By Loring S. Jones, III

NOTE: This is an edited Journal from a trip taken by Loring Jones. Paul Bamber, of Wanganui Safaris in New Zealand, is active and providing glorious hunting opportunities and successes for his hunters. He also offers sightseeing, jet boat rides, heli-skiing and many other "non-hunting" amenities. I highly recommend him to anyone who anticipates a trip "down under."

This trip culminates several years worth of effort. We are to hunt with Paul Bamber of Wanganui Safaris in New Zealand, on both the North and South Islands comprising that country. I met Paul several years ago at the SCI convention in Las Vegas, have had him as a guest in my home two or three times, at our SCI Alabama chapter meetings and have garnered a couple of donations from him fore our local auction purposes. After several months' trying, the "original" group of up to 16 of those interested is winnowed down to six: Harold Deason, Bob Brissie, Ben Payton and I will hunt, and wife Nancy and daughter Sarah, will join Bob.

8 July 1998
The world is getting smaller, and new horizons seem harder and harder to find. I am not the most well-traveled or well-heeled "visiting sport" but these truths seem, to me to be irrefutable. So, before another African Safari of North American hunt, I think I will see something of the Pacific Rim country!

I'm up and about at 6:00 a.m. Harold and Claudia will pick me up at a little before 9:00 a.m. and we will then go to the U.S. Customs office at the airport to acquire some needed identifying documentation. Ben and Bob are to meet us there, or in the terminal. After a light brunch, we board the plane.

The direct flight is uneventful, except for heavy clouds and overcast almost all the way. On arrival in Southern California, we circle for a bit and I get my first views of Los Angeles and the fabled LAX airport. We land and make our first transfer to the international terminal. All of out tickets are reconfirmed and we get on Air New Zealand Flight 1, a Boeing 747-400, for our 12 to 145 hour hop to Auckland. We're on our way!

9 July 1998
Who knows what time it is over the ocean and approaching/passing the International Date Line? I have a fitful night of sleep, nestled among five teenage Olympic skiers from Barcelona, Spain. They are bound for "summer camp" in Queenstown, on the South Island. During the night, I crossed the Equator once again, and, for the first time, the Date Line. Once on the ground, we go through the standard passport checks and other government required niceties.

10 July 1998
Harold and I head to the Domestic terminal to arrange a flight to Christchurch. On the way we run into Paul and my guide-to-be Bert How. They are happy to see us, as they have been waiting for several hours (although we didn't know this would be the case.) They assure us that timing is not extremely crucial at this point as, due to unexpected 100 year flood levels, we can't get to the hunting areas anyway!

11 July 1998
We make a MAD dash in Berts small vehicle and head southwest. We will cross the Rakaia and Rangitata Rivers on our way to Peel Forest, Bert's home base. It is named for Mount Peel, a prominent geological landmark of the area (and one that will later be the site of out Tahr hunt.) our route is via a very good, two-lane paved road, through farming country. We see innumerable sheep, cows, horses, Red deer(!) and miscellaneous other farm animals. The deer are raised in large numbers for the venison export trade and for breeding/ranch stocking/hunting purposes.

Bert's home is of lovely appearance and made of hand-hewn logs. He is doing 95% of this as-yet-in-progress himself, only getting assistance for those matters which are beyond his abilities. The guest quarters consist of an outbuilding with full bath, a small kitchenette and sleeping area..

We get to our assigned station, "Lochabar (Lock-a-burr)." Once permission is granted by the expatriate and not too well liked Englishman landowner, we begin the afternoon's festivities: CLIMB! We're starting late this date, but Bert wants to test our legs and wind to see if we're up to the rigors of Tahr hunting. Harold and I both apparently show that we can meet the upcoming challenge, and it is very nearly dark when we make a late return to the vehicle T the base of the mountain we climbed. We have gotten thoroughly introduced to the scree and tussock grasses and other vegetation on these volcanic hills.

