Twin Elements · Hunting Stories

Throwback Sambar Success! Two Stags With The Bow Within A Week

In This Report

1. Signs Of Spring
2. Freezer Filler
3. Fox In The Sights
4. A Lesson In Patience
5. Back For Redemption
6. A Sequence Of Events - Immortalised
7. Lightning Strikes Twice
8. The Final Chapter

Signs Of Spring

Wattles & Wildlife

Its that time of year in the Victorian hills, the onset of spring signals the ideal time to be in remote mountains with bow in hand. This harsh and often unforgiving landscape is home to one of the southern hemispheres premiere game animals, the illusive Sambar deer.

A wet winter ensures that the earth remains soft and forgiving to the stealthy hunter. However, being on and exposed north-facing slope, the terrain is set to dry. This will add unwanted noise and yet another advantage to the already favoured Sambar deers arsenal.

Shimmering a vibrant golden hue, newly flowering wattles dominate the surrounding bush. Driving to one of my regular hunting blocks, other alluring indicators emerge that spring has indeed sprung. Roadside cherry trees show the recent sign of a fresh assault by a nocturnal stags visit. The untrained eye easily misses these deep red gauges in the barks flesh, however, it's these indicators that as a Sambar hunter we long for when heading bush.

Rubs & Sign

My hunts at this time of year originate from the warmer north facing ridges. Typically, these faces are less vegetated. Larger trees such as ironbark's scatter the slope whilst wallaby grasses and other loose patches of native vegetation create the understory. In more secluded gully heads and benches along these ridges clumps of tea tree and dog wood form the perfect bedding areas for deer.

Situating myself on a prominent game trail around three quarters of the way up the ridge, with the fickle breeze rolling back and over the hill towards the rich pastures and feeding grounds sets the prime ambience for an afternoon hunt. Slow executed steps amongst loose and noisy footing reveal newly uncovered parcels of land. Scanning with binoculars I search tediously for the tip of an ear, twitch of a nose or in some rarer instances, the glimmering rump of a deer absorbing the warming rays of winters end. It's on these occasions that spotting the deer first is more likely as the copper brown tinge of fur under a cherry stand or a tea tree and dog wood thicket gives away the presence of the animal.

Hidden Sentries

Further scanning of the immediate area often reveals a second or third animal. Too often in this case a hunter can rush the moment, being caught up in the thrill of the hunt, stalking quickly without pausing to identify other hidden sentries. Sambar deer have an uncanny ability to locate danger in these situations, often ensuring that by the time you have located these accompanying animals they have already located you and made leave. It's the frustration upon frustration that comes with hunting Sambar deer that ultimately makes them my most challenging and humbling adversary.

The following chapters of this story illustrate a number of separate hunts. Each phase contributes to a month long saga where every available second was spent bow hunting.

Despite being the best hunting of my life, said month is a complete rarity and perhaps unfair representation of typical sambar deer bow hunting. The success I achieved was literally the tip of the iceberg, with the untold/ unseen submerged section of the iceberg being represented by all of the unsuccessful stalks and lessons learnt over many years previous. Having these failures, continually pumping in effort and sacrificing to better myself and level the playing field set the foundation for success.

Surveillance & Intel

Freezer Filler

As the first sunrays touched the mountain face the only sign of movement was my footprint left in the due covered grass. Scoping the fringe turned up very little, if you discount the large mob of eastern grey kangaroos. The bush was alive on a glorious spring morning. Heading to the nearest gully that feeds back to the thicker bedding areas I anticipated intercepting deer. At this early stage in the morning I find that locating deer is the easiest as the bush is relatively still and the deer are moving. Glassing with binoculars my eye captured movement amongst the damp tea tree. The inconspicuous movement was checked over and revealed a Sambar hind chewing her cud. Amongst the broken vegetation the fine white hairy lining of a Sambar deers radial shaped emerged. Stiff on full alert, much to my surprise. At an apparent stalemate neither of us dared move, I knew that she had seen me, as my approach was slow. Additionally, through regular scanning I had spotted her at the first available chance. Perhaps a noisy cockatoo above me in the tree had drawn her attention or a brief human scented thermal had flared her uncanny nose. Regardless, After what seemed like an eternity, I had done my bit to reassure the hind that there was no looming threat. During the waiting game I had spotted more movement to the rear of the hind. Allowed to raise the binoculars once more I scanned the surroundings, turning up another two deer. A spiker and yearling hind.

