By DuWayne Schuler

I started to think about hunting in the Pacific shortly after my wife purchased a New Zealand hunt for me at the Michigan Chapter’s 30th annual fundraiser. I was happy to be going to New Zealand but it seemed a shame to be so close to Australia without including a little sport there. The itinerary had been carefully laid out and there seemed to be very little wiggle room if we were to accomplish the modest goals we had set for experiencing this vast part of the world. Just weeks before leaving, the fates smiled on me and I was able to arrange a couple of days shooting with chapter supporters Debbie and Jim Diekman of Hav-A-Go Safaris in Australia, while my wife visited her cousin in Melbourne.

Jim and Debbie live about a 3-½ hour drive from the Brisbane Airport. Jim won’t waste any more time than is necessary in the big city and soon you are over the "great divide" and heading for camp. In the delightfully named city of Toowoomba you can make a last quick stop for necessities like Scotch, and an hour later you’re in camp. "Camp" for most will be the very comfortable home that Debbie and Jim share with their son Patrick, and one "inside dog." Outside are a couple more dogs and two caged parrots. There is also a "rustic" camp on the property for those of you who want to get back to nature located in a lovely glade where the fishing is great.

On this hunt, Debbie was away attending a jewelry show, and we men were left to fend for ourselves. As it turned out, both Jim and Patrick know their way around the kitchen; the fare was good and the portions were large. The men admitted that Debbie is a better cook and the dishes served while she is in residence are much fancier and more varied, but we didn’t suffer much. Hav-A-Go is a working ranch, producing cattle, sheep, and wild goats for market. They control about 12,000 acres and the hunting area covers about half that. You will encounter fences but it doesn’t distract from the hunting experience. Most of the fences are to keep dingo’s out and don’t really restrict the movement of the game animals. With an area this large you will have a fine "fair chase" hunting experience.

My hunt was to be for a fallow deer, and after an unhurried breakfast we loaded their hunting vehicle and set off. I liked the fact that I was staying right in the middle of the area we were to be hunting, and a short drive put us in a location suspected of housing several shootable bucks. On the way in I saw my first groups of wild kangaroos. In fact, the place was jumping with eastern grey kangaroo, wallaroo, and red-necked wallaby, while the skies were alive with flocks of sulfur-crested cockatoo and galahs along with many birds I didn’t recognize. The land is varied and beautiful, with gum and iron bark forests interspersed with open grasslands. Some climbing was in the offing, but it wasn’t difficult.

The hunt started in a wooded area with many deep ravines and I thought the likelihood of my getting off a shot in there not very good. After about an hour of climbing through the thick stuff, we broke out into a grassy plain that had a sparse covering of bushes. As we proceed toward a waterhole, we saw a group of four bucks lying at the waters edge. They were too far away for a shot and we couldn’t get any closer without spooking them. Jim glassed the group and told me that one of the animals was exceptional. The only option was to double back and try an approach from a draw some distance away. Luck was with us and we were able to approach within 240 yards before the animals stood and stared to casually move away. Jim, hurriedly got me into position, identified the proper animal, and I scored a lung shot with the borrowed Winchester 7mm-08. As we approached the magnificent buck, we realized just how good he was and how lucky we were to be able to make the second approach undetected.

With just two hunting days, I was very lucky to connect with this fine buck on the first morning out. While Jim was caping out the fallow deer, Patrick and I decided to see if I might be able to score on a feral goat. You can’t believe the number of goats running around this place. I decided that with such a large number of animals that I would hold out for a 30in. black billy. Patrick is an excellent guide and I saw a number of excellent animals that afternoon but having an extra day remained selective. As the day faded towards evening, we came upon a beautiful Rusa stag. I had never seen one before and we just stopped and watched as he beat up the bushes with his magnificent rack. After about 20 minutes of viewing, I told Patrick that it would really be a shame to leave that animal behind and we set up a stalk. As often happens in situations like this, the opportunity had passed. The deer moved out and we ran out of daylight. That evening we showed Jim the video we had taken of the stag and he nearly fell out of his chair. After letting us know how nuts he thought we had been to delay acting on this opportunity, he started to formulate a plan of attack for the next morning.

Morning arrived with high expectations and plenty of optimism. We sighted the big stag early on and spent the morning in pursuit. Plan B followed plan A and we remained optimistic as the day wore on. During this stalk we saw several fallow deer, a really nice red stag, and several smaller Rusa stags along with any number of goats and sheep – there was no shortage of game! Late in the afternoon we finally found our stag bedded up and we were sure we had him. As it worked out, we couldn’t approach him from an angle that presented a shot. Finally Jim "barked" him up, but I couldn’t see him clearly enough to pull the trigger. This day went to the stag, and as far as I know he’s still there.

