I took Harry hunting the other day. We are members of the Parapara Golf Club and had been ordered out to supply two deer for the barbecue at our opening day.
Before we set out on my quad, I casually mentioned to Harry that he could do the honours withthe shooting. I would take over the rifle only if Harry's marksmanship was not up to scratch.
It was midway through the roar period and because the males were indulging in obsessive mating behaviour and posturing which caused them to lose weight and the meat to acquire a gamy flavour, the obvious targets would be hinds. The female fallow deer, generally known as does, are usually in top condition at this time of year.
I advised Harry to try for neck shots so we'd get the maximum amount of meat, an optimistic request, as all hunters know.
The fallow bucks were croaking well and because of their single-minded focus would have been relatively easy to shoot. On the other hand, the female deer, especially the older does, are forever vigilant and always harder to get close to. A slight hiccup on the first deer occurred when Harry tried a neck shot at 150 metres and missed.
I lent Harry my camouflage face mask for his stalk on the second deer which I believe helped him approach the mob without alerting them. He eventually bagged two beautiful, fat fallow does.
Harry accepted that he would do the carrying if I dressed out the animals and, with a 50-year gap in our ages, I heartily endorsed that deal. Our mission for the day accomplished, one weary hunter and one keen, young hunter were already contemplating their next outing.
There is nothing more pleasurable than sitting on the side of a hill after a successful hunt, reflecting on the events of the morning. After many years of hunting, I believe the kill is only incidental to the experience. New country, other game animals, native birds and bush are all important aspects of hunting.
Bob Pittaway is a Wanganui farm manager who has written hunting books, including The Lure of the Hills, Fallow Deer Hunting in New Zealand and Pigs at my Doorstep.