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New Zealand: A Hunter's Journey to Middle Earth

New Zealand is a sportsman's paradise, offering an adventurous hunt for those willing to travel.

New Zealand: A Hunter's Journey to Middle Earth
Though small, the chamois holds it own in the high mountains of the South Island. (Photo courtesy of Joe Ferronato)

Watching the Outdoor Channel in my youth, my imagination was fully engulfed by hunting different species around the world. Some of the most impressive shows, the ones that caught my attention and piqued my interest, where those showing adventurous hunters chasing giant-racked animals through the rugged and dense terrain of New Zealand.

Since then, Middle Earth—for my fellow Tolkien fans out there—has become an obsession of mine, almost akin to my love affair with Africa that has been bolstered by authors such as Ruark, Hemingway and Capstick. Never did I think that I’d be able to experience my own New Zealand adventure for many years, but in June of this year, I joined Christian Hogg from Fiocchi for a full-scale New Zealand adventure.

THE JOURNEY, NOT THE DESTINATION

broadside animal
(Photo submitted by the author)

I don’t agree with that saying in terms of traveling to New Zealand, though, I will say, packing, plane rides, migration paperwork and customs does play into the adventure.

About a week before departing on nearly 27 hours of sustained travel, I stood, toothbrush in hand, over the sink with my Kenetrek boots, scrubbing every bit of dried blood and mud off as to not be stopped by customs on arrival in the country. It took hours to get those seasoned boots squeaky clean—along with my pack—but it paid dividends on arriving when custom officials looked over my gear to ensure I wasn’t bringing any contaminants into the pristine landscapes.

After clearing customs, Christian and I, tired after nearly 22 hours of travel, far too many drinks—or not enough, depending on how you look at it—and losing a day crossing the International Date Line, headed to the domestic terminal at the Auckland airport. We met up with Michael Halleron, Bryan Stutenbeck and Evan Ranz, the other members of our crew, rechecked our bags and waited for our flight to Palmerston North where head guide at Wanganui Safaris, Angus, was waiting to drive us to lodge.

THE NORTH ISLAND

On the eerily narrow two-lane road to the lodge, I expected to see orcs and elves jump out, or at least see a group of wayward hobbits scurry across the road in front of us. To my dismay, that never happened, and I spent the moments free from fighting nausea looking at game in open meadows—which was in no short supply.

The lodge sat atop a bluff overlooking thousands of acres of mountains and valleys with lush forest and open meadows where Wanganui runs their completely free-range hunts. Massive volcanoes in the distance only added to the majesty.

After a much needed night’s sleep, Christian and I took off walking with Tom, our guide, looking for red stag. Hunting free-range animals in such tough country, we had our work cut out for us to find mature animals in the vast, dense terrain. That first day and most of the second, the weather kept the animals under cover and left us slipping and sliding around the hills with only a few fleeting sightings.

Thick canopy made it hard to see, even with 12x50 Vortex Razor HD binoculars and the company’s new 13-39x56 Mini Razor spotter, but the ground beneath it was cut with game trails and still hunting through old-growth forests transported me to the imaginary world of Tolkien’s famous novels.

BEHIND THE ROAR

red deer feeding
After being introduced to the country, red deer have thrived in the rugged landscapes. (Photo courtesy of Joe Ferronato)

The roar is the colloquial term for the red deer rut. Having much in common with our elk in North America, these animals rut in a similar fashion, but instead of a high-pitched bugle, stags—though being of smaller stature—let out a deep bellowing roar. When stag are in the roar, it is just like any other rut; a great opportunity to find big animals. Even though we were late for the roar, some small stags were still in the spirit, bellowing across the valley. It truly was a sight to see and a joy to hear.

With clear weather and animals up in action, the afternoon of the second day was looking promising. We continued to cover ground and glass the vast landscapes. Working into a steep canyon that was deeper than it was wide, we spotted several good stags on the opposing hillside. Any stag of the group was a shooter, and it was time to make a move. Slipping and sliding down the steep grassy hill, we found a flat point that lent itself perfectly for a shot from 350 yards.

