Fishing cobwebs – gone!

I really and honestly hadn’t planned to go fishing over the weekend. But when Coch called to say that he was heading down country and asked whether I’d be keen I gave it the amber light, depending on what SWMBO obeyed had to say about the proposition.

Our destination would be a well-known central North Island river that hold a population of solid ‘bows and brownies. By Thursday I thought we were out of luck as the preferred accommodation was already booked, but Coch is ever-resourceful and came up with a second option. So then it was a matter of getting the gear together, shopping for supplies and making sure that we could get away at a reasonable time after work on Friday. And get away we did - remarkably the traffic was light, even the road that we had to take wasn’t suffering most likely as the ski season has ended. We hit Taumarunui by 10.30 pm and found our lodgings – a cool little hut at the local holiday park. Phil the proprietor checked us in and we got things ready for an early blast off – we got our fishing gear sorted, food ready for breakfast, beers in the fridge and then hit the hay.

As usual on the first night I slept badly. Road noise and a train blasting through didn’t help things at all but eventually I managed a few hours… so when the alarm went we staggered out of bed got fed and watered and then hit the road. We arrived at our get out spot in darkness – arriving first gave us rights to the beat so that part of the mission was accomplished – and then followed the access down to the river where we rigged up. Coch gave me the lie of the land; we’d each take a side and fish up.



Coch in the pre-dawn

My first challenge was to cross the river and I had no ‘wading fitness’, having not river fished for quite some time. Naturally I arsed over twice on the crossing and took water aboard so that was a nice start to the day; however the air temp was a mild 12 degrees prior to sun-up so it wasn’t really all that cold. On the other side I rigged up and began to nymph the margin water which consisted of pockets that required bombing with a heavy nymph and short drift. I was pretty rusty so missed the first fish of the day, striking late to feel a head shake before the nymph came away. The next hit was a classic ‘sail away’ as the indicator shot sideways and I came up tight.

With a fish on the board the relaxation kicked in so covering and working the water thoroughly came back as if by second nature. I watched Coch hook and land fish fairly regularly (mostly in the slow side water favoured by browns), so by the time I came abreast of him and we could yell across to each other I fathomed that he’d landed 3 browns to my 3 ‘bows landed and one fish missed. Coch was busy directing me to the next fish holding spot when upstream I saw 4 guys coming down the bank on the far side of the river – effectively trying to jump in ahead of us. I pointed them out to Coch then climbed out and walked 250m upstream to where they were setting up. At first they pretended not to notice me and then played deaf – buggered if I was going to cross at that point so I indicated that Coch was also fishing and that we’d be heading up. To be fair a couple of them looked sort of bashful but one was being an outright dickhead, I started getting a bit hot… Coch had a bit of catching up to do owing to the terrain on his side so I flicked a cast into the run 20m below the interlopers and dragged out a nice rainbow that jumped like a trained seal… couldn’t have done it better if I’d wanted it to! Landing and releasing the fish right where they intended to cross felt pretty sweet. In the meantime Coch caught them up and then gave me directions on how to access the pool upstream… when he caught me up he yelled across that they were carrying crossbows as well as rods, which may have explained some of their reluctance to communicate.

Stunning

We moved upstream to give them some fishing space, but with 6 anglers in the beat they’d soon run out of room. I found a side arm spilling into the river and fished its tail, landing a big but very skinny recently spawned rainbow that I initially called for a brown by its dour tactics. We then moved up and hit the mother-lode… Coch told me it was my time to shine and that the next broken run held half a dozen good fish. It was classic pocket water, studded with boulders. The first fish smashed the fly, charged into the heavy water and leaped, producing a backward cartwheel that pulled the fly on landing. That leap had revealed the shape of a rugby ball with a tail on it…. And that one leap had made the whole trip worth it.

