For a young boy from Tasmania these all seemed very distant dreams, at the time few people we knew ever left the state and the world outside the apple isle was a very big unknown for many of us.
Jump forward in time, and I am laying in a closely gathered patch of black tee tree trees amongst spear grass and the rough edges of basalt rocks, though it sounds less than comfortable I had just spent considerable time and effort to get myself to this spot.
Ahead of me and unawares where the Chital deer from the pages of the magazine and although I’m now 40 years old my eyes greeted this scene with the same boyhood wonder, 20 or so of natures most beautifully designed creatures some bedded some standing glistened in the sunshine, I still pinch myself and I hope the feeling never fades.
This was an absolute blue bell day, there was not a single cloud in the sky, the overnight temperatures had dropped to well below zero and there was even a patch of frost near the spring, we were at the end of an 8 day cold snap that had covered the best part of the east coast of the country and though I had shivered in my sleeping bag the benefits were well worth it.
I am still learning about the habits of Chital and I am not sure I will ever have these wonderful animals completely worked out, but the cold weather brought on an unexpected level of full blown rutting activity, with stags braying like little donkeys all through the morning, it was almost like hunting reds in the roar (pinch my self again).
Through my binoculars I was able to make out the 25 to 26 inch antlers of two young stags with this group, perfectly pointed and rubbed clear of velvet they were that distinct
Heart shape that the species are known for and looked to have super potential in their future years.
A young fawn stood by his mother at the edge of the group with his tail and ears flicking like a lamb, I had taken my day pack off by this point and had gotten comfortable back to a tree drinking in every moment, this little deer couldn’t have been more than a few days old, his wet nose shone in the sun as his mother licked the back of his head, words fail me.
I had been in my spot now for close to half an hour, close but still out of range of the recurve at my side, I had very little cover ahead of me and I knew that if I tried to make it any closer that I would be picked up in short order.
I was thinking about backing away and hunting further down the spring when a lone stag walked into view from my right by the spring, he was still in fairly good nick but his face was grey and his brow tines one inner and several inches of his right hand top were broken off, he had been a scrapper in his day, but it appeared as if his best were behind him.
As soon as he was noticed by the other younger stags they were both up on their feet and challenged him at the edge of the patch of tee tree, the first pushed him away followed by the second who pushed him further, old grey face was no match for the younger animals and I watched him try to join the group two more times with the same result.
It was nature at work but just the same a little sad to watch, he had not so long ago been a match for any and could choose any patch of shade in his domain to lay, but today he was an outcast and at the end of the third tussle he lowered his head as he picked his way across the marbled basalt rocks that litter the ground.
At about 30 yards he stopped and looked back along his body at the others , I wondered what he was thinking , was it resignation , would it be anger or confusion , he was sure of one thing, those with once he roamed wanted no part of him today. Standing there like a statue for what seemed an age looking almost as if he would go back for a forth attempt
Wisdom got the better of him and he turned to face my direction and continued across the clearing toward my position.
A hunters part to play in natures design is rarely clear and the subject of many debates in the modern world but my purpose and intention seemed galvanized by what I knew lay ahead for grey face , his future lay entwined amongst the many dingo tracks by the spring, A remorseless end that would be neither painless nor merciful.
As with any creature old rarely means dim, a lifetime in the wild produces instincts that most of us struggle to fathom, I was laying flat on the ground now in knee high grass with the breeze in my face, undetectable (kidding myself). Grey face stopped dead at 25 yards as if someone had stood on his chain, staring right in my direction “What !!!!!! “What can you possibly see†I asked myself “Oh come onâ€Â.
I have friends that swear that deer can almost feel the weight of a hunters gaze , that those times when without any obvious reason and with the entire world around them a deer will stop what its doing and look directly into the cover that conceals you as if searching for your eyes. This was one of those moments.
Ears forward, head up; Grey face licked his nose and strained his eyes to peer in amongst the black trunks of the tee tree, no discernable shapes friend or foe, nothing to smell, still something stopped him proceeding. The index finger of my left hand held an arrow firmly to the shelf of my bow, the weight of my upper body braced on my right elbow with my fingers split around the nock; I was ready to play my part.
The braying sound of another stag further down the spring turned his head momentarily and that powerful stare was redirected, I let out a sigh of relief, with one bob of his head to the ground he resumed his path toward me breaking slightly to my right. I could hear his steps now and when he stopped at only 14 yards he was almost casting his shadow over me, I kept my eyes low under the peak of my cap and as his front legs folded to lie down his chest neck and head dropped into full view.
I am going to level with you here, my mouth was dry, and my heart was pounding, I had the shakes, the dust that rose as he lay down blew towards me through the streams of light that broke through the leaves above us, he swung back with his antlers to swat at flies and settled looking down towards the spring.
It was only moments that had past not minutes as it felt, I drew my right knee up to join my left feeling the strain in my back as I pulled up with my torso and rearwards with the string, Grey face turned his head my way and exploded off the ground in one fluid motion, my arrow was no longer with me, it ran with him out amongst the basalt and lay broken with him in the bright sunshine where he fell.
I had lent forward on my hands to watch his run and when he slowed and fell, I rocked back on my knees and took a deep breath, I hadn’t drawn another when I noticed one of the smaller stags from the main group walking towards my cover stiff legged his neck craned up trying to see what was going on, “surely notâ€Â.
He was looking for Gray face he must have seen him run and was looking to press a point with him I suppose.
Grey face lay motionless 50 or so yards behind me out of site of the young stag, he would step then look, kick his head from left to right then step again. I fidgeted in my pack for my camera and at 16 yards I was sure he had made out my shape in the grass, the little digital camera wanted to focus on the grass right in front of it rather than the deer just behind it so my first couple of shots were blurry and he was still coming.
At an amazing 10 yards the stag stood quartering on to me staring intently at the hand clutching a camera that popped up and down in front of him I couldn’t believe this, perhaps he didn’t know he was a Chital deer or hadn’t gotten to the page where they are instructed to jump and run at the slightest hint of danger, I took a dozen or so shots and got three clear ones, this was awesome.
Expecting an alarm bark at any moment I tipped the brim of my cap low of the grass and lay still. A minute or so passed without a sound and when I lifted my head again the stag had turned quietly returning to the group , not a worry in the world , what a buzz. I pulled my pack along side me returned the camera and stood up slowly in full view; an old doe was the first to pick me out and within seconds I was alone.
I looked at the spot where Grey face had laid, a neatly cut tuft of fur marked the spot, it seemed even closer now I was standing up, looking out towards a stand of gums I could see his high Scimitar shaped antler above the grass, his short run had ended in seconds.
I picked up my pack and wandered over to him laying my bow against his side, his coat lacked the shine the others have and when I checked his teeth the old guy had only the very bases of his front ones left, he would be the oldest deer I have ever taken without doubt, his antlers were broken and worn, white from rubbing and fighting. He would never be rejected by his own kind again.
“An end by my arrow is far kinder than any Nature may bestow “
Fred Bear.
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