So, when my long-time bush and diving buddy Daza suggested a mid-winter heli-hunt I jumped at the chance. My last hunting trip with him had been on his stag do and saw me bag two Sika and a 6lb trout, so I was happy to trust his nose to find us a good location.
The Ureweras were chosen because we would likely get a hut to ourselves and maybe find some foolish deer hoping to warm themselves by our fire. This trip seemed to be blessed from the outset, as not only was Daza doing all the planning, but my Dad decided to join us.
With the help of the lads at Heli Hire in Murupara we loaded up and flew over the Galatea foothills into the wild. Flying in is a treat and even more so when you go from the manicured farmlands of Galatea straight up the scarred and waterfallcovered faces of the Ureweras and into Rusa country.
Day 1.
This was a double treat for Dad, as not only was he getting his first chopper ride at age 70, but it was over the hunting grounds of his youth. We followed the ridges into the Manahou right branch hut, which they assured us had not been visited recently and was unlikely to have anyone come in mid-week in the middle of winter. The pilot gave us a quick aerial orientation of the hunting grounds and pointing out five Rusa sunning themselves on the various slips at the end of the valley.
Suitably motivated for the cold river crossings ahead we dropped our gear at the hut and headed off, convinced that having flown into the middle of nowhere, the only deer we would see would be at those same slips an hours walk away, and that they would not be there tomorrow! So we were off up river with the grace and stealth of a herd of buffalo.
The first sign of our folly was when we walked straight past a spiker and saw him disappear up the hill, and then in our haste, missing a potential shot at a hind. Unfortunately, as our high school teachers will testify, we are not quick learners so when Daza walked around the river bend and found himself staring at a six-point stag he was only prepared to watch it bound off, leaving him with a great story. Dad was less impressed and reminded us that you can’t eat stories. Suitably reprimanded we stopped walking and started hunting.
I think it is important to point out here that I am not a trophy hunter, but I am