Over the next 40 minutes I landed 2 browns and 2 rainbows from a piece of water 20 x 10m; it was simply insane pocket water fishing. If I ever needed an injection to bring my love of trout fishing back, I’d just received it. We worked our way up together, the next run above a big pool producing the goods with some great fish for both of us. By this time, one of the river-jumpers had almost caught up, I figure that he’d had this run in mind. So he sat and watched us take 2 good fish apiece from it. We then crossed and Coch directed me to the rock studded edge on the far side of the run where dwelt a fish that had always eluded him. I picked my way up slowly, fishing the pocket water and completely missed what looked and felt like a strike! I swore until the air turned blue but kept working my way up, when the indicator twitched subtly and I hit a big brown that charged out into the current and thrashed on the surface. 2 or three times he bored out into fast water before thrashing on the surface, revealing his bulk and yellow gut, but with a team effort he found himself netted. Soon he was on his way back and after a few high fives we continued up. The fishing was technical enough to be super interesting and soon the nature of the water changed as bush met the river and both sides and the water narrowed.

Whio - Blue Ducks

The crossings became difficult so we linked arms and crossed together. The fishing just got better and better and we each hit fish that tore line off. One ‘bow that was actively feeding throughout the water column, drifting in and out of view finally ate my offering and promptly dragged me 50m downstream before threatening to exit the pool down the next rapid; So I gave it everything I had and pulled her upstream before netting a cracker of a bow; as fat as a house she’d have gone maybe 4lb but fought like a fish twice her size. By now I was tiring, the heavy water and tricky wading had sapped my energy so the next few crossings (including one that caused both of us to ship water into our waders) were pretty tiring.

But cross we did, and forge head we did – on a red letter day you have to keep going! Our final run had us fighting thigh deep water fishing pockets. Coch took a couple of pearlers before indicating a fine looking run on the far side of the river – I’d need to wade across and fight the force of the current while dropping in a technical cast and drift. The fish that hit smashed out of the water, a deep rainbow that simply charged downstream, and broke my leader on a rock – and that was enough for me. I moved down to the pool below and sat on a rock while I changed to a sinking line. We’d decided to plumb the depths with some of Coch’s articulated ‘meat pie’ streamers on our way back down. By now the sun had left the canyon we were in so I was feeling a bit chilly, not that it was cold, but having taken water aboard it felt cool.

Meat Pie

We linked arms to move back over the deepest crossing and worked our way down, dropping the big flies into the deepest polls and dragging them back in fits and starts type retrieves. It was in the eye of a hugely deep pool that I had a heart stopping strike, the rod tip was dragged down with a thud-thud and I struck only for the line to fly back at me. My heart was in my gob as I realised that the 10lb fluoro leader had smashed… so I tied a new leader with 13.5lb, the heaviest I was carrying. I’d love to say that a monster brownie jumped on the fly, but not so. So that concluded our day, and we picked our way downstream on tired legs. 12 hours on the river, what a magic day. Back at base we got dried and changed, hung our waders and then fired up the barbecue. As we waited for our entree of confit pheasant legs to brown, we grabbed a beer and headed over to sit on the bank of the Whanganui River [just out of camp] as the small trout began to rise to caddis. Main course was fallow back steak with salad and mash – right then life couldn’t be better. Magic end to a magic day.

Beauty 'bows

Fiji fishing with Bob

“Bob”, a chief’s son, met us on the dock with a “Bula” and told me and Aussie Ian [whom I’d just met] to follow him. SWMBO had decided that since I’d been good and had not gone fishing on our annual trips for about 10 years that I should take the chance to chase spanish mackerel, giant trevally and coral trout while I could. As Ian and I were introduced to our other angler [can’t remember her name but Ethyl seems appropriate], another Aussie, I cast my eyes around at the gear on the boat which is always a tell-tale of the quality of the overall operation.

Bob

Shimano Tiagra reels in various states were [poorly] loaded with braids and one 50w was spooled with what looked like 100lb long line backbone. A couple of the rods were missing guides… The glimmering hope lay in the popper outfit; a Daiwa Dogfight 6500 on a Shimano Caranx Kaibutsu rod. The leader was joined by a PR knot and the ends were tidy and the knot tight… definitely the class equipment on the boat. The boat herself was a solid ali 8m craft and well enough appointed with twin yammie 200’s on the back. But the fittings told of a lack of care, pins were missing from rod holders, rod holders were half held by popped rivets – small stuff that’s easy to fix. The ‘bottom bashing’ gear was akin to children’s fishing gear, low quality reels on telescopic rods…. But I told myself that the cost was minimal so to just kick back and make friends with the deckie, which is invariably the best way to get the best tips and gear. Moe the deckie had fished professionally for a dozen years and seemed keen and knowledgeable. Bob gave us the safety rundown, kicked us off and soon we were cruising out of Port Denerau where he put the hammers down.

