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Chasin’ chital

by John Dunn
 

Chasin’ chital

Chasin’ chital

Chasin’ chital

Chasin’ chital
In the thick ti-tree along the gully line a chital stag squealed his strange rutting call. We stopped and peered into the early morning gloom, hoping to find him before he saw us. Slowly, quietly, we edged forward - and suddenly there he was.

Vince Ashe looked him over carefully, then lowered his binocular, turned his head and spoke softly. “He’s got good length but his brow tines are a bit short. We can do better than that but with a bit of luck you might be able to get some pictures.”

At the rear of the line I shuffled out of my daypack, scrabbling for my camera and long lens. The deer noticed my movements and began to pick a way through the trees towards us. At the front of the line Vince eased himself down to ground level. In the middle, my long-time hunting mate Graeme Fifield did the same, leaving me squatting on my haunches at the rear, camera ready.

The stag came to within 30 metres of us; head up, belligerent and beautiful, obviously prepared to see off any interloper who dared approach the handful of hinds he’d mustered. He stopped on the edge of the ti-tree, head and shoulders illuminated by the rising sun. For a few long moments he watched us carefully, unsure of what we were. Then he turned and slowly stalked away. In the first hour on the first morning of a four-day hunt, we couldn’t have asked for a better start.

There was a time when chital deer were something of a stumbling block for all but the keenest of deer hunters. Confined to private property and protected by law, it was almost impossible to collect a legal trophy. Happily, that’s no longer the case. While access to private property remains limited, a number of guides now offer hunts for this beautiful species of deer - an option that more and more hunters are prepared to take advantage of.

Hunts generally run for three to four days, depending on the number of hunters. The costs quoted usually include pick-up and delivery from the airport, food and accommodation during the hunt and the trophy fee for one stag. Extra animals incur additional trophy fees.

While chital are best hunted during the winter months, our hunt was in the second week in January. Weather conditions were hot and humid and though it was uncomfortable at times, there were plenty of deer around. During the four days we saw about 1800 to 2000 animals, with stags in stages of antler development that ranged from still growing velvet through to freshly rubbed.

That first morning we hunted rocky hill country interspersed with creek lines and spring fed flats where the deer were camping and feeding. We looked at more than 40 stags and though several were interesting, no shots were fired. Because I’d hunted chital before, Graeme was to take the first animal and, quite reasonably, he wanted to ensure it was an animal he was happy with. On the way back to camp we culled a couple of donkeys to open our respective accounts in accordance with the landholder’s wishes.

It was late in the afternoon when Graeme took his first stag. We’d seen the animal the evening we’d arrived - a stag with good length, the outer top of his left antler bent back, freshly rubbed and beginning to rut. A stag with character, Graeme reckoned. A good one to start with.

Finding the stag again was easy enough but setting up a shot was a little more difficult. He was feeding right in among the herd, surrounded by hinds, fawns and lesser stags. Graeme had to wait for a clear shot. When his chance came he took the animal with a single shot at about 150 metres - the sequence of events recorded on video.

That night we were invited to the homestead for drinks and nibbles with the owners. While we were there a thunderstorm rolled in, bringing with it torrential rain. We walked back to the hut through ankle-deep water.

The following morning Vince and I hunted for a stag in hard velvet we’d seen the afternoon we arrived. Walking the blacksoil plains after the rain was an interesting experience, the mud continually building up on the soles of our boots, weighing a tonne and making us walk taller than we were.

Late in the morning we stalked right into the middle of a herd of deer as we tried to set up a shot at another stag also in hard velvet. The wind was kind and at times we were within metres of feeding animals - our cammo clothing and careful movements helping us to remain undetected. We crawled along game trails and planted behind trees but in the end, the wind swapped directions, the deer smelled us and left. We followed them up but they kept moving, keeping a safe distance between us.

After lunch the weather closed in and we endured an extended shower of rain that left the country flooded again. When the rain had dwindled to a light drizzle, we put our wet coats on and headed out to look for the velvet stag we’d been unable to find in the morning. We waded through gutters and small creeks and just more than a kilometre from camp, found him feeding in the scrub, accompanied by a smaller animal.

As he moved into a clearing I shot him through the ribs, angling the bullet towards his offside shoulder. He reared at the bullet strike, spun around and ran about 50 metres before going down. It was 20 years since I’d taken a chital and he was quite a drought breaker - a nice, wide style head with almost perfect conformation and the antlers hard under their velvet covering.

The next morning we hunted another property and at daylight headed up onto some rock strewn, lightly timbered plateau country. A small mob of stags watched us go by, one of them outstanding. Vince reckoned he’d measure at least 31 inches and score 180 Douglas points or better. We all looked at him, but no one moved. I didn’t want him because I was happy with the wide style head I’d taken the previous afternoon. Graeme was still trying to make up his mind about taking a second animal. Peter Rolfe, a guide who was with us as a hunter for the week wasn’t sure the stag was what he wanted. Vince was exasperated, but we drove off and left the mob alone.

An hour or so later we bumped into a stag with a lovely, narrow-style head that I thought would be a nice match for the one I already had. He moved off fairly quickly and though we tried to intercept him across the top of the plateau, we couldn’t find him. Even so, the stalk wasn’t wasted.

Chasin’ chitalOn the toe slope at the far end of the plateau, there was another stag bedded under a tree. We looked at him carefully; freshly rubbed with good length and long brow tines, a narrow-style head with a perfect cape. It was a steep downhill shot so I held low on his chest, behind the shoulder. The bullet connected just below the spine and my chital hunt was over.

Late morning found us back where we’d started at daylight with Graeme hunting the big bloke. The wind had changed around so we had to go out wide then come back onto the tops at an angle. The deer were camped in some thin shade right on the top of the ridge, making the most of the cool breeze.

We worked across the wind in a single file, using the trees to cover our approach. We were within 100 metres of the deer when the wind switched 90 degrees and carried our scent towards them.

They didn’t hesitate, just lifted up and ran, the big bloke bringing up the rear. Graeme took a rest on a tree and waited, watching the stag through the scope. At about 200 metres he stopped for a moment, perfectly broadside on. The .300 boomed its single shot and the deer were off again. The stag moved about 70 metres before he cartwheeled to the ground, the tips of his antler buried in the dirt.

Fortunately, the fall caused no damage and suddenly Graeme was the proud owner of a truly magnificent chital trophy that was every bit as good as Vince had predicted it would be. We took our photos and the trophy, then made our way back to the truck along the top of a ridge baked barren and dry by the searing heat of a midday sun.

For me the following day was a write-off. Though we hunted pigs in the morning, by 9 o’clock I was into my second bottle of water and my head was aching. The heat and humidity had taken their toll. I was dehydrated and spent the rest of the day lying in the shade drinking endless quantities of cool water.

We were in the field at daylight on the last morning, determined to have a final look around. A nice, tusky boar came my way and half an hour later there was a fine red dingo that stopped and looked for just a moment too long.

And inevitably there were deer, one of them a cull stag that Vince wanted removed from the herd as part of an ongoing management program. It was a relatively easy stalk, the shot taken from a solid rest over the trunk of a leaning tree; a nice little bonus head for me and a useful cape for Vince.

We had a late breakfast back at camp while the deer’s head and pig’s tusks were boiled out to take home. Then it was bag packing time and the long haul back to Townsville for an afternoon flight. Our chital chasin’ trip was over.