Dr. James Kroll watches for whitetails from atop a sand dune on New Zealand’s Stewart Island. Photo by Gordon Whittington.

Wave after wave rolled up from the sea, each crest running far up the sand before dissolving in a spread of pearly foam. For miles in either direction there wasn’t a person, boat or condominium in sight . . . only the timeless meeting of land and water.

It was the sort of scene that burrows deep into your memory bank and refuses to leave. But as spectacular as the view was, I dared not admire it for long. Just above the water hung a pale sun only minutes from keeping its daily appointment with the western horizon. Time to turn my gaze back to the quest that had brought me from the other side of the world to the top of this windswept sand dune.

Not long after resuming my inspection of the ridge before me, I sensed something about it had changed. There, in a small opening between two trees: a speck of orange. It was small enough to have easily missed before, but so bright I felt certain I hadn’t. What else could it be other than the coppery summer coat of a whitetail.

Ordinarily, my next move would have been to simply glass the deer. But in this case, I didn’t care whether the animal was big or small, buck or doe. All that mattered was that it was a whitetail, which meant I was going to try my best to shoot it.

As Dave McCarlie and Dr. James Kroll trained their own optics on the spot, I brought my Thompson/Center Encore into position and waited for a clear shot through the foliage. Even with my Swarovski scope cranked to 9X, the deer looked tiny. I put the cross hairs a tad high and fired.

At the shot, the deer briefly moved out of sight. Then it calmly reappeared in the opening. I’d apparently missed clean. Throwing in another round, I once more settled in for a shot. This time I literally brought part of the forest down; the 7mm bullet smashed through a limb above the animal, sending the branch down with a crash. The deer jumped out of sight.

Well, so much for showing off my shooting skills. In disgust, I reloaded and gave the ridge a token follow-up look. Just beneath the opening where the deer had been stood another one!

Holding lower this time, I fired again. When my eye returned to the scope, I couldn’t find the deer, but the dull thud of a bullet’s impact told me this shot had found its mark. Sure enough, the deer had died in its tracks. I’d just shot a 5 1/2-year-old doe with a live weight of around 80 pounds.

Whenever a hunt comes off as planned, it’s a happy occasion, and few whitetail hunts have ever taken more planning than this one. Later, back at camp, we celebrated with fresh tenderloin seared in salty butter. It was some of the best venison I’ve ever had, and the deer that provided it will always be one of my most cherished trophies.

Why such a fuss over an 80-pound doe? Time and place had everything to do with it. The time was late March 2005, and the place was Stewart Island, New Zealand. To commemorate the 100th anniversary of the arrival of whitetails in the South Pacific, James and I had traveled nearly halfway around the planet. Not only had we now seen these deer in their adopted home, but we actually had DNA: genetic material we hoped would lead to a better understanding of the most isolated whitetail herd on earth.

It’s rare to find a herd that originated from just a handful of deer and hasn’t been diluted with other bloodlines since, whether from later stockings or eventual mixing with another local herd. By virtue of the small number of whitetails stocked in each location in New Zealand, as well as their having been separated from each other and other whitetails for a century, these herds are great examples of genetic isolation. Roughly 30 generations of whitetails now have lived in the South Pacific, and we were eager to see how they had adapted to the land — and, at the same time, the land to them.

THE DEER THAT LIVE SOUTH OF EVERYWHERE
As detailed in Part 1 of this story, the two wild whitetail populations in New Zealand descended from a captive herd sent there from the 1904 World’s Fair in St. Louis, Missouri, reportedly as a gift from U.S. President Theodore Roosevelt. New Zealand has no native game animals, and bringing in whitetails was but one in a long series of stockings of various species in the late 19th and early 20th centuries by the government’s Tourism Department.

There were 22 whitetails on board the ship that left St. Louis in late 1904. When it reached Invercargill, New Zealand, in March 1905, 18 of the deer — four bucks and 14 does — had survived the epic 12,000-mile voyage. They then were divided equally, with two bucks and seven does being sent to each of the locations selected for stocking. One group ended up near the inland village of Glenorchy, in the South Island’s Southern Alps. The others were released near Port Pegasus, a rugged area on 425,000-acre Stewart Island.

