I stand on the steep
slope of the mountain taking in the scene below. Lake Ohau looms a brilliant
blue in the distance welcoming the glacier waters from the rivers that meander
through the valley. I take a deep breath and inhale the cool, crisp mountain
air. My heart is thumping in my chest, my mind is racing and I am giddy with excitement
as we cross the thick scrub to my animal.
This morning started the same as most mornings working for Southern Mountain
Adventures in New Zealand. The kettle was on for coffee and tea, bacon and eggs
in the fry pan, a hungry group at the breakfast table. I never dreamed that
would be the day I would be standing next to my first tahr!
It all happened so
fast. We had a few extra minutes, we had a helicopter, my boss, Croc Adams,
asked if I wanted to give it a go on the top of the facing mountain, and we
jumped in and away we went.
We spotted a group of
bulls at the top of the mountain across from the cabin. We got in position on a
flat spot looking up across a shingle slide. The plan was to get the group to
run down the slide towards us. As goes with most plans, the animals did not
cooperate. They ran across the ridge and behind us. I got one shot off at a big
bull, but it went right over his head and he disappeared across the ridge.
One lone bull had run
the opposite direction and was on the next ridge over. We radioed the
helicopter pilot our plan and went to find this one. As we swung around the
ridge, there he was, silhouetted on a rocky out crop. He was even bigger than
the first one! He jumped over the bluff and disappeared into the tall
scrub.
We found a place to
set up for a shot. We slip and slide across the shingle face and wade through
the heavy vegetation to get to a good shooting spot. Many times I find myself
sliding on my bum down the slope or grasping for bush branches as I step down
into holes. But we have to move quickly into position.
My bull is in the
brush below us. As he makes his way across the mountain face I try and get a
shot, but he is moving fast and keeps disappearing in the thick brush. Finally,
he turns and moves up the slope. He is within range, but he is moving away from
us.
All I see is his rear.
I whisper to Croc, "Can I shoot him in the ass?"
The response,
"Yes, shoot him in the arse."
So I squeeze the
trigger.
We hear the thump of
bullet connecting with flesh. I have hit him. But he is still running, tahr are
such tough creatures. Another round is chambered. I fire again. Another hit and
he slows. He is down, but still alive. One more shot and it is over. My heart
is pounding in my ears. We scramble through the thick vegetation to his
location. There is my bull. Full, thick mane and massive body, some of the
biggest based horns I have seen.
Never did I imagine my fist bull tahr would be a seven-year-old, 12 1/2 inch
with ten-inch bases! An hour later, after photos and skinning and packing the
car, when we are on our way to leave camp, I realize, my legs are shaking and I
am still grinning from ear -to-ear with excitement.
Croc still teases me
about shooting my tahr in the the butt. I tease him about telling me to do it!
He says, “Well, I didn’t expect you to actually hit him!” Guess he learned, do
not tell this girl with a gun to shoot and expect a miss!