Within 15 minutes the water had changed to a light clear blue reflecting from the sand below and we put in bibbed lures. Bob explained that we may expect multiple strikes if we hit a school of mackerel and what to do if that occurred. Then we sat back and trolled. While we motored along I sat next to Bob in the cabin… he was well over driving around the ocean and told me so. I pointed out that with paying clients aboard he should try and be enthusiastic, not that I was all that worried but the other guys had reasonable expectations. Finally as we drew over a reef one of the rods went off; well sort of as a fish was dragged across the surface on a heavy drag. Ethyl grabbed the rod and wound the fish in (literally - there was no playing the poor thing), a nice coral trout that would have gone a couple kilos which was photographed and unceremoniously dumped on ice [later I opened the bin and iki’d it].

Ethyl scores...

That was encouraging but would prove to be the only lure strike. As we moved towards a group of bommies [reefs]. Bob broke out the popper rod, walked to the bow and said to Ian and I “2 casts each, I call you, you come up!” “Great” I thought, “I’m into that” but what Bob meant was that he’d cast 4 times and if he hooked up he’d call Ian or I to take the rod.

Screw that, I told him I’d cast my own bloody popper and that I knew his kit would be roughly $2k to replace if I dropped it overboard. So he handed over the rod and I hit the mark first cast, ‘blooped’ the popper and got ready for… well nothing actually, despite covering all the fishy water I didn’t raise anything except a decent sweat. Next stop was for some ‘bottom bashing’ next to a large isolated reef. We baited up ledger rigs with bits of pilchard. My terminal rig was terrible so I tied a new one under the dis-approving gaze of Bob. Fact is that I thoroughly enjoyed the session, managing to catch several new species including coral trout and Fijian bream and a sort of cod. The fish were pretty small so not too much drama on the low quality gear we used. In fact, several pulled string.

Trout

The fish went on ice for the village to consume and we all caught a few. We fished for an hour or so to the top of the tide when the bite died, then upped gear and trolled back towards base.

When we hit the murky water the gear came in and Bob hit the afterburners back to port to gran his afternoon crew. We jumped off at the dock and I hit the nearest bar for an ice cold beer - the best way to cap off such a trip. Overall it would be churlish to be overly critical of Bob and his boat, because it really was a highlight to snag a few species that I’d previously not – all I know is that if I had Bob’s boat I’d run a different style of operation

Getting wet and muddy for the chicks

We get our day-old pheasant chicks in during October. Craig brings them from Rotorua and releases them into our improvised concrete water tank [kitted with heat lamps] and from there the birds are reared until they are of age to release.

One of the things about baby pheasants is that they are completely mental. Absolutely stark raving bonkers, and without mum nearby they are prone to stupidity. I've catalogued the myriad means of suicide that they employ; one of their favs is to stand around in a downpour and get soaked through; leading to fatal hypothermia.

We lost 50 birds last Xmas day when a sudden downpour hit and Craig was unable to herd the birds into shelter in time because of the configuration of the pen. So we'd decided to build a corridor around the outside, where the chicks could roam but be easily shepherded into cover. And we'd chosen the worst possible weather. A gale westerly blasted rain and hail into the building site; and given that we were working with sheets of iron it got pretty exciting at times.

Andy and I got started while Craig was feeding calves, and we started by trenching outside of the posts in order to bend the corrugated iron and bury it in the earth to stop predator encroachment.

Wind is invisible... it was howling

Mud. The day's theme.



 At one stage Andy and I huddled behind my car to avoid being blasted with thick hail stones - it was pretty cold out there. We made good time though, and soon the lads turned up with Craig, Mitch and Jethro adding muscle to the cause.

The lads swung into gear, finishing the trenching and cleaning out the sheds (water blasting) while Andy and I turned our hands to getting the iron cladding up.

 

 



By late afternoon the back of the job was broken, with cladding up, a new doorway created and the work remaining being to cover the new alley over with shade cloth to keep the hawks out.

