Shank's Mare Safari

Scenic vistas that go on for days and brilliant, azure skies bring me back to the mountains year after year. However, it's the challenge of hunting the high country and the muscle-sore satisfaction that comes from a trophy earned the hard way that make mountain hunting, in my opinion, the most satisfying pursuit.

I've hunted extensively throughout North America in search of the best mountain hunting. I've pursued sheep and goats in British Columbia and Alaska and elk and mulies across the west. Heck, I've even backpacked South Africa's Winterburg Range in search of one of the dainty vaal rhebucks that call that range home. My latest quest took me even farther south, where I learned that things are not always as they seem.

The Real Deal
I thought I knew a great deal about hunting New Zealand. I must, however, confess, now that I know the truth, to having had some pretty wild misconceptions about the style of hunting and the challenge, or lack thereof, of bagging a chamois or tahr in her Southern Alps.

When I thought of New Zealand, I had visions of overfed, unethical slobs chasing animals from a helicopter. After a chance meeting with Mike Freeman at an SCI convention, I learned that I was way off the mark.

According to Mike, who runs Kiwi Safaris, his crew uses helicopters solely to get his clients to the top of the mountain. I don't have a problem with that, but it is not my cup of tea. I was thrilled to learn that Mike also offers classic shank's mare safaris for chamois and Himalayan tahr in the mountains that surround his lodge. A few more brief visits over the next two days culminated with me booking a five-day hunt for the following June.

A Long Journey
The flight from the Auckland airport to Christchurch on New Zealand's south Island was filled with breathtaking vistas. Rugged mountains, some capped with snow, jutted up from the sea. To the west, deep-blue sea stretched as far as I could see. Our approach to Christchurch brought a strange new sight--the fertile Canterbury Plains that inspired those first intrepid settlers to make their homes on this rugged, isolated island.

I must say I was a bit shocked when my guide, Warwick Thompson, approached me in the airport. Although he was a strapping six feet, four inches, his distinctive mutton chops and hair were a shocking white. He appeared fit, but I was expecting someone, well, younger to guide my mountain hunt. Once again, my trepidation showed just how much I had left to learn.

I slept most of the way to the lodge, but the scenery that greeted me when I opened my eyes was exactly what I hoped for. Below me, the Rangitata River coursed for miles through the verdant lands. Above, rugged peaks teemed with game and the promise of adventure. Not a moment too soon after a grueling 30-hour journey, we arrived at the fabulous lodge Kiwi calls home.