Twin Elements · Hunting Stories
Bowhunting The Basalt : My First Chital Stag & Giant Boar
Fear surged through my entire body, eventually rational thinking kicked in and my mind regained control. Fight or flight and flight prevailed. One foot in front of the other I raced back through the long grass in the direction I had just come. Picking up the pace to a frantic sprint I fled putting some space between the mortally wounded boar and myself. Only seconds before I was the hunter, now in an instant everything has changed and I am the hunted.
Lunging for my heels and the back of my calves at under five meters. I already knew how equipped he was for slicing and dicing as I had witnessed in a quick glance the whites of his protruding tusk and a menacing look in his eyes. My thoughts at this stage were definitely something along the lines of how did I get myself into this. Then I remembered back to roughly one week before…
A Note On This Story:
This hunting story is pulled from the archives of some of our earliest attempts at sharing our adventures.
The images are dated, they lack the resolution of today's cameras and they aren't as sharp.
Yet, the memories they capture and the stories they tell remain true.
This hunt captures a bowhunt through Queensland's basalt country with my twin brother James.
In This Report
Twins Reunited
The year had flown by with university commitments plaguing both James and I and due to these commitments we had been separated. Best mates, twins and bow hunting companions. Our career aspirations and all the important stuff in life had led us to different paths which just so happened to land James as a resident up in Townsville, northern QLD. Whilst I remained a few thousand kilometers away in our hometown Melbourne, Victoria.
Conversations over the phone throughout the year kept us in touch and led towards planning a bow hunt which would also double up as time spent towards James’ much needed Property placement and livestock experience for his Veterinary Course. Plans became a reality when flights were booked and James and I found ourselves on a plane heading to Townsville in search of the great basalt wall regions, infamous basalt boars and trophy “axis” or Chital Deer.
From the very get go James and I were introduced to basic farm knowledge and regular farm works such as fencing, mustering, driving a variety of vehicles and machinery and of course the customary early wakeups. The latter didn’t bother us as it meant absorbing every bit of knowledge the farmers had to pass on and enjoying the amazing sights and sounds of the basalt wall country. Our real interest and reason for travelling to this particular region of the world was the down time when we were not required to work, instead being permitted to strap on the backpacks, grab the bows and go off in search of some ferals.
Chital Country
A Basalt Warrior
As usual first light brought with it the possibilities of spotting game, however this morning we were not waiting to work but waiting along the edge of a swamp. When the surrounding bush became visible it seemed as though the pigs weren’t playing the game with an empty swamp edge. Not to worry as we slowly made our way towards a creek half a kilometer away where we were assumed the pigs might be headed to bed down and escape the heat. We made it half way to the creek before spotting a contrast to the lush green grass under the canopy of the snow gums. Pigs. We glassed the mob, which held a decent young boar. The wind wasn’t correct so we backed out and headed for the creek in an effort to get around in front and cut them off. As anticipated the pigs fed across the flats heading for our location. James armed with his Bowtech destroyer had his sights on the young boar who was leading the mob. The large gums offered great cover and James found himself closing into 30 meters. A shot angle presented and James capitalized, holding the pin on the boar’s vitals. Positioned broadside with legs outstretched James smashed a broadhead through the close shoulder, into the opposite where it stopped further penetration although still taking out the boar’s heart. In a quick dash he ran back towards the mob making thirty meters and expiring behind a pile of fallen logs. The silence of the bow is deadly and why I love bowhunting. A quick thumbs up and we headed over to the downed boar. In the process we pushed the rest of the mob, which had remained feeding only holding sows.
Over the next few days we escaped work for a couple of hours during the middle of the day targeting the bedded chital deer. Scouting out the trees with the best shade proved to be successful and a number of quality heads were usually found. Some mobs didn’t present an opportunity for a stalk and were passed to avoid educating them or spooking them for later in the trip. Some lay bedded with just enough cover to get to within fifty or so meters, out of our effective bow ranges. On a number of these occasions picking out the best routes we reached the closest available cover undetected only for the wind to change and ruin the stalk filling the nostrils of the deer with human scent. Keen for an early morning start on the chital when they were actively feeding and moving back to their bedding areas we decided to have a crack that afternoon for a basalt boar.
