the rest headed off, although not so quickly that a better marksman than I could not have picked off another on the run.
I returned to the Land Rover , 3 empty cases and only one confirmed hit. Peter said he could hear more bleating to the other side of the slope so, hoping I’d find more amongst the trees and scrub, I began to traverse the steep slope. In the end I found the source. A small mob, perhaps 5 or 6, were sitting on top of a high outcrop and could see me clearly. I got a good rest and aimed at the lead goat, a nice dark coloured billy, but my shot kicked up dust above it and a follow up on a nanny as they moved away also missed its mark. I was a little disappointed but decided to go and find the creamy billy for a pic or 2. When I arrived it was gone! This goat was not just hit, it was on its back when I left. The only direction for it to go was a roll down into the ravine. But no end of searching revealed its carcass. I was very annoyed.
A view down the ravine as I searched for the missing cream billy.We set up camp and due to the heat, which reached 37 C, didn’t set out again until 6:30pm. My colleague had told us 1 or 2 brumbies (feral horses) had been seen as had escaped cattle without tags and we were under instruction to shoot both if we found them, especially the cattle as my colleague intended to use the meat. On top of that were the customary goats, pigs, rabbits and foxes so it was worth the walk although the rabbits were safe from our 2 Tikka T3s, Peter’s in 30-06 and mine a 9.3x62. In the end nothing popped up aside of a fox which took to it’s heels. So returning late to camp we had dinner and were in bed by 1am with the full intention of an early start. Yeah, right!
We didn’t surface until near 10am on Tuesday and decided, since we were up so late, that we should instead investigate the southern and separate section of the property which is accessed through the neighbouring farm. After a lengthy and somewhat vague discussion with my colleague’s brother we grabbed the keys and took the route to the back gate. Unfortunately the manager of the neighbouring farm has a “God” complex. The owner, his boss, lives in France so every now and then the manager decides no one should be allowed through the public access gates and he changes all the locks. Reaching the gate we were met with 3 padlocks, none of which would open with our key. We returned to the homestead and told my colleague who had returned from some farm chores so he showed us the way out to the southern section where he was tagging sheep and also had his brother drive us around a bit.
Tagging sheep.....The land is different to where we’d camped, much more suitable for spotlighting foxes or hunting pigs in small gullies, but it was 3:30 in the afternoon, 37 C and we were non-plussed about all the mucking around so we returned to camp arriving there about 5pm.
The terrain of the seperate part of the property facing north.No sooner were we back in camp but the heaven’s opened and the skies fell. The rain halted around 8:30pm but I was asleep in the Landy having dozed off reading a book and Peter had crashed in the tent. We didn’t wake up until 11pm and after a short snack headed to bed. Tuesday had been a washout in all senses of the expression.
Wednesday dawned hot and steamy and the heat soon began to mount. Around 9am a brown nanny and white kid were sighted on the heights above camp so Peter and I grabbed our Tikkas and climbed the hill. Unfortunately the goats saw us and made their getaway up and over the hill. We hazarded a guess and decided to see if they’d appear on the other side so we began to traverse the hill. The soil was damp and very rocky with loose shale. Even goat tracks were scarce and when we reached the far side there was nothing to see. So we sat down, I had a drink and we scoped around the nearby hill. Then, as I dropped my drink bottle back in my pack I spied the nanny and kid wandering along a trail just 40m below us! Peter chambered a round and only then did the nanny pause and look. A 150gr SP from the ’06 punched through its shoulder and lung area but it hardly twitched and then bolted off down the hill. I quickly put a Speer 270gr SMP through the shoulder of the kid. It kicked once then slid down the hill a couple of metres. Peter set off to trail the mortally wounded nanny and said his radio would be on leaving me to inspect the kid. Sure enough the exit wound was about 1” across and there were large blood spatters where the bullet had exited. A textbook shot.
The felled white kid with a gaping hole from the 9.3x62.After a pic or 2 I tried to work my way back around to Peter and finally caught up with him on the main slope above camp. The nanny had eluded him and he could not find a blood trail. It’s distress calls began however so we began to track toward them. Unfortunately they stopped and we could not locate the carcass. If a large white carcass can disappear from a position well known a brown carcass was invisible in the scrub and shadows. But the search was not fruitless. I found the carcass of the white, black and tan billy I thought I’d missed on the first day. It was a pleasing discovery.
The first billy from Monday now located.The heat soon fell so after a good breakfast we found a spot in the shade and read and dozed until well into the afternoon. Eventually, around 5pm, we drove close to the northern boundary and did the short walk to the Abercrombie River. Unlike the creek bed by our camp it had some flowing water, especially with the addition of the previous evening’s storm, but it was hot and we eventually drove back this time heading right back to the more southern end to glass the eastern hillsides. The sun was falling by then and we could see goats heading south across the hillsides well out of our reach so we decided the make Thursday the morning we would try and intercept them on those slopes.
