It had been a long hard day.  I had left Christchurch at 4.00am in the morning, headed south, cut inland at Geraldine and then followed the hills towards Lake Tekapo.  Here I finally left the bitumen and headed up a four wheel drive track on a large sheep station, stopping periodically to check out the numerous gullies as I went.

The purpose was to cover as much ground as possible searching out the many groups of Tahr that frequented the region.  I initially was not going to take a rifle as I was only meant to be looking, but in the end, at each stop I took it from the back of the jeep and with my camera gear had explored areas that I had previously driven past.

I developed a set pattern of moving up a creek bed and then sliding up about 100m to a vantage point where I could overlook the whole catchment area.  This was relatively easy Tahr habitat.  Long tussock laden gullies interspersed with a fair amount of native scrub and then at the head of each creek it would be broken country with large amounts of scree, exposed rock and clay faces below some small bluff systems.

It had been a successful day too in that I had seen almost 80 Tahr, mainly nanny groups but here and there the odd bull was clearly visible.  It was still early in the rut and the more mature bulls were still to make presence felt.

In one creek bed I had been startled by 3 Chamois only 150m from the vehicle.  I had just walked round the first bend when right in front of me only a stones throw away the Chamois bolted safely up the nearest narrow gut.  They need not have worried as I was more intent on looking for Tahr and anyway they appeared to be a female with 2 yearlings at foot.

The weather had been brilliantly fine but as I finally drove the jeep across the last river crossing below the hut I noticed that the wind was definitely getting up and had swung to the nor-west. 

It was dark by the time I had unloaded and set up my little cooker in anticipation of a hot feed.  It had also cooled down considerably and the wind was increasing alarmingly in strength.  The old corrugated iron hut which had withstood many violent storms I am sure still rocked and rattled noisily all night as the wind continued to roar down the valley.

Continuous sleep was impossible because of the racket outside and it was a long lonely night.  Towards dawn however the wind abated and instead of heading back out towards the road, I took my day pack and rifle and climbed up the ridge behind the hut.

It was a relatively easy climb, made easier by following a well worn track made by the sheep that had been mustered off here only the week before.

After about an hour I left the ridge and sidled back into the sheltered side of the main gully.  From here I had a panoramic view of a large bluff system directly opposite.  Immediately my binoculars revealed a group of 5 nannies quietly feeding below the bluffs, but although I searched for ages, no further animals could be seen.

I was still debating whether to go further up the ridge or move into the gully more when I noticed that, where there shortly before had been a cloudless sky, there were now threatening dark clouds sweeping over the top of the range.

Mind made up I headed back towards the hut, but before I had covered half the distance, the rain was bucketing down accompanied by a strong cold wind which did its best to lift me off the ground.  No sense in hanging around I decided to go back to the hut and quickly threw everything in the jeep and with a tail wind the wee vehicle made the road in record time.

It was my intention to head for home but as I motored down the main road, the sky became brighter and where there had been rain only an hour before, now there was only a stiff breeze. 

Well I was not due home until the next day so back up the road I went to another property.  Luckily the farmer was home and with his permission I crossed his land until I reached an old A-Frame Cabin nestled beneath the hills.

I did not stop though until I came across a large gully on my left which my hunting partner, Steve reckoned contained a few Tahr.  Instead of using the creek bed to gain ground I climbed up the true right of the creek and found a convenient rocky outcrop on which to use for shelter from the wind as I studied the overhanging tussock basin above me.

At the head of the basin lay a small series of bluffs and I searched these first as it was ideal country for the Tahr.  Nothing stirred and after an hour I was fast losing interest and was about to move back down when I decided to give the tussock a thorough looking over.

I was still a adjusting my bino’s when I saw him.  A large bull stood up, shook himself like a dog and then moved forward and started feeding.  Well, he sure had my attention, the trouble was he was on the opposite side to me and this would mean climbing down to the creek below and then up the other side and all the time trying to keep out of sight.

I had plenty of time, the light was good and with a bit of luck I might be close enough to get some photos of him.  The fact he was a lone bull also made me pleased that I had brought my rifle along.  His sheer bulk screamed out that this was a mature animal but I had been wrong before and so getting a photo was my first priority. 