Jim and Patrick are two of the nicest people you could ever want to hunt with. Both are good judges of trophy quality and they have a special bond to the land and animals. They charge a flat trophy fee for the animals that is very reasonable. I like the fact that you don’t have to worry whether the animal is gold medal or silver. Jim also offers trips that include buffalo in the Northern Territory along with fishing. For details contact them at www.havagoaustralia.com.au. I hope to go back and settle a score with a certain Rusa stag. Should you havago? Why not.

SHOWDOWN AT CARMOUR PLAINS by Bill Troubridge [ Excalibre Crossbows]

The crisp half light that proceeds the tropical Australian sunrise made the black hulking forms of the  Water Buffalo stand out starkly against open plain.  The three bulls, having completed their nightly foray to feed on the lush grasses along the forest edge, were moving at a steady walk through the series of  Pandanas palm stands.  Here we had lain in ambush since before first light.  Within minutes they would pass us 60 yards away, far out of range for my crossbow, and now was the time to either act boldly or admit defeat.

I turned to Jim Dieckman, my PH on this hunt, and motioned that I thought that we should crawl closer in hopes that they stopped, but within a few yards it was certain that they’d be long gone before we reached them.  My daddy always told me that “when the going gets tough, the tough gets going”, and with this in mind I motioned with hand signals to Jim that we should try a less stealthy approach.  He shrugged his shoulders and whispered “might as well try” and we were off on an intersecting course with our now somewhat less than unsuspecting quarry.  Many years ago while hunting in my home country of Canada I learned that many animals would allow a fairly close approach across open ground if you can first, never look like you are a predator, and second, never walk directly towards your prey.   As I crossed the short grass plain I sauntered slowly back and forth, bending occasionally in mock feeding activity, never stopping to look directly at the three buffalo.  The bulls stopped in their tracks when they saw me, bunched up and stared in awe as a balding, middle aged Canuck with glaringly white legs wandered in their general direction.  I kept track of their movements out of the corner of my eye as I counted off the paces.  At about 30 yards I knelt down and turned to prepare for a shot, but was disappointed to see that all three bulls were facing me, providing unacceptable shot angles.  This was standard operating procedure.  Over the first days of my hunt we had had several similar opportunities and our experience was that eventually the Buffalo would spook, wheel, and run without a shot.  Great learning experiences, but Buffalo 101 wasn’t the reason we were here!   

My wife Kath and I have been avid crossbow shooters for decades.  In the early eighties we started a crossbow manufacturing business called Excalibur Crossbow, dedicated to making the finest quality hunting crossbows, and as anyone who has started a business from scratch will know, years of hard work and commitment severely limited our hunting options.  In the last few years, since Excalibur has grown and become successful we have vowed to make up for lost time.   Last year when we met Jim from Havago Safaris we knew that a hunt for Asiatic Water Buffalo in the steaming northern Australian outback was exactly what the doctor ordered!  Here was a chance to test our crossbows in some of the most rigorous conditions on the toughest game animal outside of Africa.  As well as this obvious challenge, we would be able to experience what is certainly one of the most unique ecosystems that this planet can offer.  Every day we saw hundreds of wallabies as they went about the things that only a wallaby can do.  Parrots, cockatoos, shore birds and waterfowl were in abundance, and their raucous cries followed us everywhere this amazing adventure took us.  Each evening we were reminded of just how foreign these remote plains were as fruit bats the size of ravens flew heavily through the gathering darkness.  This truly is a place where lasting memories are made.

Jim Dieckman, our PH, guide, and mentor on this expedition, regularly brings clients to the Darwin area hunting for Buffalo.  As a longtime native of the area he has a special connection to the land and the wildlife, as well as the people of the Northern Territory.  These are things that make a guide great, but he also has a love of the whole outdoors that completes the skill set required for greatness.  He’s not a big man, nor impressing to see, but he has a quiet competence that gets the job done, and wood skills and instincts second to none.   When Jim isn’t guiding buffalo hunters he is with his wife Debbie on their 12,000 acre ranch in Queensland, where they guide hunters for several species of deer as well as feral game.

