'Seas of Grass'
by Danny Bajt
The first trip in May earlier this year to these properties ('A place where weird stuff happens'), whilst loads of laughs with fellow WCC member Rory, was one I’d rather erase from my mind from a shooting perspective. It wasn’t obvious at the time but equipment failure and some shooting form issues lead to a frustrating hunt for me.
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An eleventh hour trip was devised and it wasn’t long before we drove north for our second ‘Walak’ trip to seek revenge on some of the game that escaped my Magnus broadheads first time around.
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Target at 2: We disembarked at six PM, and for the next eight hours discussed bowhunting, bowhunting and bowhunting and laughed our sides sore for most of the trip.
We some how lost the highway when entering a town and pulled into the service station for direction. Waiting for the attendant to finish the personal phone call, I greeted the rather large, swollen faced unit.
“G’day mate how’s it going” I said
“Not to good” was the reply from ‘Mr Servo”.
“I’m trying to get back onto the highway heading north”
“Umm well, at the round about turn left, go down the road then turn right, then left, then right, then left, then right”….. by this point I’m thinking this bloke doesn’t even know himself!
The rotund unit waddled off, so I ask asked another gent who had come in after me for directions.
“Go straight through the round about and at the end of the road turn left and you’re back on the highway” My eyes rolled…
With renewed hope of getting back on track we soon found the highway, with the song ‘Business Time’ by Flight of the Concords playing nice and loud.
At two AM we turned off the sealed road for the home stretch on dirt. Within one hundred meters of turning off, a nice boar appeared in the dirt embankment to our left. Stopping the truck, he arrogantly crossed the road, then paused, looked back at us with a ‘your disturbing me’ look and casually walked into the long grass. The two occupants of the truck were checking out the curled lips and body mass of the swine,… was this a good omen?
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Wet ones: By three AM the tent was up and we quickly nodded off to the gentle lullaby of the near by creek. Two hours later the alarm disturbed our sleep but we were here to hunt and so getting up was relatively easy; particularly when we’d seen the boar only a few hours earlier.
Exiting the darkness of the tent, we were greeted by a surprisingly warm pre dawn morning. During the final preparations of gear, I glanced across to the creek crossing and noticed it had been washed out. On the previous trip we could access the back paddocks via the creek crossing but what now faced us meant wet feet within meters of leaving camp. The upside was that unlike last time, was that the cattle had been removed from this paddock and it looked as though the whole area had been ‘rested’ for some time which hopefully meant swine had taken up residence.
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No camo: After we crossed the creek and climbed the hill into the top paddock, the first thing that caught our attention was the feed, it was thick, long, and lush. This was going to make it very difficult to see anything smaller than cattle as the grass height was at times up to our necks! So you could literally hunt in your birthday suit and a hat.
As Rory followed the game trail through the tall grass, I noticed pollen being released from the seed heads and knew my eyes would soon begin to itch and swell, and so it was. With my only chance of relief being a trip into town for eye drops.
Outside of watching four young fallow deer feed peacefully for about half an hour the first session was uneventful, so during lunch time we popped in to greet our hosts on our way into town. The information provided by our hosts had us hatching a cunning plan to harvest ‘Big Yella’ a boar that has developed a reputation in the area and managed to elude all previous efforts to knock him over.
Returning from town and back into our hunt, we found wallows, tusk trees and nests/beds which soon made our excitement run high, knowing we were in the right area. Was this sign Big Yella’s?
We eventually got to the spot where we hoped we would have a chance at Big Yella off a well used wallowing area. Gathering dead branches with leaves attached we made a ground blind. The constantly changing winds had us second guessing our plan on numerous occasions. At last, the steady thundering approach of a solid pig got the adrenalin surging through our veins.
We strained to see through the increasing darkness and the tall grass, as we would only know of his approach via the sound on him pushing his way under the fence. That sound unfortunately never came.
The pig must have paused at the hole in the fence, then continued without crossing over to our side. It was soon time to head back to camp for dinner.
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Nostradamus: Checking out the ‘dam paddock’ we agreed that glassing was going to be useless, unless we had a height advantage and even then it was limited. We stalked through some great looking country and got onto half a dozen fallow deer, but we were there for the swine.
Rory hissed “pigs” and we soon adjusted our position to get the wind in our face. As we slowly moved in on the hogs we heard a stampede-like sound from our right. The cattle had mobbed up and started running at the two things that looked like walking bushes, which sent the pigs packing. The cattle had once again proved to be an issue.