12 July 1998
We anticipate a full day on the mountain trying for Tahr. Harold and I are up at 5:15 a.m., dressed and into Bert's Home for a light repast. We are out quickly, after the arrival of Harold's guide, "Rabbit." Both our guides are typical of any hunting area: that is, young, lithe, and able to climb without apparent effort or seemingly ever getting winded.

We head to the lower elevations of Mt. Peel. This and all the other local mountain ranges are considered foothills of the Southern Alps, farther to the west. Bert selects a likely creek bed for us to follow to the base of the peaks, and we're off. we spend several hours slowly progressing and glassing.

Bert and I continue our scramble to the top and reach the crest in short order. We sidehill all around these peaks and eventually find several small groups. Then, somehow, Bert picks out a sleeping Tahr, deep in tussock grass and scrub brush, at about 250 yards.

Using the pack as a rest, and taking my time, I pick out as best I can a vital spot on the bull, hold for it and fire. at the shot, as I'm working the bolt for a follow-up, I see the bull rise, roll and stumble part way down his hill. We know I've hit him hard. We jump the bull two more times, each time after I've warned Bert that I can smell him. The third time he pops out he is below us on the bank of a creek and I fire at him, dumping him..

We work our way down through some incredible tanglefoot and get to the creek bed. I see the bull after maybe 50 yards, lying at the base of a small waterfall and nearly completely submerged in the creek. We drag him out of the creek, prop him up and begin the picture taking process. He is, in fact, a 12-inch bull, black faced, beautifully maned and a fine trophy with which I am exceedingly well pleased.

12 July 1998
My legs are creak and still worn out. Penny (Bert's wife takes pity on me, and serves me heaping mounds of eggs, Canadian bacon, muffins, jellies and fruits. Bert and I will head out for my Chamois. Bert and I head out to the Orari Gorge Station at about 12:30 p.m. opposite our Mt. Peel hunting site of yesterday. We are directly across from Mt. Peel, and we can easily see, and photograph, the area where we shot Tahr yesterday.

15 July 1998
Roused out of bed at 5:45 a.m. and ready to go at 6:00. Today we will go at 6:00. Today we will go to a new area known as Saddle Peak, in the Waihi ("Why he") Gorge Station. This turns into a full day of hard climbing, heavy winds, cold and low clouds. Nothing shootable is seen and, after a couple of abortive stalks, we head back to the lodge.

17 July 1998
At a little over 11,000 feet in elevation we look again for Chamois. What a panoramic view we get up there. We get a general line on a buck and stalk him. After a few minutes, the buck is seen wandering along and I wait for an opportune moment to take him. My first shot, with the buck quartering toward us, is a touch high, but the buck stopped to try to locate the source of the noise. My second shot, a direct frontal downed him cleanly.

19 July 1998
The pace here on the North Island is much more leisurely than on the South Island. I'm up and at the breakfast table, but not at all late at almost 9:00 a.m.
At nearly lunch time, we're going to take a midday lunch break. we have a very pleasant lunch, and then I smoke a cigar, and, like Harold and Bob, rest.

Coming to the porch after lunch to meet Harold, he points to the far end of our vision and tells me that "my" stag is on the hill in front of the lodge. I set up the spotting scope and, sure enough, there is a big bruiser.
Paul says to go and collect my prize while Harold and he head out to find a stag they had seen earlier. I walk at a fast clip, leaving Bob, Guide Hubber and the other assemblage behind. to the stag and, when almost to him, the stag stands up! A shot quickly does him in, and I go up for a close look at my prize. He is a beautiful 12 pt., with 41" main beams. Harold returns with word that he has shot a huge, Gold Medal stag.

20 July 1998
Some time during the night, we re-cross the Date Line, so we have now made up for the day we lost on the way over. we'll be home shortly with numerous medal-class trophies and wonderful memories. I recommend this hunt to anyone.

Loring S. Jones, III
(205)979-5210
FAX(205)979-5210