Some Of The Locals

Letting the hind slowly move off, I decided that she was an older animal that fit the bill as a freezer filler. Equipped with the knowledge that there was more than one deer in the vicinity I crept in closer, using the brush as my cover and the fresh due as my noise concealment. Sneaking into range I was surrounded by all three deer. The two younger animals fed, relaxed and oblivious within twenty meters to my right. The older hind stood browsing a few yards further, only needing a couple more graceful steps to move into the clear and offer my desired shot angle. With the bow in the ready I slowly came to full draw as the hind stripped the limb of a shrub and showed signs of moving on. One, two, three quick steps were taken as I resumed my aim and placed the pin low on the now broadside chest. Before her nose could kiss the wet grass I had released and watched as the arrow embarked swiftly, vanishing behind the leg crease where I had aimed. Brown fur disappeared in all directions, in an array of confusion and blur. When silence and tranquility resumed in the gully I noticed behind where the hind had previously stood, my arrow in the earth red to the fletches after a complete pass through.

Letting some time pass, I made my way over to the arrow, which highlighted the effects of a heart shot. Immediately the sign of a taken life stood before me and all I had to do was follow the imminent trail. After taking up the blood, without a moments pause or indecision as to which way the animal went before me lay the brown rump of the old Sambar hind and the product of many future meals. It was obvious by how she lay that she had fallen without breaking stride, that she was oblivious and death sudden. Carving all available meat from her frame I packed out contempt with a huge haul of organic venison for the freezer. This encounter with the hind had settled my desire for meat, my focus now lay on the task which had eluded me. Securing a trophy for the wall.

Proud To Be A Provider

The next opportunity to venture into the Sambar hills arose a week later. Leaving the car and contouring the nearest ridgeline. In only a week the bush had changed dramatically. With the seasonal change apparent and temperatures on the increase the hidden wallows and wetter gullies became rife with activity. The ridgelines I had been hunting were noticeably drier so remaining on well etched game trails would be vital. Setting off on route to intercept the bedding areas it wasn't long before I spotted the first deer, a Sambar spiker. Closing in I easily crept into twenty meters. Concealed behind a large gum tree I observed as the spiker graciously raised from his slumber, have a content scratch, feed half heartedly in a loose circle then go on to preach and feed on the fronds of a nearby wattle before proceeding to bed down once more. His new chosen bed was positioned amongst a thick stand of tea tree.

September Is For Sambar Hunting

Having watched the spiker bed down in front of me I knew where he lay, however I was truly amazed in the nature of how he could simply materialize and disappear amongst the growth. Adding to my amazement, whilst creeping in even closer, trying to push the limits and get a better view I came to the realization that he had in fact joined another bedded deer. One that I had not seen despite being only 15 meters away from. The binoculars revealed that the slight movement detected belonged to the nose of another spiker lying relaxed as he chewed his cud. The next hour went by as I tried to video the deer amongst the dense brush with little movement on mine or the deer's part. When the breeze suddenly blew cold along the back of my neck I knew this encounter had played its course. Within seconds the deer erupted from the cover, fleeing the scene.

Fox In The Sights

The abrupt end capped off an interesting encounter and brief insight. I was surprised that the midday breeze hadn't spoiled the meet and greet earlier and decided to continue along. Despite the fluctuating breeze and challenging thermals associated with midday and early afternoon hunting I tend to find this the best time to locate and stalk sambar with the bow. One reason being that it's a true test to spot the deer before it senses you. Once you have seen the deer it is rarely moving, giving you adequate time to plan the stalk, test your skills and make something from nothing. Continuing along on my pursuit for bone, it was beginning to cool and I knew that the fading sun would have the deer on their feet. Over the next ridge, almost instantly I spotted movement. Once again the red tinge was the beacon, however this time it belonged to the cunning old fox.

