Moluccan Magic
THE big anthill couldn’t have been positioned more perfectly. Two metres wide and higher than a man’s chest, it provided ideal cover for my good mate Sean “Buff” O’Farrell and our guide, Duane Stanyer, to approach undetected within shooting range of two Moluccan rusa stags.
Half an hour earlier, my youngest son Billy had spotted the stags from the verandah of our accommodation on the other side of the lake. The pair were mooching along the distant shoreline, hock high in water, feeding on the abundant water lilies. Duane studied them intently through his binoculars, then declared them worthy of a closer look. Hurriedly we woke Buff from his afternoon nap!
“There’s a stag out here, do you want to come and shoot it?” I had asked sarcastically. Buff was out of bed in a flash, then it was all aboard Duane’s 80 Series Landcruiser. Duane rolled the ‘Cruiser to a stop at a spot on the rocky track where, by his best guess, he and Buff could stalk downhill and intercept the deer before they were swallowed up by the thick bush that surrounded
