Despite best efforts, Simon Frederiksen discovers you can’t win ’em all
It was during a break at work that Rob, Damo and I hatched a plan, one that would take three Brisbane-based hunters deep into the wilds of the Victorian Alps in search of Australia’s largest deer species. We wanted an epic six-day backpack hunt, an adventure filled with big hills, cold weather and a test of physical endurance. This is our story.
We booked our trip for the first week of September last year, to line up with local guide Zeb from Zebra’s Hunting Adventures. Having never hunted the Victorian Alps, we figured some local knowledge couldn’t hurt. We’d seen Zeb’s YouTube videos, liked his style and it turned out he was a top bloke and seriously experienced.
Meeting at his farm on Monday morning, we loaded our packs and rifles into his tricked-out ute. That’s when Zeb mentioned our bags looked a bit heavy. We’d been training for months, hiking local trails and hills, so we shrugged it off but couldn’t have been more wrong. The drive from Maffra into the mountains was spectacular and before long we hit the snow line. Damo jumped out to touch snow for the first time before we dropped into a proper 4×4 track and, after three hours on the road, unloaded and prepped for the hike.
Zeb eyed our packs again, saying we were carrying too much. “We’re good, we’ve trained for this,” I replied. Within 30 minutes I knew we were in trouble as the terrain was far steeper and rougher than anything we’d trained on. Three hours later, after a brutal descent which shredded my quads and tore a load-lifter off Damo’s pack, we finally reached camp. Zeb, fit as the stags we were chasing, helped haul gear when needed. Dropping our packs felt incredible as we agreed then and there we wouldn’t be packing meat out. The goal was a clean shot at a good stag.
After setting up camp and grabbing a quick feed, Zeb led us to a glassing spot for last light. The view over the valley and river, our home for the next five nights, was unreal. Zeb quickly spotted two hinds about 400m out, Rob picked up a spiker and, as the light faded, Zeb’s sharp eyes caught a stag 1200m away on a distant slope. With 20 years’ experience in this valley he knew every rock and tree and that tiny dark speck just looked out of place. A quick check through the binoculars confirmed it was a solid stag.
Day two kicked off at sunrise with a big breakfast to refuel after yesterday’s brutal hike. The plan was simple: Pack light with food, water and wet weather gear then glass the valley. Back at the same spot as last night we saw a few hinds but no stags, so Zeb led us deeper into the valley. An hour’s hike through steep, off-camber terrain and thick scrub had our legs burning as we followed the contours, moving through patches of alpine woods and open ground. Deer sign was everywhere and Rob swore he could smell a stag in the damp bush.
Lunch was beside a snow-fed river with crystal clear, pure and icy water. There’s something special about drinking straight from the source. After eating and topping up bottles, we climbed to a new glassing point with another epic view of the valley. We spent hours behind the glass, each of us running 10x binos while Zeb used his setup, binoculars mounted on a lightweight tripod, rock steady and hands-free. Rob eventually spotted a stag about 900m across the valley, too far to reach before dark and likely the same one Zeb had seen the first night. With sore legs and fading light, we hoped he’d show again in the morning.
Day three started with fresh energy. We set out for the same glassing point, hoping to find the stag from the day before. Within half an hour Damo spotted him grazing in the morning sun about 900m away. To move within range we’d need to drop 100 vertical metres, wade a waist-deep freezing river, then climb another 150m. Game on. After 90 minutes of struggling through icy water and steep terrain, we hit a ridgeline about 400m from where we’d last seen him. Rob was up.
For the past six months both Rob and Damo had jumped into the world of handloading. They were running .308s loaded with 150-grain Hornady SSTs at 2850 feet per second, ideally suited to sambar inside 300m. Rob and Zeb moved ahead, quietly staking while Damo and I held back and, after a short while, Zeb waved us to join. The stag had vanished and Zeb figured he’d caught wind or sound of our approach, then slipped into the dense scrub between us and the open slope where Damo first saw him.
With a roll of the dice, Zeb moved away from us where Rob was ready for an offhand shot and slowly moved into dense scrub to bump the stag out. Using his UHF as a warning, Zeb approached the scrub and, with a quiet signal over the UHF, movement was confirmed. Rob shouldered his stainless Sako, cycled a round and scanned the tree line. Seconds later the valley echoed. I hadn’t seen the stag until the shot was fired, then I caught him running hard until within seconds he disappeared over a knoll.
As the smell of AR2209 hung in the air, we called Zeb back on the radio. He’d moved from the dense scrub and found marks where the stag was engaged. The shot was at 150m, angling away at a fair trot, the second just over 200m as he fled.
Zeb tracked the stag with us following and after a short while reckoned the animal hadn’t shown any sign of injury. Bushes he’d smashed through and brushed against during his escape were clean with no sign of blood. We stayed on the trail for a while longer and decided the stag was in perfect health. For the record, Rob’s an excellent shot offhand and if anyone in our group could’ve made that shot it was him. Just wasn’t his day. The terrain the stag bolted into was seriously step and technical so the day ended with a long haul back to camp empty-handed.
The following morning brought the same plan of attack. Move to different glassing points in the valley, try find a good-sized stag then make a move to engage. Sadly the weather took a turn for the worse and we’d no luck finding a target worthy of our attention.
On the fifth day Zeb and I set out to explore a valley further from camp. Rob and Damo stayed closer, glassing and resting up for the hike out the next morning. Zeb set a cracking pace as we moved through some brutally steep terrain, our plan being to reach a glassing point high on a cliff overlooking the valley.
As we neared the top I was about four metres behind Zeb, scrambling over boulders, the 280 Ackley Improved strapped to my pack with a quick-release sling. Zeb stepped up to the cliff edge then froze, quickly turning and signalling me to drop. I crouched instantly as he glanced between me and what I assumed was a stag, then whispered for me to approach. Before I could move, a deep honk shattered the silence and the unseen animal crashed into the scrub. Zeb looked devastated as this was a good-sized beast. Turned out the stag had been standing just 12m below us at the base of the cliff, must’ve heard us climbing and was already watching when Zeb appeared above him. The one that got away.
The walk out on the final day was long but spirits were high. We paced it out and took our time, packing our gear differently with the heavier stuff closer to our backs to help reduce the pack levering away from our shoulders. During the final ascent to the car, Zeb pushed ahead to prepare a surprise.
After three hours of climbing we arrived to find ice-cold ginger beer and freshly cooked hamburgers waiting and, let me tell you, they went down a treat. Not every hunt can be successful and even though we didn’t take a sambar stag, we learned a lot and enjoyed sharing experiences earned through hard work and sweat. I highly recommend it.