The Cunning Old Fox

Without pause I set up a stand behind the trunk of an ironbark getting low amongst the grasses. Knowing that my camouflage would play its role I squeaked the lips and had the big dog coming in on a string. Sixty meters dissipated until he was standing outstretched, ears pointed at twenty looking for the source of the noise. Without hesitation an arrow flew true striking the fox front on in the sweet spot. As quickly as the hunt had unfolded it had finished. I made my way over to the deceased native killer, picking up my arrow along the way. The sheer size of this big healthy predator and the beautiful backdrop of some prime Sambar country made for a fitting photograph before I resumed my quest for a stag.

A Lesson In Patience

The final minutes of the warm sunrays were fading and I began to realise that today would not be the day despite being amongst plenty of action. Deciding to loop back towards the car I stuck to the exposed face where fragments of light penetrated through the canopy illuminating the ridge ahead. I was moving quicker than I should have been, too eager to return to the pasture and check if anything was visiting the lush pick when the earth shattering bark of a Sambar sounded. “Honk”.

Stopping dead in my tracks, my whole being became stiff with only my eyes bouncing around the scenery looking for the culprit. Shortly with the assistance of a few more loud honks I had the deer in my sights. An old hind, standing sentry amongst the sheltered tea tree, a single step further would have seen her in the bright light of the ridge and sun. Instead, she had remained hidden in the shadows, lurking always aware and fixated on finding possible danger. She had bested me on this occasion and served as a reminder that when chasing Sambar you are always hunting.

Shadows

The sun had moved behind the ridge and light now presented an issue. Once the hind moved off I slowly resumed my path. This time glassing the bush ahead. Having scanned all available ground I took a few silent steps and climbed over a small bench on the ridge. Reaching the other side a new patch of bush was exposed so my eyes darted back and forth looking for a possible deer. Iron bark, dogwood, tea tree, ironbark, Antler! The white tops of a Sambar stag, not fifty meters away greeted me instantly. He too had just scaled the bluff, the only difference being he was on the opposite more vegetated side fifty meters away.

Dropping to a knee the systematic arrow to string instinct occured without thought. My mind was fixated on the stag. Analyzing his state of awareness my attention to detail revealed that he was relaxed and making his way towards a signposted and well-used cherry rub. The only trouble, there was no cover on my side of the bench. Dropping low helped remove an aspect of my human profile, yet the fact that we were on the same game trail added complications. All I could do at this distance was draw back the bow, hide behind its trusty frame and hope that I would remain undetected. Seconds passed and the stag moseyed on projecting an awe and pure might, a trait I have not seen in any other species of deer but Sambar. His large shanghai tops hypnotized as his head swayed, approaching the cherry tree. All looked good as his heavy twenty-seven inch antlers clashed upon the tree.

Transfixed and at full draw, this whole scene played out through the window of my peep sight. Then, as if magically the stag raised his head erect in fear. Somehow he had sensed danger, a threat in his environment, an intruder in his midst. His preorbital glands filled his face and the whites of his eyes became enraged and focused on finding the threat. Dead on at twenty meters my pin rested on the cherry tree, which covered the stag. I knew in my heart that the game was up and looked on helplessly. His heavy beams were now projected on either side of the cherry tree. He could not see me yet I felt he knew exactly where I was. Without an available window to his vitals I held my draw hoping he would turn and move clear of the tree that hid his frame. Almost tauntingly all I could see of the stag were his two ears, one on either side of the cherry trunk, and his thick and heavy antlers.