Our accomodations at Carmour Plain were very comfortable.  We stayed in a self contained portable cabin under a huge tree near the ranchhouse. Every evening our host Matt, the owner of the ranch, served us the finest Australia cuisine as well as supplying us with the freezing amber remedy for our parched throats and dehydrated bodies.   Beer never tasted so good!  Good times and tall tales, some of which were true, abounded every evening until the days exertions beckoned us to bed.

One of the first questions I asked Jim was “Where the heck did these Buffalo come from”. I knew that they weren’t a longtime resident of Australia, but the real history of these bovine monsters surprised me!  In the 1820s the British established a colonial outpost not far from Carmour Plains.  Over a period of several years this colony failed due to inclement weather, disease, and native problems.  When the British left the remaining Buffalo, which they had brought to provide food and as a beast of burden, were abandoned.  Over the ensuing eighteen decades the buffalo spread until they populated a large part of the far North of Australia.  After hundreds of generations of wild living they have regained the instincts of their wild ancestors and are truly a force to be reckoned with.  The body size of these animals is actually noticeably larger than the Asian stock from which they have evolved!    A sad chapter in their story occurred just over a decade ago when the Australian Government attempted to eradicate what by then had become a symbol of this wild land.  Concerns about disease being spread to cattle and a desire to return the land to it’s original indigenous condition led to years of persecution during which Buffalo were routinely rounded up and destroyed.  It is only in the past few years that the population has rebounded and the future of these majestic animals seems assured at this time.

Hunting Water Buffalo with a crossbow requires some special considerations (and possibly a weak mind). These one ton plus animals are built like a tank.  You couldn’t design Buffalo better, if making them arrowproof was your intention!  Their first layer of armor is their skin, which is actually a full inch thick over their shoulders.  Next, like all the bovines they hide their lungs well under their front legs, making it necessary to drive an arrow through several inches of tough muscle to penetrate to them on a broadside shot.  Any shot behind the shoulder and not angled well forward is a recipe for a charge.  The crowning achievement of their design is their ribs.  At two to three inches wide and a full half inch thick they represent a very formidable defense against our projectiles.   These are definitely NOT the whitetails we hunt at home!

Different challenges call for different solutions, and it was apparent that the fast, lightweight arrow and broadhead combination we us for Canadian whitetails wouldn’t be the ticket for these Aussie monsters.  After some research and experimentation we chose a Goldtip carbon shafted arrow of very heavy design along with an unvented, two blade, cut on impact broadhead by Magnus.  This combo weighed about 700 grains, twice what our whitetail arrows do, and would guarantee maximum penetration.  The crossbow we chose was a prototype of our new Maxim model.  At 225 pound draw weight it would throw our heavy, carbon missiles at about 275 fps for well over 100 footpounds of hitting power.  Not impressive as safari rifles go, but in archery terms this is cutting edge performance. 

Like all archery equipment, the crossbow is a short range weapon.  My personal maximum range for Water Buffalo was 30 yards.  Within this range the errors in distance estimation that plague all bowhunters in times of stress are minimal, and the precious energy the bow imparts the arrow hasn’t appreciably dropped off. 

I was certainly well within my thirty yard maximum, but due to the frontal angle that the three buffalo bulls were presenting, there was absolutely no chance for a reliable shot into their vitals.  The largest bull walked slowly towards me, stopping at twenty yards.  This was close enough to see the moisture in his nostrils, then he whirled and rejoined the group…..a standoff was developing and things were becoming tense as they stared me down.  This was a standard tactic designed to intimidate me, and honestly, if you’ve ever had over three tons of buffalo staring down their noses at you, you’d see that it’s pretty effective!   At that moment I was glad that Jim had his .458 on hand.   The stalemate ended when Jim, who had stopped well behind me, crawled off at 90 degrees to the Buffs.  This was a solution that we had discussed after earlier stalks, and was aimed at giving them two points at which to face at the same time, an impossible task even for these giants.   The opportunity for a shot finally came when the bolder Buffalo turned to face Jim.  Within a fraction of a second my thirty yard aiming point was on the sweet spot, dead center above his leg and mid shoulder.  The heavy arrow’s impact was louder than the crossbows report, and it sunk into his shoulder beyond the front of the feathers.  Instantly all three bulls sped out into the plain, but within fifty yards the mortally wounded bull stopped and was joined by its companions who tried to encourage him on.  Within minutes he crumpled to the ground and was dead.    All that remained was to convince my bull’s friends, who were standing guard over his body, to leave.  Luckily they were not in the mood for a second skirmish and as we approached them the two survivors galloped off into the rolling grass.