The sun was still high in the sky and the afternoon was young. From my position on the basalt wall I was able to overlook the whole spring fed pocket. The lush green grass looked long and could easily conceal a feeding pig. As the shadows became longer and the suns heat lost its burning edge I spotted the first set of pigs. Only their backs were visible amongst the grass so after a quick scan of the area, without spotting any more pigs I decided to make my way in. Leaving the vantage point and the height of the basalt wall and lowering into the flat grassland I realized how high the vegetation really was. Even on the edge of the pocket the grass was well above my knees. Finding a well-worn game trail made things easier and took me in the direction of the pigs. Closing into under twenty meters I glassed the group over a number of times without finding a boar worthy of taking an arrow. Whilst watching a younger pig chasing a cattle egret, another pig had circled to my right and let out a whoosh getting the rest of the mobs attention. Everything was calm for a split second before pigs took off scattering in all directions. Distracted by a pig at close range I had failed to see the smaller sow circle and grab my wind. Watching as a number of back ends disappear through the grass I looked through the binos to see if anything else had been disturbed. To my left a hundred meters out I spotted the head of a pig elevated and testing the wind, listening in the direction the pigs had just taken off. It was a sight ill never forgets as my binoculars filled with the face of a boar and all I could see were his hooks. A magical set glistening in the afternoon sun, before he put his head down and went back to feeding. Wasting no time at all I set off in his direction checking the wind, which was perfect for the stalk. Removing some ground and nearing his location the grass got taller and taller. I had lost sight of the boar by now as he fed head down roughly fifty meters in front of me. Finding a game trail once more I edged closer and closer hoping to see his back once again. My nerves were beginning to be an issue and my mind kept leading to thoughts the boar had slunk away into the long grass, out of sight never to be seen again. Suddenly, there he was. His snout and face in full view stepping out into a small cleared area along the same game trail I was walking. As I lowered my profile he turned away and continued feeding with no shot presented. At twenty meters every step of this stalk could be the last and knowing this I took things slowly. An arrow on the string and bow in front of my face gave me belief that I was disguised if he chose to turn and feed my way. Fifteen paces were all that stood between my self and the boar, and tension was increasing on the string. I could hear him turning the grass and chewing on bulbs assuring me that he wasn’t listening for danger. Coming to full draw, without an ethical shot I began to step out to my right off the game trail in search of a better quartering away angle. A number of steps through the tall grass and I had the window as the boar continued feeding quartering away head down and oblivious. The arrow flew true off the string and slipped through the ribs of the boar tight behind the shoulder spraying blood on exit. The boar charged off and I watched him splitting the grass until at fifty meters he stopped, the grass failed to move and all became quiet once more. Immediately I went to where the boar was feeding to find my arrow. It had passed though and left behind a devastating trail of blood. The path ahead which the boar had taken showed the same story and looked as though someone equipped with a paint roller dipped with red paint had gone to work brushing it along the grass. This was enough for me and eager to see the hooks of the boar I took up the trail. Arriving where I had seen the boar disappear and everything become still the height of the grass raised another thirty centimeters now reaching around my waist. Peeking through the long grass visibility was low. My stomach dropped and heart skipped a beat when the undergrowth before me stirred and I heard a cranky boar stand, chomping and grinding its teeth. In my eagerness to check out the boar’s hooks I had failed to follow protocol and let the arrow do its work. The grass before me erupted and a boar emerged chomping at the bit to turn the tables. For thirty meters I ran for my life, whilst the boar followed slowly loosing his. Perhaps blood loss had just kicked in and with a fleeting glance back I eyed the boar which had finally stopped. For a second it was a stand off, both parties wishing to inflict blood on the other. To my relief he turned around wobbling and stumbling, I let him get to twenty before sending an insurance arrow on the way. Once again I watched as the big boar took off turning the grass. This time however he only made it ten meters before piling up in the sea of grass. My adrenaline had finally faded and I was a wreck. Sitting down and recapping on what had just transpired I gave the boar ample time even though I knew he was down for the count. As the afternoon turned into evening I decided to grab my gear and begin the hike back to camp, as I knew darkness would set in half way through the walk. The following morning I returned to the scene of the crime where James couldn’t believe the amount of blood this boar had lost. The boar lay where I had left him the night before and for the first time I lay eyes on him and opened his jaws revealing a truly terrifying sight. He was a cracker, a true representative of the boars that come out of this region regularly. Setting him up amongst some basalt rocks under a mighty fig tree seemed fitting for a boar of his class. Once home from the trip the boiled out tusks would measure a touch under 9 inches long and 32 Douglas points, a constant reminder of how tenacious the basalt boars are.