With growing suspense the time had come, with enough gathered evidence and knowing danger was present the stag filled his suspicion, turning and vanishing from the immediate area only to reappear some eighty meters away. From there the stag turned, looked back and provided me one last memory before barking and heading to the security of the thick bush. I remained motionless for some time almost willing for a redo and a second chance. One that would not come. Darkness had begun setting over the bush. I remained where I was, now standing, replaying the past few minuets over and over. I was a mess. I searched for my fault or a reason for the failed hunt and couldn't come to any conclusion. Testing the wind, it blew true, I had not moved for some time prior to the stag stopping alert. I do not think he had seen me either. Yet he knew fully well that I was there.

An alert sambar stag, mighty indeed!

Once again I had been face to face with a Sambar stag, inside bow range, an achievement I don't hold lightly as it rarely comes around. Again though I had been bested by the wired nature of a sambar deer. As a sambar hunter I have come to the realization that this type of bow hunting, chasing these creatures is so pure, that success when does not necessarily come down to skill or knowledge. Instead a little luck paired with capitalizing on circumstance is the greatest benefactor. Skill and knowledge certainly help and I consider myself as having plenty of both, however when hunting these deer, sometimes it doesn't matter how many times you are in the right spot making all the right moves as a hunter. In order to have success, sometimes, just sometimes our contender has to make the wrong one.

Back For Redemption

Amongst Nature

Revisiting the failed stalk in my head over and over it was beginning to torment me. I longed for the chance to redeem myself and hopefully catch-up with the stag. That chance came the next afternoon as I raced to my hunting grounds eager to meet with my adversary.

To say I was focused would be an understatement. Deer seemed to be filling my binoculars under every tea tree thicket. Noticeably there were more spikers and young stags present than usual which gave me confidence for the hunt. It was considerably warm this afternoon and with a number of males in the area biding for any receptive hinds I decided to head back towards a known wallow in the hope that a mature stag would be locking down his territory. Redirecting my route to intercept the wallow from a down wind position lead me along the tops of a number of ridges, which I contoured easily. The sounds of moving animals loomed ahead in the noisy leaf litter. Glassing the gully below in the direction of the noise turned up a pod of three echidnas seemingly in their own rutting frenzy.

Watching on I picked up more movement to my left, a little higher on the face. The ironbark and tea trees merged creating a blanket of bush and the source of the noise was for now hidden. Eager to uncover this more delicate disturbance I edged closer. The noise from the echidnas was a kind distraction and seemed to breakup my approach. Nearing the blanket of tea tree I pinpointed the faintest of feet pitter-pattering on the dry crunchy leaves. Now within thirty meters an array of brown hooved feet met my eye before disappearing further into the scrub. With the wind in my face and little visibility I knelt down besides a large eucalypt and waited for my next move. It came shortly after as the bush came alive with movement as four large bronzed bodies broke cover. A large hind led the frantic eruption with a handy stag on her tail followed by two lesser stags. Quickly they disappeared over the ridge, showing no signs of being alert, I followed slowly at the rear.

Warm Conditions Mean Active Wallows

When I reached the top of the bench I peered over, immediately spotting the brown rump of a younger stag. Showing great potential this eighteen inch specimen was safe from me, instead I looked for his larger accomplices. Antler striking a cherry tree followed by a dust up of earth alerted me to the second younger stag, which was truly punishing the sapling before him. I scanned looking for the largest of the three stags, which had trailed the hind, yet uncovered nothing but a few eastern grey kangaroos.

The route that they had taken was towards the wallow I had planned to visit earlier so backing out I set my course once again. Reaching the greener pastures of the wet gully in which the wallow is hidden the strong musk of rutting stag filled my nostrils. Red gauges in nearby cherry, wattles and eucalypts said I was in the right place. Spotting the wallow from a distance I glassed the murky turned up edges and noticed the disturbed concoction of water and mud, indicating that it was fresh as could be and had been used within minutes. Instinct told me that it was the stag I had just seen and prior knowledge told me where I thought he would be headed next.

Fresh Sign & A Familiar Face

Mr Unique - A Wonky Stag

Further along the gully narrows before opening and meeting a lush green cove full of rich clover and pasture in which the hinds often visit sometime before dark. The scent of stag lingered as I made my way to the clearing. Kangaroos became my biggest threat with a mob of fifty or so individuals slowing my pursuit. As they filtered onto the far side of the clearing I edged around, treading slow and calculated as not to give up my presence or scare what was already out feeding. This process milked roughly fifteen minutes of valuable time and put me further behind the stag.