Bloody good effort considering the weather. Rain rain rain.

Better than a drought, I suppose.

Back to the vise

Over the 16 weeks of the game bird season I've not even glanced at the tying equipment. Spring is trying desperately to crash through, but we still have southerlies and rain bursts and the ground is soggy... no mowing lawns for me.

It was this type of weather that had me filling in my Sunday afternoon trying to crack a quick & cheap crab pattern. There are a stack of patterns around but I seemed to lack materials required for any single one, so I tried bits and bobs of a number of patterns. Finally cracked a model out that is repeatable and quick to tie. Will get to work again tonite and roll out a few more.

On the project pond

Last year we began to restore a pond at Matt's place in order to develop some breeding territory. While we got it fenced, planting didn't eventuate but despite having not laid eyes on the pond for a while I can imagine that grasses that would've taken off with cattle excluded.

Matt sent a great text today, to say that not only are there banded mallards in pairs getting around (from our released birds), but there's a clutch of ducklings on the project pond. Very cool.

Let's hope they survive to fledge and grow. With Matt's predator control, they stand a good chance.

Casualty of the cold

The goose stars came into alignment yesterday, although they took their time to get lined up. The moon was but a sliver, and wind would be constant, if not howling. As I got half an hour out from home it began drizzling. When Matt & Tony rolled in we moved to the drop off point and began to unload gear - layout blinds, bags of decoys, blind bags and guns (of course). The boys had scouted around 100 geese using the paddock, but with the soft underfoot conditions we knew that lugging any more gear would just lead to a massive slog out later. Even so by the time we'd dumped our gear in a pile in the middle of our paddock we had a sweat on. I'd put on my merino top but under my waterproof trousers only had cotton and later I'd regret that. We had less than 30 decoys out and our blinds set prior to sun-up. The wind rattled periodic drizzle against the backs of our heads as we lay in our blinds and as dawn broke the first birds began to move - mostly swan and ducks off the harbour. It was a couple of hours before the first geese appeared from our left, skimming straight down and across our front they were mowed down. At our shots, a large flock of geese took to the air from 500m away.... not great, but at least we were seeing birds. With geese on the board the cold was forgotten for a while but the drizzle continued... to the point where my binos were useless. It was a while before the next birds, 4 geese which skirted the decoys just out of range before flaring on something and heading away. A quick review and we concluded that our muddy tracks were an issue, nothing we could do there. Soon after we took another pair and then a single, then it was a long cold wait. Geese began to lift off the harbour but the majority headed into a paddock a km NW of us.. so often our hopes would be raised and then dashed. It was after 10 before we scored again, and by now I was really feeling the cold; I wish I'd worn my insulated bibs. Just a reminder that it's not quite summer yet.

Not summer yet

Matt went for a wander to see if he could put the competitor birds in the NW paddock up, and while he was away a flock of 6 beat towards us into the wind. They skirted us, swept behind and then headed away downwind - but when they were at least a km away they turned and began to return and as they neared they began to hit the wiffle button, skidding half barrel rolls as they came in. We hit them and peeled birds out and as they swung out and away on the wind Matt popped up and dropped another. He soon returned.

Mud bath

Between 10.30 and 11.30 things took a turn - a large swathe of heavy rain rolled in and the geese began to lift off the paddock to the NW and head our way. Our bag doubled and then tripled rapidly as waves of birds approached and decoyed. It was classic goosing action... but the cold was unrelenting and then we witnessed one of the saddest things I've seen in the field. Matts dog Zulu began to noticeably tick and act like he'd been whipped. The tick became more pronounced so Matt took him into his blind to warm him up. We decided to pack up soon after as nothing was flying and as Matt led Zulu away we heard him cry "No NO!! No!" and turned to see Zulu in full seizure on the ground. We cleared his tongue as he fought for breath, and wrapped a coat around him...foam covered his lips. Finally he seemed to recover enough and Matt got him to the car. As we cleared the paddock Matt called Gina and she drove to meet us. Calls were put to the vet; all the while Zulu was behaving strangely. Finally we were able to head back to Matt's to put the dog to bed and clean up. I can only guess that the cold had made him slightly hypothermic, but that's just a guess....