Continuing our hunt, at some random point Rory said;
“Kris and Maggot mentioned a fox hangs about in this gully”
No sooner had he finished that comment when a fox appeared 30m directly in from of us walking towards us. I urged Rory to have a go as my bow sling was attached and the additional movement of removing it would have spooked the orange predator.
Crouching low, Rory gentle lured the fox in, hoping the fox would walk behind a large gum to our left providing the opportunity to draw his recurve. Unfortunately, the fox changed its course and walked behind a fallen log, then scented us. Game, set, match to Mr Reynard.
I recall thinking at the time that Rory had developed a skill in predicting where game might be, so I requested some big mountain boars, preferably coloured ones.
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No road kill: When driving into town, Rory explained the finer points of test cricket to me as we listen to the ABC’s commentary of the first test between the Ozzies and the Poms.
I’d noticed the lack of road kill throughout our travels on this trip most likely due to the feed everywhere which ment animals didn’t need to feed by the road side.
Just as I finished my comment we rounded a corner and a magpie was standing in the middle of the road and began its frantic take off as we approached. Banking left, then right, the magpie was confused. It tried to out run us but I’m pretty sure magpies can’t fly at 100kms per hour and after a thud I glanced in my rear vision mirror to see dust and feathers.
Maybe Rory’s prediction skills were beginning to transfer onto me!
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Overcoming fear: We rocked into the local take away for lunch when at the drink fridge Rory began laughing, reminiscing on our famed first trip here, when I drank a coffee milk drink which later produced some serious ‘squatting rooster tails’
Rory simply held up the plastic bottled milk drink and I became immediately nervous. I then decided it was time to ‘man up’ and get over the evil drink that could produce serious diarrhoea. I nodded to Rory that I’d also have one and quietly hoped that all would be well. Closing my eyes I unscrewed the lid and took a sip; it was less chunky than last time and was even within it’s expiry date (just) and as we consumed the ‘burgers with the lot’ my nerves began to ease.
The waitress was a really weathered ‘sheila’ that had an unsettling look in her eye. With an odd walk and her neck cranked to one side, she amused us no end. But we still can’t work out what they cooked our chips in….perhaps sump oil.
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Priorities: Another local that caught our attention and should be awarded the ‘Ozzie Ingenuity award’ was a woman who had her pony tail held up by a cable tie! What the!…
Multiple questions came to mind;
Ø What were you thinking?
Ø How will you take it off?
Ø How many cable ties do you have?
Ø Did you run out of fencing wire?
Yep, us ozzies are a creative and interesting bunch!
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Champion: During our trips into town, we kept in contact with our good friend Kris who had organised the access for this hunt for us, but regrettably we didn’t have much news for him when he inquired as to our hunt so far.
Kris is a laid back kind of guy and because our tally wasn’t looking good at that point, he contacted another property to get us on. How many blokes do you know that would do that? Kris is a champion bloke, period!
So after introducing ourselves to another property owner and getting some directions we parted company with the ‘cockie’ who told us simply “to have fun”.
We both mentioned how easy going the property owner was and how different their attitudes were to hunting in this area compared to the interrogation you sometimes get when trying to get access elsewhere. I guess Kris’s reputation was at play, if your close mates of Kris, then you’re welcome.
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Which way: Slowly we drove up the steep wet track to the back paddocks and our jaws dropped when we crested the final peak and looked out at some awesome country. It looked just like the tussock grassed plateau country you imagine a mountain boar lurking in and we were eagerly looking forward to exploring it.
With so much great country it was difficult to work out which way to go. Kris had mentioned “head for the two dams” and that we should park at the second dam then walk a bit.
We crossed the creek multiple times during the afternoon walk. After climbing yet another hill we had a ‘spell’ and looked back to see a white dot in the distance, my binoculars revealing it was my truck. Looking at my watch we decided to head back before it got too dark, but something inside me wanted to continue walking down stream as prime time was approaching and the thought of harvesting a mountain boar beckoned fulfilment.
Rory’s mobile phone had good reception on top of the hill so he called Kris again to confirm the spot he was referring us to. Telling him our position, he told us “I haven’t even been there yet!”, and that we should retrace our drive back towards the first ridge. Rounding a corner we realised where Kris had originally tried to describe. A large bowl shaped gully opened up before us with a couple of dams right in the middle. I turned off the vehicle, and we both went for our binoculars. We had a commanding view and we found a place to sit for the session of glassing.