I was overwhelmed by a flood of emotion as we approached the fallen Buffalo.  I felt a pride in our accomplishment and a sense of relief.  After days of tough slugging through the extreme heat and humidity success was finally ours.  I was also humbled by the sheer size and strength of the animal whose life we had just taken.   Unlike many animals, these bulls are certainly as impressive in death as they are in life!

This was far from our only adventure with Havago at Carmour plains.  During our time there we traveled extensively through the rugged outback where the huge tidal plain adjoins the forest.  Kath had the opportunity to crawl with her crossbow to within yards of a small herd of bedded Buffalo, only to have it all fall apart when a cow and calf spooked, ran and stood between the bull she wanted, then left taking him with them.  Her eyes still widen when she tells the story!  She did better with the plentiful feral hogs however, taking several truly impressive boars with her crossbow during our stay.

Being an avid waterfowler I was fascinated by the thousands of Magpie Geese that we saw daily.  On the last afternoon of the hunt the owner of the ranch and our host, Matt, suggested that we take his shotgun and bring some geese back for supper.  Now I’m no rocket scientist but I know a good thing when I see one, and he didn’t have to ask twice!  That evening Jim and I were at the edge of the plain to intercept them as they left their open feeding grounds to fly to the trees where they roost.   Seven big geese and a cranky King Brown snake later (we almost stepped on it!) we were back at the truck and ready for a few “cold” browns and one of the most delicious meals I can remember.

As always our time in the Northern Territory was over far too quickly, and it was time to return to the land of ice and snow.  The good times, good friends, and good hunting we experienced there will not be soon forgotten.  Kath and I are looking forward one day not too far into the future to a return engagement with Havago Safaris and the black bulls of Carmour Plain.  Count on it!

Hunting turkeys is a much followed pursuit in the US of A and Canada. Often I have read about the elusive big Tom turkeys that seem to be almost a magical lure to the dyed in the wool turkey hunters. Turkey hunting is also becoming a well-followed pursuit in New Zealand. Six months ago, my good friend’s wife, Debbie told me of the turkeys that they had been breeding and letting go into their large fenced estate near Inglewood. Debbie said that these turkeys have been running wild for some years now and should be a real challenge whether with gun or bow. I had been invited to their end of year Christmas party at the ‘Havago Hilton’ that is what they call their cabin down by the creek where their clients camp while on hunting trips.