We got the birds cleaned and meat on ice, had a quiet beer and then I headed for home. I felt whacked from the cold and the early start, so was surprised to still be awake after 10pm, thinking of poor old Zulu.

getting the gear out

Got a text this morning that Matt's old mate was acting like his old self. Good to hear - it had been a worrying end to a neat hunt.

The old back of the ute shot!

The game bird season ends

The lead up was messy for a bunch of reasons; but I’m glad I made a late call to go down to The Shanks [Craig’s] Ranch for the closing of the game bird season. A few flurried texts to Andy and we arranged to meet at Whatawhata where he and Keira would jump aboard and we’d be off. This isn’t exactly the pointy end of the season, so finding birds can be difficult...but you gotta go to know.

We arrived at Craig’s place late in the evening on a night that was still, clear and moonless; consequently the constellations shone overhead. It was truly stunning; and cold at just above freezing. We were greeted by Craig, Mick & Mitch and began the usual smack talk like we’d never left Craig’s lounge since last time, and were just continuing a perpetual conversation about each other’s shortcomings. We had a few beers and soon it was near midnight. I need as much sleep as I can get so was first to head bed-wards. Andy and I were bunking together and soon he came in, hit the hay and passed out… little $hit, I wish I could do that.

The crew were up and about early enough to get a solid breakfast into Craig before he had to head out to feed the calves; on his return we figured out our morning hunting plans. We decided to start with a pincer move on a bushy knoll that held birds that knew what was what… Mitch, Andy and I were placed to cover escape routes while Craig and Mick pushed towards us. I was in the hot spot and put shots on three birds, taking one and plucking tail feathers from another that glided on, landed and ran strongly. We regrouped and moved to the next drop off. Andy, Mitch and I would hunt the river with Keira, Brutus and Ruby.

We worked our way covering the patches of black berry and coarse grass as we went. The day was so stunning that it was an absolute pleasure to be outside; I felt positively drowsy from the warm sun. It’s been a long time since we’ve had such settled weather, with just enough breeze to cover our noise. I wandered a bit ahead of the lads to take photos of some rock formations in the stream when Mitch’s dogs pushed a bird. I swung and took him as he passed me; but damn I felt guilty as it really should’ve been Mitch’s bird.

River formation, gotta be a brownie in there..

Andy peeled off to cover a large oxbow while Mitch and I waited and soon his gun boomed out twice, and he returned with a drenched birds that he’d dropped into the river. Keira had given chase and the bird had duck dived! Swimming pheasants – what next? In the distance we could hear the occasional boom as Mick and Craig took shots, it sounded as though they were having a great time.

We worked on and arrived at a spot that had held birds in the past. I crossed the river to team with Andy while Mitch covered off the other bank. He’d move up to a grove of trees while Andy and I swung around a dammed area and came back to Mitch. Andy and my plan was foiled by cattle which really unsettle pheasants; but Mitch came up trumps taking a going away bird. We moved downstream, crossed over to Mitch and the he departed to swap old Ruby out for Pip, his young up-comer.

Nesting swan

Mitch & Ruby score

The Merkel :)

The lads swap notes

He’d hunt downstream from where we started while Andy and I would work up. Keira was her very good self, working hard and covering every patch. We got up to a rocky outcrop and I moved around to the right while Andy went up and over. I was in a patch of tall trees with light cover underfoot and was trying to be as quiet as possible when a bird burst from above me and to my left, one of those birds that heads straight up like a springing teal target. I swung and snap shot as he went through the canopy and then fired again as he made a gap on the tree tops. I felt positive of a clean hit as it felt right; and the bird was struggling to make progress – despite the rapid wing beats he was helicoptering across the sky rather than rocketing as he disappeared from view. Andy arrived soon and I explained that I’d last seen the bird moving ‘that way’ [sweep of the hand in general direction] and we set off in pursuit – deep down I wasn’t feeling terribly optimistic of finding the bird. We moved around each side of a bushed gully and I heard Andy pushing Keira through the undergrowth. After several minutes I walked around to him and there was my bird! Keira had found and returned it, dead as a dodo. We’ve noticed the rapid but uncoordinated flapping after a hit indicates a lung shot bird, and so it was this time.

