Carefully we moved forward and upwards, sidling to the left of the spur as that was where Jive had indicated. We had covered just another hundred metres when Ray suddenly raised his rifle, took aim and squeezed off the shot. I hurried up to him.
“ Stag,” he whispered.“ It ran down there into the gully.”“ Did you hit it?”“ Dunno; the shot felt good but it scarpered. Didn’ t look hit though.”“ Well, we gotta check it out. You never know,” I replied.“ You go down and look; I’ ll stay here.”
So Ray headed down into the scrubby gully while I waited above. Five minutes passed with no result, so I slithered downhill a few metres, following the stag marks but keeping in the open. I waited and then went down a few more metres.
A dark red spot on the grass caught my eye. I wiped it off. Blood!
Soon after, Ray appeared. He was dejected.“ Bummer. I must’ ve missed,” he said.
“ No you didn’ t,“ I replied and held up the grass blade.“ I’ ll go down with Jive.”
So we dropped into the scrub and found the trickle of the creek. Jive led, following the scent. He turned right upstream, then stopped just 50 metres ahead, tail wagging, eyes bright and sparkling. He had tracked and found the heart-shot stag.
Jive wasn’ t a full Labrador, though his father was a pedigree one. It seemed his mother, contrary to the owner’ s belief, had a mixed ancestry. Perhaps he had thrown back to a Huntaway ancestor, because he was of big build, but leaner and with a deep Huntaway-type bark. I recall when tracking his first deer – a young stag – that he stood proudly by it and proclaimed the kill with a very deep“ woof! woof!”
His slightly mixed ancestry may have been an advantage, as finelybred Labradors seem susceptible to dysplasia of the hip. Anyway, Jive was superb company whether hunting, fishing or just around home.
The lifespan of a dog is cruelly short when compared to a human’ s. Jive is dead but he has not departed. He is in the past, in the present and future as there’ s hardly a day goes by that I don’ t think of him with a moistening of the eyes and a quiet smile as I think of so many indelible memories.
Time heals and the smiles of many fine hunts together will become paramount.
Hunting
The lambs and goats of Panekiri Station
by Elliott Humphrey, 9 years, Thames Valley branch
On Saturday morning Dad and I left Tauranga for the long drive to Panekiri Station to help with the annual NZDA Thames branch fundraising project, docking lambs. I was a bit tired so I went to sleep for a while and missed seeing all the horses grazing along the roadside.
We finally arrived at the Waikeremoana Holiday Park, where we stayed in one of the cabins. It was a bit rainy and we tried fishing around the lake but had no luck. We got a surprise when Maureen Coleman from our local branch pulled up just as we were about to go down a track to the lake. Later on we found a cool waterfall down a track from the visitor centre.
Next morning we needed to drive the rest of the way to Panekiri. Dad and I had read about some good fishing lakes on the way, where trout of over 12 kg have been caught. The first lake was quite small so we walked right around it. Dad hooked a fish near the end and I reeled it in. The next lake( Tuai) was bigger. We parked near the power station and I started fishing. On my second cast I hooked another keeper, a nice rainbow that we had for dinner at the shearers’ quarters with the other NZDA members.
After that we carried on to Panekiri. We had just unpacked when Maureen arrived and asked us if we wanted to go and hunt for some goats she had seen by the road. Dad and I were off!
When we came over the hill we saw loads of goats in the distance, so we snuck up on them. I got to have a shot. It was my first time with a. 223.
“ It was my first time with a. 223.”
The goats were about 60 metres away. I aimed at a big white billy, at the heart and lungs because those are the vital organs and where Dad said to aim. I pulled the trigger and the goat dropped really quickly. I was happy because I had just shot my first goat. Hooray! Dad took some pictures and we took its head because it was my first trophy.
On the way back we spied three little goats down by the gully so I asked Dad if I could try and catch one. He reckoned I was wasting my time, but to give it a go if I wanted. He stayed up on the track and kept talking and walking to distract them. Just as they started to run away he
36 NZ Hunting & Wildlife 196- Autumn 2017