Not known for its mountainous country like the South Island, the North Island is far from gentle. It is steep and craggy, but covered with more lush vegetation. Due to the area being so steep, caution was imperative when taking a shot, as to prevent an animal from plummeting down the steep grade.

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hunter with a large stag
The author with his red stag, which tumbled down the steep terrain breaking off an antler. (Photo courtesy of Joe Ferronato)

One stag of the group caught my eye. He wasn’t the biggest, but he was massive with junk on his crowns; the left side even palmated in a way that created a bowl. I settled in behind the Sako 90 rifle chambered in .300 Win. Mag. and tried to read the staunch wind pushing up the canyon. I estimated the full-value wind at 10 to 15 miles per hour and adjusted my hold accordingly for the 364-yard shot. The stag was quartering away hard, but was finally at a point where we hoped he wouldn’t tumble. Confident in Fiocchi’s 165-grain Knock Down ammunition, I knew the bullet could penetrate through the body cavity and into the offside shoulder and decided to take the shot.

I squeezed the trigger, and the bullet found its mark just slightly back of where I expected the hit, but it still did its job as the stag’s offside shoulder buckled on impact. With the stag still on its feet, I cycled the bolt and sent another, putting him down. And then my nightmares became reality. He tumbled uncontrollably off ledges and through brush, finally coming to rest on a bench hundreds of feet below—and with one less antler. Two antlers or not, I was elated.

Locating the broken antler wasn’t too hard, and it was a clean break at the pedicle with next to no damage. After high fives, cheers and breathtaking photos, we worked diligently to clean the animal and pack him off the muddy slope to where our ride back to the lodge was waiting. After celebratory drinks—a shot of Chartreuse, or “green sh-t” as it’s known to the outfit, was mandatory after a kill—we slept hard and rested up for the next day of hunting.

CHASING PALMS

hunter posing with quarry
The author’s fallow buck had palms that curved in heavily at the top. (Photo courtesy of Joe Ferronato)

With the previous night’s success fueling our steps, we set off for fallow deer—which were much more prolific. Fallow bucks grow large palmated antlers with stout brow tines. They are a unique looking deer and have delectable meat (any meal made with fallow during our stay instantly became a new favorite).

We located a big herd with several great deer, but the wind wouldn’t allow a stalk. We opted to pass in hopes that we could locate another shooter, or at least not blow these animals out, hoping for an opportunity later. After finding another group, we made a successful stalk and decided the buck in the group was too small to take. Instead, I let the Knock Down ammunition fly at a doe—camp meat at its finest.

We took the tasty doe back to clean and broke for lunch, returning later to where we had found the shooter bucks. They were nearly in the same spot, and this time, the wind was right. Sneaking within 100 yards, it became a waiting game. The target buck was feeding deep in the herd, not offering a clear shot. Laying behind the rifle for what felt like hours, an opportunity presented, and the buck expired in seconds after that shot. He was yet another phenomenal trophy.

With the fallow packed out and loaded in the side-by-side, we spotted a grand arapawa ram across the canyon while driving. With some shooting light left, we stalked down the ridge and set up for shot. I squeezed the trigger on the Sako and the 165-grain Knock Down claimed another animal. Tom drove the side-by-side down the bottom of the canyon, but I decided to bushwhack my way to the ram and start the recovery. Even though I had just a few moments of solitude, it was great to reflect upon the past few days and the days we had left in this amazing adventure. I dragged the ram down to meet Christian and Tom. We loaded him into the side-by-side and headed back to camp as the last glimmer of light disappeared from the sky. Two shots of green sh-t were on the menu that night.

ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD

hunter admires his harvest
Christian Hogg with his beautiful chocolate-colored fallow buck. (Photo courtesy of Joe Ferronato)

My North Island hunt was complete, but Christian still had some time behind the trigger—though he did shoot a fine arapawa ram on the way to recover my stag—before we set our heading south. He had opted to trade out his stag in hopes of finding a truly exceptional fallow deer. Our search led us back to the same steep canyon where I had taken my stag.

From our glassing point, we found a true monarch: A chocolate-colored buck that carried massive antlers standing precariously on the steep slope. Christian found a comfortable spot to get settled for a shot. At the rifle’s report, the buck tumbled. Luckily, its fall was arrested by the brush below and he was fully intact.

Christian’s dreams of a giant fallow deer had come true, and it was truly a beautiful animal. I was honored to be a part of the hunt. Even though it was just 9:00 a.m., our friends at the lodge sent out the Chartreuse and some Tui beers to celebrate. And it was truly a cause for celebration.

HEADING SOUTH

hunter with new zealand creature
Hunting for arapawa rams is the only way to control the population of this feral species. (Photo courtesy of Joe Ferronato)

An early departure the next morning saw us en route to the South Island to continue our adventures. Flying into Queenstown, the tall peaks and deep fjords of the lake offered a stunning view. The landscapes are similar to that of which you find out West here at home, but our mountains pale in comparison to the Southern Alps that encompass the South Island.

Tom picked us up from the airport, arriving mere hours ahead of us to secure rental cars. After settling into the hotel, we toured the town in search of meal—and we found one that didn’t disappoint. The quaint town is a heavy tourist destination for hunters, skiers, mountaineers and anyone seeking an adventure in the beautiful terrain. I was excited at the opportunity to see the town and experience the different cultures amidst hunting in the high country.

After dinner, tired from a day of travel and maybe a little hungover from the celebrating our successful hunt up north, we retired to the hotel early to get some rest for the day of hunting tahr and chamois high in the mountains the next day.

A BIRD’S EYE VIEW

trophy photo in the snow
Bull tahr are incredibly tough. The author took three shots to bring this bull down. (Photo courtesy of Joe Ferronato)

Christian, Tom and I pulled into the Alpine Helicopters parking lot and spoke with our pilot who would be flying us into the high country. Usually, I prefer to burn boot rubber and drip sweat, but climbing aboard the helicopter was going to be a different kind of adventure than I was used to, and I was ready to experience it. Using helicopters is common form for hunting New Zealand’s South Island as the terrain is treacherous and sometimes only accessible via the aircraft.

Flying through the stunning mountain ranges, we spotted a group of tahr and I was up first. Jumping out of a helicopter onto the snowy mountainside was a humbling experience to say the least—I doubted my abilities to stick the landing and not tumble into an uncontrollable slide. I made the jump with a little coercing from the pilot and Tom.

We repeated that scenario several times until we had a successful stalk on a mature bull. With the tahr quartering to me, I sent a 165-grain bullet into its chest. He ran hard and fast into a ravine with no time for a follow-up, requiring us to traverse around for a better shot. Two more shots planted the beast.

We located more bulls and Christian was able to get a chance behind the trigger. Another beautiful bull fell in some of the most stunning landscapes I’ve ever been fortunate enough to hunt in.

After refueling at a remote backcountry station, we headed into an even more remote area to pursue the diminutive chamois. Much like the tahr, we located several bucks, but the small animals would dive into caves and hunker deep in bushes at the sound of chopper’s rotors. Climbing over boulders with cliffs below, Tom and I snuck into position on a good buck. Once again, the Sako delivered a deadly punch, and my New Zealand trip was complete. Soon after, Christian sealed the deal on his chamois buck.

Throughout my time in New Zealand, I experienced various firsts and fell even deeper in love with the spectacular hunting opportunites to be found there. The trip only deepened my desire to return again—but maybe this time I’ll forgo jumping from a perfectly good helicopter and pursue the mountain dwellers on foot.




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