I reached the creek bed in 20 minutes that was the easy part.  Now I had to climb almost directly towards the bull who had now assumed a sitting position on a protruding rock amongst the tussock.  On hands and knees I slowly worked my way towards him.  I could clearly see the wind blowing through his long silver mane as he looked down the valley below him.

Why is it, that every time I am on my hands and knees trying to get myself close to an unsuspecting animal that I feel every sliver of rock and prickle beneath me.  It was getting to the ridiculous stage of constantly stopping to change my position and I was still 200m from him.

Fixing his position once again, I lay back for another rest and looked back down the valley.  My red jeep was clearly visible and I mentally cursed myself for not leaving it further back down the track.  Still it was a long way off and it certainly had not disturbed the bull.

Turning back to the bull, I was just in time to see his rear end as he disappeared into a gut that was only about 50m across.  Taking my camera our of the day bag I fitted my 70-210 zoom thinking all the time that this was going to be easier than I thought.  It was a matter of climbing onto the nearest ridge of the gut and the bull should be only 30-40m away.

I quickly closed the distance and climbed up the ridge.  Cautiously I peered over the top.  Nothing, Impossible I thought.  There was nowhere for him to escape.

The gut only ran for a short distance and then there was a small series of bluffs at the end and everywhere else there was only tussock.

I searched all over but there was no sign of the bull.  I could not believe he could get away without me seeing him and yet he had just disappeared.

The problem was where?  It was looking for a needle in a haystack.  Half an hour passed and dejectedly I decided to head back down the valley.  I packed my camera away and stood up.  The moment I got on my feet a big black shape emerged from only 50m above me.  The bull had obviously bedded down on top of the bluffs and the high tussock, there was no way I could have seen him. 

My sudden movement must have alerted him he stood inquisitively now, staring straight down at me.  I did not dare reach for my bino’s which were still on the ground and a photo was out of the question.

Slowly I removed my Blaser .300 win mag from my shoulder and peered through the scope.  It was impossible to tell his horn length but I knew I was looking at a very good trophy bull.

The bull was nervous alright and it did not help as I fumbled to load a 160g bullet into the chamber.  As the bull was facing me and above, I aimed about 6 inches below his chin and in the centre of his mane.

I hardly heard the shot.  The bull pitched instantly over the bluffs and cart wheeled down the hill, struggling to get to its feet, but ending up rolling over and over until he finally got hooked up in a matagouri bush 500m below me.

It was odd, but nothing stirred.  Normally there would be Tahr running all over the place, but it was very evident that this solitary bull was on his own.

Keeping my eye on the matagouri bush where I knew the bull to be I slowly climbed down.  I suspected the bull was well and truly dead but I was not going to take any chances.  I finally approached the scrub with my rifle at the ready.  The bull was half hidden as his head and front shoulders were completely covered by the bush.  He did not stir as I prodded his spine with the rifle barrel.

Convinced he was dead, I reached in to free his head.  His left horn was exposed and I grabbed hold of it and with a mighty heave pulled him out of the scrub.  As the bull broke loose I felt a surge of strength through his horns.  The animal was far from dead and in seconds he had crashed into my legs and was surging downhill with me still hanging on.

Having no choice but to let him go, I frantically dived for my rifle.  The bull was directly away from me and straight downhill.  I aimed quickly at his spine and fired.  The bull slumped immediately and finally lay still. 

This time he was finished the bullet had hit high in the back of his neck and exited through his jaw.  Instead of elation I felt a pang of guilt at the sad end of a magnificent trophy animal.

For the first time I had a good look at his horns.  Stunned, I knew straight away that they were over 13 inches with good basis.  He was huge in body also and it took quite an effort to get him into a position where I could cape him out.

Once again darkness was fast approaching as I finally reached the jeep.  Looking in the glove box I found an old tape measure and in the headlights of the vehicle, I measured the bull.  His horns were just 14 inches.  The biggest Tahr I had ever seen.

I was desperately tired now, but as I came up to the hut I did not hesitate.   The decisions made, I headed for the main road and home.