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.
JUNGLE HUNTING
Around daylight the next morning we started north from camp, intent on skirting the tall, densely vegetated sand hill between our hut and the sea. Many brushy fingers came off the hill; some poked into the flat, open valley our camp overlooked, while others extended almost to the beach at Mason Bay. We wanted to see if whitetails used that cover and topography as they would similar elements in North America.
It didn't take long to confirm that they do. In fact, as soon as we climbed the first timbered rise overlooking the flat, we began finding sign. While it was difficult to see tracks with so much thick ground cover, the fresh pellets and beaten trails were clear indicators that many deer lived here. Of course, with three of us clambering through the thick stuff, there was no way to sneak up on any of them for a shot.
I don't know how to describe the habitat around Mason Bay, other than to say it's something like a Caribbean jungle growing on the sand dunes of North Carolina's Outer Banks. Across the flats spread groves of brushy manuka, the tops shaped by the salt spray into what appears to be topiary covering many acres. The manuka, along with such trees as rimu, leatherleaf and broadleaf, forms a low, dense canopy.
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