Reaching the corner of the gully and the clearing I remained in the thicker scrub scanning my surroundings. At my feet, on a well-used game trail I noticed fresh wet mud, grey in appearance much like the wallow I had just left. Ahead on the fence separating the boundary of dense cover and open pasture I too noticed the thick lathered mud. There was no doubt, the stag had taken this path and crossed here. The sense that I was being watched grew and the hairs on the back of my neck tingled. Suspense was amounting and I knew that I could very well be in a similar position to my previous outing.

As thoughts raced through my head, desperately my eyes darted looking for fragments of the stag. I dared not reach for my binoculars before securing the ground that lay before me. Once satisfied that I was alone I raised my binoculars and stepped forwards to uncover new land. Immediately, I spotted the large hind from earlier. She was feeding unbeknownst to my presence roughly sixty meters away on the far side of the clearing. Contempt that I had accounted for all deer in my view I took another step forward and knelt behind a small stump. Clutching the binoculars with both hands I searched the vicinity of the hind looking for the stag that I knew would be pursuing her.

Once again, daylight was beginning to fade and I assessed my options. With the gully behind me so fresh and rich with scent I decided to wait and not risk scaring the hind from her safe place. Instead I watched, hoping for the rut crazed stag to enter stage right. As if on cue, the hind lifted her head, fluttered her tail as if to signal my attention and looked towards the thicket of tea tree ahead. Seconds later a truly magical sight materialized. Covered in a layer of thick boggy mud, he was without a doubt the stag I had seen earlier and had since been following. However, he was not the stag, which had caused my heartbreak the previous day. Instead I estimated him to be a mid twenties model with all the gear and a stag that would fit the bill nicely.

With daylight fading fast I set in to reduce whatever ground I could between the stag and myself. Keeping concealed in the dense cover I slowly approached. When the stag began harassing the hind and showing a real interest I knew full well that she was in season and would be a beacon for rivals over the next few days. The hunt was stopped at this point as I decided the chances of taking the stag were low and to attempt a stalk from eighty meters would probably do more harm than good. Instead I chose to simply take it all in before darkness encroached. Once it was completely dark and seeing my own hand in front of my face a mission, I backed out and headed towards the car eager to return the next morning.

Creatures Of The Night

Strangely, the following morning had turned up little in the way of deer and I was starting to regret not making a move the previous evening. Planning for the afternoon I decided to make my way back to the head of the gully I had finished up at the afternoon prior and wait it out. It was 4pm by the time I dropped into the gully when the unmistakable scent of rutting stag returned once more. Knowing I was in the right location I settled in downwind of a cherry rub, highlighting frequent stag visitation by the mass of stringy red strands at the base of the tree. Amongst the fragments of scraped bark fibers there appeared to be a wet patch also. I interpreted this to be stags urine, and freshly left as he preached and scent marked the branches above.

A Preach Tree

As I got comfortable, I scouted a wombat to my left and decided his lumbering approach would make some decent video footage. Slowly reaching over to the bag on my right I scanned the surrounding bush before grabbing the tripod. Picking it up and slowly swinging back towards the wombat, peculiarly I somehow caught movement of an inbound Sambar stag. Within seconds I had an arrow on the string, facemask on removing any unwanted glare and had swiftly scurried to the nearest ironbark. The trunks circumference would easily block majority of my outline and allow for me to draw back the bow concealed and out of sight.

Raising the binoculars it became apparent that the mud encrusted visitor was the same stag from the evening before. The gap had now closed from roughly sixty meters to forty or so, with the stag milling his way in showing no sign of stress. Obviously he had other more important pastimes like attending to a cycling hind on his mind rather than to look out for a possible threat. I looked at his route and knew that he would begin to deviate off his path and follow the game trail below that would bring him straight towards the cherry preach I had noticed earlier. His relaxed nature was not reflected by his ears, which scanned the bush ahead.

