The Cousin of Death - New Zealand Tahr Hunting
You take the pain because you ask for it. You love it because others don’t. Complacency and lethargy is the cousins of death, the searing burn that comes from the effort is your muscles telling you, we are still here, we are still fighting the good fight, if only for a little longer.
Stop looking up, keep your head down and eat the pieces of the elephant, don’t try to jam the whole thing in your mouth.
My toe kicks another step into the soft scree, initiating a mini avalanche, sounding like a million gold coins sliding down a dragon’s hoard.
One step up, slide a half step back. The metaphor isn’t subtle at that moment, rather it slugs me over the head like a baseball bat. It’s no different than my life’s path. The mountains tell the truth, or I’ll adjust my perception to make it so.
Eighteen hundred hard earned vertical feet lays below me. And the mountains still tower over, offering up her treasure if I have the will to overpower her. The barrier to entry is high in her game.
But her skin was brittle, peeling away with little more than the weight of a human being.
It’s like wading your way into a storming ocean surf. Your advance constantly being halted by mother nature’s commitment barometer. She’ll let you pass, but not before she knows you really want it.
The real kick in the crotch is that you willingly did this less than ten hours previous. And now you’re back at it. Repeating the motions, but weaponless this time to save weight… After all the deed has already been done. Now all you need to do is finish the job. The easy part is to think back to how you got yourself here, the harder part is completing the task without the adrenaline infusion of the chase.
Three shots rang out. The first followed by the chaos of a known miss. Reload, frantically try to relocate, a smooth pull of the trigger and the reward of a cantaloupe thump from a hit. He’s now walking, not running. A good sign.
A smoking cartridge cartwheels through the air to make room for another. I wonder if these brass bottlenecks know the importance of their existence and how easily they can end one life to sustain another.
One more punch to my shoulder followed by that sweet sound. He stumbles off to be swallowed by the mountain.
That was then, this is now.
Toe in and hope this sucker doesn’t slide burying me in a rock tomb. Go for the finger of rock protruding out of the gums of the mountain like the shattered teeth from an unfortunate recipient of a kick to the face.
The walking gets easier if not more dangerous with the semi-solid rock. It doesn’t slide on you, but if it decides to shed a layer it’s taking you with it in no uncertain terms.
I make it to the spot where one life form was irrevocably changed forever. The spot where with a simple pull of a trigger you would be absorbing one life into your own. I find it odd at that moment that I find the importance of my own existence more important than his. It’s a fleeting thought, as I know self preservation is at the core of every living thing. I’m no different. My life is more important than his and that’s just the way of it.
Not much time is spent on looking for where his body betrayed him and leaked out his life through a penny sized hole.
I know his trajectory well and know the spot where he spent the night alone with his last few breaths wasn’t far away.
Leveling off my ascent, I adjust my altitude and follow the contours of the the mountain. Series of short bursts are used navigate over the scree, looking similar to a boy trying to cross a river without getting his shoes wet.
I peer down the gut of two tentacles of jagged outcrops.
Nothing. Must be the next one.
Another burst of speed to cross the landslide zone and to the relative safety of the next outcrop.
He’s got to be here.
And he is. The grey monotony of of rock is broken up by a thick patch of waving brown hair, alive from the wind, but what lies beneath certainly is not.
I heel into the rock and work my way down to him, taken back by the sheer mass of the piled up animal. A tank of a creature with four short legs to power it through the mountains.
I look out over what his last view must have been. I wouldn’t complain in the afterlife if this was the last thing I saw before I took the plunge.
My camera comes out of my pack to record this short portion of my life. I like to capture the truth of what really happened, not what my ever lessening memory decides to make of it over time.
It’s beautiful, surreal and terrifying. The first two make sense to most people, the last often needs explanation. This exact moment, this exact thing I am doing right now is why I was put on this earth. And to know that one day I will no longer be able to do this whether from dissolving health or unseen circumstances drives deep into me.
The camera snaps a few photos, guaranteeing I can look back to this as it happened.
I sit for a moment and tell myself to soak it in as this may be the last time you ever see this place on earth.
But duty calls and the animal that I killed needs to be broken down.
The camera goes in its case and the knife comes out of his.
I unfold the blade, check its sharpness and stand over the tahr as I make a long slit up his stomach.
Thunk.
Oh shit.
My eyes immediately move to the empty spot where my camera had sat moments before.
No no no no nonono.
I stop myself short from launching off the small cliff I’m standing on. A small black case no less round than a bowling ball picks up momentum and uses it to free itself from the constraints of gravity.
Stay in the case. Please stay in the case.
By now the speed has added significant vertical lift to each bounce.
The camera is obviously smashed to bits as if it were a bag of ice being broken apart by repeated poundings on the ground… but maybe it will hold stay in the case and a least give you back the SD card.
The SD card. The DNA of this trip. It holds all the memories of three weeks packed into a lifetime in its thumbnail sized existence.
Hold together.
The mountains aren’t listening or at least they aren’t taking requests at the moment.
The bag bursts. The contents within race in opposite directions as if they were magnets repelling one another.