Over the period of the first evening they put all of our names into a hat for a draw. The first winner would have a free rusa deer hunt and the second draw would win a turkey hunt. Well lucky Graham Bell won the rusa hunt and arsy Ted Mitchell won the turkey hunt. Shit that’s me, you bloody beauty. That night my rain man reputation wasn’t tarnished as it showered during the night. Next morning the misty rain and overcast conditions continued. After gearing up, it was off to a spot where the turkeys seem to favour and into the hunt. As I got out of the car the rain set in, so the dry as a bone went on under my leafy camo and I started stalking a large scrubby area. After two hours of sneaking quietly around, the rain had stopped and the warmth from having the extra clothes on was getting to me. Sneaking back to a dam, the dry as a bone was left hanging in a prominent tree and the hunt continued. Gobble, gobble, gobble, I couldn’t believe my luck. One was stupid enough to let me know roughly where he was. Sneaking ever closer to the gobbling noises, there before me was a bloody big Tom turkey about forty yards away, he was very hard to see and his long red neck was the first thing I spotted. Now I had read where these blighters had ten-power vision and the way his head was twisting and turning he would be able to see everything that moved without trying. Down on my guts, slowly but surely the distance between the turkey and myself shortened. At about 27yards he spotted me. Freezing, I didn’t know what to do. The thing that crossed my mind was that if I fired and hit him in the wrong spot, he could fly virtually anywhere and my good friend Bill Troubridge from Canada, reckoned that aerial blood trails were terribly hard to follow. The problem with turkeys is that they have a whole lot of feathers, and under them is a lesser amount of turkey, and under this is a very small amount of lungs and heart. Picture a tennis ball in a pillow full of feathers; you have to hit the tennis ball. While all this is going through my mind, the tom’s head is moving around like one of those dogs you used to see in the back parcel trays of a car. He definitely knew there was something there that shouldn’t be there and was determined to see what it was. Having the Excalibur crossbow at the ready with the crosshair on his chest and knowing that it was only a matter of time before he absconded, I fired. The bow twanged and there was a thump as the arrow went where the bird was before he jumped. It must have hit a twig or something as the shaft was bent like a boomerang. Nothing has ever beaten an arrow from that bow, but old tom turkey did the fastest twostep shuffle I had ever seen and was gone before the arrow got there. While trying to re-cock my bow the turkey did what any smart turkey would do and disappeared. Talk about pissed. That was enough for one morning it was back to the Havago Hilton for a feed. At about eleven o-clock, thinking that one might come for water I spent a pleasant two hours relaxing at the waterhole. Saw a few deer and goats but no luck with the turkeys so it was back to camp for a rest. Everyone else had gone home by three thirty as the periodical showers had dampened things a little, but I was determined to spend a bit more time hunting turkeys so I set off for another hunt intending to stay until dark if necessary. At least the weather was looking a little brighter. Spears of sunlight pierced through the ominous cloud cover, highlighting the crystal raindrops that were hanging precariously from leaves and blades of grass, ready to drop at the slightest movement and be swallowed up by the still thirsty earth. Crouching quietly beside a dam and watching the frantic movements of the ants, it was obvious they knew that there was more rain coming. Why does it rain everywhere I go? My name ‘The Rain man’ was haunting me again. Moving slowly again, with tunnel vision homed in expressly for turkeys and my mind going over and over what I should have done, I nearly walked into a small mob of goats, startling them into flight. Getting my camera out quickly and zooming in, I managed a photo of a really good Billy that would have to have had a spread of around 90 plus centimetres. The thought ran through my mind to forget the bloody turkeys and chase that Billy. But that was not the way to go, it was gunna be a turkey or nothing. Sneaking quietly through the thick scrub around the dam, my eye caught movement about 150 meters away. It was black and small. Was it a turkey? After taking nearly half an hour to get close enough to see what it was, it turned out to be the south end of a northbound kid goat. Gee I felt pretty foolish, but it could have been a turkey. Stopping to munch on a muselie bar, a sound came to my ears. Was it a gobble, gobble or a birdcall? Standing quietly and not being game to chew, my ears were straining to hear that wonderful sound again. Then there it was again, it was definitely a turkey and not too far away. Pussyfooting through the thick bush a clearing appeared and there on the other side of that clearing was a big tom turkey. He was just moseying around doing what turkeys do, pecking seeds or some delicacy from the ground and talking loudly to himself or maybe another bird close by. Getting down on hands and knees I couldn’t see him, so I supposed he couldn’t see me. Closer, then closer, laboriously I made my way to the spot that I had delimited, shifting each small branch and anything that could hinder my progress. Twenty minutes later there was only 20 meters separating us. Picking my bow up to shooting level, that bloody bird must have spotted the movement with his ten-power vision, bugger. His head came up and swivelled around like it was on springs. Up down, round and back, it never stopped moving. Next thing the bloody smart little bugger jumped up onto a log so as to get a better view. All this time I was hardly game to breath or look directly at his head in case we made eye contact. Lying there like a statue for I don’t know how long, but it seemed like hours, his curiosity must have got the better of him. Next thing he jumped down from the log and moved slowly towards me, his long red neck twisting and turning trying to make out just what it was that had aroused his suspicion. Having the bow at firing level and the safety off was a blessing, as any movement now and it would be all over red rover. Closer then closer he came, 18 meters, then 15 meters, then at 12 meters he stopped. Craning his long red neck with his white wattles standing out, those beady eyes just about looked through the scope and into my soul. Knowing it was now or never, a slight pressure on the trigger sent a Wasp three blade broad head fitted to a 2219 shaft, speeding on a collision course with Mr Turkey’s chest. No way was he going to jump this one. The shaft entered just below and to the right side of his neck and came out near his freckle. Fluttering into the air in a cloud of feathers he came down on his back did a few aerobic flips and flops then lay still. I guess you could say, curiosity killed the turkey, or helped at least. Carrying him over to the dam bank and washing my hands, I then set my camera on time release and took a few photos before the light beat me. Then hanging him in a tree I went to get the truck. After plucking and gutting he was put in a plastic bag, then it was into the Engel with tom turkey for the drive home. In my opinion, turkey hunting could end up being a big thing here in Australia, it is challenging and fun, plus they are good to eat. For anyone interested in a goat or turkey hunt, Jim’s ph. no is 07 46674152 or mob 0429618960

E-mail debbie@havagoaustralia.com.au

Readers should note that these turkeys are not Plains Turkeys or Scrub Turkeys that are both protected.

Ted Mitchell