With evening fast approaching the sudden excitement in Rory’s voice ment he’d some how picked up movement in the long grass on the opposite face. Acting on instinct I didn’t need Rory to give instruction, I just mimicked his actions. Within a few seconds we were jumping the fence, running down hill. Time was our enemy. As we increased our speed I tripped on a large hidden rock, and in a tangle of arms and legs crashed onto another hidden rock with my knee. Sharp pain in my left lower leg indicated all was not well and Rory’s every encouraging words “nice save of your bow mate, now get up!” was really encouraging…
It must have looked funny; two guys running flat out down that hill. One with a limp; both crashing through the long grass, in the fading light and with the occasional disappearance into a creek or pig wallow. If only someone could have filmed us from back at the truck.
We paused at the last fence forty meters from the hidden swine. Rory wished me luck and pointed through the fence “they should be forty odd in front” he whispered. Nocking an arrow I moved in, scanning for swine, listening for any noises or sighting any movement amongst the grass.
Nothing! Had they given us the slip?
Moving to my right I found nothing, when I turned back to see Rory giving me the hurry up. He told me they had moved to the left, towards the dam.
Closing in on the dark blobs, a small pig appeared ten meters in front of me with a bigger pig another five meters beyond that. I drew on the closest, but it began to walk towards the larger hog so I let down slowly. It has been ten years since I harvested a mountain pig so any pig would do, but something told me to wait.
Now my focus was on the bigger one, and as I drew back I could barely make out my sight pins. I found it difficult to make out the target, so I moved the bow off the pig to confirm the aiming point again. Moving back onto the target the whole scenario felt good with the pig just standing there for a moment then slowly moved towards me on an angle. I could feel my heart pounding and hoped that the pigs couldn’t hear it. I felt the shot go off and with a deep ‘thump’ an arrow had found it’s mark. I nocked another arrow and repeated the process, and after another ‘thump’ the pig moved off into the chest high thistles and out of sight.
The smaller pig presented a shot, so nocking another arrow I over-eagerly punched the trigger and completely missed. Now pigs were squealing behind the thistle and I knew they were even more pigs about, but I had so little time.
Moving to my right another dark shape presented a broadside shot at less than ten meters, and this time I ‘got out of my own way’ and just focused on aiming, allowing the triggering of the shot to just happen. Another solid hit sounded out soon after.
By this time I could no longer see my pins and decided there was no point following up on the arrowed swine; that would have to wait until morning, so I backed out and joined Rory. As I crept backwards pigs were moving around where the heftier hogs had disappeared to when a deep, evil, guttural growl came from that direction, a prudent move to back out I thought.
Rory was itching for a blow by blow update on what had happened. As we left the scene of the crime I answered the barrage of questions from Rory. Just before we made it back to the car we sat in the long grass and Rory filmed in the complete darkness my telling of the events that had just taken place.
Over dinner we hatched a plan to return to the same spot where we finally had some action. First, we would look for pigs for Rory to have a go at, then, look for the swine from the night before.
As I nodded off to sleep, I just hoped that we could at least find just one of the pigs in the chest high grass, as mountain pigs for us were few and far between to date and are known for their toughness and ability to ‘carry’ an arrow well before going down.
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Scene of the crime: Getting out of bed at four am didn’t seem to be a problem as our eagerness to find more swine energised our bodies. We arrived at our same vantage point as the vehicle’s clock showed ‘4:30am’ and we then waited for dawn to embrace us. Like a perched eagle, Rory climbed the hill behind to increase his field of view. Nothing appeared in our binoculars so we set off making sure we got the wind right.
With the challenging light conditions the evening before it was difficult to know just how good the shots were and running into a cranky pig was not at all what we really wanted. Slowly we approached the dam via a game trail in the tall grass, when a black shape caught my eye. Raising my binoculars I confirmed it was a pig and it wasn’t breathing.
“Yes, we did it mate” was my excited comment.
High fives, back slapping, and ‘you bloody beauty’s’ were in order. Rigormortis had set in and it was difficult to neatly position the sow for the photo session, but we did the best we could. After the photos and video we returned to the spot I had shot from to look for the smaller pig as I was convinced the sow was the bigger of the two I had arrowed. We commented on how the sow had travelled about thirty meters even after a pass through lung shot, so this next pig could be in the same radius if no clear blood trail could be found.
Spirits high, we carefully approached the old gum tree. I went left and Rory right.
It must have been less than a minute before I saw Rory freaking out, calling me to come over.