A Sequence Of Events - Immortalised

As he deviated from his set path and took up the trail I had hoped I drew back the bow once his head was concealed. Holding at full draw, time stood still and I soaked up the moment in a heightened state of awareness. The stag ventured well within bow range and continued projecting his stature. When the stag stopped at the base of the cherry rub, he glanced down in the direction that he had just come, checking his trail and assessing for danger. When he turned back, he looked straight in my direction. Time was well and truly standing still at this point, The stags ears seemingly fixed in my direction, unnervingly it appeared as though he was looking right through me.

Observing through the peep I found a gap in the vegetation, was convinced of my angle and managed to thread the arrow. The arrows pink fletching disappeared into a tuft of scruffy mud encrusted hair on the base of his thick mane. Immediately the stags stance took a turn for the worst and he stiffened and took off down the hill. His legs locked, hardly showing the elegance and power I was used to seeing from a mighty Sambar deer. His tail blaring a white beacon of hope. My eyes followed said beacon until it quickly disappeared, lost behind a stand of trees.

In the time that it took for me to take up the binoculars I had identified the stag from the scrub once more. This time he was stationary, my eyes became fixated and watched his stiff legged, rather crippled body language. Stopped at fifty meters the stag began to lean back and forth, back and forth before jolting erratically to his side eventually tipping over. As he hit the ground all became still amongst the recently accelerated confusion and immense emotional triggering on my part. Pure elation took over as my binoculars lay resting on the downed trophy. I watched on, waiting for the stag to stir and take off but it never came. Reflecting for a period, I cannot put into words what I was feeling however I know that the synonyms are words such as disbelief, admiration, elation and so forth.

Making my way down to the fallen stag the tell tale signs became apparent and the frothy red blood spoke of a perfect lung shot. Reaching the stag and looking to lay hands on the magnificent creature that stood before me I began to admire. Tiny flecks of timber stained his heavy coronets. The scent of pine, eucalypt, wattle and cherry lingered fusing with the strong scent of rutting stag. His coarse hair lay riddled with cemented mud, which broke down to dried dust upon touch. These little things will never be forgotten as they amount to so much of the Sambar deers nature and being.

My First Sambar Stag

Sitting besides the fallen stag I set out to capture the moment with the camera and get some lifetime memories before light began to fade. Satisfied I set out for the real hard work of caping and meat retrieval. Getting to work on the cape it became clear why the stag only managed such a short distance. The arrow had entered at the base of his neck and travelled the length of the body before coming to a halt at the off side back leg. It was well into the night by the time I got the cape, back legs, backstraps and other choice cuts back to the car and I was utterly exhausted after numerous trips of retrieving gear.

Polishing a bottle of water I always keep in the car for replenishing fluids helped with the mojo as Dad and the property owner arrived to help with the last little bits. Giving the meat to the property owner showed of my thanks and he was delighted to feed his family organic free-range meat for the next few months. Once home I had the face caped and finally hopped into bed as the clock read 02:00.

Lightning Strikes Twice

On a couple hours sleep I managed to drag myself out of bed and behind the wheel of my car. Chasing white lines I headed to Mansfield in North East Victoria. After a long drive I met up with the owner of Northeast Taxidermy. Visiting the shop in person I saw first hand the lengths of his artistry and cannot wait to get to work planning the mount of my first ever Sambar stag. We discussed my hunt and the events that had unfolded before agreeing that with the onset of spring there was an apparent abundance of stags statewide. His holding racks certainly told of a similar tale with a number of new heads being brought in over the last couple of days by happy hunters. Upon leaving we joked about trying for another stag while the iron was hot. Laughing it off thoughts of possible mounts filled my head as I embarked on the road trip home.