We were up at 6:30am on Thursday and after driving back to our spot the night before sighted the goats heading north toward the river. So we drove back toward camp, parked the Land Rover by the creek bed and began the long ascent to the top. It took a solid ½ hour with breaks in the shade to glass the slopes and get out breath back but we were up in the right altitude by 8:30am.
Making the ascent...No sooner were we in a good spot that beneath us a small mob spied us and clattered away across the hillside northwards. That was just as well because on the next spur, 170m away, was a large mob numbering between 8 and 12 who were either laying in the shade or feeding in the undergrowth nearby. Peter then discovered his magazine was in the back of the Land Rover…..at the bottom of the hill. He had plenty of ammo but his Tikka now became a single shot and a fiddly one at that. So we waited patiently for a good opportunity to shoot. After almost 30 mins we made the decision to shoot. By then a brown nanny and 2 kids were in the scrub beneath us about 75m away and we felt a shot at the goats on the spur would drive the nanny and kids toward us. So with good tree rests we let fly. Peter shot first but his 150gr SP kicked up dust beneath a black billy as did my 270gr SMP. A second 270 grainer also failed to connect with a white nanny near on the spur.
But the nanny in the scrub nearer us did as we predicted and I wasted no time. My next shot broke the leg of the second, mainly-white kid and another 9.3mm punched a big hole in the nanny’s chest. The first kid, disorientated by the its immobilized sibling and wounded mother, paused and was hammered by my final shot. Peter finished off the white kid with the ’06 and I was halfway down looking for a clear shot at the nanny amongst the scrub when I turned and a fox came trotting up the slope not 20m away. I chambered a round and punched it straight at his nose as he casually moved up the hill. The shot made him leap 5 feet in the air and a metre sideways too and I was sure I’d hit him but the close range must’ve mad me miss him by thousands of an inch. Unfortunately the shot scared the wounded nanny away and although she left a blood trail and I saw blood staining her flanks as her shape passed in the scrub the trail soon ceased . She was gone though, the dappled shade and vegetation hid her and her cries of distress soon stopped. The 9.3mm didn’t drop her on the spot but her suffering was short.
The 2nd mainly white kid immobilised by the 9.3 and finished up close with the '06.
The first kid flattened by a 270gr from the '62.The dappled shade and unclear image of the kid shows how difficult a goat carcass is to spot in the shade. The blood is actually the nanny's blood trail.So, pleased at 3 goats down but disappointed at only 2 bodies and a miss at the fox we descended satisfied with a hard mornings hunt.
Peter resting during the descent.The rest of the day was spent in camp chairs in the shade, much as Wednesday had been, and the only goats we saw were high on the steep slope on the other side of the creek. If I’d had my rifle with me I could’ve taken one but by the time I crossed the dry creek bed and returned Tikka in hand the goats had skylined and showed no intention of changing that position. Then suddenly they got skittish and ran. It’s hard to say why. The Landy was running the entire time. One thing is certain. They are silly enough to think no one can get at them if they stay on the hill. Peter and I considered a late hunt that afternoon but we were still sore from the morning’s hike and needed to pack up and drive home the next day so we were in bed by 10:30pm.
Last light on Thursday.
I rose around 8:30am only to hear Peter say “Bugger me!!” On the top of the hill, in much the same place we had chased the nanny and kid on Wednesday morning he saw a large brown pig trotting along by itself. It was the sole sighting of a pig and well past our range so we packed up as the heat built up and left the property around midday. I was home by 2pm and well ready for a shower and cold drink. It had been hot at home but it was difficult to fathom how a location that is sometimes snowed in during Winter could be so hot day after day.
And the final tally? Well, if you count bodies a measly 4, and 3 of them kids. If you count quick but not immediate deaths into the bargain then you can bump the total up to 7. But 2 things were ascertained on this trip. Using the 30-06, 8x57 or 9.3x62 some bullet must be found that will properly expand and knock a goat down straight away because they often leave no blood trail and are tough beyond reckoning. Otherwise we need to use smaller bores with softer jackets. The second was that all 3 rifles need testing on a 200m range to see where they REALLY shoot at that distance. The 9.3x62 is definitely low past 100m and the 8x57, well, goodness knows.
For those of you who may've read this and said "What careless cruel people! Not tracking and finding every carcass!!" remember, this is a cull. Moreover the hot conditions and dense scrub dictate a short time span in the heat of the day. And these are pests, not trophy or even meat animals although given more space in our car fridge we would've taken meat off the kids. But our experience over the last couple of trips has found they die quickly afterward but sometimes are still able to get away and their small size and colour soon let them disappear, something which irked us no end. And I acknowledge that we need to choose our bullets better for this game.
Still, it was a very relaxing trip in many ways and Peter’s cooking deserves special mention. It was literally the Abercrombie Hilton…..aside of my hard sleeping roll and the mosquitos!
