After three weekends laid up with the flu, it was bloody great to get out in the hills again for a hunt. Half an hour after leaving the car and a mob of seven goats consisting of a lone billy, nannies and kids were spotted on the other side of the river.
As usual they were right up high so a bit of a climb was involved to get above and in front of them as they fed along the ridge top.
Getting up high and slowly contouring around the timbered hill, the pace slowed as I tried to set up an ambush along a rocky pad. Better to be lucky than good I thought, as the first goat materialised less than thirty metres away and virtually headed straight toward me. I carefully nocked an arrow to the string while I still had the chance. I had the trunk of a small tree between myself and the goat which helped conceal me a bit, but one that might become a pain when trying for a shot. I didn't want to risk moving at this point so simply waited to see what would transpire.
The other goats soon followed with the chosen target, the billy, bringing up the rear.
At this point I could only manoeuvre ever so slightly on the steepish incline or run the risk of being picked out by the goats that had now fed to not less the fifteen metres away. I was slightly out of position when one of the nannies headed straight at me only to veer away and begin feeding a mere three metres below my feet. Her pint sized kid was with her and I was praying the wind would hold. The billy had ambled his way towards me also and certainly close enough for a shot, but was obscured by a burnt out stump of a snow gum.
He was no monster in the head gear department but I still was trembling with excitement. Within a ten metre radius I had five goats happily feeding and none knew I was there, I was loving it.
A bush moving behind the stump showed the billy had stopped to eat and while I could not see him I was very confident he would pass broadside about five metres below me. Needing to lean out to clear the arrow from the tree in front of me I risked being spotted but I had no option if I was going to get a chance for a downhill shot.
A nanny caught the movement.
While straining her neck and trying to work me out I squinted my eyes and dipped my head so that the brim of my hat covered my eyes. She could have seen the whites of them at this distance.
Not now, not now, so close and it's going pear shaped, I thought.
None of the other goats caught on and without any warning sneezes from the alert nanny, the billy was none the wiser when he stepped out from behind the stump, taking several steps that brought him directly below me.
Raising the bow I could see the now very agitated nanny in my peripheral vision, but as I started to draw I locked in on the billy's vitals. The Magnus tipped shaft zapped right through him at four metres without him ever knowing I was there. He ran thirty metres down the hill before expiring.
It was a short but exciting hunt and a very satisfying end.
Topic: Feral goat ambush (Read 517 times)
