G'day Guys, This is a hunt from a few years ago that took place up in northern Australia. It took 44 hours of driving over a two and half day period to get up there. I have just had this article published in a new Australian magazine which came about from our Aussiebowhunter forum, here is a link to the mag. http://www.southpacificbowhunter.com/ It's jam packed with great hunting stories from Australia and abroad as well as high quality photography and reviews. Hope you enjoy. The gentle hot Northerly breeze that fanned my face was indeed the perfect scenario, not so was the smell of the rancid decaying flesh that was wafting on its current which in turn hit me like a slap in the face, mix it in with a tonne of sweat streaming down my face from the oppressive humidity and then throw in about a squillion flies that were on and around the heaving mass, you can sort of get the picture. The big mud encrusted Boar gorged himself on the mixture of rotten flesh and maggots and was willing to fight to the death to protect his prize as a small mob of lesser Boars and Sows waited off on its outskirts for some morsel scraps. A younger Boar tired of waiting and who was obviously a bit lower on the food chain chanced his luck but was met head on with an impressive burst of speed, strength and aggression from the “Big-Fella” and with a resonating clash of bodies and slashing of tusks an array of piecing squeals and grunts filled the heavily laden air, sending shivers down my spine with it’s ferocity. “BAD MOVE Young Fella” I thought, as he went sulking back and flopped in the grass to lick his wounds, forced to wait his turn. Diving straight back into the putrid mess the “Big-Fella” gorged himself again until happy with his fill he let in a couple of Sows, he then marched around the carcass in an arrogant strut still worked up, it was like he was willing any new comers to come and try their luck. All of this commotion was a great diversion for me as I had quietly snuck up to within fifty yards and was desperately trying to gain another twenty or so when a nosey Sow moved forward and busted me, the waiting game had begun. Standing there motionless caught in half stride I had the Mathews in an upright position using the idler wheel in front of my face to slowly brush away the countless flies that were trying to get into my every orifice. Silently cursing the Sow it seemed an eternity until she turned away satisfied that there was no danger in the now gathering gloom of dusk. I quietly slid an arrow from its home in the bow quiver, an Easton “2315 Super Slam Select” to be precise, while at the business end was a deadly razor sharp Vented Black Stump Broad-Head, dialling the nock around I snapped it into place on the bow-string and then clipped on the release. I inched forward to what I thought was about another ten yards totally fixated on the “Big Fella” when I noticed his body language suddenly change, I knew the gig was up and I instantly came to full draw and settled my forty yard pin tight on his shoulder and touched off the release sending the deadly missile crashing low into his chest. He stood there for a few seconds confused to what had transpired and I could see some of his crimson red life force flowing from the wound, (which was way too low for my liking) as he spun around and headed off on a trot into the gathering gloom. In one of those snap decisions, I took off after him as I knew time and light was against me and thinking the shot was a marginal one, I might loose him and wanted to try and keep him in sight and get a follow up shot. I could see he was hurting as I came up to were he was standing to find a fairly heavy blood trial, I slowly followed him trying not to push him too hard but he was soon swallowed up by the waist high spear grass as we neared the dry back waters of a creek system. Desperately searching ahead I thought I had lost him and was about to back out and try blood trailing him in the morning when I spied him slowly mopping along through a patch of paper barks. Closing the distance to under twenty yards I started to come to full draw and he caught the movement sending him on a frantic dash, but I could see his tank was nearly empty and he was in serious trouble. Bursting out of the paper barks he entered another patch of high spear grass and I followed cautiously to it’s edge, with clicking tusks he waited in ambush to make his last stand. With the “Old Sludge Pump” thumping in my ears I quickly came to full draw and desperately searched for his shoulder in the tangled mess, “THERE” the brain screamed sending two arrows in quick succession into him, not taking any chances I side stepped around and put another one through his heart to put it beyond doubt and put an end to a dicey situation. Pushing through the grass a mixture of emotions came over me, as there laying at my feet was what I had travelled so far North for, a “Big Classic Cape York Boar” with the massive high shoulders, a long haired mane and more importantly a nice set of even gleaming white tusks. Soaking wet with perspiration I pulled him clear of the grass and up onto the bank of a small feeder creek and was sitting there admiring him as good dose of adrenaline kicked in when reality hit, my pack was back on the track from where I had started the stalk, I had No Camera, No G.P.S, No Headlamp and only about fifteen minutes of light left. I propped his jaw open with a stick, broke off some leafy branches covering his head and eyes so the birds couldn’t get to him and then blazed a tree with some survey’s tape I had in my pocket. I reluctantly left the scene and tried to take in as much of the area as possible as I was really worried I would have trouble finding him the next day because we had gone in such a long way so quickly. I made my way back to the track as best I could in a straight line to find my pack and rendezvous with Tim at my pick up point. Driving lights piercing through the inky darkness signalled the arrival of Tim, chucking my gear into the back of his Triton it was two happy bow-hunters that exchanged stories as Tim had also had success arrowing two good Boars, but had to back out as darkness had beaten him. Daybreak couldn’t come quick enough for the both of us as we made our way back to the carcass and I locked it in on the G.P.S as a starting point. A brisk walk soon had us at the creek and we decided to split up and turned on the UHF’S. Half and hour of searching had me at a patch that looked familiar and I was just starting to lock it in on the G.P.S. when Tim’s voice came over the radio “Found Him”, so it was a huge relief to make my way over to Tim and be greeted with a hand shake and congratulations. Tim then headed off back to the car keen to look for his Boars confident that they wouldn’t be too far away while I set about a good photo session and jaw removal. With that done I was interested in seeing how far we had gone in last night as I turned on the G.P.S. and it gave me a reading of 1.2 click’s. Back at the pick up point and with a bit of time to spare, a nagging thought that had been eating away at me as to why I had shot so low was soon answered when I decided to range the distance of the shot as best I could and came up with a reading of forty-five yards which explained why I had shot low, I must have only gained five yards instead of the ten that I first thought. Tim soon arrived in a cloud of dust with the news that he had found the smaller of his Boars piled up a short distance from the shot, but had only found the arrow from the larger Boar covered in meat and grizzle which indicated a high shoulder shot, but to be sure he would hunt that near by section of creek later in the day and he did indeed put the Boar up out of it’s bed seemingly no worse for wear. Continued in part two.