In The Company Of Fellow Creatures

A few days later eager to make the most of the current rut period I made my way into the accursed country that we call the Sambar hills. Hunting the fringe of an un-spanned wilderness allowed for some close encounters with deer. My goal for the hunt, to film the lesser stags, which I knew were rife and roamed the area. It was a heated afternoon, crunchy underfoot with little wind making moving stealthily very difficult. Staying high as not to flirt with the fluctuating thermals I spied the bush ahead. With the surrounding shrubbery very calm I figured I would go and check another eminent wallow that gets frequented on the warmer days. The wallow forms at the base of a deeper, dark secluded gully, full of thick rushes, which form the undergrowth and act as a nursery. With hinds most likely cycling and receptive to the rampant stags I was sure to find a would be suitor in pursuit. On this hunt the bow was strapped to my backpack and the video camera positioned a top the tripod ready to film. It was mid afternoon by now and the sun had hardly relented keeping the temperature around thirty degrees.

On The Hunt

Hidden in ambush above the wallow I waited patiently over looking, wondering what would transpire. A couple of hours had past before the local kangaroo population began filtering from their day time bedding areas, headed for the scarcely remaining lush green grass of the gully floor. Today a number of wallabies joined them, one in particular caught my attention. Her face was not the typical dark chocolate brown or black but a chalky mottled white. I took this discoloration as a sure sign of her age and wisdom. There was a good chance that this seasoned Sambar sentry would have ended many of my past hunts, alerting deer to my presence via her loud thumps upon departure.

Today however, with the wind in my face and my stationary ambush position I took joy from watching her and her accompanying young joey as they fed on the lush green shoots. The mob of kangaroos had passed and the wallaby showed signs of moving on when some birds became vocal in the deeper gully beyond the wallow. Her relaxed nature changed and an alert domineer now occupied her entire body. I observed and took note of her changed body language. She would constantly move forwards, dragging her heavy joey filled pouch along the ground and then look towards the noise, before mimicking this movement as she searched for a better view of what approached. When she paused, she began waving her tail on the ground, swaying it almost serpentine like, still looking fixated in the direction of the gully.

When she had filled her curiosity I watched as she bounded off in the direction the kangaroos had previously taken. Noticeably, the wallaby didn't slap the floor as she would if alerted to my presence so I was curious to investigate what she had seen and what the birds had announced earlier. Slowly edging towards the gully, the camera and tripod were outstretched and ready. I had travelled roughly one hundred meters off the wallow in the direction of the disturbance when I heard the faintest stick break. Slowly swiveling my head I suddenly spotted the distinctive white tips of antler. The tops of a single antler were visible at first before the beam and a neatly formed brow emerged from behind a tree.

Ducking down, I entered into a desperate adrenaline rush, fiddling to setup the video camera whilst also trying to establish and anticipate the path of the stag. Instinct told me that he was moseying in the direction of the wallow I had just left. Most likely we were sharing the same game trail. If not, the deer highway he was following would quickly intercept one of the many other trails eventually leading him past me. With the camera recording I slowly set to work of unstrapping my bow from my pack without alerting the approaching shooter stag. At sixty meters or so with ground fast disappearing a wrong move here would see the stalk over before it began.

Trying to keep an eye on the stag and his movements whilst remaining low and fiddling with the bag was trickier than I had planned and it came to the point where I needed to lay eyes on him once more. Identifying him amongst the blended timber backdrop was difficult and it appeared that he had moved off, vanishing into thin air like mature Sambar stags are capable of. Either that or he had heard me and taken leave. Glassing every thicket I eventually found him once more, he was propped up and seemingly listening in my direction towards the wallow that lay beyond. I took this time to gather the bow and silently slip an arrow onto the rest.

When I resumed glassing I saw that he had changed his view and was now looking up hill. The tops of his left antler were all that I could make out from the bush that consumed him and was all I had to reference from. As antler motioned and tilted backwards I took this as a sign that he was on the move so I too crept a few steps closer, before getting tucked up behind a tree. As the stag stepped clear of the debris that hid him I noticed his character. A large battle scar travelled the length of his body and could have been the reasoning for his weaker antler.

