What Makes a Perfect Hunt?
The act of hunting connects those inclined with basic instincts that date back to the earliest days of our evolution. It was essential to survival. Access to meat provided extra energy that stimulated our brain development and probably contributed to our development of language.
Hunting a large, dangerous animal demanded clear communication – I see something, stop, go left, go right, move forward and even run were essential commands to supply food for the family unit and live to hunt on another day. In modern times, hunting to supply food is not essential but provides a challenge that responds to our basic instinct. It also plays an important role in managing feral animals and avoids the use of poisons that are unethical. These are cruel to feral game that should still be treated with respect and have unpleasant flow on effects to the wider environment.
Land suitable for wild populations of animals is limited, so they must be managed to balance numbers with available food supply. In Europe and Africa, controlled hunting is used, so in the modern world controlled hunting and trophy hunting for a fee provides additional revenue to support national parks, ensures the renewal of the gene pool of wild populations and provides employment for local people to undermine the need for poaching. While the rich are noted for paying huge sums for the chance to hunt African game under controlled conditions, any hunter can contribute to conservation by targeting feral animals such as pigs, deer, cats and foxes.
What makes a perfect hunt? I pondered the question in subdued silence while watching my mates rib each other in front of the blazing warmth of an open fire in the homestead on a cold, outback winters night as we sipped a quality red. Steve was excitedly reliving the fine long range shot he took on a running boar while Russell was reminding him of an occasion when things hadn’t quite come together in the company of a witness, who could perhaps have been his wife! That’s what mates do to each other and Steve’s tough, so he can take the gentle ribbing.
As we wound down after a long day of hunting, I was quietly thanking Russ for his self discipline. Around midday we had stopped alongside a creek that snaked its way down to theParooRiveracross the red, gravelly soil of westernQueensland. Russ was keen to experience the hunt but didn’t have much experience in the outback. While he set up his GPS as a back up, I went for a wander up a branch of the creek and found fresh sign close by. As he locked in our position on his GPS, I whispered a plan into his ear, briefing him of how we would work the sign.
We followed the creek up to thenorth west, with Russ off to my right as I followed the creek line. As we carefully edged our way up the water course, we found more sign, so fresh the red soil was still trickling down off the edges of the diggings. We communicated with hand signals, not daring to disturb the land with even one spoken word. We continued to stalk our way up the creek into the wind, stepping gingerly over the dry branches that threatened to snap a warning across the landscape and eased our way between the scrub that would also scratch against our clothing and sound another alarm. Suddenly I heard the blast of his 30/30 and the angry grunt of a surprised pig.
Things happened fast after that and a charging pig exploded into view, heading straight toward me. I was blocking his line of escape. Between the branches of the scrub and the dazzling light of the midday sun, I had a vague impression of Russ tracking the pig with his Winchester, but he didn’t fire. The pig burst into view from under a bush and I scoped him instantly through the 2 – 7 Leupold set on 2 power on a Brno combination, both eyes open as always for better field of view.
The snapshot from the 12 gauge slammed him onto the ground barely two metres away. Over the next few seconds, I contemplated the situation. If I had missed the shot, I’d most likely be off to the local medical centre for stitches and a tetanus shot. It Russ had fired, it was possible I’d be wearing a 170 grain soft point as Russ, the pig and myself had been lined up too close for comfort. If his bullet had missed, I’d at least need a change of trousers!
Those few minutes had been a perfect hunt. First, reading the landscape to locate a likely area. Any animal needs water, food, shelter and breeding opportunities in an order of priority determined by environmental conditions. We had found such an area and then located fresh sign. Disciplined team work to a clear plan had put us in the right spot to surprise our game. In the final heat and confusion of the moment the same team work and self discipline delivered success in complete safety the way we had briefed. When hunting with partners, the use of firearms demands total concentration and high levels of self discipline. Russ may have been inexperienced in bush but when it really counted, he had what it takes to operate under pressure. I was impressed and thankful.
What makes a perfect hunt? The question still needed answering as I reviewed the day while the friendly banter continued. Success in the hunt is wonderful, but not essential. For me, the quality of the hunt is even more important. The sights, sounds, smells and constant anticipation of what the next minute may bring have a pleasure of their own that urbanised life cannot deliver. There are many activities that deliver a similar sensation, such as parachuting, flying, scuba diving, sail boarding or even riding a motor bike. Every activity that delivers the buzz involves getting out there and managing an element of risk. Our molly coddled modern existence is reducing the opportunities to be a participant in nature instead of being a restricted and controlled observer.
Success is one aspect of the perfect hunt, but there is another element captured by words like comradeship and mateship. The act of hunting provides a rare opportunity to bond with other people in a shared, focussed purpose. Whether one is involved in trophy hunting, culling or hunting for meat, the experience of the hunt provides an opportunity to engage in an environment where the superficial and artificial trappings of civilisation are stripped away. We get to see people as they really are. Can they share the responsibilities of the camp? Can they work in a team? How do they cope under pressure and the absence of comforts? Can you stake your life on them? These are all fascinating questions that only activities like hunting can deliver answers.
