We planned to hunt two Southern Alps ranges that we had scouted previously, using our knowledge from past experiences.
The last weekend in March saw us heading on our first trip to an area in which I had hunted during the previous roar. I had taken a shot at a decent stag but missed or wounded, and hadn't recovered him. Experiencing the feeling of guilt is terrible for any hunter; there's nothing worse having this experience when hunting. I made the effort to go back three weeks later with Lachie and my dog to attempt to find the carcass but had no luck. Naturally, this stag weighed on my mind for the following twelve months, so the plan this time was to see if that stag was still alive in the hope that we could get on to him again. Additionally, as we knew of the quality genetics of the area, the chances of coming across another big boy were high. The country is steep and eroded and has some nasty bush, but plenty of deer due to most folk being put off by the challenging terrain.
On the first evening and after a couple of hours by headlight we made it to one of the very few flat bush campsites, just big enough for our tent. No roars were heard that night, but we weren't surprised as it was so warm. The next morning we were greeted with a bluebird day, and it was already getting hot; this was to be the trend for our roar. It felt like we were hunting in the middle of summer and it became a bit of a running joke that we were “roar hunting in summer”.
After packing up camp we progressed up the spur and, after a really good old bush bash, broke out into the clear. Lachie instantly picked up a