The Scar

Nevertheless with the stag approaching I remained fixated on remaining undetected, the setting sun behind me blended my outline whilst illuminating the stag in a softening glow. As he tilted his head and gracefully maneuvered his antlers under an overhanging branch I drew back the bow and settled. With each step inside thirty the thought of him hitting my scent entered my mind. At twenty-four meters the trail he followed led him from quartering on to slightly broadside. With a window now formed between scattered branches and various vegetation I focused in on a spot at the crease of his shoulder. Squeezing the shot I watched as the arrow left the string. A loud and evident thud followed as broadhead was introduced to bone. Within seconds the stag had turned, crashing through a pile of fallen timber on a desperate mission to flee downhill. He was visible for a second or two before becoming lost to the thick timber and never regaining sight.

Reflecting, I knew the shot was good and hearing the stag slow down gave confidence. Calmness reclaimed the bush, I couldn't hear the stag move however not seeing him go down did raise a sense of uneasiness. Going through those final moments in my head and watching the footage immediately after it was apparent that the stag had moved out of frame just prior to the shot. The footage on the camera gave little reassurance with the final shot frame missing and the small screen not really relaying how hard the stag was hit. With fading light, I marked the sight of the shot as well as where the arrow struck the stag. Upon reaching the hit zone there was immediate blood and for a moment I urged myself to follow up the trail. Unsure whether to follow in excitement, or to listen to my head and play it safe, I eventually decided to return the next morning.

The Final Chapter

After an interrupted sleep to say the least I woke before my alarm eager to return and lay hands on the stag. Cockatoos and Ravens echoed, with the sun beginning to filter through the bush as I arrived at my last GPS marker. The site of the hit showed signs of a deer in trouble with immediate blood and a number of trees being smashed in the stag's path. Following the blood trail towards where I had watched the stag stop on the video the night before the sign increased. Trampled down rushes and thrown logs showing signs of the devastation. Claret was sprawled leading the path forwards. Like a hound on the trail I hardly lifted my head from the ground eager to find my wayward stag. Eagerness nearly led to me falling over the very beast I searched for as I spotted the blended rump of the stag lying on his side ahead with tops of an antler buried in the grasses.

What Dreams Are Made Of!

Approaching with dad, smiles filled our faces and we boyishly laughed about the odds of two Sambar stags in less than one week. Jubilation and even disbelief paired together as we paid homage to a truly magnificent fallen stag. Upon inspection, the shot looked perfect. A neat hole had punched through the stags leading shoulder breaking the scapula and sounding the crippling thud. The broad head had obviously severed his vitals leading to an unbeknownst terminal sprint. Weak and starved of blood with the arrow exciting just behind the off side leg he was dead on his feet. Where he had stopped, pools of red stained the earth, a few meters further is where the stag lay at rest.

With the sun high in the sky giving off a spectacular warming glow, memories were captured amidst the prime lighting. With the temperature heating up Dad and I set to the jobs that follow when a stag of this caliber hits the deck. Carrying out the cape and a pack full of meat burned the legs and helped to forge the smile that filled my face. Soaking up these final moments with a haul of meat, cape and bone etched memories of the hunt that will last a lifetime.

Returning once more to Northeast taxidermy, we shared the in celebration. It was hard to convince others, when I, myself couldn't believe the events of the past week.

During my downtime of the following days I spent moments reliving and reflecting on the last few days. The achievement seemed so surreal and if not for the photographs on my computer it would have been hard to fathom. After years of hard work, dedication, countless bush hours and being bested by my greatest adversary I had finally achieved a long time bow hunting goal and put a mature sambar stag on the deck. Well not just one, but two incredible stags, and all within a week! I will forever look back on this bow-hunting saga.

A glorious time of year, that I refer to as “Stagtember”. When spring has sprung and Sambar deer hunting is at its absolute best!

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September Silhouettes

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Lopsided

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Winter Winds

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Golden Fleece

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The Adventure Continues

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The footage lacks resolution, but it does show a successful, self filmed sambar bowhunt!

This piece is adapted from an editorial piece previously published with hunting magazine "Arrowhead".