My First Chital
The Basalt Wall
With a cool change on the way and cyclone warnings on every news channel mother nature had thrown a curve ball. Scattered showers and cooler conditions meant the deer were spreading out to feed and a lot more active during the middle of the day. Making bowhunting with heavy packs and the long walks more bearable. On this particular morning the sky was dark and rain clouds threatened to burst at any stage rehydrating the countryside. From the very get go any deer we spotted were very alert, looking towards the sky, listening frantically for danger as branches fell around them results of the increased wind. Maneuvering quietly through some thick patches of tea tree James and I had widened the search after originally keeping to a distance of one hundred meters. As if on queue I spotted another mob and got comfortable kneeling whilst glassing them. After some time and constantly looking for James to pop up I decided to slowly move in for a better look, scanning constantly for a possible stag. Closing into fifty meters of the nearest hinds I assessed the mob of around twenty animals and failed to spot a mature stag. Within the mob lay several small stags, some of which had snapped points or main beams a typical trait deriving from aggressive fighting chital deer. I snapped away a few photographs before the mob continued on and I set out to once again join with James.
Heading towards where I had last seen James with a strong wind in my face I scanned ahead for movement before stopping on a set of antlers amongst the dry grass.
I couldn’t believe it, somehow this stag had either missed James’s attentive eyes or had moved to this location and bedded down after he had passed through. Either way he looked the treat and more importantly a neat representative with the bow. Failing to spot more deer bedded around him he seemed to be in big trouble, lying in the perfect spot for a stalk.
The Bedded Stag
I slipped off my shoes and packed them away in my pack before I once again snapped away a quick photograph. At fifty meters with perfect conditions I decided to strip down to bare essentials leaving the backpack and be ready if a shot presented. The long grass swayed gently in the breeze and drained out much of my noise as I moved into thirty meters of the unsuspecting stag. Each step was carefully looked over as not to make unnecessary noise on the dry crunchy surface. Whenever the wind faded the flies would set in and could be seen hassling the stag. Irritating his eyes and nose. At this point he would become more alert, shaking his head, smelling the air and scanning the surrounding countryside. When the wind picked up once more the stag would relax and I would pick up where I left off. Slowly edging closer, creating a broadside angle for the shot. At fifteen meters from the stag and positioned behind a tree for cover I decided the angle wasn’t quite right and had to back out. Choosing the same path I had just come and then continuing to the left meant that the shot became broadside rather than quartering on. Now half an hour into the stalk the pressure was beginning to mount and beads of sweat dripped from my forehead finding their way into my eyes. Twenty meters separated the stag and myself. With the perfect angle the string took up tension. Looking through the sites I repeated to myself to aim low and pick a spot, resting on that spot in the triangle I released and watched the arrow as it took flight. Slamming into the dirt beneath the stag, which now stood on its feet. My worst fears had come true and somehow the stag had jumped the string raising just enough to avoid the shot. Fortunately though the stag had not bound away, instead he stood alert but unsure faced away looking towards the arrow which I could see embedded in a tree just behind the stag. Taking the opportunity I slipped an arrow onto the string and drew back. Releasing once more. This time the arrow found its mark center of the chest entering forward and exiting the point of the shoulder on the off side. Immediately the stag took off kicking up the ground and crashing through the grass, he traveled fifty meters before slowing down and becoming wobbly. A few more seconds and his legs gave out and the grass had consumed him. The white tip of his antler bounced for a second or two above the height of the vegetation until his kicking stopped and he became still. Excitement took over and for an instant I wasn’t sure whether to be saddened or overjoyed. The respect I have for all species I bow hunt let alone an animal with such beauty as that of a chital deer was magnified when I experienced first hand the agility and highly strung nature of this stag. My stag. To avoid the shot whilst in a totally relaxed state. Then, to watch that same animal buckle and fall no more than fifty meters away without knowing where the apparent danger came from was the ultimate bowhunting experience. Instantly my thoughts turned from the deer and towards James who I hadn’t seen for a number of hours. Back tracking to where we split up I eventually found James who had been on his own adventure and had been equally close to a huge stag before getting busted by his hinds.