Happiness is a retrieved bird

God I love this country

 Moving further Keira bumped yet another bird who escaped unmolested. From a high point I could see Mick on a ridge in the distance and then shots boomed out and I could hear Craig calling to me to ask if I’d seen a bird fly out. We soon met up to compare notes and they’d taken a pheasant and a turkey each to add to the tally.

Turkey time

Pre lunch photo spread

What a great morning! We drove back through the farm, stopping to collect Mitch who had shot a fantastic black-neck. Lunch was a merry affair of smoked swordfish, camembert, pumpkin soup and rolls. Andy and I spent the next hour and a half sniping at magpies while we waited for Hendrik and AJ to arrive; they’d round out our crew. The plan was to conduct a pukeko drive as they were in plague proportions in some areas of the farm. AJ & Hendrik rolled in and we got saddled up for our hunt. On arrival, Craig got AJ set up to hunt the river downstream while the rest of us moved up through the bush abutting the long finger of swamp where the pooks were living. The plan was that Craig would give us drop off points at which we’d quietly sneak down to the bush edge while he circled the swamp. He’s then fire a shot and drive the birds towards us. On his shot all hell broke loose as pooks went everywhere. Down the line guns boomed out. I managed a couple of birds and we soon had a reasonable pile of the wily buggers in front of us.

We moved back to the cars and while mick and I moved the vehicles, the other guys hunted a knoll towards AJ while Andy grabbed my Merkel and hunted the bank towards the guys. Sure enough Keira pushed a bird that provided a challenging target and earned his escape. Back at base I was pretty content with my day; a limit of pheasants and a couple of pooks rates pretty highly in my books as a great day in the field! As I cleared my gear from the car I saw the boys were standing in a cluster looking through binos – sure enough high on the hills overlooking Craig’s house, a mob of fallow fed. A scrubby cull stag was identified and soon Craig was pushing his .280 Ackley into my hands and I was off. I hadn’t stopped for a drink or camera or even my knife, so wasn’t feeling super prepared. As I pressed onwards in the lee of a steep ridge I looked over my shoulder and Craig was on his way – with his gait he soon caught me up and I was trotting along behind him panting away. 15 minutes hard uphill walking (damn my office job!) and we were ready to crest the ridge.

Craig and I on our way

I stopped Craig for a quick breather to recover my composure and let the heart rate come back a bit, then we crawled up and over – damn, nothing there. Perhaps they were further down? We got behind the ridge and sidled downwards to our next vantage point. Again, nothing there… then we saw them, they’d fed towards the bush edge and were tucked in the lee of tall pines. We settled and I ran the scope over the animals. They were clumped together and whilst Craig was easily able to pick out a stag, I just saw animals. He’d say ‘see the one looking downhill’ and all I could see were animals looking uphill! Then ‘now he’s looking uphill’ and all I could see were animals looking… downhill. Finally we got on the same wavelength and I asked Craig for the range, about 280m. The stag was standing angled away, so I needed to hit him back from the shoulder to put the bullet into his vitals. Remembering to breathe out [I don’t shoot rifles often] I squeezed and the rifle boomed. Craig said ‘yep you’ve hit him… but I think you’ve shot another also’. He explained that at the shot another animal had dived. Given that we were there to take out a scrubby stag I wasn’t happy at the thought of smacking a breeding doe. It took a few minutes to get to where they were standing and we found no evidence of anything other than the target animal having been hit. We found him dead as a door nail at the bottom of the slope. My shot was a tad further back than I’d aimed for but had raked through his chest and taken his heart out. Craig was stoked and remarked that it was a pretty good shot… I felt that I’d had a bit of divine help. As we removed his guts the other guys drove past high up the ridge on their way out to find pigs for the freezer. We made my animal into a backpack and set off for Craig’s, a pretty simple carry in the scheme of things. On the way Craig talked about his thrill of putting guys onto animals and how his vision and dream is to create a hunters paradise on his land…. A great vision and his sincerity and generosity are a tribute to his and his family’s ethos.