The perfect hunt takes place when none of these concerns even arise as questions. As the banter between Steve and Russ flowed back and forth, I decided I was experiencing a perfect hunt. Steve had never been in doubt. When the need arose to find another hunting partner, I advertised! I put an ad in the local paper, looking for someone who was competent with a rifle, shotgun and handgun, experienced in remote area navigation, a capable 4WD driver, able to operate in extremes of temperature and competent in mountains, jungle or the desert. I talked to some wannabee’s and the odd loony but also met Steve. It didn’t take long to recognise that he’d been there and done it. Thirty years of adventure followed, years of hunting, exploring the wilderness and fantastic experiences. His indigenous background adds a fascinating perspective when walking the landscapes ofAustralia.
I was glad to be able to share the adventure with Russ. The red soil country has an attraction of its own that he appreciated, but it can be challenging. To the uninitiated, the country may look like semi-desert but experience and a reading of the landscape can paint a different picture. Over what seems to be an expanse of flat, scrubby country, slight undulations in the land can produce micro-environments that give sustenance to a huge range of wildlife. They provide opportunities to be exploited by feral animals such as pigs, goats, cats, foxes and wild dogs. Sharing the experience with both of them was a pleasure.
Russ was struggling with an injury so he couldn’t walk too far, even though he put in the effort without complaint. The situation sorted itself out naturally, with Steve and I heading off for extended separate walks through the channels while Russ stayed with the vehicle and did shorter explorations before picking us up before dark. After a long walk under tough conditions, finding him at the right spot at the appointed time was a welcome sight that hunters will understand.
The conditions were difficult with lots of growth after the floods. In places, grass along the river channels reached shoulder height and I’m a shade over six foot. I’d heard plenty of stories of snakes surfing across the top of grass to launch a strike. Whether it was rumour or fact I had no idea, but it wasn’t a pleasant thought while stalking through the exceptional growth. My lady loves to tell me the story of how she saw a tiger snake surf across the rushes and knock her uncle’s hat off in a surprise attack. I always remember it when I’m hip or shoulder high in the growth among the channels. Her mischief knows no bounds! Getting struck by a snake out here would have an unpleasant outcome, regardless of the first aid kits we carried.
One morning I had more than four hours of stalking under my belt along an overgrown channels when I saw the goat. He was a billy and his horns were spectacular. He was climbing out of the channel, about to be lost amongst the growth that had sprung up after the flood. I scoped him for a better view and my finger caressed the trigger, tempted to take the shot but I hesitated in spite of his horns. I’d never seen anything bigger in the wild, but I was here to shoot pigs. The goats were rounded up twice a year by the property owner and while I knew he would never miss one, thoughts of trust and honesty kicked in. He gave us free rein on his land and trusted us, so the choice was a matter of principle.
I swung the rifle away from the billy and just caught the vague impression of shapes moving through the yellowed grass. Probably more goats I thought but I swung back for another look. Between gaps in the grass and scrub I saw the outline of pigs moving up out of a channel, heading out into the dry, gravelly red soil country. I jumped down into the channel, scrambled up the opposite bank and took a solid rest against the trunk of a straggly acacia for a careful look through the scope, kept on 2 power for wider vision. One was ginger and the other black, no more than sixty metres away, partially hidden amongst the grass. Which was the boar? I was hunting for a good boar and swung the scope to left and right, trying to pick up a clue before they disappeared into the scrub whose shadowy presence on the edge of my scope threatened to swallow them forever.
A lot of boars are black, but I took a random punt and lined up on the ginger shape amongst the grass and touched the trigger. The blast of the 7 × 57 was followed instantly by the ginger pig dropping into the grass. I rushed forward, breaking the action and reloading from force of habit. I had lost the pig in the grass but caught sight of the black one standing sideways under the scrub in the shadows under the acacia. I swung theBrnoup and fired in a smooth movement just as the pig launched itself forward. It was a clean miss and I cursed myself for being a touch slow. With aBrnocombination, I can’t afford missed shots but we all have them.
Scouting around, I found the ginger pig. It was a boar and the tusks were pretty good. The black one had been the sow. What luck! I had no idea what motivated me to swing from black to ginger, but there was my boar. It could have been the shape, something about their behaviour or just long experience. I’ll never know the answer to that question, but I had my boar. The tusks were better than expected in spite of the hard red soil and gravelly country.
It was another perfect hunt. It came down to locating the most likely country to find game, persevering with the stalk into wind, checking out every likely opportunity, reacting fast to a fleeting opportunity, good judgement, a careful shot under difficult conditions and a good dose of sheer luck. It had all come together unexpectedly to deliver success.
So what does make a perfect hunt? Reflecting over past hunts while sipping a good red led to an answer. I love to pit myself against animals in the wild, learning their habits and understanding their behaviour. I hunt for meat, the odd trophy or to cull feral animals and all give me a sense of achievement. I can hunt happily alone, but sharing the experience with friends adds a unique aspect that goes past the actual hunt. Sharing a meal, companionship in the outback, hunting alone but relying on a mate to fulfil his duty at the end of an exhausting hunt and good conversation over a red at the end of a long day that leads to deep personal confessions adds a special flavour.
Men are supposed to be poor communicators and not in touch with their feeling, but I have never found this around a campfire or good meal at the end of a hard day of hunting. I can’t speak for other hunters, but on our trips, we connect in ways that are outside the experience of urban based people. Trust and respect are earned the hard way and maintained through the demands of the hunt. The character of modern life is reducing the opportunities where people can connect in real terms.
May these opportunities continue for future generations.