How James and I came to be in that corner of the world 100 years after the deer arrived is a bit of a story in itself. My wife, Catherine, and I visited New Zealand in 2001, and while we were there I presented whitetail seminars to two branches of the respected New Zealand Deerstalkers Association (NZDA). One of the folks I met was whitetail enthusiast John deLury.

When I learned from John that New Zealand’s whitetail history had begun in 1905, I began thinking of what it would be like to return 100 years after the introduction, to check out the descendants of those first deer. Knowing James had always wanted to visit New Zealand, Catherine and I asked “Dr. Deer” and his wife, Susie, to join us there in March 2005.

Unfortunately, John’s work schedule precluded his showing us around. However, he was able to set us up with Dave McCarlie, one of the owners of South Coast Productions. An avid hunter, naturalist and experienced cameraman, Dave volunteered to accompany us to both areas where New Zealand’s whitetails live.

Nine whitetails from Missouri were released on Stewart Island in 1905. Today's herd grew from that single stocking. Map by Terry Jacobs.

After going to Glenorchy and speaking with locals about the herd in that area (Part 1), we drove 100 miles south to Invercargill. The world’s most southerly city, it’s the departure point to Stewart Island, which lies 15 miles across Foveaux Strait. South of Stewart Island, the next landmass of any size is Antarctica. You’ve heard of hunting whitetails “down south,” but this is taking it to extremes!

The island’s resident human population is under 500, and the lone town is Halfmoon Bay, on the eastern side. Every Stewart Islander lives in or near that settlement; in fact, the entire island has just 12 miles of roads. The only folks who ever see much of the west side of the island, where we’d be, are “trampers” (hikers), a few fishermen and other boaters, and hunters bent on getting away from it all.

That you certainly can do. Most of New Zealand is remote by North American standards, and this island is remote even for New Zealand. The best options for accessing the hunting areas are by water taxi or aircraft. We chose the latter; flying is faster and less expensive than going by boat, and it eliminates the pounding on passengers and gear. On March 21 Dave, James and I headed south on a small plane operated by Stewart Island Flights.

Two environmental factors dictate the flight schedule to Mason Bay. One is weather; the other is tides. These come into play because the only place for a plane to set down on the west side of Stewart Island is the beach.

This hut was "home" to the author’s hunting party on Stewart Island. The bizarre form of the trees is caused by steady winds blowing off the Tasman Sea. Photo by Gordon Whittington.

Following a short flight that took us over the Ruggedy Mountains on the northwestern corner of the island, we spotted Mason Bay’s sweeping 12-mile-long beach ahead. (Perhaps 10 miles farther south was even more remote Port Pegasus, where the deer had been released in 1905.) After a low pass to make sure there was no debris on the “runway,” our pilot set us down right next to the Tasman Sea.

Most Stewart Island whitetails live within a mile of the ocean, and most of the coastline is divided into public hunting blocks bearing such colorful names as “Hellfire,” “Yankee” and “Chew Tobacco.” To reserve one of these areas for a week of hunting access, you simply apply, up to a year in advance, through the local office of the Department of Conservation. We’d be hunting the “Homestead” block, a choice based on its high deer numbers, diverse habitat and the presence of a hut-type shelter near the landing site.

The hike to that hut was just over a mile, taking us on a gradual ascent through coastal scrub, ferns and clumps of yucca-like New Zealand flax. Along the way we saw many birds, including black-and-white tomtits, green bellbirds, gray fantails and multicolored wood pigeons larger than those in your local park. Stewart Island is a world-class haven for birds, including the rare, flightless kiwi that has become New Zealand’s national symbol.

But as much as we enjoyed the birdlife on the way to camp, we were here for deer . . . and we nearly got one that evening. While glassing only a few hundred yards from the hut, I saw a velvet-antlered yearling buck feeding on clover and alfalfa marking the site of a former sheep paddock.

I could have taken a quick shot, but there seemed no need; the buck was just 125 yards away, feeding slowly across the open flat. As soon as he stepped out from behind that last tall clump of flax, I’d drop him. Just a few minutes into our hunt, we were about to collect our first DNA.

But the buck didn’t go along with the plan. Instead of stepping into view, he walked into the head of a shallow gully we couldn’t see from where we sat. He fed his way to safety without ever knowing we were there. It was disappointing, but as we returned to camp that night, we were happy. James and I had seen our first Stewart Island whitetail.