On the way back to my stag I informed him of the hunt and we both couldn’t wait to lay eyes on him up close for the first time. Laying hands on the stag was when I truly felt blessed to be a bow hunter. Outwitting this beast and being able to reap the rewards after putting in all the hard yards was truly awesome. Capturing the moment with a number of stills and capping him out for a place on the wall at home carried on into the night. Done and dusted before the new day started we hit the sack with James keen to do the same.
My First Chital Stag
Action All Round
The following morning was rather crisp and setting off into the bush we overlooked the lower floodplains of a creek where the fog was slowly filtering through the trees. Almost immediately a large leggy boar was spotted making his way from the edge of the creek through the grass flats to higher ground and the safety of the basalt wall. This gnarly looking boar seemed to be on a mission, head down legs powering and only stopping to listen ahead. Birdcalls seemed to have this saddle back boar on edge as he hurried back towards the basalt. From our positions James and I tipped that we could beat him back to the wall and set out to get in front of him. After jogging and keeping an eye on him for nearly a kilometer we had started to make some ground. A fencelinje posed as an untimely obstacle and slowed our progression. Like all game this boar had the ability to turn into a fluid like state slipping with ease under the wires. Unlike the boar, with bows, backpacks and the tripod we scurried under much slower. Fortunately however, the boar sensing he was getting close to the safety of the mighty basalt wall slowed from a trot to a brisk walk. Slowing to checkout a mob of sows and suckers, which were feeding on the grass flats he was momentarily distracted. I signaled for James to continue the line we were heading remaining wide as the boar having sussed out the group of sows continued on his path. Now only a few hundred meters from the wall. Unbeknownst to the boar his brief rendezvous with the mob gave James ample time to get ahead and wait for the boar’s arrival. Amazingly after travelling over a kilometer in a few minuets once hitting the basalt wall the boar’s attitude changed completely. He became relaxed and his quick walk became a slow walk, rubbing a number of trees and even feeding on some small patches of green pick. James took this opportunity to close in on the boar using the thick vegetation to conceal his movements. At ten meters this barrel on legs had failed to notice the hunter who had settled the pin. Sending an arrow straight through the boar’s front shoulder and penetrating through the other. He hunched up, let out a monstrous scream and stumbled a few meters before expiring on the basalt. We knew this boar had a great set of tusks but it wasn’t until we had him on the ground for keeps that James had secured his personal best set. Maneuvering the boar for a photograph required straining every muscle but it paid off big time seeing James’ grin much the same as the whites of the boar.