Yeah that was a sweaty carry

Back at his we hung the animal and got cleaned up. Mick & Mitch had earlier in the day prepared a pheasant confit, so along with a fresh salad and roast potatoes we had the makings of an epic dinner before the rugby test later in the evening. I got the fire going and then we sat and had a beer while waiting for the others to re-appear. Mick was first back; he’d hunted a back ridge for no joy. Then AJ and Mitch were back, followed by Andy and Hendrik. Hendrik had taken a young 50lb pig with his AR. AJ left soon after; he was taking a 20km training run in the morning before heading out after pheasants later in the day! Dinner was quite an event, and the superlative rugby that followed simply rounded out an outstanding day. I felt like pinching myself to see if I was dreaming! No problems nodding off that night… I wasn’t first up on Sunday morning so when Mick pushed a coffee into my hands it was gratefully received. Craig got busy doing his farm chores while we got fed and watered and then gathered to plan our morning’s movements. One heavily scrubbed ridge had held birds all season so the plan was to drop guns at nominated spots that pheasants had used as escape routes all season, and for Craig to then pressure the birds into flying. We trouped up to the drop off spot and while Mick and Mitch who’d form the block at the bottom of the ridge waited, Craig, Andy, Hendrik and I moved across swampy flats towards the bush edge. I decided to load and work the scrub we were walking through just because it looked birdy and a cock erupted in front of me. Both shots saw clumps of feathers fly and Craig tapped him as well but he made it to the bush before dropping in. Keira tracked in and delivered the bird to Andy - a sweet start to the day.

Off to a good start

In the bush we tracked up a gully and Craig dropped me at a spot with a small window through the scrub and trees above me. He said that nothing would happen for the next 20 minutes and took the other guys with him .. not 2 minutes later a gun boomed and feathers came wafting down towards me on the very slight breeze [Craig later explained that he'd taken a melanistic bird that jumped above the boys]. To kill time I set about composing photos of bird and gun, using the small window of sunlight that I had to display the bird. Then a very small fantail kept me occupied.. then finally I heard Craig shout in the distance “BIRD”.. I unslung the gun just as a pheasant sailed over 35m up, swung and fired and he folded. I whooped, because without a shadow of doubt that was my shot of the season.

My shooting window...

For the next 40 minutes as I held station, cries of “BIRD” followed by shots rang out periodically. Finally I heard Craig at the bottom of my gully and led him to where I’d shot from. He put Max into the scrub on the ridge behind me and soon came back to deliver a fat bird. We were pretty relaxed as we left the bush to work over a swamp to drive out and pukekos; only one came my way and as I walked over to where he’d landed a hare got up and ran for it. The 1 oz #5’s cleaned him up. Andy joined us soon after and we sat on the river bank waiting for the others. All 3 of the lads were sporting pheasants when they returned.

Hendrik, styling it

We stood taking in the sun and reviewing the action; it had been a great morning. We decided that our final action would take place against pukekos in 2 more locations, the first would be a quick ambush over a hill before driving to a swamp that we’d not touched all season. It proved fruitless; we charged over the brow only to see that the cunning pooks had taken warning cues from the local paradise ducks we’d disturbed and were vacating rapidly out of range.

Posse...

For the next drive, the plan was for Andy and Craig to hunt a ridge and gully down to a finger of swamp where the rest of us would position ourselves to pinch off the escape route for any pooks living there. As we began to position ourselves, 3 pheasants departed; I couldn’t see if they were hens or cocks from where I was. Soon the pooks began to look for escape routes and we picked them off one by one. Only one escaped, a cunning bird that squeezed between Craig and Andy in a position that made a shot unsafe to take. That was our final action for the day and we returned to Craig’s for a season debrief, sitting in the sun with beers in hand.

It had been a great season and in no way had any of us thought that we’d take 15 pheasants at this time of year; let alone the rest of the game harvested. With all that game to clean we got busy skinning the deer and pig, quartering the hares and because the local Maori ladies wanted pheasant feathers for their cloak making, skinning the pheasants. With the deer wrapped in a blanket in the back of the truck and with our gear aboard Andy and I finally made tracks in a convoy with Hendrik. So has ended one of the finest game bird seasons that I’ve had the privilege to experience. As I put my bloodied clothing on a heavy wash cycle that night, all I could do was smile…...