In the time it took me to reach Rory, he had gone in for a better look and really began to go crazy. He was fist pumping, yelling, woo-hooing and high-fiveing, pacing back and forth, turning away then looking back; all with a bloody big grin on his face. The way he was acting you’d think he’d shot a pig. I could feel his excitement infecting me and my heart rate was climbing and I too began to freak out!
The first thing I saw were ‘avocadoes’ (balls), and then a long bushy tail. Then my eyes started to take in the lump of an animal that was at my feet. I couldn’t see past its shoulders and took a couple more steps forward then saw its head.
“Holy shit its big mate” I said, whilst Rory who was still trying to absorb the mass of the beast was doing his best to film the excitement of the moment. If this is how Rory behaves when a mate shoots a pig, I want to be there when he gets a cracking boar for himself!
I had to walk away from it just soak up what we’d achieved. The fact that we even found the thing was in itself a great result, let alone the quality of the animal. With adrenaline washing over us we decided to look for the arrows that had slayed the beast. We didn’t hold much hope in finding them in the long grass but we looked anyway. Rory found the first arrow and within a minute I’d found the second, literally founding needles in a hay stack!
We gravitated back to the fallen beast, still unable to really comprehend it’ size. This was a new ‘PB’ for me and it had been more than ten years since I’d harvested a mountain boar. It ticked all the boxes for me, it was big, coloured and had better hooks than my previous best mountain boar. Sure I had better jaws from cape boars but mountain boars are a different animal in my opinion. We don’t get many pigs back home so this one made the trip worth while and went a long way to remedying the frustrations of the year of hunting I’d had.
Again the stiff carcass made positioning the animal more difficult than usual and we even struggled to open its mouth only slightly, and not enough to expose the hooks as is customary.
Whilst I did shoot the pigs, Rory played a big part in making it happen and my sincere thanks goes to you mate. One of the best parts about hunting with mates is we all help each other achieve our personal bowhunting goals, and this was one of mine, cheers lads!
Prior to the trip I focused on two things;
1. To shoot better than my previous trip, and
2. To harvest two pigs (one being a boar).
I’m a firm believer that setting goals plays a significant role in your success.
An extensive photo/video session followed by the removal of the beast’s cape took up rest of the morning. Forgetting to bring a load of salt with us we once again we needed to make the two and a bit hour round trip into town to buy some, and to make a few phone calls to share the good news with the rest of the WCC boys.
That afternoon we again returned to the same property with the hope of more pigs for Rory to have a go at. Unfortunately none showed but we did have three red deer feed to within thirty-five meters from a glassing position we had taken up for the evening. We felt satisfied just watching the group interact with each other and got some good footage. For me bowhunting is not just about harvesting game but being close to animals without them knowing your even there.
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Chicken goat: The last day was upon us with only a morning hunt left before the long drive home. Leaving my bow at camp meant that anything that presented was Rory’s. I smiled after crossing the creek near camp, once again it was wet feet then the climb in the dark to wait for dawn.
Not long into the walk we heard something moving in the tall grass, so we backed up but the cruel wind did its thing and a young boar was gone in a flash. We continued up into a feeder gully, but nothing showed.
Heading north, we heard a goat bleat echo out in the calm of the morning. Carefully stalking in on the mob was relatively easy and once in a good position I sat back and filmed Rory doing his thing.
The goats moved to higher ground with more goats already above in the thick bush. At one stage Rory was a mere two meters from the rutting goats with one billy sounding more like a clucking chicken as he rutted around a nanny in heat, complete with the funny neck-pulse thing that chickens do when walking. This place truly is bizarre at times and even the game animals are weird. I got some footage of Rory’s first goat that he took with a great shot putting it down quickly.
Video of this goat action - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vgi0dbWik00
A second goat was on the agenda, and this one was a bigger goat but with poor horns and a small body, so he needed to be harvested to improve the trophy potential of the mob.
It was a great way to finish the trip and I was pleased that Rory got to harvest some game, even if they weren’t big mountain boars. Hopefully next time mate.
We hope to be back in the winter months with screaming boars seeking sows in heat and the gully heads and benches alive with all day swine action.
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Over and out: Returning home, we stopped in at one of the little towns along the way for lunch. We noticed a large majority of residence were aged about one hundred and fifty years old and anyone younger wore mirror lensed wrap-around sunglasses and sported a mullet, or at least where we sat.
Continuing on home we listened to the fifth day of the first Ashes test commentary with a draw being the result. We talked and laughed and relived the events of our hunt. Hopefully the rest of the WCC members can join us for a walk in those hills soon, so they too can experience the weirdness for themselves.