My eyes looks for the body that holds almost all visual information from my entire trip to New Zealand. But it is useless. The whole ensemble is now nearly a thousand feet below me in a shredded mess.
My heart sinks.
The cycle is complete. The physical pain is now complemented by the mental anguish.
You’re alive, you have the experience, but damn it, this sucks...
// Fred Bohm
DIY Bow Hunting New Zealand - Part 1: Pre-Plan an Unguided Hunt
Making the leap into the unknown. Traveling for the sake of experiencing something new and with the intent of purposely changing one’s perspective. Easier to do today than ever because of technology, but still there is that residue of instinct in us to remain in one place, to stay where we are comfortable and where we know what dangers are nearby. Better to know the devil you know than the devil you don’t.
I decided I wanted to shake hands with the devil I’ve never met by bowhunting the Southern Alps of New Zealand. Now granted, it’s not like I’m exploring some unknown region in Papua New Guinea with the potential of getting my head shrunk by the local tribesman, but it sure as hell does involve a bit more legistics than tossing my bow in the truck, grabbing food on the way and jumping over to the next state for a hunt.
So I did what any smart person would do. I bought the plane tickets first before making much of a plan at all. Commitment. That’s the hardest part, the rest you’ll figure out along the way.
OK, now I know what country I’ll be hunting in, but now what? That’s about as useful as saying, “I’m going to hunt the United States.” Yea great slick, there happens to be millions of acres you can wander through but you might want to narrow it down a bit.
What species? Are you looking to chase the infamous red stag, fallow deer or how about tahr? High or low elevation? Backpack or truck hunting? Bow or firearm? What time of year is best? What gear are you going to need? What’s the permit system entail?
The questions are endless. It’s not hard to fall into “paralysis by analysis” when trying to plan a trip out of the country. Try to answer all of these at once you’re just as likely to get a case of the “fuck its” and giving up on the trip all together.
I’ll try to break it down as simple as possible in a three part series, giving you the info I come across as I find it. This one will cover the pre-planning it will take to make the trip a success, however you define it. I’ll also do one on the gear I’ll be taking as well as a post mortem when I return so you can learn from my mistakes.
This isn’t meant for the guys headed over to New Zealand on a fully guided hunt, chasing monster stags behind high fences. If that’s your deal, good for you, you’ll find resources on plenty of guide’s pages. This is for the DIY hunter trying to do this on a budget.
Here are the things I’m working through/have worked through to get this hunt off the ground.
When to Hunt New Zealand
This will depend on what you plan to hunt and the assumption that you’ll be trying to catch the rut. Know that there are other times you may want to hunt New Zealand, but this will cover the rut. Remember their fall is our spring, so a good time to go will be sometime in March through June. Here’s a breakdown on rut activity according to species.
Chamois: May and June
Tahr: May and June
Fallow Deer: April to mid-May
Red Deer: Late March through April
Rusa Deer: July to August
Sika Deer: Late March to early May
Wapiti: Mid-March to late April
Buy Plane Tickets
I didn’t do this way in advance, just two months before leaving. A huge help for me was Google Flights. If you’re a bit flexible with timing this site can help you get the best deals on plane tickets around.
Car Rental
It’s actually easy to set up a car rental. Any online service you typically use (Expedia, Orbitz, etc.) can get you set up. The prices seem comparable to the USA. Careful though, apparently they still use lances or swords over there, because these guys drive on the left hand side of the road (that’ll give you something to Google while you’re bored at work).
Find Where You’re Going to Hunt in New Zealand
This one was a bit trickier. Here’s some ideas:
New Zealand DOC: Great resource that gives you all the public land available (which is substantial. They even go as far as letting you enter the species you want to hunt and then recommending spots to hunt. A great starting point.
Local Advice: Local advice is the best advice. Here’s the rub, who the hell wants to tell you their favorite spots to hunt. This is where you need to be willing to part with some of your own. Nothing in life is free, and this certainly applies to good hunting locations. I talked with people on forums who were visiting the USA to hunt. I advised them on areas I knew well and they reciprocated. Here’s where the Golden Rule comes in. Don’t be a dick. Make sure you hold up your end of the bargain when the time comes.
Permits and Flying with Weapons
- Since you’re bowhunting life is a lot easier. No firearms permits are needed. Safely pack your bow and you’ll be set.
- If you are hunting with a firearm there is some great information from Big Game Hunting Adventures here.
New Zealand DOC Permit: It’s free, but you’ll need to carry one on you while hunting. These permits are for open hunting areas. Note: there are restricted hunting areas (much like our limited entry hunts) that you’ll need to apply for in our fall time if you want to hunt those areas.
Passport
Probably don’t need to explain this one, but I’ve had trips delayed because I was a knucklehead and forgot my passport expired.
A preview as to what will be in the next segment. Gear, gear and more gear. This will be an extensive list that will be considered carefully. You only get so much weight when flying and you’ll want to be mobile when you’re there. I’ll break down all the gear I will be taking, how I pack it and why I’m taking what I’m taking. Look for it in the near future. Sign up to my Newsletter to get it sent straight to your mailbox.
// Fred Bohm