Making our way from the basalt wall to the open eucalypt woodlands we hoped to once again see the mobs of chital which had been feeding in the morning when we pursued the big saddle back boar. Unfortunately they must have moved off so we headed to the creek bed where a number of shaded trees seemed our best bet for a mid morning stalk. Reaching the riverbank we could both smell the unmistakable stench of death in the air and looked for what was causing it. A few crows flying off in the distance revealed where the carrion pile was and making our way in we spotted a solid black boar feeding on what looked to be the result of a dingo kill, a decent velvet chital stag. For whatever reason the boar was beginning to loose interest as more and more crows began to move in sensing his willingness to leave the carcass. Closing into one hundred meters, he began moving off in our direction and soon dropped below the banks and onto the sandy creek bed. Staying up high seemed a good bet as the wind suited this approach. Closing in to around thirty meters the boar decided the soft sandy creek wasn’t easy going and followed a game trail up the bank heading straight for James. At twenty meters the boar had climbed the bank and noticed the odd shape before him. Lifting his head and smelling the wind didn’t reveal any danger but unconvinced the boar remained uneasy. When the boar began turning back to the creek James who was already fully drawn sent an arrow on a deadly mission. The arrow smacked the boar just behind the front shoulder taking out both lungs and slowing the boar. Coughing and stirring could be heard out of sight beyond the bank and after a few second the commotion stopped. Two decent boars for the morning was a good start after setting him up on the bank and prizing open his jaws for the photo session we could really smell the rotting flesh escaping from his stomach. Taking the Jaws from both boars had made the packs heavy and having had a late night the night before we set off back to camp to prepare for the afternoon hunt.
Swamp Boars
With only a few days left on this epic adventure James was fixated on claiming a chital stag and we decided that he was best suited to do so solo. With less movement and noise James took off for the chital’s feeding grounds, whilst I was more inclined to see a bit more of what the swamps had to offer and hoped for a few boars. Sitting in ambush along the basalt rocks as the afternoon began to draw near slowly brought with it the arrival of pigs onto the dry swamp. Without any existing water the reed beds were dry and crunchy so I choose to sit and wait nearest the fresh green grass. Spotting a number of young boars fighting and causing trouble amongst a mob of sows I slowly eased in, using the reed beds as cover and closing to thirty meters. The sows were constantly moving, ducking in an out of the reeds attempting to loose the young boars. Thrashing around in the reeds, high-pitched squeals and grunts told of the sow’s displeasure as she bolted from her chasers.
Once the sow re appeared I knew the boar would follow next and readied the bow. Drawing back as the first of the boars showed I took aim, focusing on the vitals. As he stopped quartering away focusing on the sow the arrow found its mark silently bringing him down within sight at the edge of the reeds no more than twenty meters away. The sow relieved to have one less follower seemed to know the game and used my assistance. She led the remaining boars on another loop past me. Drawing and taking aim on the next biggest I slammed one through the shoulders and he raced into the reeds before me crashing a few meters until he too became still. Grunting in the reeds revealed more pigs yet to come out so I remained still with another arrow on the string. The sow and her piglets had taken off across the flat by this stage with a few small boars tailing her. I was about to take the arrow off the string when out from the reeds a black and white boar appeared. He paused broadside looking at the first boar, which lay dead as a doornail on the edge of the cover. Unknown to spotted fella that he would soon be joining his mate. The broadhead entered tight behind the shoulder taking out the heart giving his white hair more of a red appearance. Once again the tracking job would be easy as he made it twenty-five strides before crashing to the ground. Making sure there were no other candidates I recovered all three boars positioning them for a fitting photograph on the swamp.
Heading back to the car I traversed the unforgiving basalt lava flow, which for the last few weeks had become a familiar discomfort to my feet. The aches and pains that come with this demanding sport of bow hunting had been pushed away to the back of the mind to concentrate and fulfill certain goals we had set for the trip. As the final days ran down, reliving this premiere experience with James we had both far exceeded our wildest dreams and aspirations. Success with each of our magical boars set new person bests and fortunately for me I was handed a lucky card on a beautiful chital stag. The trophies taken on this trip don’t amount to everything when you can appreciate the opportunity to do what you love with your closest mate, brother and likeminded fieldsman. With a chital stag eluding James it only gives us another reason to head back in the near future and play the game all over again.
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The Adventure Continues
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